“Oh, Noel … you fool.”
David glanced up to find his mother backing away from the chair, hands balled into fists. She did her best to keep her composure, but he could see her chin quivering and her eyes blazing with fury. He came to his feet just as she burst into tears, sobbing into her hands and slumping against the wall. Pity lanced through him at the sight she made, so broken and worn down. His mother had always been a force of nature—strong and stiff-backed, able to weather the worst of times with poise and dignity. It would seem she had reached the end of her forbearance.
He took her into his arms and let her weep on his shoulder. “It’s all right. I will make this right, Mother. Give me time to make it right.”
David could not allow Wren’s treachery to stand, but there was still the matter of his family to consider. They didn’t just need his presence, they needed money … and despite a gentleman’s education and a wealth of high-society connections, David only knew of one surefire way to get his hands on a large amount of capital in a short period of time.
The morning after the unearthing of his father’s journal, David sent for the nearest constable and took the ride across the estate to the small plot and house intended for the steward. There was no time to waste if he wanted to ensure Wren paid for his crimes. Then, David could mend what had been broken.
They found the modest cottage vacant—save for a household staff comprised of a housekeeper who also functioned as a cook, and a chambermaid.
“Mr. Wren took himself off in a hurry early this morning,” the housekeeper informed them, wringing her hands around her apron. “Before the sun was even up, if you can believe that.”
The evidence of the man’s flight showed itself from what he could see of the interior of the house. The walls had been stripped, every surface cleared.
“I assume he took just about everything he owned with him?” he asked through clenched teeth, trying his damnedest to keep from releasing a volley of epithets. He’d only just taken over managing the estate, and had already bungled his first important task. “And, I take it he made no mention of where he was going?”
The woman’s eyes went wide as if she hadn’t given the matter any thought. “Why, yes sir, you’re right! He set off in a wagon heavy with trunks and such. Made no mention of when he would return or where he might be headed.”
“Goddamn it,” he whispered, spinning away from the housekeeper and pacing across the small entrance hall.
The constable merely stood near the door, glaring at David and pursing his lips. The man had been awakened from the sort of sleep induced by too much gin, and his breath still reeked of the stuff. He’d been coerced into doing his duty, but made his displeasure clear—grumbling all the way here about the breakfast he had been deprived of as well as his pounding head. Now, it seemed David would be the recipient of his ire and not the actual criminal who had absconded with thousands of pounds of his money.
“Is there something amiss, sir?” the housekeeper asked. “Begging your pardon, but you coming with the constable cannot mean anything good. Has Mr. Wren been up to some kind of mischief?”
“Mischief is a rather mild word for what he has done,” David snapped. He paused, took a deep breath and gentled his tone. The poor woman had no idea what was going on, and none of this was her fault. “You should not expect him to return. Another steward will be hired to replace him. In the meantime, we could use you at the manor. The maid, too. Your pay will be the same, and you can work there until there is a need for you to return to serve the new steward.”
The woman ceased wringing her hands and beamed at him. “Thank you, sir. Marjorie will be glad to hear it. She worried what would become of us if Mr. Wren never returned.”
“Gather your things and report to the manor. Mrs. Moffat will receive you and see you settled.”
“Bless you, sir. I just know things will turn around now that you are here. Everyone says so.”
At the sharp look he leveled at her, the woman seemed to shrink several inches, lowering her head and blushing.
“That is to say … we were that sorry to hear of your father. Forgive me, sir, I meant no offense.”
Of course she hadn’t, and who could blame her—or everyone within a thousand acres, apparently—from hoping things might change now that he had taken matters in hand. Though, this housekeeper must not have heard much about David if she could so readily place her faith in him. His reputation did him no favors. As well, David wasn’t sure he had much faith in himself. He already felt like an utter failure.
“Wren must have been onto you,” the constable offered with an apologetic shrug. Apparently, the man had decided to now have pity on him. “But don’t worry … I’ll have the word spread to every other constable and magistrate in Lancashire. If anyone lays eyes on him, you can be sure we’ll bring him in.”
David highly doubted that, but said nothing. If Wren was smart—which he’d proven to be thus far—he would put as much distance between himself and Lancashire as possible. Assuming he hadn’t spent all the money he had embezzled from the estate, he would be flush enough to get himself out of David’s reach.
He held himself together long enough to part ways with the constable. Shoulders slumped, David began the ride home.
