From Lies (3 page)

"About my sister's dress," he started, pausing for a moment when the apprentice returned with two umbrellas. "Bright colors are in this season, but I want something unique for my sister, something that will set a new fashion trend."

The woman snorted at him. "What would you know about fashion? If you want a new trend, then it will be extra."

Rafe wanted to snort at the audacity of the woman, but he held it in. "We will negotiate the price. Greta, come." He turned away, knowing Greta would take both umbrellas from the apprentice.

"She's not a dog," the old woman shrieked.

Rafe turned around, giving the woman a cold look. "And you have no say in any of this." He turned his gaze to Greta. "Pay the man." Then he strolled from the shop as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Outside, he paused beneath the slight overhang and breathed deep the scent of rain and dampening earth. He had never done anything to warrant that sort of behavior from a business person. Certainly some of them glared at him, tried to inflate the prices, but none had ever been as hostile as the dressmaker. It seemed her old age was reminding her of memories better left buried. An arm brushed against his, and he looked to the side, the concerned frown on Greta's face something he didn't deserve.

"Are you all right?" she whispered, handing over one of the umbrellas and opening her own.

He didn't respond as he opened his umbrella and stepped out into the storm. Making up his mind, Rafe strode quickly to a nearby dressmaker. If the old dressmaker was happy showing her hostility, then he would be more than happy to take his business elsewhere. He kept his mouth firmly shut as he entered the new shop and looked around, taking in the bright colors. There was a part of himself that was tempted to stomp back out, but he wasn't a child, and he needed to make sure his sister would have a dress that would impress Lord Shaften at the ball.

"Can I help you?" a young girl, most probably a new apprentice, asked, nervously wringing her hands.

"Yes. Take her measurements." He indicated Greta as she set her umbrella aside, concern poorly masked on her face. "My sister is unable to be here today, but she is close enough in stature to this one that adjustments should be easy at a later date."

The girl bobbed her head, ushering Greta to a curtained off area. Rafe settled himself in a seat and gazed at the fabric around him. What would look best on his sister? His mother wouldn't settle for anything less than bright colors for her dear daughter, the one who clearly had more of a chance landing a spouse than Rafe. Though Rafe wasn't sure he wanted a spouse, not if he ended up treating them similar to how his mother had hers.

A soft cough drew his attention to a middle-aged woman who looked at him with curious eyes. She looked vaguely familiar.

"Yes?" Rafe watched her take the seat beside him without a word.

"What has a young man such as yourself so deep in thought?" she finally asked. Another young girl came scurrying over, offering a plate of warm drinks and fresh cookies.

Rafe couldn't remember the last time he'd been allowed fresh cookies. He took one and bit into it, closing his eyes as chocolate coated his tongue. "My sister." The woman made a noncommittal noise. So Rafe continued. "Our mother wants us in bright colors for the royal ball, but I believe my sister needs something… different."

"Something that will set her apart?"

Rafe opened his eyes and smiled at the woman. "Exactly."

"And what would you have in mind?" she queried kindly.

Rafe eyed the woman, but there was genuine curiosity in her expression. He rose slowly, finishing off his cookie as he looked at the fabrics more closely, occasionally holding out his arm and imagining his sister's skin, a shade lighter than his dark tan.

"Maybe this dark green—emerald?" He looked to the woman for confirmation of the color. "As the base, with this lighter blue at the cuffs and neck as well as folded into the skirt." He picked up the two pieces and showed how he imagined the green would almost hide the blue until someone moved, then the blue would peek out, giving that bright color everyone seemed so entranced with. It would be enough of a fashion statement without being too outrageous.

The woman nodded her head, looking thoughtful. "I believe I can manage that. Ah, and here comes your sister now."

Rafe had to bite his tongue against saying Greta
was
his sister, and he was so tired of pretending.
Appearances.
"Not that sister. My sister this dress is for couldn't be here today, but they are of a similar build, though you may need more room in the chest and hips."

