To Recapture a Rake: A Hephaestus Club Novella

by Christine Merrill

  Then, he had said those words.

  But it had happened only once. Surely, if the affection was deeply rooted, he’d have said something of it before. And if he had loved her, why was he so quick to replace her?

  At last, she sighed. “Give me the direction of this place then, for you know you want to.”

  Her sister leaned forward eagerly on her chair. “What do you mean to do with the information?”

  “Nothing that concerns you. And you must promise to avoid Blackthorne from this moment on. It is bad enough that one of us is totally ruined. Please do not break our mother’s heart further than it already is.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caro sat in her carriage in front of the green door on Jermyn Street, gathering her nerve. Considering her profession, it should not have been possible to shock or disgust her. She was a courtesan and beyond the pale. The activities that took place behind that door were not unfamiliar to her. In fact, she quite enjoyed some of them.

  But if she was honest with herself, she was terribly sheltered. She’d spent too much of the last year hiding in her house. She could not go about in polite society. But she had made no effort to mix with others of her set.

  That made her too proud, she supposed. She had not wanted to think of herself as a demimondaine, so why should she mix with them? To make up for the absence of friends, she had filled her days with activity. Mornings, she had walked in Hyde Park, early enough to avoid the majority of society. Then she had received her sister. In the afternoon, she read, tended the flowers in her garden and embroidered innumerable handkerchiefs, screens and pillows.

  In the evenings, she had Vincent. Between them, they had created their own world: a harmony of quiet conversation, shared jokes, and leisurely lovemaking.

  Now, he was behind that green enameled door, doing God knew what with God knew whom. Was he guilty of perversion? She hoped not. Despite his reputation, when he was alone with her he was the most decent of men. To find him holding a whip, or bending beneath it, would spoil her opinion of him.

  As she watched the door a man approached, clearly planning to enter. If he was representative of the clientele the place could not be too terribly bad. This stranger looked in no way worldly, the very opposite of the rakish Blackthorne. He was pale skinned and bespectacled. His ill-fitting coat hung from shoulders set in a scholarly stoop. While he might be the sort of man to frequent a house of ill fame, she had trouble imagining him at the same one as her Vincent.

  She would not know the truth until she had seen the other side of the door, and her curiosity grew by the minute. She signaled to her driver to circle the block and took to the street, walking a few paces behind the man as he climbed the granite steps and raised a hand to the knocker.

  After a short series of raps, it opened for him, and the porter greeted him by name. “Hello Mr. Howard.”

  Before he could answer, she was up the steps and beside him, slipping her hand into his arm and propelling him forward through the open door.

  He jumped, as shocked as if she’d assaulted him, and tried to pull his arm away.

  In response, she gave him her most devastating smile and held on even tighter. Then she looked to the mortified servant. “I am sure Mr. Howard does not mind if I partake in the pleasures here this evening.”

  “I don’t?” he said absently. Then he shook his head to clear it. “Actually, I do.” He glanced down at her. “It would be most improper.”

  “That is the point of this place, is it not?” She squeezed his arm, hoping that he would use his imagination rather than requesting a demonstration. It did not look like the sort of place where events happened in full view of the staff. The foyer was as staid and unremarkable as her companion. “Under circumstances such as these, is anything really too improper?”

  “Well…” Mr. Howard paused as though considering it from a philosophical perspective. Then he added, “Yes. They do not mind the dog and the rabbit. But I am quite sure that ladies are not allowed on the premises.”

  Dogs and rabbits, but no women. Oh, dear God. It was worse than she’d thought. She must find Vincent and rescue him from this place, immediately.

  She rallied her nerve and gave her lightest, most flirtatious laugh. “Then there shouldn’t be a difficulty. For I am no lady.”

  “I can certainly vouch for that. Release our poor Mr. Howard, Caro, and explain your presence here.” She did not have to look up to identify the man who had joined them, for the voice was almost as familiar as her own. Blackthorne was lounging in the doorway, his dark look at odds with his smile.

  He had known she was near, from the moment she’d crossed the threshold. It was wishful thinking to claim he smelled her perfume all the way from the reading room. But the memory of her scent returned with the first word spoken by that melodious voice, as did the taste of her lips, and the feel of her hip resting against his as they’d lain together on the day they’d parted.

  The day she’d evicted him, he reminded himself bitterly. All the same, he stood and walked towards the sound, unable to stop himself. She was talking rot and clinging to Aubrey Howard, who looked thoroughly baffled to be holding anything other than a rabbit in the crook of his arm. The poor man was out of his depth with women of any kind, much less a beauty like Caro. The ridiculous pairing was the only thing that kept Blackthorne’s temper in check. Even after the humiliation of their parting, he could not stop thinking she was his.

  She had seen him, now. For a moment, he was sure that she was as affected by his presence as he was by hers. She made no answer to his first words, so he spoke again. “I assume you are looking for me.”

  She tipped her head to the side, considering. “Why is that?”

  “You have connived to gain entrance to a gentlemen’s club. Why else would you be here, but to track me down?”

  “A gentleman’s club,” she repeated, as though she did not know exactly what scandal she was creating.

