“God’s truth, Hadley, they aren’t going to rape us. Please relax or we’re unlikely to be welcomed across the threshold. No one is going to talk to us if we don’t blend in.” Grayson blew out an impatient breath, and he took Hadley’s cane and rapped on the door.
This was the sixth club they had visited in the past week, and he was hoping to finally meet a man who had worked for DePalma. The money they were splashing around paid dividends. One of the ladies at a previous club had sent word earlier today that she’d heard of a man who’d worked for DePalma, and that this man ran the club called Top Hat.
The door was answered by a respectable-looking butler who bowed before saying, “Gentlemen, may I be of service?”
Grayson replied in the code they had been given by the prostitute. “Bonjour. We are here to view the statue of Eros.”
The butler looked them over, and Grayson stared back, giving him a smile he hoped was friendly and knowing.
The butler merely said, “Enter. All gentlemen new to Top Hat are to be introduced. Please follow me to the drawing room.”
As he stepped over the threshold, Grayson noticed two towering, brawny men obviously guarding the door behind the refined butler. There was nothing refined about these two brutes. He hoped tonight passed with no unpleasantness. They were at least half a foot taller than Grayson, and at six foot three he was not a short man. They had to be at least close to three hundred pounds apiece.
The noise of the sin club began to penetrate his senses. He heard men laughing, men moaning in ecstasy, and the whirl of the blackjack wheel loud and clear. There were the odd women on display, wearing very little and carrying trays of food and drink, but the clientele were predominantly male.
He saw Hadley’s step falter as they passed an alcove where a threesome was in action. A man was being sucked off while another rogered him from behind, all with a large and vocal audience. He nudged Hadley with his elbow, as if to say, Keep calm.
The sights and sounds of the male focused sin club didn’t disturb Grayson. As long as sex was consensual and it made men happy, who was he to object? Women had had to sell themselves to survive since time began, so why should he look down on a man who had to do the same?
The drawing room was up the first flight of stairs, and even Grayson had to steel his expression at the decadence of the room. The room was swamped in silk panels, some floating above them suspended from the ceiling as if he’d stepped into an Arab harem. He was transported to a fantasy world where nude statues of males abounded. And not only statues—standing along one wall were several young men, whose ages he didn’t want to think too much about, all completely naked except for a loincloth made of see-through gauze.
However, his gaze was drawn to the center of the room. Lounging on a fur-covered settee lay a man who looked to be the same age as Grayson. Even Grayson could see he was extremely handsome. He wore a pair of harem pants and a silk waistcoat, unbuttoned so that his toned chest and stomach were on display. His features were sharp and defined, his face arresting to the point Grayson suspected that both men and women found him irresistible. If desire could be a person, this man would come close.
It was the man’s eyes that drew people in, Grayson thought. At first glance their blueness, like that of a cloudless day, caused a smile to tug at the lips; the long lashes, like silk fans protecting the deep pools, flirted with the senses. But with a closer look at this fair-haired Adonis, this Greek god with a lean body sculpted from pure muscle, the deadness that lay behind the beauty became visible.
The man looked Hadley over before turning his cold gaze Grayson’s way. One of his eyebrows rose, and a sly smile made his good looks even more angelic-looking.
“My, my. What gorgeousness has entered my tent?”
Even the man’s voice seemed like a caress, light and lyrical. He swung his legs to the floor and stood up, moving toward where the two men stood awkwardly. Hadley moved a step closer to Grayson’s side.
The man stopped in front of Grayson, his head barely reaching Grayson’s chest. “You wish to join my club, gentlemen? I’ve been involved with clubs like mine since I was twelve years old. I would remember seeing a man such as you, and I haven’t.” He poked Grayson’s chest. “They tell me you’d like to taste the forbidden. I ask myself, why the sudden interest?” He moved around the two of them, inspecting and assessing.
“I have a test for any new member. For all I know you could be aligned with the Runners, or worse—sent to spy on my members and either report them or blackmail them. I can’t let just any man enter here.” He snapped his fingers, and two young men advanced toward where Grayson and Hadley stood. Without asking any questions, they immediately began to undo the flap of their breeches. Hadley cursed and slapped at the hands of the boy in front of him; Grayson merely grimaced and stepped backward, fending off the other boy’s hands.
“Has either of you had your cock suckled by a man?” He didn’t wait for them to answer. “Men are infinitely better at it. Their mouths know what men desire. They have more of a robust and thorough mouth action.”
Hadley swatted again at the young boy’s hands and Grayson knew it was time to lay their cards on the table.
He gently pushed the other young man away from him. “We are not here for this,” Grayson said, doing up his breeches as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the Adonis. “We are also not interested in knowing the identity of your members or reporting you to the police.”
The Adonis waved the boys back to their positions against the wall. He looked Grayson over as if eyeing a succulent feast, and a shiver ran down Grayson’s spine. “Pity.” Then Adonis walked back to his couch and lay down. “I’m getting bored. You had best make your reason for entering my club interesting.”
“We are here inquiring after a brothel owner called DePalma.”
Adonis was good, Grayson noted; the tightening in his shoulders and the slight narrowing of his eyes were barely noticeable.