The woman, obviously the owner of this establishment, looked at him sideways but nodded her head nonetheless. "I believe I can do that. When would you like to set up an appointment?"

Rafe settled in to hash out the details, glad to see when they were done the rain had let up a bit. "Thank you for your kindness," Rafe said before he led Greta from the store.

They split up again, Greta to finish the shopping and Rafe to sneak back to the shoemaker and inform him of the change in dressmaker before heading to the hat shop, wondering if there was anything they had that would match his sister's dress. The rest of the day passed quickly, and Rafe found himself climbing into the back of the cart, ready to be home. Greta set the horse to an easy trot, not saying anything until they were well on their way home.

"What have you been doing?" Her voice was soft, as if she hoped the gentle blowing breeze would snatch the words away before Rafe could hear them.

It didn't work. He climbed into the front, bringing the blanket with him to wrap around her slightly trembling shoulders. She was much too skinny. "In which matter?" There was a lot he'd been doing lately, most of which he wouldn't tell her about.

"With Lord Shaften of course." She gave him a sideways glance, as if he were foolish to think there might be anything else.

If only she knew. "He has some good investment ideas I've been interested in." Which was true, though he doubted she'd believe him. He didn't just play the idiot to his mother. No, he played it to almost everyone. Better they should underestimate him than know he could change their fortunes in a heartbeat.

"Uh-huh." She didn't believe him, but that was fine.

He shrugged his shoulders, giving her a guileless smile.
Appearances.

Rafe stared up at the moon as a light rain misted around him. The flowers were beautiful beneath the full moon, reminding him he should look at the finances to see if there was enough money to increase the pay of the staff. It had been three months since he'd set in motion his sister's meeting with Lord Shaften and the outfit he hoped to have ready for Greta so she might attend the royal ball. Everyone seemed excited, except his mother. She'd been most displeased with the colors he'd picked for his ball outfit and Raquel's dress. They weren't bright enough, and any chance she had, she reminded him of his failure. But there wasn't enough time to redo the outfits, no matter how much his mother fussed, and Rafe couldn't help but smile at that.

Soon he'd be old enough to stop hiding himself, to finally show the world that he was smart. He'd been slowly building up a shipping route, one he shouldn't have been able to do because of his age, but he'd learned how to disguise himself, to keep his meetings in dark places. Most thought him a little mad, but as long as they had no idea who he truly was, there was no harm. He had a nice little savings account now, enough to rival Raquel's dowry, should she ever get married. And based on today's meeting with Lord Shaften's family, it was looking more and more likely that he'd have a promising marriage for her.

That was another point his mother held against him. She disliked the fact he was always taking his sister to play with children, even if Lord Shaften did have some sway in court, simply because he knew how to make friends. Rafe made sure he took the brunt of their mother's anger instead of Raquel; after all, she hadn't done anything wrong.

He sighed then, because he was so tired, but fear gripped him about the throat and refused to let go. He'd learned early on that when life was going well, something was bound to crumble, and he wasn't sure it wouldn't be himself. He just wanted his birthday and the ball over with; then he might finally be able to sleep.

With a final look around him, Rafe turned to head back into the house. Maybe he could warm a cup of milk. That used to help him sleep when he was younger. As he passed the stable, he heard a strange noise. It was soft, almost a whisper, and sparked a bit of curiosity since it was unlike any whisper he'd ever heard before. He looked for a crack in the wall but couldn't find any. Shoring up his courage, Rafe moved to a window placed high in the wall, a crate nearby. He tested the crate with a foot before scooting it beneath the window. It afforded him enough height he could stand on his tiptoes and peek inside the stable.

What he saw stole his breath away and sent jealous longing stabbing through him. Beneath a lantern, the stable master and gardener coupled. Their hands explored one another, the words they murmured low, but Rafe could tell from the way they held each other close, rocked against each other slowly, that they were words of devotion, love. His face flamed, his body drawing tight. There they were, in the dirt, in the stable: coupling. What must have drawn them to such an act in such a place?

