Geoffrey tried to see them without getting too close to Easton. “What are they?”
“Transfer of all property that is not entailed, including this residence, to your beloved sister.”
“What? No. Never.” The man had gone mad.
“Consider it a wedding gift to Eve. Sign the papers and I’ll not beat you to within an inch of your life.”
“You dare to threaten me?”
“Not only do I dare it, I enjoy it. You lost your membership to my club, and you’ve no doubt discovered that no other club will have you.”
Red flashed before Geoffrey’s eyes. “You arranged that?”
“Oh, I’ve arranged a good deal more than that. There is not a lord in all of England who will give you leave to marry his daughter. You will die without issue, and your cousin Francis will inherit the title and estates when you are dead. Until that time, for the aristocracy, you no longer exist. You will be invited to no balls, no dinners, no parties. You will have no choice except to live out your life on your ancestral estate, alone, with nothing to sustain you except regret for the unkindness you showed Eve and the knowledge that I am always watching. You won’t see me, but rest assured that I shall be aware of every breath you take.”
“You’ll not get away with this.”
Easton gave him a devilish grin. “I already have. Sign the papers.”
Geoffrey crept toward the desk. “At least allow me back into your club. I shall go mad with no cards to entertain me.”
“Try managing your estates.”
“But the cards, you see, they are my passion.”
“A misguided passion. They led you toward the path to ruin, but it was your choice to step on the road the night you offered up Eve to anyone who wanted her.”
“You must give me something for signing these papers.”
“I’m giving you your life.”
But what a miserable life it would be. “I’d rather you’d kill me.”
“That can be arranged.”
Geoffrey saw the hard coldness in Rafe Easton’s eyes. Yes, he thought, he could arrange it. But it wasn’t what Geoffrey truly wanted. He would find a club willing to take him in. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would find a way out of this mess. Dipping pen in inkwell, he signed every document, then watched as Easton gathered them up and slipped them into a satchel.
“You missed an opportunity, Wortham, to claim a wonderful woman as your sister. You sought to take everything that matters away from her. It seemed only fitting that I take all that matters away from you. Leave London before the sun rises or you’ll find yourself in debtor’s prison.”
“But I just paid my debt to you.”
“No, you paid the debt you owed Evelyn. Your debt to me remains open, my lord, and as I am now in possession of the markers you signed to Dimmick, your debt is considerable.”
When Rafe Easton left, Wortham placed his head in his hands and wept for all he had lost, for the lonely life that would stretch out before him.
Chapter 22
Studying his reflection in the mirror, Rafe tugged on his light gray waistcoat. It took an inordinate amount of time to dress these days. His hand had healed but the mobility in it wasn’t what it had once been. Dr. Graves had set the bones together as best as he could. Rafe was grateful for that, at least. He hadn’t lost his hand completely. And he was learning to write with his right.
In retrospect, he supposed he could have told Dimmick from the outset that he was left-handed, so he would have broken the right, but he was familiar enough with the man’s tortuous ways to know that a time would come when he would have signed anything the man put before him in order to stop the pain. And he’d be damned before he gave the man anything that belonged to Evie—or to Mick for that matter.
So damned he was.
But not as much as Dimmick.
During the three months since his rescue, Rafe found himself spending more time with his brothers, and he wondered why he had resisted being in their company for so long. Late into the night, they would drink Scotch and share stories from the years they were apart. Rafe liked hearing about all the various places Tristan had visited, the different people he’d met, the cultures he’d encountered. Sebastian’s stories were less entertaining and more reluctantly recounted, but they gave Rafe a view of war that made him appreciate his brother’s bravery and sacrifice more than he might have otherwise.
He held out his arms as his valet helped him into his black morning coat. “Did you see that the gift was delivered to Miss Chambers?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rafe no longer grimaced when his servants here or those who worked for him at the club addressed him as such. He was the son of a duke, the brother of a duke. He was proud to claim his family heritage, his birthright. Besides, he wanted there to be no doubt that Miss Evelyn Chambers, illegitimate daughter of an earl, was marrying a lord.
The very wealthy lord of a very powerful family.
Mary had insisted that Eve continue to live with them until the wedding. It had never occurred to Rafe that Evie had found sanctuary next door. It was the last place he would have looked for her. And she’d known it. At the time, he’d never have gone over there willingly.
Unlike now, when he went every day. He courted Evie as she should have been courted all along. With flowers, books of poetry, and chocolate. He escorted her on rides through the parks, danced with her at balls, dined with her every evening. He had much to make up for, and he was looking forward to spending the remainder of his life ensuring that she never regretted, not for a single second, that she became his wife.