“I have never heard of her.”
“I never said DePalma was female.” Grayson kept his voice flat, hiding his excitement.
The color drained from Adonis’s face, and he jumped to his feet. “I like men who are clever, just not too clever.” He waved a hand in the air. “I may have heard tales of this woman. What makes you think I know her?”
“Someone told us you used to work for her.”
The brothel owner did not like that, and his hand curled into a fist. “You must be very wealthy and very persistent for someone to risk my displeasure by telling you such a tale.”
Grayson would not be put off. “I have no wish to pry into your affairs, Mr., ah …”
“You may call me Angelo.”
“Mr. Angelo, all I require is information on where DePalma is. The woman seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“Many in our profession work to find a way out. They change names and identities. It’s hard to leave this life if everyone knows what you used to do.”
“Do you know where she went? Do you know anything about her that could help me locate her?”
Angelo lay back, lounging like an emperor, seemingly more relaxed, understanding he had the power and control in this situation.
“I have two questions. Why do you want to find DePalma, and why should I help you?”
Grayson shot a look at Hadley, and they held a silent conversation about how much to tell and how much to pay. He decided to keep the Libertine Scholars out of the conversation.
Grayson cleared his throat. “I have some personal business with DePalma, and I’m prepared to pay handsomely for any information that aids in locating her.”
Angelo’s eyes narrowed, and a shrewd smile settled on his sculpted lips. “And here I thought it was the Libertine Scholars who were searching for DePalma, all six of you.”
Grayson struggled to keep his temper under control. This Angelo knew more than was comfortable. Was he in league with their villainess? “It appears I’m not the only o
ne to be well informed. I wonder why you’ve taken such an interest.”
“When I hear someone is asking questions about me, I tend to want to know why.”
“Again, I reiterate, I have no interest in you, your business, or your life. I simply want to find DePalma.”
Angelo considered Hadley and Grayson for a few moments before asking, “Why should I help you?”
Hadley finally spoke up. “We can pay you, and pay you well.”
“You insult me. Do I look as if I need money?”
Grayson tried to smooth things over. “You and I both know that every man wants something he doesn’t have. If there is something you want, name it.”
Angelo took a drink from a glass and studied the pair, his eyes roaming from one to the other several times. “Libertine Scholars. In my debt. My, the night has so many possibilities. I shall need to think on this.”
Grayson had a sick feeling in his stomach. He approached Angelo and handed him his card. “We have taken up enough of your time tonight. When you have decided to help us, send word.”
Angelo fingered the card as if it were a nugget of gold, and Grayson’s sick feeling intensified. “You do realize that DePalma will know you’ve been to see me,” he said. “She will have you followed. That puts me in danger. So, regardless of what I may tell you, you owe me.”
“I don’t believe you need protection. A man in your profession must have good security.”
“True. But look what DePalma has managed to do to the mighty Libertine Scholars.”
Hadley spoke, his contempt clear. “That was when we had no idea what was afoot. She’ll have a much harder job targeting us now.”
Angelo simply turned to Grayson with a raised eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” He clapped his hands, and the door to the harem-style room opened. Angelo spoke to the butler. “Escort the gentleman from the premises.” He turned to Grayson. “I’ll send word when I have information worth sharing. Until then …” He paused and ran his eyes over Grayson, lingering on his chest before trailing down to his groin. “I’ll have very pleasant dreams about my upcoming payment.”
As the men left the club Grayson’s mind whirled. Hadley put into words what Grayson did not wish to face.
“It’s not money he’s going to want in payment. Perhaps we should continue to look for another source of information.”
Grayson could only nod, the bitterness of being so close but still so far flooding his soul.
Chapter 17
Grayson was not in a good mood when he returned to his townhouse. He’d had such hopes of being well ahead in their hunt for DePalma. He dismissed his valet, and as he tore off his cravat he reflected that he knew only too well what Angelo would want for information, and from whom. He didn’t think he had the stomach for it, but if it helped keep Portia and the rest of the Libertine Scholars and their wives safe, what else could he do?
He sat on the end of his bed removing his boots and going over different scenarios. The one he eventually grasped, like a drowning sailor grabbing a lifebuoy, was to kidnap Angelo and force him to reveal what he knew.
As he stood to rid himself of the rest of his clothes, he spied two notes propped on his pillow. Jeeves, his butler, must have left them there, as Grayson had been ignoring the pile of correspondence building up in his study—mainly because he didn’t want to hear from or think too much about Portia. Jeeves must have thought these notes were important.
He bent and picked the first note up but didn’t recognize the childish handwriting. The other handwriting he knew well—Portia’s.
He opened Portia’s missive as if tearing a bandage from a bloody wound. His mouth went dry, and he briefly closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was expecting her to be angry at the callous note he’d sent. He wished he could take it back and write one from his heart, telling her all he truly felt. He began to read.
Dearest Grayson,
I wish you had been here when I awoke from my coma, and I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, I’m saying it because it’s the truth. I love you. I have since I was sixteen and I likely always will.
