“Those between arrangements will need to wait until it’s safe for us to resume business,” Benedict replied. “The ones with keepers must exercise caution. We don’t know who she has gained her information from, and cannot risk her learning new details she might use to oust us.”
“Understood,” Warin said. “What else?”
“Before you do any of that, I need you to visit the Dowager Countess of Langford and inform her to prepare to attend a ball with me this evening. I will need her at my side for the sake of appearances.”
“Right away,” Warin said, coming to his feet and replacing his hat upon his head. “Send for me if you have further need.”
Once he departed, Benedict turned to Aubrey. “I need you to make contact with our friends. Marriage hasn’t made Hugh, David, Dominick, or you any safer. Who’s presently in London?”
“Hugh and Evelyn intend to retire to the country in the coming weeks … it is nearly Evelyn’s time. The arrival of their babe should keep them out of the public eye for a good while.”
“Good,” Benedict said. “Perhaps you can convince him that it would be best to make their journey sooner than planned. I don’t suppose you and Lucy can be convinced to vacate London as well.”
“Not a chance,” Aubrey said. “I won’t leave you alone to deal with the consequences of this.”
“You should.”
“I won’t.”
“You have a wife to think of now,” Benedict pointed out. “There is also Elizabeth to consider.”
Aubrey’s young niece had recently reached an age to begin considering marriage, with the hope that she would snare someone of means and good social standing. Benedict had watched Elizabeth grow from a sweet girl to a lovely young woman; she was like family to him. The last thing he wanted was to ruin her chances.
“Both Lucy and Elizabeth would want me to support you. Besides, I have as much stake in stopping Cynthia’s machinations as you do. There’s my business to consider, and my reputation is tied to my livelihood. I’ve worked very hard to make a good name for myself, and while some will never consider me anything more than the son of a former slave, I like to think I’ve gained what respectability I can.”
Benedict looked upon his friend, whom he admired more than anyone. It wasn’t only Aubrey’s steadfastness or constant state of calm confidence that made Benedict feel safe and understood. Aubrey had always been the model of what Benedict thought all men should aspire to be. He hadn’t been born with great wealth or status, and had earned everything that was his by the sweat of his brow. Benedict’s status had been given to him at birth, and his current position as the viscount’s heir was a matter of privileged circumstance. Understanding that drove him to forge a life independent of his father and the strictures of a title he didn’t want.
“I intend to ensure you retain everything you have earned,” Benedict said. “Elizabeth will have her good marriage, and your success will never be marred by my folly.”
Aubrey sighed, and ran a hand over his face. He suddenly appeared weary and worn down. “We must all take responsibility for our parts. You didn’t force any of us into this, nor did you ever make a single courtesan do something he didn’t wish to. In truth, I have you to thank for my improved circumstances, as well as the blessing of Lucy. I would never have met her had she not hired me as her courtesan. I daresay Hugh, David, and Dominick share the same sentiment.”
Benedict supposed the happiness of his closest friends proved the silver lining of this entire business. While he couldn’t fight off the gnawing pangs of envy, seeing them settled in lives that didn’t include him, Benedict knew they were all better off. He was the only one who would be left alone when all was said and done, nursing his bitterness and regret.
“I should go,” he said, coming to his feet. “There is much to do before the ball.”
Aubrey wasn’t inclined to let him off so easily. “Ben,” he said, piercing Benedict with a sharp stare.”
Benedict paused halfway to the door, sensing the direction this conversation would take and dreading it.
“Aubrey, don’t—”
“What will you do when this is all over?” Aubrey interjected. “The courtesan enterprise is still a lucrative one, but we began this as a temporary solution to our financial problems. Between the agency and your pugilism winnings, I imagine you have quite the nest egg saved.”
Benedict did his best to remain composed. Aubrey was far too good at seeing through his pretenses, rightfully interpreting his apathy and rigidity as an armor he wore for the sake of self-preservation. He had seen Benedict at his lowest point and understood how he’d come to be this way.
