Free Lorraine Heath - [Lost Lords of Pembrook 03] by Lord of Wicked Intentions

desire shooting through him.
    As a general rule he didn’t misjudge his actions, but from the moment she had walked into his life, he’d been having a time of it when it came to rational decisions.
    He’d claimed her for his mistress.
    He’d trotted after her into the rain like a misbegotten fool.
    He’d carried her home, knowing the torment that would entail.
    He’d promised to give her time instead of sinking into her molten heat tonight as he desperately wanted.
    He’d kissed her.
    And now he was heading to Wortham’s.
    At least this time he’d had the good sense to have the carriage brought round. He tugged on his waistcoat. He hated that he had to display himself fully dressed in order to properly throw around his weight. Clothing always made him feel as though he was suffocating. He could trace his aversion back to his experiences living at the workhouse.
    His arrival at Wortham’s stopped him from having to travel that particular path of memory. It was not pleasant, and he’d not thought of it in years. He’d shoved it into the back corner of his mind, just as he shoved everything upon which he did not wish to dwell. No good would come from taking it out and examining it further—other than to stir up the resentment he felt toward his brothers for abandoning him.
    He stepped out of the carriage, bolted up the steps, and slammed the knocker, once, twice, thrice. The butler responded with a slowness that would have had him relieved of his post if he were in Rafe’s employ. It didn’t matter that it was half past midnight.
    As soon as the door opened a crack, he barged past the butler. Eve should have done the same. She shouldn’t have allowed him to block her way. She’d been too polite by half. She might not carry the title of lady, but by God she was one. Too good for the likes of him, but that didn’t make him want her any less.
    “Where’s Wortham?” he snapped.
    “He’s not at ho—”
    Rafe swung around and pinned the man with a hard-edged glare that he had honed to perfection during the years he had worked as a debt collector for someone on the shady side of the law. He knew it spoke of punishment and retribution. It put the fear of God into large brawny men.
    The slender butler did little more than stammer, “The library, sir.”
    He’d been there last night, so he had no trouble finding it. He didn’t bother to soften the stamping of his large feet. He wanted Wortham to be well aware that hell was arriving.
    Rafe burst through the door. Wortham bolted to his feet. He’d been behind his desk, studying something. Ledgers perhaps, it didn’t matter.
    “Changed your mind about her already, have you?” Wortham asked with a sneer. “I knew she wouldn’t measure up.”
    “Your father gave her jewelry. I want it.”
    Wortham looked as though Rafe had punched him. “That was not part of the bargain.”
    “You dropped her off at my residence with nothing more than the clothes upon her back.”
    “Because she’s yours to see after now. Everything else my father purchased. That makes it mine.”
    “Not the jewelry. Hand it over and you’ll continue to breathe.”
    “I’m growing quite weary of that threat. I don’t owe you anymore. So I see no need—”
    Rafe rounded the desk with remarkable speed, wrapped his hand around Wortham’s throat, and shoved him against the wall. “You see no need for what? To heed my words?”
    Anticipating that he might have to resort to a show of force, he’d not worn gloves. He knew precisely where to press his thumb to cut off air, to cause pain. Wortham’s eyes bulged. He gasped. He dug his fingers into Rafe’s wrist. He’d have marks there tomorrow, dammit. If he wasn’t striving to make a point, he’d simply snap the man’s neck. But Wortham didn’t deserve death, and of all Rafe’s sins through the years, killing a man who didn’t deserve it was not one of them.
    Wortham gagged. Nodded.
    Rafe loosened his hold. “You had some wisdom