I’m saying I wanted you here with me because it would have meant you had faced your fears and your love for me was strong enough to weather any trials or tribulations our marriage might have to face in the future.
However, your absence means only one thing—that you don’t love me enough. That’s the only conclusion I can draw. I hope one day you meet a woman you love enough so that you can face your fears. But you will never be able to do that if you are married to me.
So, my love, as I am not with child, I’m letting you go. I release you from any promises made and refuse to let you sacrifice yourself in the name of honor. Don’t bristle—a lady has honor too, and I’m far too honorable to make you marry a woman you do not love. It would destroy us both in the end. Besides, I won’t allow rules to hem me in. You only get one turn at life, and I want to make sure my turn goes around and around and around until I’m dizzy with it.
In case you care, I’m not marrying anyone else, as that would not be fair to me. As I’ve always said, I want a husband who loves me. Therefore I’m marrying no one.
I’ve talked this over with Lord and Lady Markham and my mother. My brothers are likely to be harder to convince, but convince them I will.
I intend to go away for a year to let the scandal settle—or, as will likely happen, be eclipsed when a new disgrace involving new players surfaces. I’m financially secure enough not to need approval for my actions from anyone.
To save my business from suffering through all of this, Christian is going to help me by buying it and agreeing to run the company. Further down the track, when my lapse has been forgotten, I will buy it back from him for the same price.
No one is hurt, and life, as we both know it, can go on as before.
Don’t worry. I shall stay at Henslowe Court safely guarded until our villainess has been apprehended.
I wish you all the best in your life. I hope you find peace. Robert would be proud of the way you came to my rescue and are dedicating your efforts to his cause, and I hope I may continue to call you a friend.
Yours always,
Lady Portia Flagstaff
An intense pain suddenly stabbed at the back of his eyes, and he had to seek the bedpost for support. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He would never suffer the pain of losing her.
He noticed he was rubbing his chest.
But wasn’t that what he was suffering now, a gut-wrenching, heartbreaking pain that would last the rest of his life? Without him noticing, the worst had happened—he’d lost her in every sense of the word.
And she’d asked to be friends. After their mind-blowing lovemaking and intimacy, she was fooling herself that they could ever be friends. One day she would marry, and Grayson knew with certainty that he would never be able to shake the hand of the man who had the privilege of sharing her life, her home, and her bed.
The pain of loss blinded him, and Grayson went to his knees, the hard floor jarring his body. Tears slid down his cheeks, and his tongue darted across his lips, tasting the saltiness. He usually cried when someone close to him died. But he cried now for lost chances. He cried for being such a fool, and he cried for having hurt such a magnificent woman.
He wrapped his arms around himself, squeezing his eyes shut. All that did was allow him to see Portia’s beautiful smiling face, but she was no longer smiling at him, or for him.
She would marry someone else, have a family with someone else, and he would … what? Shit, marry a woman he’d probably grow tired of, whom he’d hate going home to, and who would lie unresponsive in his bed doing her duty.
All these years he’d thought he didn’t want love. He’d thought he was so smart for protecting his heart. Now his gut churned with nausea, and with every breath his chest contracted painfully. He’d been fooling no one but himself.
He loved her.
And he’d stamped on her hear
t as if it were a bug beneath his boot.
Grayson considered his father’s limited presence in his early childhood, and realized how little time they had spent together. Grayson also couldn’t remember a time he heard his father laugh. Lord Cumberland had laughed plenty. Grayson’s father might have appeared to be content, but was he happy?
Grayson sank back onto the bed, hands behind his head, trying to be honest with himself for a change. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life merely being content. He thought about those he’d lost. And he realized that they would be looking down at him, yelling at him not to waste his life but to live it to the fullest. He still struggled to know how to do that, to give himself over to achieving his greatest desires. But he did realize that he’d just lost the woman who completed him.
Portia was very beautiful, true, but more important was that she challenged him, made him remember how wonderful it felt to be alive. She was beautiful and spirited, but she had such capacity to love, and she was filled with compassion for others—the orphans’ school she worked hard to support being a case in point. She hadn’t built her business to prove she could make a lot of money; she’d done it for fun, to test herself, for the pure enjoyment of it, and then used her success to help those less fortunate than herself.
Suddenly he felt tired. Tired of running from his feelings. But the pain he was feeling made him realize that he could never outrun pain. People came and went in one’s life. Death was inevitable. He couldn’t stop death any more than he could stop himself from aging.
But here he was, about to lose the one woman who could show him how to live, and it wasn’t to death. It was to his own cowardice.
Reading Portia’s letter, learning she was walking away from him, he felt bereft, as if he’d lost a part of himself. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. He could remember her scent. He marveled at the paleness of her perfect, unblemished skin and the lyrical lightness of her voice. The sun must envy him for being able to touch parts of her body it had never seen. He loved to stroke her feminine softness, yet all her limbs were lean and firm—and his mouth almost watered as he remembered her pert bosom. But it was her smile he missed the most. Her eyes lit up whenever she saw him, as if he were the most important person in the world to her. He doubted they’d light up at all now.
A Touch of Passion: A Rouge Regency Romance: (Disgraced Lords #3) Page 21