  “Do not tell me that you are up for membership,” he said with a mocking laugh. “You have come to find me.” To apologize. He waited.

  She paused, and then covered her bosom with a gloved hand, and laughed. At him. He could feel his temper rising, as she spoke. “You mistake me, my Lord. I came to a gentleman’s club for the most obvious reason. I seek a gentleman. I am at liberty now, you know.”

  A crowd was gathering in the doorway to the lounge, eager to see the reason for the commotion. So she looked through him as though he were not even there, and addressed the membership. “Since my most recent one proved unsatisfactory, I seek a protector. If any man is interested, speak now.”

  “One word, from any of you, and it is grass for breakfast.” He tossed the words over his shoulder, then turned back to stare at his lover.

  “Did I hear a noise?” She touched her ear, and then shook her head. “It is only the wind. And who here is afraid of that?”

  “I mean it.” He repeated to the men behind him. “Pistols at dawn. Or swords. It makes no difference. I will not stand idly by, and see myself…”

  He stopped. He had been about to say cuckolded. That could not be the right term for this situation. She had cast him off. Other women had done so, certainly. But that had not hurt like this. Before he had met Caroline Sydney, his heart had still been his own.

  His beloved paramour gave a half hearted shrug at the lack of response. “Cowards, all of you. Very well, then, I shall go to White’s and see if there is anyone there…”

  “You will not.”

  If she heard him, she gave no indication of it, merely turned and headed for the door.

  He could feel the hair on the back of his neck rising, which was most certainly her object. She was dressed as proper as any girl on Bond Street in a simple spring gown and spencer buttoned to the neck. But the color was apricot, the same dusky pink gold as her bare skin. While others might see it as innocent, to him it was a deliberate provocation. He might have resisted red satin. But attired thus she reminded h
im of a virgin sacrifice, and a naked one at that. Her perfume would be the same delicate floral she had always worn, but with a note of musk beneath it that drove him wild. He stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

  She made to go around him.

  He blocked her again, and again she evaded.

  This time, he seized her arm and pushed her backwards, through the nearest open door, slamming it behind them. It was too small to call an anteroom, really more of a closet to store top coats and mufflers during the winter. Now that the weather was clement, there was nothing but a single, abandoned Garrick on a peg at the back. He pushed her back into it and muttered, “Why did you really come here? Do you mean to embarrass me again? Or have you lost your mind?”

  She laughed sharply. “I, lost my mind? I am simply attempting to do business in a difficult market. If you continue offering such threats, my Lord, you will frighten away my potential customers.”

  “Customers?” Was that all he had been to her? Then he felt all the more foolish for blurting out his feelings on the very day she had sent him away. “You are not some common whore, my dear.”

  “Then I am an uncommon one,” she announced. “The activities are the same, although the workplace is better. I flatter myself to think that I perform them with a skill that makes me worthy of additional compensation.”

  His knees went weak, remembering the skills she described. If he were not careful, he would have her demonstrating them here, scant feet from half the wags in London. Then, no idle threats would keep them away from her. “It is unfair of you to speak thusly of an offer of protection. It is more of a symbiotic relationship. Each party gains from it.”

  “That is true of any form of trade,” she said, as though schooled in business. “One gains wares, the other, money.”

  “That was not how it was between us,” he insisted, marveling at how soft it sounded, how desperate. “You enjoyed what we did as much as I.”

  “Did it make it easier to tell yourself that?” she asked.

  “But you did.” If she had objected to any of it, he would have stopped. When had he ever needed to? She had been compliant in all things. After she’d said yes to his first dishonorable offer, what choice was left to her? Now, he was faulting her for the situation he’d created.

  Today, it did not seem to bother her. She ran a hand down his coat, fingers under his lapel. Even though she did not touch skin, the possessiveness of the gesture made him hard and weak at the same time. He clasped her hand along with the cloth and squeezed it and he felt her legs widen, ready to accommodate him should he hoist her skirts.

  It was almost impossible to resist. He wanted her as much as he had the first night he had seen her in Bath. Then, she had been a fresh faced virgin in a white muslin gown. He had desired her with an intensity that had defied logic. Because of her, he had alternated playing the spurned lover and the jealous fool until he no longer knew his own mind.

  But now, she was the woman who knew his body like no one ever would, and her hand was moving between his legs, undoing the front of his trousers and reaching for him. Her strokes were slow and sure, and for a moment he lost track of his anger with her, feeling nothing but her fingers, spreading the moisture on the head of his shaft.

  “You might not understand this,” she said, in a voice that was almost a purr. “As a member of the peerage, you think work beneath you. But it is not such a bad thing, when one enjoys one’s job.” She slid down his body, to her knees, and her tongue circled where her fingers had been. “And you have been very good to me.”

  “Yes.” It was a lie, and he knew it. He had given her a house and jewels. But she deserved so much more. His fingers clutched the fabric of the coat on the peg. The weight of the wool was the only thing holding him upright as she worked slowly over him. He was fully in her mouth now, lips and tongue covering him in slow strokes as her hands moved up to squeeze his arse. He was going to explode, right here, in the cloakroom of a men’s club.

