Seeing her face jolted him back to their wonderful afternoons, provoking an ache. “Not even when you were betrothed?” He hadn’t meant to cause her pain, but to point out that she’d clearly moved on. At the flash of distress in her eyes, he hastened to add, “You did what you must. And you should forget me.” Just as he should forget her.
“Is that what you did?”
“Yes,” he lied.
She notched her chin up. “I don’t believe you. You wouldn’t ask why I didn’t meet you nor would you mention my betrothal if you’d forgotten about me, if you didn’t care.”
Bollocks. He didn’t want to be cruel, but it seemed he must. “I don’t care. You were a passing fancy.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I did try to forget you. And yes, I became betrothed because that was expected of me. I felt terrible that I wasn’t able to meet you anymore—we were foolish not to share our names. I would have sent word.”
“It wasn’t foolish at all. I have no regrets.” That wasn’t entirely true. He should not have kissed her. Hell, he shouldn’t have done any of it. But she’d captivated him from the moment they’d met. He’d been hungry for something, a connection, perhaps.
“Well, I do,” she said softly, sadness dimming the green parts of her hazel eyes. “I enjoyed our friendship and would have liked for it to continue.”
He heard the hope in her voice and sought to squash it. “We were not friends nor will we be. I took advantage of you, and you were smart to put an end to it.”
“That wasn’t my choice. My chaperone was no longer able to escort me to Hatchard’s, and I couldn’t go alone.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t understand why you’re being cruel. You can deny we were friends or that we shared a connection”—at her use of that word, he twitched—“but you won’t convince me. I was there.” She took a step toward him, bringing them closer than they ought to be.
Even so, he didn’t move.
“Why can’t you at least admit we were friends? Are you angry with me for not meeting you?” She tentatively placed her hand on his chest. “I was devastated when I wasn’t able to. I would have given anything to know who you were so I could find you.”
He considered telling her that he could have easily found her but chose not to. But in the end, he didn’t want to hurt her. “We were…friends. That was in the past, however.”
Her gaze held his as her hand pressed firmly against him. “It doesn’t have to be.”
What the hell was she proposing? Rafe took her hand and pushed it down to her side. “Yes it does. I’m not engaging in an affair with you.”
Her eyes widened, and he realized he’d misunderstood. She wanted…courtship? That was even worse. She pressed her lips together and twisted her mouth as she glanced away. “You think less of me now, just like everyone else.”
Rafe clasped her chin and forced her to look at him. “No. I could never think less of you.”
A glimmer of hope threaded through her features. “I wasn’t asking for an affair—just what I said: friendship. It would be nice to have someone who doesn’t look at me with pity or judgment. You mentioned my betrothal, so you must know what happened.”
“I do,” he said tightly, still considering whether he should go to Newgate and thrash Chamberlain.
His resolve faltered. She only wanted what he’d offered, that he would never think less of her. He released her. “Anne, I can’t be your friend. But I will be a staunch supporter, and if you ever need help, you now know where to find me.”
“You called me Anne.” The hint of a smile lifted the corner of her lush, utterly kissable mouth. “That’s what friends do. So I’m afraid you can’t stop what’s already happened. We’re friends.”
Rafe nearly laughed. He wanted to. God, this slip of a woman who had to be ten years younger than him had neatly inserted himself into his mind—into his life—in a way no one else had.
Perhaps not no one else. And look how that had ended. That Anne had somehow entered the same realm Eliza had once inhabited was both shocking and horrifying.
“I don’t deserve to be your friend, Miss Pemberton, and the sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be.” He turned from her and caught the whisper of her answer on the summer breeze.
“You made me happy.”
Rafe stalked from the mews and didn’t look back.
Anne hadn’t slept well last night. Now that she knew who Lord Bodyguard was, it took a great deal of effort not to pay him a call. Or invite him to Aldersgate Street. Or kiss him.
He was exactly as she recalled—tall, golden-haired, incomparably handsome even with that scar slashing his chin and lip. Perhaps because of it. He exuded a raw masculinity that no other man she’d met in London possessed.
And he wanted nothing to do with her.
Unless she needed help. Then she could call on him. Perhaps she ought to find some trouble. What could she do that would require his help?
Magazine Day was in a week. She still wanted to attend, and surely he wouldn’t want her to go alone… Pfft. That didn’t qualify as needing assistance.
“Why are you scowling?” Jane strolled into the morning room where Anne was drinking a cup of coffee. And fixating on Mr. Bowles. What was his first name? She wanted to know, particularly since he knew hers—and had used it.
“My coffee is cold.”
“And that provokes a scowl?” Jane chuckled. “I thought we might go out later.”
“Where?” Anne asked skeptically. Jane had redoubled her efforts to get Anne out of the house, but what was the point when half of Society treated her like a pariah and the other half shook their heads at her in pity?
“Anywhere. The park? Bond Street? Hatchard’s? I know how much you like it there.”
“Pardon me.” Purcell, Anthony’s butler, stepped into the morning room. He inclined his salt-and-pepper head slightly. “Lord Stone is here.”
Anne wasn’t sure if she felt pleased or bothered. She loved her godfather, but he’d become quite interested in meddling with her life since her parents had left town following Gilbert’s arrest, sending countless letters asking after her welfare and how he might provide assistance.
“We’ll meet him in the drawing room,” Jane said. When Purcell left, Jane narrowed her eyes at Anne. “I thought you liked your godfather.”
“I do. Very much.” In some ways, she liked him more than her actual father. And while he was being meddlesome, he at least did so in a way that was less autocratic and awful than their father.
Jane smoothed the turned-up lace trim on the sleeve of her gown. “At least you have someone who cares for your welfare.”
Anne felt instantly contrite. Because of a false rumor started about Jane five years ago, she’d never been successful on the Marriage Mart. And their parents, particularly their father, hadn’t let her forget it.
She shot Jane an apologetic look. “I’m sorry you no longer have godparents.” They’d died several years ago, and there was no point mentioning their parents. They’d all but disowned Jane when she’d declared her spinsterhood, despite the fact that she’d since wed a viscount. Never mind she was also quite deliriously happy.