Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

R afe walked along the quiet streets of Mayfair, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night. The journey to his townhouse in Russell Square felt longer than usual. He had watched the carriage pull away with the woman he had wanted to take to his bed, to slake the loneliness that had been ripping his damn soul apart for far too long. She had not noticed that he followed her, keeping to the darkness and shadows, only wanting to ensure her safety without troubling her further.

The carriage had been too far away for him to discern any crest, but perhaps it was for the best. He had clearly mortified her with his behavior, and it would be best if they never met again. Yet, Rafe wondered how likely that would be, given that he had stayed in town beyond his duties to the House of Lords for the first time in years, with the express purpose of attending social events. They had been covered in more shadows than moonlight and might not recognize each other again.

Except, he would never forget the brilliant beauty of her dark blue eyes.

"I was a damn fool," Rafe muttered, tipping his head to the sky as if the stars might offer some solace.

Should she see him again and recognize him, the lady might be tempted to slap his face. He shook his head, chastising himself for the impulsive actions that had led him to this point. Clearly, he had been away from polite society for far too long, and it seemed he had forgotten how to treat women with the courtesy they deserved, no matter their social standing. All the signs that his mysterious woman was a lady of quality had been present, but the part of him that had not engaged with someone of the opposite sex—who was not family—in years had been woefully blinded.

And that kiss .

Rafe slammed his eyes shut, the memory flooding his senses. He had never felt such pleasure from the meeting of mouths in all his nine and twenty years alive. The taste of her, the softness of her lips, the way she had responded to him—it was all imprinted on his mind, a tormenting reminder of what he could not have.

The uncharacteristic recklessness that had driven him to want to bed a complete stranger felt foreign, as if some hidden part of himself had momentarily broken free. It was a part he wasn't sure he recognized or welcomed.

"Bloody hell," he swore under his breath, his frustration mounting as he continued walking.

His feet were beginning to ache, a reminder of the long, aimless walk that had led him to Hyde Park. Earlier, he had attended his first ball in years, a dismal affair that had only deepened his sense of disenchantment. The oppressive atmosphere of the ballroom had driven him outside, and somehow, he had kept walking until he found himself in Hyde Park.

What were the odds that two people who had never met would do something so capricious on the same night?

"Now I am the one who is fanciful." The corner of his mouth twitched in a wry smile as he turned the final corner toward his townhouse. The gas lamps cast a soft glow over the cobblestone street. His townhouse, with its tall windows and stately fa?ade, loomed ahead. Rafe ascended the steps, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The warmth of the house embraced him, and he made his way toward the drawing room where a light shone from beneath the door.

It was perhaps his newly affianced sister Rebecca who had declared that she would not sleep for the rest of the year, after accepting Viscount Sutcliffe's proposal only a few days prior. Rafe opened the door to the drawing room and found his mother seated on a settee, a book resting in her lap.

Hell, I am caught!

He must have made a sound, for her head snapped up from her book. The countess, at the age of fifty, was a woman of refined beauty, her dark hair elegantly coiffed, her gaze sharp as it settled on her son. She closed the book with a soft thud and looked at him expectantly.

"You have the appearance of a man about to face the gallows," she remarked, her tone holding a hint of reproach though her eyes were warm with concern.

He laughed, venturing further into the room to close the door. "Upon realizing it was not Rebecca who awaited me, I had the fleeting awareness that I should have continued to my bedchamber and not investigated."

She harrumphed but smiled. "I trust the evening was … productive?"

Rafe frowned, rubbing a hand over his face as he settled into an armchair opposite her. His mother's air of inquisitiveness reminded him of his first season as a young swain eager to court a debutante, and she would eagerly probe his reaction to each young lady he met. A marriage-minded mother was indeed a ruthless opponent. "It was … fine."

His mother raised an eyebrow, clearly expecting more. "Did you see anyone of interest at the ball?"

He hesitated, the memory of the encounter in Hyde Park still shadowing his thoughts. "I … may have encountered someone, though not at the ball," he admitted, the admission feeling strangely intimate and unlike himself.

Though his mother always pried into his affairs, Rafe had always been reserved and pragmatic. He was a man who measured his words and actions carefully, preferring logic and restraint over spontaneity. It was simply his nature, ingrained in him from years of shouldering the responsibilities of his title and family. This was one of the reasons his actions at the park so bemused him; he was never impulsive.

His mother's eyes narrowed slightly. "If not at the ball, where did you meet her? And who might this person be?"

Rafe shook his head. "A lady I met by chance in Hyde Park. It was … unexpected."

The countess's brows furrowed slightly. "A lady, you say? At this hour?"

"Yes," Rafe replied, his tone guarded. "It was a brief encounter, and it's unlikely we will meet again. I should not have mentioned it."

His mother studied him for a moment, clearly sensing there was more to the story.

"I cannot ascertain if you told me this to merely unsettle my nerves." She sighed. "Perhaps I did the right thing in making a list."

"What list?"

She hesitated. "Do not glower so. It is very important for you to find your countess this season."

"I know, Mother. I recall being the person who told you of my intention this season," he said drily. "Now, what is this list you are talking about?"

She straightened her spine, and Rafe sensed he might not like the direction in which she was heading.

"I have decided to take a more proactive approach in helping you find a wife."

"Even more active than you were years ago?" he asked with a caustic bite. "I shudder at the thought."

She cast him another reproving glare, and he merely lifted a brow and waited.

"I've taken the liberty of compiling a list of eligible ladies I believe would make suitable wives and mothers for Emma and Grace. You need someone with grace, poise, and an impeccable reputation—someone who can help raise your daughters with the care they deserve. I have outlined characteristics that I believe your next countess should possess. I am sure you will agree."

