Reid: A Regency Rockstars Book

by Cottman, Sasha

  After one final flick of her tongue on his sweet spot, she drew back deeply, sucking hard. Reid came with a bone-deep groan and Lavinia took his essence.

  For a moment she remained on her knees in front of him, placing soft butterfly kisses on his stomach. When she was ready, she held up a hand and he helped her to her feet. Reid wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

  She thought to say something to him but found herself lost for words.

  How did you tell someone that being with them made you feel alive once more?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They managed some vocal exercises, and Reid confided in Lavinia that he had attempted to sing a little at a tenor pitch in front of some close friends. She was somewhat pleased, but also distracted. He couldn’t blame her. An affair with one of her students was a complication in her life she likely didn’t need. Base desires had taken control of rational thought, and she was probably already regretting her decision to be intimate with him.

  After leaving Craven Street, Reid took the long way home. He needed time to think.

  He should have been more honest with Lavinia, but sex was one thing—revealing the truth of the Noble Lords was quite another. Kendal had torn at Reid’s confidence already; he didn’t need Lavinia adding her two-pence worth. He would have to continue to lie to her about his reasons for taking lessons.

  Apart from the problem of living with a mad genius, an addict, and a troubled soul as well as his aimless sister, Reid now found himself facing a new complication in his life. Lavinia.

  The look on her face as he’d pleasured her was like nothing he had ever seen before. When her lush, ruby lips had parted on a soft cry of completion, he had almost wept.

  Reid’s boot caught on the edge of a piece of stone paving and he stumbled.

  You lovestruck fool, you were woolgathering and not watching where you were going.

  He gathered himself before turning to look back at the plain brown brick building in which the object of his heart’s desire lived. Was Lavinia thinking the same thoughts of him at this moment, or was she concentrating on her next student?

  A hint of jealousy flickered in his mind at the knowledge she would be placing her hand on the back of another man and leaning in close to help him with his breathing. He growled with primal frustration. He should be the only man she touched from now on.

  He gritted his teeth. This was madness. She was his bloody singing teacher. He had known dozens of women before her. By rights, she should be grateful for any attention that he paid her.

  You have to get over her. This can only end badly for the both of you.

  But as he picked up his feet and continued on his way, Reid knew there was little to no chance of getting Lavinia out of his mind. She had gotten under his skin and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.

  He made a promise to himself that he would continue his lessons with Lavinia until he could get his voice perfected. He owed it to the other Noble Lords to make life for the Italians as painful as possible. To reestablish the English lords in their rightful place within the hearts and minds of the women of the ton. To show Marco who was truly the leader in London society.

  As for Lavinia, if a private affair with her was on offer, he would be mad not to take it. In the meantime, he just had to make certain she didn’t get emotionally attached to him.

  I am not a complete blackguard. The last thing I would ever want to do would be to hurt her.

  He, of course, was certain he could keep his own heart safe, that the small tendre he held for her was well under control.

  Once the summer was over and the Noble Lords were history, Reid wouldn’t need any more singing lessons from Lavinia, and she would be gone.

  * * *

  Reid downed his glass of whisky and watched as Callum quickly refilled it.

  “Bottoms up,” said Callum.

  “Give me a minute for the last one to go down,” he replied.

  He and his fellow Noble Lord were sharing a private moment late that night in Reid’s study. Reid hadn’t been the most welcoming of hosts to his friend over the past few weeks, and he felt a session of one-on-one brotherly bonding was in order.

  A drinking session with Callum, though clearly headed toward a painful tomorrow full of post-alcohol regret, was at least a straightforward endeavor. Fine Scottish whisky was poured into a glass. You drank it. Another whisky was poured. You drank that one too. It was a simple, failsafe formula for a monstrous hangover.

  There was no mind-messing such as with Kendal, who was, not surprisingly, fastidious about his liquor. Kendal rarely got drunk. Nor was there the long discussion about the provenance of the bottle, which came when drinking with Owen, who had a near encyclopedic knowledge of wine.

  The risk of drinking with Callum lay in his ability to go off his head and wreak all manner of havoc. Reid was keeping a weathered eye out for signs of his friend venturing beyond the boundary of just drinking himself into the familiar arms of oblivion.

  “So how are the singing lessons going? I must say, I think it is brave of you to try and become a tenor,” said Callum.

  “Well, they are moving along. Though, as you can tell, I haven’t ventured another impromptu performance such as I did the other night. A man can only have his face torn off by Lord Kendal Grant so many times before he decides it is not worth it,” he replied.

  Callum nodded. No one could argue the logic of not stirring the many-headed minotaur. “He means well. He takes his music seriously; it is everything to him. When this season is over and the Noble Lords are just an amusing tale for you to tell your friends, he will still be sitting at his piano working away at a new composition.”

  Reid frowned at the soft rebuke.

  “I think our Kendal is also worried about his father’s edict for him to find a wife. You might be surprised to know that he is a romantic at heart and wishes to marry for love.”

  “His father puts a lot of pressure on him, considering he is a second son and won’t inherit,” said Reid.

