Her eyes began to sting with tears, which Regina found befuddling, considering her eyes had been dry through the entire argument with David. The man must have thought her so cold and unfeeling. But she’d concealed all that from him after years of practice. Randolph had only taken pleasure in her tears.
Only now, the dam was breaking, and she didn’t think she could fight it anymore.
“I have been a man’s wife,” she rasped, her voice hitching on a sob. “There wasn’t a part of myself that belonged to me after I signed that church register. I’ve only just begun to rediscover myself again, to feel as I am actually alive instead of just breathing for the purpose of existence. I … I cannot … you don’t understand!”
Powell came to his feet. “I don’t understand. Hurst was a bastard and a coward, but Graham isn’t like him.”
“He is a man like any other.”
“And so am I. Yet you trust me with your life.”
“You are different, Powell.”
“Am I? I’m bigger than you, certainly stronger. I could strangle you with one hand right now, and you’d be powerless to stop me. Last I looked, I still have a cock, which can be its own sort of weapon and well you know it.”
Despite the sinister nature of those words, Regina didn’t feel an inkling of fear. “You would never hurt me.”
“Why do you think that?” he prodded, taking a step toward her, then another. “I’m a man, aren’t I?”
“But you aren’t …”
He gave her a significant look when she trailed off, realizing where his round of questioning had led her. “I am not Randolph Hurst. It’s like I said already … neither is Graham.”
It seemed like a logical enough conclusion, yet its impact affected her differently this time. It weakened her resolve, and she crumbled back into her chair, shoulders sagging as she succumbed to the first wave of tears. Powell’s big hand appeared in her periphery, a white handkerchief held between his fingers.
“There are many men in the world who would hurt a sweet, delicate little thing like you,” he said, crouching at her feet. “I will not lie to you and say there aren’t. The thought of anyone else treating you as Hurst did is one of the reasons I’ve stayed. The other being that I have a great deal of affection for you.”
Regina dabbed at her eyes and gave him a smile, though it was shaky. “You know I feel the same way.”
“Then I hope you’ll excuse my impudence just this once, and listen to me. If you never want to wed again because you value your independence and want to raise this babe alone, then I am happy for you. I will serve you, and care for that child just as I care for you. But I am a servant, and there are voids in you that I can’t fill. If you’re avoiding a second marriage out of fear, then I cannot stand by and allow that without telling you I think you’re making a grave mistake. Graham may need your money, and the child in your belly might have made him feel responsible for you, but I believe there’s more to it than that. I suspect you believe that, too.”
“How can I trust it?” she whispered. “It was difficult enough to trust him with my person. But … all the rest? Powell, I’m so afraid.”
“Do you love him?”
She closed her eyes, all the air vacating her lungs as she grappled with that question. Did she love David? Thinking back over their time together, she could see things so clearly. He put her at ease, but it was more than that. He made her laugh and smile, and had reminded her how it felt to have hope. Regina had thought herself in love with Randolph because he was handsome and charming, but she’d been young and naïve then. With all her life experience having taught her what love wasn’t, it should be easy enough for her to recognize what it was.
She had allowed herself to be fooled once; stoicism and iciness seemed like effective defenses against ever being tricked again. So, she kept her guard up to protect herself—only, it hadn’t worked. David had worked his way past her defenses, making it impossible for her to deny what had begun happening between them weeks ago.
Love. One small word that had caused her a world of hurt in her youth. She still carried the internal scars, and even a few outer ones.
“I thought I loved him. He told me he loved me, and I believed him.”
“I’m not asking you about Hurst. Forget him. He’s dead, and good riddance. Graham … do you love him?”
Powell waited for her answer with a furrowed brow, and he leaned in slightly as if anticipating her answer.
“Yes. I do love him, and that terrifies me most of all, because … what if he doesn’t love me back?”
One large, thick finger swiped at her cheek, and Powell’s mouth curved at one corner. “What’s not to love? Besides, it seems fairly obvious to me. A blind man could see he’s mad for you.”