Halfway there, he had to pause and dismount, unable to take it any longer. He felt as if his skin were pulled too tight over muscle and bone, his hands shaking and itching to destroy anything within reach. Wrath tangled with helplessness inside him until he felt sick with it. Stalking away from his horse, David lashed out at the first object in sight. A length of fencing that had seen better days was the recipient of several kicks, the impact radiating up his hips and back as he shouted obscenities to the empty stretches of field beyond. His throat burned with the effort and his entire body ached from the exertion, but damn if it didn’t feel good to give himself over to the toxic emotions roiling in his gut. He had spent weeks trying to maintain a stiff upper lip, to appear as if he was in complete control for the benefit of his family. Never could he allow anyone to think he was in over his head.
One of the fence posts splintered, and he had to catch himself on another to keep from toppling over. The ridiculousness of his position struck him as he glanced down to find his best boots scuffed to hell and a hole torn in the left leg of his breeches. Turning to lean against a precariously leaning post, he took a deep breath and let it out on a laugh. For, it was the one thing he could do to keep from weeping like a baby.
This was how Warin Lyons found him as he rode up the lane on his way to the house—doubled over and cackling like a lunatic. To his credit, the man simply sat astride his gelding and stared at David with his implacable expression, waiting for him to finish.
“Rough morning?” he drawled, his voice as flat and expressionless as ever.
David swiped a hand over his face to find it damp. Apparently, his hysterics had included tears. Thank God no one but Lyons had seen him like this. His friends would make a fuss and insist he needed their help, and his mother would tell him he ought to drink tea and lie down. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, nor did he relish being made to feel as if he needed to be led about by the hand. He was a man, goddamn it. This was his land, his home, his problem to solve.
“You could say that,” he replied, crossing the road to retrieve his mare. “You’re a long way from London.”
“I’m here on behalf of Mr. Sterling, with a contract for you to consider.”
At last, a reprieve from the dry buggering life had been subjecting him to. Just then, he might have kissed Lyons square on the mouth at the news that his prayers had been answered. A new keeper meant money, and if she were willing to pay what he was worth, his outlook might not be so dire.
“There’s also a note,” Lyons added as David swung up into the saddle and nudged his mount back onto the road. “Mr. Sterling bade me remain until you had written your response.”
That meant Benedict had received David’s letter—w
hich he’d regretted the moment it was posted. Benedict had problems of his own, and the last thing he needed was David heaping his problems on top of the matter of the London Gossip. However, there was no one else and he’d been wallowing in his grief and desperation, needing someone to understand what he had come home to. Whatever help Benedict offered—for that was simply in his nature—David would decline. As the master of every blade of grass, tree, or shattered fence post for a thousand acres, he was responsible for cleaning up his father’s mess.
“Come, ride to the house with me and we’ll discuss the contract.”
David calmed during the ride, feeling better than he had in days. His problems were far from solved, but a lucrative contract would certainly help matters. Aside from that, he hadn’t been feeling like himself since leaving London. Death and the drudgery of wading through his ruined inheritance had turned him into a morose, brooding heap of bones and skin. Trying to untangle the complicated situation filled him with a sense of ineptitude that had shaken his confidence.
He wasn’t used to being horrible at things. Only, the things he excelled at were of no use to him here … unless he could secure this contract. If he could get back to the business of servicing some willing woman with the full range of his carnal skill and be showered in money for it, he wouldn’t have to feel so incompetent.
By the time they arrived to the stable, not even the lonely groom and ramshackle state of the structure could rob him of his good mood. This contract felt like a lifeline being thrown just before his head went under. Clapping a hand on Lyons’ shoulder, he began guiding the man toward the house.
“Now then…”
David quickly dropped his hand when Lyons stiffened and gave a cool look that somehow spoke volumes without even the slightest shift in expression.
“Right,” he muttered, clasping both hands behind his back. “We are short on staff at the moment, so you needn’t worry we’ll be overheard. I take it this client resides in Lancashire.”
“About an hour’s ride from here,” Lyons confirmed. “I’ve just come from calling on Mrs. Regina Hurst—a widow who lives on a neighboring estate. She is amenable to meeting you tomorrow afternoon, during which she would like to discuss the terms of your agreement.”
Regina Hurst. The surname was familiar to him—another local landowner, he was certain. Was this woman Hurst’s wife or daughter? He had never been introduced to a Regina Hurst during his years of living at home.