  She knew he was close. She paused, releasing him and blowing long, cold breaths on the hot, tight skin. “A man who is so generous should be willing to give me the one thing I truly want.”

  Marriage. It had to be. He’d thought about it often enough, over the last year, only to discard it. Society would never forgive her, now that she had accepted something less from him. If he made her his countess, she could not be hidden away and kept safe from the negative opinion of the ton. How could he forgive himself, if their wedding exposed her to more ridicule?

  But he would need an heir. For that, he must marry. He had known, for some time now, that it would be impossible for him to marry anyone but her.

  “Anything,” he said stroking her hair. “The world is yours, should you desire it.” It was a relief that this was finally to be settled between them. He was back in her favor again. And back in her mouth, building to climax.

  She paused again, and her hand returned to finish him as she spoke. “Then there will be no more of this nonsense about my taking another lover. You must realize that all good things come to an end. And I fear, Blackthorne, that we have reached ours.”

  He jerked away from her, almost losing control. “Bugger.”

  “Language,” she said, sweetly.

  “You still think, after what has occurred here…”

  “Almost, occurred,” she corrected.

  “If I object to you taking another lover, it is purely from a love for mankind. I would not see a friend, or even an enemy, fall into your claws, that you might torture him as a cat does a mouse.”

  “Torture?” she said, and had the nerve to look surprised.

  “It is one thing to put me off, Madam. It is quite another thing to track me down so that you might remind me of what we no longer share.” He yanked the flap of his trousers up, hands trembling on the buttons as he did them up. “We are through, as you say. But I do not need to be told twice. I did not seek you out. I ask that, in the future, you do me the same courtesy.”

  She rose gracefully, then touched her hair and straightened her garments, obviously more interested in her appearance than the ruin she’d made of him. When she bothered to look up, she was smiling, distant, disinterested and unaffected by what had just happened between them. “I am glad we understand each other. Now, if you will excuse me?”

  Then, she turned and left, shutting the door behind her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Blackthorne waited in silence until the front door of the club had opened and closed and he was sure that Caro was gone. Then he waited a few moments longer, listening for the sound of others in the foyer. The silence assured him that he could exit the room without incident. He was mistaken. The membership stood silently in the door to the lounge, watching him. Before he could request it, a servant handed him a brandy. He took it and drank, then addressed the crowd. “What are you waiting for, gentlemen? Does no one wish to make merry at my expense?”

  There was no response, other than the prompt refilling of his half empty glass. Then, Edenvale said, “Certainly not. Let us all return to our seats, and our drinks. I am sure there are others here who can share stories of a similar and equally embarrassing nature, should you want to hear them.”

  They walked through the door with the servant at their heels, and Blackthorne responded. “You can be assured, this will be the last such story you will hear from me.”

  Massey laughed. “What makes you so sure of the fact, my Lord? When ladies are involved there can be no guarantees. As was just demonstrated, that gender is notoriously erratic.”

  Blackthorne took another drink. “You are right, my dear sir. That is why, for the sake of my sanity, I mean to have no more to do with them.”

  At this outlandish statement, the room burst into laughter. “Given your reputation with the ladies…” Tripp gasped, choking on his own mirth. “You mean to swear off of them? You will not last a week.”

  His friend was right. There was only one woman he truly needed to avoid. Without he
r, what was he to do? “I will take pleasure where I find it,” he admitted. “But while I might have the wife of another, I most certainly will not seek one for myself.”

  This was greeted with another laugh from the assembled.

  “Women,” Blackthorne announced, feeling the warming effects of the brandy, “are a pestilence. A bane. I have had enough of mistresses, and their unreasonable behavior. I had decided, even before the recent difficulties, that I would never marry. To that end, a lifetime ban from Almack’s is hardly a hardship. What is there in that establishment but weak lemonade and desperation?”

  There was still laughter around him, but it was mixed with murmurs of agreement.

  “Think of the title,” Lockland reminded him. “You must have an heir at some point.”

  “I have cousins enough,” Blackthorne said, with growing relief. “Let it fall to one of them.”

  Tripp spoke next, and there was no laughter in his voice. “Stop talking nonsense, Vincent. I am beginning to think you are serious.”

  “I am,” he said, feeling freer with each word. “I will never marry or engage my heart in pursuit of a woman.” He tapped his chest. The hollow sound of his finger hitting the breastbone made him wonder if he had a heart left to lose.

  There was a moment of doubtful silence. Then, Edenvale scoffed. “You will see a pretty face soon enough, and change your tune. We all do, eventually.”

  He shook his head. “It is not necessary to marry to gain the only thing that women are good for. Before taking up with Miss Sydney, I did not lack for comfort. I was happy, and life was simpler.” It had been as empty as his heartless body.

  It was clear his words were firing the imaginations of his comrades. “Would you be willing to make book upon your bachelorhood?” Lockland asked. “Such a dramatic proclamation sounds like a reason to wager.”

  “It sounds like no wager at all, to me,” Blackthorne said, “because it holds no risk of failure.” He had found the perfect mate, and could not settle for less. But Caroline Sydney had refused both his name and his body. He would not give her a third chance to hurt him.