“That is irrelevant. The other courtesans depend on me for their livelihood. They need me.”
Aubrey raised one dark eyebrow. “Do they? It seems Lyons has learned all he needs to from you. He would make a fine proprietor for the agency.”
A low growl of frustration tore from Benedict’s chest. “Do you intend to arrive at the point of this lecture sometime today?”
As always, Aubrey remained unruffled by his outburst. He had always been the one person Benedict couldn’t intimidate into silence. Well … there was also Alex, but Benedict refused to allow both men to occupy the same space in his mind. One was like a brother to him and had been there when Benedict needed him most. The other had abandoned him, tearing his heart out in the process.
“It is no coincidence that your father and Alex have turned up in London at the exact same time,” Aubrey said. “Call it fate if you like, but I only know that the past has a way of forcing a reckoning, and yours is overdue.”
Benedict clenched his fingers around the brim of his hat. “My father wants to arrange a marriage for me under threat of commitment to an asylum. Should I capitulate to such a reckoning?”
Aubrey’s expression melted into one of empathy and sadness. “Of course not. I only meant that you will have to settle matters with him eventually. Running away or rebelling will only make him more determined. As for Alex—”
“He has been made to understand that nothing more will happen between us. I’m finished with him.”
Aubrey slowly shook his head, eyes lowered as he rifled through a ledger sitting open on his desk. “I don’t think you are. I cannot tell you what you ought to do, but if our friendship means anything to you, you will listen. There is more to what happened between you and Alex than you understand. I realize he hurt you, and you have every right to be angry with him. But, the two of you were inseparable for years. He loved you, Benedict, you know he did. Has it never occurred to you to find out his reasons for calling off your plans and marrying Katherine?”
“He did it because he’s a coward,” Benedict growled. There was a wall behind him in danger of having a fist-sized hole smashed into it. “And apparently, he didn’t love me as much as we thought, because he never bothered to explain himself. Why should I hear him out now?”
Aubrey didn’t meet Benedict’s heated gaze, casually flipping through his ledger book and making notes here and there with a pen. “Why, indeed?”
As Aubrey seemed inclined to remain silent, Benedict didn’t bother offering a farewell. He stormed from the office, ignoring the questioning stares of Lucy and Kit. His carriage waited where he had left it, allowing for a swift escape.
He didn’t have the time or the strength to expend on these matters of Alex and his father—not when Cynthia Milbank had the ammunition to destroy his life and the lives of those he held most dear. He was in control, always, and he would not be made to feel guilty for shunning Alex’s ridiculous notions of reconciliation.
The future spread before him, a path that was his to forge and shape as he saw fit.
Nothing and no one would dictate that path to him.
Lady Celeste Browning, dowager Countess of Langford, had been Benedict’s saving grace the past several years, and continued to be so this evening as she walked into the ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Avonleah on his a
rm. As a pair, they attracted quite a bit of notice, almost every eye in the room following their progress into the throng of guests. Benedict had timed their arrival with precision, wanting to be seen by as many people as possible—including Cynthia Milbank.
Petite and ethereally lovely, with inky black hair and startling blue eyes, Celeste was used to being the center of attention. Of course, the rumors that she had murdered her husband to gain his fortune only made her a more polarizing figure amongst the ton—her association with Benedict adding fuel to the fire. She handled it all with grace and aplomb, head held high as she clung to his arm and smiled at those who gaped at her like an exotic bird in a menagerie.
She had been posing as his mistress to mask the truth of his predilections, with no care for what it would do to her reputation. Her state of widowhood had freed her to act as she pleased, and being one of the few friends who knew the truth about him made Celeste the perfect ally. When he visited her townhouse three nights a week, it wasn’t to go to her bed, but to use one of her spare bedrooms for his own purposes. The various men who had paid to keep him came there for their pleasure, ensuring both their secrets were kept safe.