Rafe turned away, hopping off the crate quickly. He wanted that, that love and need to have another no matter where they were, desperately, but he knew he couldn't, wouldn't have it. How could he? Most knew him to be cruel; all except Duncan knew him as slow. Who would want someone who came with such taint? None.

The house was silent when he slipped inside, bypassing the kitchen, deciding he was tired enough to sleep, even as the night proved long and his dreams eluded him. It wasn't until the sun began to peek beyond the land that Rafe's eyes grew heavy, his breathing evening out into sleep. And he dreamed.

The room before him was dim, stretching beyond recognition into parts he wasn't sure he wished to venture toward. A soft sound drew his attention, leading him to the right, where space stretched as it had when he'd been facing forward. He glanced behind and was met with the same expanse of darkness. He returned to facing as he had been and walked, one foot slowly before the other. His mind screamed that this was a trap, while his body continued to move along as if compelled. There was nothing for him to gaze upon except the ever-present dimness that faded to darkness.

Anxiety began to grow in his brain, seeping beneath the layers of his skin, pooling in his stomach, causing it to churn and heave. He wondered if he would be sick all over the floor he couldn't properly see when a new noise intruded.

He turned, unsure now which direction he was going, and watched as the figure of a man moved toward him. He couldn't make out any features, just that the man stood a touch taller than him, was broader across the shoulders than Rafe could ever hope to be. The figure's hair appeared shorter than what the current fashion stated was proper, but Rafe was growing tired of what was proper. The figure stopped before him, a hand extended.

Rafe was unsure what to do, but he took the hand. He knew it was just a dream, even as his hand settled against warm skin. In the distance, it sounded like music had started up, and Rafe was drawn close, heat emanating from the body he was intimately near. It was intoxicating, but also a foolish dream. Rafe knew that, but still he danced, unable to see any features of the man that held him tenderly, drawing their bodies so near it would be a scandal if it weren't in Rafe's imagination.

He relished it. There would be no one to do this to him. No one to hold him tight as they danced to soft strains of a song Rafe could only remember from his childhood, back before everything had crumbled around him and his cowardice had driven him to live two lies. He wasn't even sure he could untangle himself from them anymore.

A calloused hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head a small increment upward. Firm lips covered his own, a tongue sweeping out to tease his lips into parting before invading, stroking along his own until Rafe was coaxed to respond, lazily lapping into this conjuration of his fantasy's mouth then being chased back into his own. It was slow, a luxury he wanted to sink in. The figure's other hand skimmed down his side, curving over his hip to drag him closer, their hips aligning with a shock of pleasure.

Rafe moaned softly as he pushed himself closer, his hands reaching up to tangle in the short hair, doing his best to pull this figment nearer.

"Rafe…"

His name sounded distant.

"Rafe, wake up."

The world around him shook, and Rafe tried desperately to cling to the man beginning to fade.

"Rafe!"

Rafe woke with a jolt, staring wide-eyed at his sister. Raquel looked concerned, her round face pinched while her eyes, the same shade as his, looked him over as if she could see what ailed him.

"What?" he croaked out, pulling the sheet higher from where it had pooled in his lap.

"Mother says today is not a day to laze in bed." She looked mildly apologetic, but Rafe just waved her away.

Today wasn't a day for lazing in bed, even if bed proved more of a sanctuary than anywhere else at the moment. Once Raquel was gone, he climbed from the bed and cleaned himself before dressing. He chose darker clothes because today he'd need to meet with some of his sellers to collect his money and find out what was selling the best at the moment.

Rafe made his way downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to nab something to eat. He said good morning to his mother, who appeared preoccupied with a piece of paper—undoubtedly it had to do with the royal ball—and waved him away, then headed out the front door before anyone could say a word to stop him. He would send a message to Mr. Monel first and ask the man to meet him at the usual location, probably in half an hour, once he'd sent a messenger. The time would be enough that Rafe would already have Mr. Monel's favorites prepared.