  Callum gave him a sideways glance. “You know that he is more than just a second son. His brother is a sickly man, unable to assist their father with managing the estate.”

  Lord Phillip Grant, the Marquess of Hartley, was forever taking ill. He carried his list of ailments around with him in a small black notebook. Reid suspected, as others no doubt did, that there was nothing wrong with him. He was simply a malingerer who didn’t want to get out of bed and do a day’s work. “It still doesn’t give him the right to try and stop me from improving my singing. Anyone would think he didn’t want me to make a stronger contribution to the group,” replied Reid.

  He had thought long over the altercation with Kendal, but as soon as he gave it any air, Reid found himself dealing with a growing anger that he could not hold back. Why no one would call Kendal out for what they all knew him to be—self-important and, at times, irrational—Reid couldn’t understand. Yet Callum and Owen seemed content to side with him, leaving Reid to lick his wounds.

  “Owen and I both think you are right in taking lessons, and that makes for the majority of the Noble Lords,” said Callum.

  “Speaking of Owen, where is he this evening? I haven’t seen much of him this week at all,” said Reid.

  Their elusive friend had been absent from several of their recent supper gatherings and had barely made it through rehearsals that afternoon before disappearing from the house.

  “Not sure, but I have seen him with the same young matron at more than one event in recent days. I am beginning to suspect he has himself a little affair on the go. One which he is keeping private,” replied Callum.

  Reid could understand the need for privacy, especially when it came to a relationship that might mean more than simply a one-night stand of slick bodies grinding together. If he was able to move matters on with Lavinia to the point where she granted him full access to her body, he would most certainly keep that under his hat.

  “Not tha
t anything could ever come of it. His father is pressing him on the fiancée front, and Owen is going to have to deal with the chit sooner rather than later,” added Callum. He pointed to the full glass in Reid’s hand. “Come on, finish that drink. Then you and I are headed out. I know where there is a bare-fisted fight between two nobles tonight and I plan to have some money on it. And don’t worry about Kendal and his tantrums; he has enough problems of his own. What you should be concentrating your efforts on is getting that whisky down you. It is high time you and I got violently drunk!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Reid’s old army commander had always told him that pain was a soldier’s friend. If you were in pain it meant you were still alive. At this moment, Reid was in two minds as to whether he would prefer to be dead.

  Everything hurt. Even his fingernails felt like they were on fire. He had bruises covering his arse from having slipped over on the wet floor of the makeshift boxing ring as he and Callum were leaving in the early hours of the morning. Reid was certain that the only other person who currently felt worse than he did was the loser of the bare-knuckled bout.

  He rolled over, and after lifting his aching head barely an inch off the bed, cracked open an eyelid at the dawn.

  “I must get up and go and see Lavinia,” he muttered.

  After his night of heavy drinking with Callum, Reid’s head weighed half a hundredweight, and it quickly dropped back onto the pillow. His eyes closed and deep, inebriated slumber swiftly reclaimed him.

  * * *

  In Craven Street, Lavinia paced the room.

  Reid was late.

  At ten past nine, she checked the staircase for any sign of him. He was nowhere to been seen. At half past the hour, she locked the door to her apartment. He was not coming, and even if he had bothered to turn up at this late juncture, as far as she was concerned, his lesson had been cancelled.

  As she closed the door, she chided herself. “You are a reckless, stupid girl, Lavinia Jones. How you could possibly think that you could have a sexual encounter with him and there would not be consequences?”

  She had frightened him off. One of her best paying customers and now she had lost him. All because she had succumbed to temptation.

  “Damn.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Had she frightened him off, or was she being punished for not having let him make love to her? Men like Reid were very good at telling you one thing but thinking the complete opposite. It was only when they acted on those thoughts that you found out the truth.

  “Well, lesson learned. Thank God we didn’t fuck,” she muttered.

  If Reid’s oral skills were anything to go by, he would have been a magnificent lover. She was in no doubt that if she did let Reid take her fully, once would never be enough. After that, she would be on the path to destruction.

  The only saving grace this morning was that she had kept her advertisement running in The Times. A new student was due to commence in the next hour. She may have lost Reid, but she would still be able to make rent. And after all, keeping a roof over her and Jonathan’s heads was what really mattered.

  She headed into the kitchen and put the kettle onto the fire. Taking the caddy down from the shelf, she then scooped a frugal amount of tea into a pot. She sat at the table and waited for the water to boil.

  “What a fool,” she sighed.

  During that brief but wonderful encounter with Reid, she had felt long dormant emotions stir. Her heart had whispered its joy as he’d touched her.

  Now, as she sat in the empty kitchen of the apartment, she cursed herself for having given in to her aching needs.

  Goodbye, Reid.

  Her bruised heart had been broken before; it would heal again.

  And Reid Follett could go to the devil.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  A mass of roses in a tall glass box greeted Lavinia when she returned from collecting Jonathan from Mrs. Dean later that day. Red, white, yellow, and a shade of pink she had never seen before were artfully arranged and placed on her doorstep.