Next countess .

A heavy feeling pressed against his chest. The sensation no longer had the bitter taste of grief and pain, but this heavy press always made itself evident whenever he was reminded that he had lost his young wife in childbirth. Shock sliced through him with the sharpness of a scalpel when he realized he had not thought of Anna once since that damn dancing shoe had dropped at his feet. Rafe stood and walked over to the window overlooking the gardens. He tugged open the heavy drapes, peering out into the darkness.

At his silence, his mother continued, "There are a few names on the list that you may find familiar, and others that are newer to society. There is also one name I want you to avoid at all costs."

Frowning, he turned around to see that his mother now had a sheaf of paper in her hand.

"What are you saying, Mother?"

"I want you to avoid any lady who bears the surname Fairbanks," she said stridently.

"Fairbanks?" Rafe said, a frown creasing his brow. "Why?"

His mother's lips pressed into a thin line. "The Fairbanks family has been plagued by scandal for some number of years. The eldest brother only came into the title six years ago. They were simple, country people who lacked the manners or grace to mingle with polite society. Their reputation is hardly what it should be, and their family has been the subject of more gossip than I care to recount. Even years later stories of their indiscretions and missteps are whispered in drawing rooms across London. Can you imagine one of the sisters even had a child out of wedlock? Another was rumored to take part in a ghastly duel! As if she were a gentleman with affronted honor. My nerves are unsettled from simply recalling the horrid tales. I would strongly advise against any connection with the Fairbanks. Anna … she would never want her children to be associated with anyone from that family."

Her voice softened at the mention of Anna, as if invoking the memory of his late wife lent her argument a moral weight that could not be ignored. Rafe's chest tightened. Anna had been the most elegant and demure lady he had ever met. While some had mockingly called her ‘the Paragon,' she had only ever won his admiration with her sweet kindness and charm.

"Even without the thought of what Anna would have wanted for our girls, I would not align our names and reputation with a family so unsuitable in their conduct," he said with chilling politeness.

His mother gave him a small, approving nod. "Good. You have been away from society for a few years. I merely thought it wise to offer a word of caution. The ladies in the family are rather beautiful, and somehow they have made astounding matches that have upset many. Though they strengthened their connections through these advantageous marriages, my dear Walter would turn in his grave should I ever allow such disgraces into our family."

Rafe had been a young lad of eight years when his father, with a gravity that belied the usual warmth in their relationship, had expressed his deepest desire: that when Rafe took the reins of his inheritance, he should never taint the earldom or their family name with fecklessness, debt, or scandal. The Sinclair legacy was to be preserved with honor, dignity, and unyielding responsibility.

These words had etched themselves into Rafe's very being, shaping the man he would become. He had never visited a gambling house, set up a woman as a mistress, or embroiled himself in the reckless pursuits that many men of his rank indulged in without a second thought. His father had guided the honor and responsibility that was now second nature, and as his mother spoke, Rafe understood she was gently reminding him of those same lessons and expectations.

He smiled at his mother. "I would never disgrace my father's memory or the teachings that he imparted with such care."

One day, he hoped to pass the same sense of duty and integrity onto his son. The stark dread of losing someone again in childbirth—a fear that had haunted him and one he had faced and conquered—tried to pierce his chest once more, but he ruthlessly suppressed it.

He walked over to her and took the paper she held out. "Thank you for the list, Mother. I will take the names under consideration."

The countess gave him a soft smile, rising as well. "I only want what's best for you, Rafe. And for Emma and Grace."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I know. Goodnight."

Rafe left the drawing room and made his way to his study, feeling unusually restless. Once in his study, he went to the mantle, poured whisky into a glass, and took a healthy swallow. Sitting in the armchair by the fire, he indolently sprawled and stared into the flames, his thoughts whirling.

Another wife .

The decision to marry again had been borne from the ashes of his loneliness and the need to provide his daughters with more stable female influences. His sister would soon marry and start her own family, and his mother had been speaking more of visiting Europe for an extended stay. The girls needed something that he was not providing, though he showered them with his love and attention. Rafe glanced at the list, a wry smile touching his mouth. The ton was peppered with many eligible debutantes, widows, and a few ladies of advanced years who had not yet wed, and somehow, his mother had only found three ladies who met her approval.

Lady Millicent Belgrave is very lovely and with a charming wit. Paints very well.

Lady Roslyn Baldwin is very gentle and patient. She also paints marvelous watercolors and is an incredible horsewoman. She has had two seasons, so there must be careful consideration as to why she is still unmarried.

Lady Dinah Tomlinson, a most charming widow of only four and twenty. She has a very calming spirit and a spotless reputation and is on the board of Lady Angel's orphanage.

Absolutely no one from the Fairbanks family . It would be a travesty!

That bit was even underlined for more emphasis. Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. Irritatingly, the image of the mysterious woman in the park flashed through his mind—her defiant spirit, fiery retorts, and the kiss that had left him reeling. Could she have been one of the Fairbanks? The thought was unsettling and quite a leap in logic, or perhaps not so.

Given what his mother said, how likely was it that a lady from another family could dare to be so free-spirited within the constraints of the ton ? The idea intrigued him more than he cared to admit. Rafe sighed, emptying his glass in a long swallow. The path ahead seemed clear, but the detour he had taken tonight, that impulsive kiss, must not happen again with anyone. At all times he would be mindful in his courtship of a lady's sensibilities and honor. Rafe glanced at the list once more, but somehow, he was still distracted.

By God, he could still taste her sweetness on his tongue and feel her soft curves pressed against his body. This season was going to be torturous, and he would never see her again.