Was Powell right? Had he noticed what Regina hadn’t wanted to see? David hadn’t mentioned love when proposing marriage, but then she hadn’t given him a chance to fully express his thoughts. She had been so intent on keeping him from getting too close, she never stopped to realize the battle had been lost already.
And yet, fear was still such a powerful force. It whispered nefarious warnings through the darkest corners of her mind.
“What if you’re wrong?”
Powell stood and shrugged, turning to go back to his corner of the room. “What if I’m right?”
As it turned out, being in the presence of his friends had the opposite effect on David’s mood that he’d hoped for. Honestly, he ought to have known better. After all, among the five original courtesans, he and Benedict were the only ones who weren’t blissfully in love and newly married. Aubrey, Hugh, and Dominick were so nauseatingly happy that it only reminded David how miserable he was.
Upon arriving in London, he had been invited to take a guestroom at Hugh and Evelyn’s townhouse, which he accepted for lack of his own residence and the need to conserve his funds. Two days into his visit he had been driven out of his mind. The newlywed couple—who were also expectant parents—were so adorable together David’s teeth ached from mere proximity to such sweetness. Hugh doted on Evelyn in a way that surpassed even his usual attentiveness, which reminded anyone in their company of his wife’s delicate condition. While the drape of her gowns hid any evidence, David couldn’t help but think of Regina whenever he set eyes on his friend’s wife.
How long before Regina’s belly began to swell, making her unsteady on her feet? Would Powell remain nearby to make sure she didn’t overtax herself, or fall down the stairs, or knock into things? Who would send for the physician if something went wrong, or comfort her when she was ill? Hugh did all these things for Evelyn, taking her arm on the stairs even when she insisted she didn’t need his help, forcing her to sit and prop her feet up when he felt she had been standing too long, rushing to tend her when her maid came to report that her mistress was feeling ill. He’d even waited in a line of carriages at Gunter’s for two hours because Evelyn craved a specific flavor of ice, and apparently no substitute would do.
Yes, accepting their offer of a room had been ill-advised. But where else was he to go? Aubrey and Lucinda were fresh home from their wedding trip to Venice, and they had begun applying themselves to the husband hunt on behalf of their young niece. Nick and Calliope were just as giddy after their honeymoon in Paris, and Dominick was perhaps the worst of all the new husbands. He called his wife ‘goddess’ and acted as if the sun shined out of her arse—quite a bewildering turn of events considering his past reputation.
David might have retreated to Benedict’s house, but for some reason being in the company of someone who was as bitter on matters of love was just as unappealing.
His first night in London had been marked by a dinner at Nick and Calliope’s house, over which there were toasts to the new marriages and the impending birth of Hugh and Evie’s baby. The afternoon following, the men had spent the afternoon at Gentleman Jacksons, during which Benedict had pummeled every last one of them. The women had joined them for a night at the theater,
where they sat in Benedict’s private box and pretended not to notice the stares and whispers. Most of the time, Benedict’s and Aubrey’s presence were enough to gain quite a bit of attention, but this time David suspected it was Nick and Calliope who caused the uproar.
Now, on this third night, the men had all gathered at Boodles for dinner, drinks, and cards. Benedict had yet to arrive, but Hugh, Nick, and Aubrey all shared a table with David. Dinner had been consumed, and now they were on to drinks and cigars while awaiting Ben’s arrival so they could start their game. A collection of newspapers littered the table between them, though a copy of The London Gossip could not be found in the pile.
“Ben certainly seems to have shut her up, at least for now,” Hugh remarked when the subject came up.
“A single copy of that rag hasn’t been seen in London in two months,” Aubrey said, shoulders shaking with laughter. “When she realized her boys had been compromised, she let them go and found new ones.”