  “Pretty,” said Jonathan.

  Lavinia opened the door of their apartment and Jonathan raced inside. She stood on the threshold and stared at the flowers. A small white card was tucked into the top of the box. She picked it up and turned it over.

  Sorry.

  Not a name, nor anything else. Just a pathetic sorry. She screwed up his attempt at an apology and stuffed it back into the box. There were no prizes for guessing who had sent the flowers.

  “Is that how you treat your women? Oh, Reid,” she muttered.

  She had been foolish to think he might have been anything other than a typical self-centered nobleman. He was exactly the same as her father and her brother. Women were not important in their lives.

  But a noble upbringing didn’t mean you couldn’t love.

  Many years ago, I gave my heart to a simple singing teacher. Why? Because he respected and loved me. Reid you have much to learn.

  She went into the apartment and closed the door behind her. The box of flowers stayed on the landing.

  * * *

  “Bloody hell.”

  The sight which greeted Reid as he reached the top of the stairs the following morning was not an encouraging one. The magnificent and expensive floral arrangement he had sent Lavinia the previous day was sitting abandoned outside her door. His hopes that perhaps it had been delivered late and she had not seen it were immediately dashed when he saw the screwed up card which had been unceremoniously stuffed back into the box.

  She was angry with him, no doubt about that.

  He slipped his hat off and considered his next move. One of the benefits of having a sister with a fiery temper was that Reid had plenty of experience groveling to women. He ruffled his short, dark hair, hoping it might make him look a little more vulnerable and possibly sexy. Then he knocked on the door.

  After waiting a respectable time, he knocked again.

  She was going to make him pay.

  It was only after he had knocked a third time and then continued to tap on the door that it finally opened.

  Thank God, I was getting worried there.

  The look Lavinia wore on her countenance quickly pierced his heart. Angry, he could handle. Even a spot of unrestrained fury would have been good, but he had no ammunition against the perfectly schooled social mask she had set firmly in place.

  “Lord Follett,” she said.

  Shit. They were back to a formal footing. This was not good on any level.

  “Lavinia. I am so sorry. I overslept yesterday morning and did not make our appointment. I sent the flowers as a small gesture of apology,” he said.

  She snorted. “Bullshit. The flowers were to buy me off. You had your way with me and then decided I wasn’t worth it. Well, you can stick your flowers where the sun doesn’t shine, and I will take back my nine o’clock timeslot. Our arrangement is at an end. Good day to you.” She closed the door, then opened it again. “And you owe me extra for yesterday’s lesson as a penalty.”

  If he had thought she was joking, he was quickly disavowed of the notion when she pushed her outstretched hand under his nose.

  “I mean it. If you don’t want me going to the local magistrate and putting in a debt claim, you will pay me.”

  A stunned Reid pulled out his gentleman’s wallet and withdrew a pound note before handing it over. Lavinia looked at it then screwed it up in her hand. “I don’t have change. When I get some, I shall have it sent to you.”

  “Please. I am sorry. What will it take for you and me to continue?” he pleaded.

  He didn’t give a damn about the money, but never seeing her again was not something Reid could handle. She could rain down her fury on him and he would take it all, just as long as she didn’t slam the door on his heart.

  She shook her head. “Nothing. You don’t give a damn about the lessons, and you most certainly don’t give a damn about me. Go home, Reid. Entertain your friends with the singing skills you
have and leave me to work with people who love their music. And you can forget about you and I being anything other than former student and teacher.”

  This time when she closed the door, Reid heard the key turn in the lock. He had tempted fate and lost. He turned and took a step toward the stairs, swinging a hard kick at the floral arrangement as he passed. The box smashed on the floor and flowers flew in all directions.

  “Fuck,” he cried, not caring who heard.

  If that was how she wished to play it, then he was fine with it. He would go it alone and sing as a tenor. Lavinia Jones meant nothing to him, and she could go to the devil.

  At the bottom of the stairs he stopped and spun around, angrily pointing his finger in the direction of her apartment.

  “I don’t need you!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When Reid got to one hundred and ten, he stopped counting the number of chairs in the room. The gathering was the largest one the Noble Lords had yet been booked to play for in their short time as a group. He let a slow breath out, then waited a moment before taking another one in. Lavinia’s breathing exercises were rather handy for calming the nerves.

  Even the partially inebriated Callum seemed on edge. His never-ending loop of questions regarding the fourth member of the group was beginning to wear thin. “Where is Owen? He should be here. Has anyone gone to look for him? Where is he?”

  Kendal, of course, was being his usual pain-in-the-arse self, but Reid was developing a nice thick skin when it came to the self-anointed musical saint. He simply ignored him.

  He didn’t need Kendal’s approval, and he most certainly did not need Lavinia Jones to tell him what he could or could not do with his voice.

  And tonight, he was determined to prove it.

  Instead of his lesson with Lavinia, this morning he had ventured to Oxford Street and purchased a copy of the same music book she used for her students. A collection of Italian songs and arias for the medium-high singer.