Thankfully, he had been without a client for the past two months and was in no mood to take another. The commission he earned from the arrangements of the other courtesans kept him comfortable, and Aubrey had been right about his savings. After losing everything to speculation once, he had become smarter about managing his funds. He had enough to live on for years to come if he was careful.
“My God,” Celeste murmured as Benedict halted a passing footman and procured a flute of champagne for her. “One would think they’d never seen a courtesan and her cull before.”
Benedict’s cheek twitched with a smile that never came. “If only they knew the truth.”
Celeste sipped her champagne, scanning the room with eyes that missed nothing. “If it didn’t mean the ruin of us all, I would dearly wish for them to know the truth. Can you imagine the delicious scandal it would cause?”
“I do and I have … every day for the past three years or so.”
Releasing his arm, she gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. Of course I don’t want you and your friends to be exposed.”
He waved her off. “Think nothing of it. Now go … mingle and dance and make every woman in this room green with envy. I will find you later.”
Flicking open a painted fan, she wafted it before her face while sauntering through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with those shamelessly slavering over her.
Benedict moved in the opposite direction, scanning the crowd for his unwitting prey. She had only ever presented herself to him wearing veiled hats to conceal her identity, but could do no such thing tonight. Try as he might, he’d never forgotten her face—mottled red and soaked with tears as it had been the last time he saw her. Her false innocence and wiles hadn’t been enough to trick him then, and they wouldn’t sway him now. Benedict knew Cynthia Milbank for the viper she was, and intended to make that clear at the first opportunity.
As he weaved through the occupants of the room, pausing to greet acquaintances, a sudden foreboding trickled down his spine. He was being watched, quite intently. He took his time seeking the source of the prickle on the back of his neck, expecting to be confronted by Cynthia. Instead, it was Alex who locked eyes with him from a short distance away.
He stood near a potted plant on the periphery of the crowded ballroom, lifting a half-empty champagne flute to his lips while staring unflinchingly at Benedict. Despite wanting to present Alex his middle finger and storm off, Benedict was held in the other man’s thrall, powerless to resist the siren’s call of those striking brown eyes.
Gritting his teeth, Benedict reminded himself all the reasons his attraction to Alex didn’t have to mean anything. He’d fucked at least six of the men in this room—though he hadn’t made his way through enough of the guests to be certain there weren’t more. He liked his men tall and broad in the shoulders, firm but not too bulky, dark-haired. He had a weakness for full, plush lips, much like the ones Alex pressed against the rim of his glass.
This was a matter of primal instinct, nothing more. That Benedict could admire the cut of a dark blue coat that hugged Alex’s shoulders and arms to perfection, or the way his silk breeches clung lovingly to powerful thighs only meant he’d gone too long without a man in his bed. His mind had been occupied with other matters, but he could rectify that whenever he wanted. Aside from a long list of past clients who would leap at the chance to spend a night with him, there were places a man of his tastes could go in London to have his needs met.
Alex approached him now, not bothering to mask the determined set to his face. Short of turning tail to flee, Benedict had no other recourse. Everyone in the room knew he and Alex to be old school friends. To give him the cut in front of the majority of the ton was to invite speculation and gossip—something he didn’t need at the moment.
So, as Alex came to stand beside him, Benedict turned his attention to the couples on the dance floor. Celeste was among them, engaging in a minuet with a man busy ogling the low cut of her bodice.
Alex’s sugary scent wrapped around him. He stood so close their shoulders brushed, his hand briefly coming against the back of Benedict’s. Alex had been eating sweets again—a pastry coated in sugar and cinnamon if Benedict’s nose hadn’t missed its guess. He would forever wonder how Alex managed to keep such a trim figure while shoving sweets down his gullet.
“I see you still dress like a man in mourning,” Alex murmured.
