Colton had borrowed the funds to settle debts and had continued to gamble. He’d also continued to lose, and he hadn’t repaid his loan in the timeframe they’d agreed upon.
At the time, Rafe had certain employees whose responsibility was to collect outstanding debts such as Colton’s. In this instance, the employee had taken it upon himself to do more than apply pressure to the debtor. He’d killed Colton’s parents on the way to their country estate. Colton was supposed to have been the one on the road that day, and Rafe’s employee was to remind him—in plain terms—of his financial obligations. Instead, he’d committed murder.
“Perhaps it was resolved for you,” Colton said quietly. “For me, it will never be.”
“I do understand.” Rafe turned his head toward the hearth. “I lost my parents when I was very young.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He didn’t reveal things about himself.
So why had he now? He looked back to Colton. Was Rafe truly looking for a friend?
No. He was simply…raw. He was close to finding out who his parents were, and he bloody well needed Colton.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Colton said.
Inhaling, Rafe returned to the matter they’d been discussing. “I don’t need you to recommend me to a club. Just the invitation to Ivy Grove, please.”
“Just that,” Colton said sardonically. “You seem to be doing well for yourself. I’m sorry we weren’t able to attend the ball for your sister.”
“No need to apologize. It was, I suppose, quite a crush.” Rafe winced inwardly—he sounded like a pompous ass. No, he sounded like a Society gentleman.
“The Vicar is in the past, then?” Colton asked, provoking a twitch between Rafe’s shoulder blades.
“Completely. I have no desire to resurrect him.”
Rafe wanted to ask if Colton’s wife knew, and if so, whether she would tell her sister, but that would invite too many questions. Not that it mattered if Anne—hell, he was already first-naming her—rather, Miss Pemberton knew who he was. It wasn’t as if they had a future together.
Rising, Rafe straightened his waistcoat. “Thank you for your time and assistance.”
“I’m only helping you because I owe you for finding the man who was extorting me.” Colton stood. “Without your assistance, Chamberlain would not have been arrested.”
Colton had come to Rafe thinking the Vicar was the one extorting him. The note the viscount had received had threatened to expose his gambling debts and the fact that those debts had led to the deaths of his parents. Colton had naturally believed it was Rafe since he knew about the debts and, as the Vicar, was engaged in enterprises that pushed the boundaries of legality. But while Rafe had lent money at illegally high rates, owned receiver shops, and had once been the right hand of one of the most powerful criminals in East London, he never engaged in extortion.
Rafe had conducted his own investigation and found Chamberlain, a man of questionable morals who delivered gentlemen in need of loans to the Vicar, responsible. After informing Colton, the viscount had done what was necessary—exposing his transgressions—to ensure Bow Street arrested Chamberlain.
And in so doing, he’d saved Anne from marrying the blackguard. A wave of anger rushed over Rafe. He knew Chamberlain to be driven by avarice and vanity. When Rafe thought of Anne married to him, he felt an irrational need to go to Newgate and beat the man to a pulp before they transported him across the world.
“Chamberlain is a scoundrel,” Rafe said coldly. “You did everyone a great service by ensuring he was arrested, especially your sister-in-law.”
Colton’s brow pleated. “You heard about that?”
“Everyone heard about that.”
“I suppose so. While I’m glad Anne wasn’t trapped into marriage with him, she hasn’t had an easy time of it. Her reputation is still stained, I’m afraid.”
Rafe hated hearing that. “None of what happened was her fault.”
“I know.” Colton’s gaze was pained.
Rafe could see the man carried guilt about that too. “Surely things will get better.” Or not—Rafe had no notion how Society worked. The more he learned, which wasn’t much, the less he understood.
“I hope so. The Season is almost over, and perhaps by next year, people will have forgotten, or at least decide to be kind where Anne is concerned.” Colton sent him a curious stare. “I appreciate your…concern about her.”
Fuck. Rafe didn’t want to draw attention to that of all things. “I was merely being polite. I look forward to hearing from you about Stone.”
Colton nodded, and Rafe took his leave.
Anticipation curled along his nerves as he made his way to the entry hall. His breath caught and held. But she wasn’t there.
Good. He shouldn’t see her again.
Yet, now that he knew who she was and where she lived, would he stay away?
He had to.
The butler opened the door, and Rafe walked outside into the bright afternoon. He turned in the direction of Grosvenor Square, which he would cut through on the way to his house on Upper Brook Street. Dammit, she was far too close.
When he reached the corner of Davies Street, a familiar form in a veil stepped into his path. Far too close indeed.
“Miss Pemberton,” he said, liking the feel of her name on his tongue. Anne would taste even better.
“Mr. Bowles. Shall we take a walk around the square?”
He glanced about. “Do you never have a chaperone?”
“I almost always have a chaperone. Except when I have a bodyguard, if you recall.”
Rafe couldn’t help the smile that stole over his mouth. “Still saucy,” he murmured. “We can’t walk around the square and you”—he stopped himself from saying bloody—sometimes the transition from his old life to his new took great effort—“well know it.”
She exhaled. “I suppose not.” Wrapping her hand around his elbow, she pulled him down Davies Street and into the narrow mews. They stood near the corner of a stable.
Out of view of the street,