“Ben bought them, too,” Nick sputtered between sips of brandy. “The mad, bloody genius. I daresay she realizes by now there isn’t a person whose loyalty she can purchase in this entire city when Ben has the blunt to outbid her.”
David had to admit Benedict’s plan seemed like a sound one, though he had yet to tell them what the next step might be. There were only so many times he could purchase the services of the Gossip’s errand boys before she found some new way to spread her written words. The woman had created a successful gossip column anonymously, and she had enough dirt on half the peerage to gain herself anything she might want. The other men might find her amusing, but David couldn’t help but share Benedict’s assessment that she was dangerous.
“Not that there’s any shortage of amusing gossip to be read elsewhere,” Aubrey said, lifting one of the papers and turning it so they could all see the illustration. “Nick, they’ve portrayed you as a satyr in this one.”
“Let me see that!” Nick exclaimed, snatching the paper from Aubrey and tilting it into the candlelight.
From where David sat, he could make out a rather humorous drawing of Nick and Calliope—only Nick didn’t look himself. He had the legs of a goat with the horns to match, his grin malicious as he carried a shocked, wedding dress-clad Calliope out of St. George’s over his shoulder. The drawing favored Calliope, at least, which was more than could be said for some of the others they’d seen—ones that had sent Nick into a rage and had him tearing up every copy he got his hands on. In this particular column, Calliope had been painted the poor, beautiful innocent, and Nick the notorious debauchee.
“I quite like this one,” Nick said with raised eyebrows. “Look how pretty my Anni is … and the horns rather flatter my bone structure, don’t you think?”
Hugh and Aubrey burst out laughing while Nick folded the paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat, insisting he must take it home to show his wife. Meanwhile, Aubrey’s attention had been captured by another paper, one he read while scowling, all trace of humor wiped from his face. David emptied his fourth tumbler of brandy down his throat and signaled a waiter for more.
“What’s wrong?” Hugh asked.
“Devil if I know,” Nick muttered, giving David and acerbic look. “He’s been pouting all week.”
“Not him,” Hugh said. “Aubrey. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
Aubrey laid the paper down and shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “It’s nothing … just a death notice. I was surprised by it, is all.”
David’s interest was finally captured, likely because it took the attention off him and his ‘pouting.’ “Who died?”
“The Countess of Vautrey,” Aubrey replied. “I didn’t know her well, but her husband was a friend of ours from Eton, and then Cambridge. You remember Vautrey, Nick?”
Nick frowned. “Of course. Best dressed man I ever met other than you. We attended his wedding. His countess has died, then?”
“So it would seem,” Aubrey replied. “It must have been sudden. She was young and in good health.”
“I am sorry for it,” Nick murmured, squirming in his chair as if uncomfortable with the subject of death. Not much time had passed since his uncle’s passing, and the two had been quite close. As well, David suspected the notion of a man losing his wife hit far closer to home than it might have several months ago. “What the devil has Vautrey been up to these days, anyway?”
“What’s that about Vautrey?”
Benedict’s sudden appearance had Aubrey sitting up straighter. David paused with his tumbler pressed to his lips, as Ben lowered himself into the empty seat on Nick’s other side.
“I was just wondering where he’s been all these years,” Nick said, oblivious to Aubrey’s wide eyes and the slight shake of his head. “Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him in Town since his wedding. Ben, the two of you were always close. Any idea where he’s been hiding?”
Ben had just accepted a filled decanter from a waiter—his usual when he frequented Boodles—and glowered at Nick as he slammed it on the surface of the table. David flinched, caught off guard by the sudden motion as well as the resulting clatter. He worked his jaw as if grinding glass between his teeth, fingers flexing tight around the neck of the decanter.
“Ben,” Aubrey said, his voice low. “He asked because of this.”
Benedict took up the paper and narrowed his eyes at it. His expression transformed by degrees at what he found on the page, softening to one of disbelief and shock, then hardening until his upper lip peeled back in a sneer.
“My condolences,” he said, sounding as if he were anything but sorry about the death of this mysterious countess.