When Benedict jerked his head in Alex’s direction, he found him watching the dancers, lips quivering with amusement. Unlike Benedict, he was turned out like a fashion plate. The deep blue of his tailcoat was brightened by a waistcoat in shades of cerulean, plum, and gold, the gilded threads gleaming in the candlelight. His cravat had been dyed a deep yellow that appeared gold when juxtaposed to his waistcoat. His clocked stockings featured a blue stripe up the back of his calf. There wasn’t a hair out of place, and the scent of a fresh shave mixed with that of the peppermint and cinnamon on his breath to create an intoxicating aroma.
Benedict’s fingernails bit into his palms as he tore his gaze away from Alex. It annoyed him to realize that others had taken up where he’d left off, admiring the display of Alex’s wardrobe. Beside him, Benedict’s traditional black and white evening kit was somber and stark.
“I miss dressing you,” Alex went on. “How well you look in shades of purple. It brings out the color of your eyes magnificently. You grumbled and complained over the clothes I selected for you, but you wore them. Because you loved me, or because you secretly knew you looked splendid? Perhaps a bit of both.”
“What the devil do you want, Alex?” Benedict ground out, his palms beginning to ache from the tight clench of his fists.
Alex’s little finger lightly caressing Benedict’s. A crackle of electricity raced over his skin, reminding him of things best forgotten.
“I told you what I want, Ben. You.”
“I wouldn’t recommend holding your breath. You might die and then I really would be in mourning.”
To his surprise, the white flash of Alex’s broad smile lit up the periphery of his vision. “Why, Ben, I’m flattered. I never would have thought you’d care enough to mourn me. I’m touched.”
Benedict ground his teeth rather than reply. Alex was his polar opposite—cool and relaxed, sipping from his champagne flute.
“Will you dance tonight?” Alex asked. “You were always a magnificent dancer. You taught me to waltz, remember? I was abominable at it, and am now barely passable. I suppose your natural grace is what makes you such a skilled pugilist.”
When Benedict offered no response, Alex issued a soft sigh.
“You’re going to have to face me eventually,” he murmured. “I won’t go away just because you growl and gnash your teeth. I am used to it, as you well know.”
“You are wasting your breath and your time,” Benedict snapped.
“I don’t think I am. But, even if I were, I wouldn’t stop. You are that important to me.”
Irritation shot through Benedict. A distraction of this sort was the last thing he wanted. Alex needed to understand that Benedict wouldn’t allow himself to be maneuvered into yet another pointless conversation—one destined to end as their previous ones.
He opened his mouth to say just that, when his attention was snared by the person he’d come to confront. The annoyance of Alex’s presence faded as he narrowed his eyes at Cynthia Milbank. His anger turned from the man at his side to the woman who had taken part in ruining his life.
“I have other matters more pressing than entertaining this foolishness,” Benedict said. “Bugger off.”
“Was that an invitation?”
The quip registered in Benedict’s mind only after he had walked away, and Alex’s laughter followed him across the ballroom. Shrugging it off, he kept his gaze fixed on Cynthia as he tracked her slow progress through the room. She greeted friends and acquaintances with a tight, fixed smile, her movements stiff and controlled. Despite knowing that she was the London Gossip, Benedict couldn’t help but feel slightly shocked at the sight of her. After he’d ended their engagement, the Milbank family vacated London. Because Benedict had been so absorbed in his own problems, he never bothered to notice when they returned. By his calculation, Cynthia had resided in London for at least the past two years, if not more—which perfectly positioned her to launch her scandal sheet and skewer him with her pen.
While Benedict had been busy rebuilding his life and making the Gentleman Courtesans into a lucrative business, Cynthia had infiltrated the spaces of high society. Her seminary school education gave her access to the daughters of men high up on the social ladder. Over time her connections had flourished, and now she was a force to be reckoned with. Benedict’s mistake had been in underestimating her. He wouldn’t be so arrogant again.
He approached Cynthia’s back as she chatted with a group of ladies, the scent of lily-of-the-valley wafting up his nostrils to make him nauseous. Swallowing past the sensation, Benedict pressed on. He couldn’t allow the trauma of past events to affect his actions now. There was too much at stake.
Chasing Benedict (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 5) Page 8