“Ben,” Aubrey said again. “Don’t.”
Benedict waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t what? Drink this entire decanter of brandy? Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Nick snatched up the waiting deck of cards to begin shuffling. “No need to get a bee in your breeches. I just thought the two of you were friends, so maybe you knew something.”
“Nick, leave it,” Aubrey warned.
“You thought wrong,” Benedict snapped, already halfway through his first tumbler. “Bugger him.”
“Nick, deal the cards,” Hugh interjected, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else just now. Like David, he wasn’t much for confrontation.
Everyone knew Benedict was not to be trifled with when he was in such a mood, but Nick was antagonistic by nature. He could also be oblivious at times, and often let his mouth run away with him until it was too late to stop the resulting fallout.
“Yes,” Aubrey agreed. “Now Ben’s here, we can start the game.”
David was relieved when Nick silently dealt the cards, though there was clearly an undercurrent of silent communication happening between Ben and Aubrey, which in turn seemed to annoy Dominick more. Of the five of them, Aubrey and Ben were the closest, and David had long accepted that there were things Aubrey knew about Benedict that the rest of them might never be privy to.
Whatever was happening here, David had his own problems and was too inebriated to care about whatever had Benedict in a dudgeon. The distraction of a card game was exactly what he needed.
It only worked for about an hour, during which Benedict finished three-quarters of his decanter and surpassed David in drunkenness.
“All right,” Hugh said suddenly, with an exasperated sigh. “I cannot sit here any longer and pretend everything is all right. Something is very clearly wrong with both of you.”
He said this while swiveling his gaze from Benedict to David, eyebrows raised as if waiting for an answer.
Nick snapped the deck into a neat stack and laid them down. “He’s right. If Ben insists on acting like an ass—”
“I do,” Benedict interjected, raising his glass to them before taking another long swallow.
“Then, David, you’re going to have to start talking. You haven’t been yourself since you got back to London.”
&nbs
p; “For God’s sake, Nick,” Aubrey ground out. “The man’s father died, and he’s been killing himself trying to keep his family clothed and fed.”
“It’s more than that,” Nick argued, before turning back to David. “Isn’t it?”
“Leave him be,” Benedict said, his words slurring as the brandy began getting the best of him. “The way you three carry on, it’s almost as if you have forgotten what life was like before the clouds parted and Eros struck you with his mythical arrows. Any idiot with half a brain could see he’s heartsick. Fool’s gone and fallen in love with Regina Hurst.”
David choked on the mouthful of brandy he’d just sipped, sputtering and swiping at his mouth with his sleeve while Aubrey pounded his back. Hugh and Nick glanced back and forth between them in clear shock. Benedict threw his head back and laughed, brandy sloshing over the sides of his glass as he slammed it to the table.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged. “You can’t, can you? I have seen that pitiful look often enough—first from Hugh, then Aubrey and Nick, and now you. God, could you be more predictable?”
Sniffling and using a handkerchief to clean up the remnants of his spewed brandy, David glared at Benedict. “You can rest easy. She doesn’t want me.”
“That’s what they all say,” Ben jeered. “Until you go crawling back to beg, and then … oh, then you’ll be worthy. Or maybe not. I suppose time will tell. Because you will go crawling back just like Hugh did when Evelyn wrote him off, or just like Aubrey did when Lucinda walked out, or just like Nick did when Calliope literally chose to marry someone else.”
“That’s enough,” Aubrey said, rising to face Benedict. “You’re making a scene.”
“So I am,” Benedict said with another little laugh, this one derisive and harsh. “It’s odd, isn’t it? All this time I thought I was the one trying to prevent us all from being exposed. I’m the only one who gave a bloody fuck about our reputations and protecting the lot of you from ruin. And what did you all do? You ran off and made fools of yourselves over women who wouldn’t have had you otherwise.”
Taming of the Rake (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 4) Page 22