“Perfect. Is she beautiful? No, don’t answer that, I want to be surprised. Did she mention how long she wished to contract me? Did she request me specifically, or have I been assigned to her based on proximity?”
Lyons reached into the satchel slung across his body, retrieving a sheaf of papers and offering them to David.
“Her looks, as I’m sure you know, are irrelevant. Though I cannot see that you will have cause for complaint. Mr. Sterling received word from an acquaintance of Mrs. Hurst that the lady wished to contract a courtesan. That she happens to reside in Lancashire is a coincidence proving convenient for your situation.”
David shuffled through the contract as they walked and frowned. “There’s no amount here, nor any indication of a time-frame.”
“Those have been left blank at Mrs. Hurst’s insistence. It is her wish to negotiate payment and duration with you directly. Mr. Sterling was content to allow it.”
That was certainly unprecedented. David never went into an arrangement metaphorically blind. Benedict usually arranged the pairings himself, using his skill for reading people to match a client with her ideal courtesan. David was always assigned to one of two types of women—unhappy wives who wanted the kind of pleasure their husbands couldn’t deliver, or seasoned widows who knew what they wanted and appreciated a man who knew how to provide it.
“Please tell me she isn’t married,” he groaned. He had never balked at servicing someone’s wife, but just now found he lacked the fortitude to climb through windows and run from the ominous shadow of a jealous husband.
“Widowed,” Lyons replied as the house came into view. “She has very few requirements. Only that her courtesan be a man with a pleasing face and form, and that he make himself available to her a few nights a week until the arrangement has ended.”
David didn’t know whether to feel dread or excitement over such cryptic terms, but then decided it was of no consequence. If this woman wanted him to lick her toes while calling her Empress of the Universe, he would do it as long as she was paying.
“Her direction,” Lyons informed him before they mounted the front steps. “She’ll be expecting you tomorrow.”
They entered the house, and David sent for refreshment for himself and Lyons, hoping their larder wasn’t depleted to the point of bareness. They could hardly afford to host guests, but Lyons was one man. That his saddle wasn’t loaded down with baggage meant he had his own lodgings for the night. It would not be seemly for them to host anyone while in mourning, anyway, but if it was the last thing David did, he would restore the house to its former glory. His mother had once been fond of entertaining, but Mrs. Moffat had confided that she ceased once the house fell into disrepair. He would give her a grand home she could be proud to open to visitors if it killed him.
Petra and Constantia would have new clothes and dowries. They weren’t too long in the tooth to make good matches, and their pleasing looks would work along with the dowries to catch acceptable husbands.
By the time they reached the study, David was grinning at the hope such plans inspired. All was not lost; not while there were still women in England who were willing to pay for the attentions of a man like him.
While Lyons stood at one of the windows overlooking the lawn, David sat behind his desk and opened Benedict’s note. It had been hastily written and lacked Ben’s typically neat penmanship. Squinting to make out the words, David read:
D,
Burn this note after you have read it. The shrew has been mollified for the moment, and I am working on a more permanent solution. I am sorry to hear of your trouble, my friend. I offer my assistance in whatever manner you require. You have but to send word of whatever you might need. The new contract is yours to benefit from and I will take no percentage. Take care of your family. I will send word when there is more to report.
-B
David sat staring at the words in slack-jawed silence for a moment. Never had Benedict offered to give up his portion of any courtesan’s earnings. As the proprietor of the business, he was entitled to a cut, which he gleefully accepted as his due. Of course, his financial circumstances had vastly improved since the founding of the agency, so Ben could well afford to forgo his commission on what might be a lucrative contract.
It was more than he would have ever asked of his friend, but David was not too prideful to accept such a gift. He would need every penny he could get his hands on in the coming months.
“How is he, really?” he asked while rifling about for a scrap of paper to pen his response. “You probably have more contact with him than anyone these days.”
Lyons turned away from the window. “As well as can be expected given the circumstances. The matter of Lady Thrush has been taken care of. The Gentleman Courtesans need not worry that she will cause trouble for us ever again.”
“How did Ben manage that?” David murmured while penning his response.
“With a bank draft and a very pointed threat.” At David’s raised eyebrows, Lyons added, “One of social ruin, of course.”
Interesting, that the woman had been willing to oust them in a fit of jealousy but didn’t want her own name dragged through the mud. If she had any sense, she would take the money Ben had offered and disappear from London for a good, long while.
“The Widow Dane has been charged with unearthing any substantial evidence pointing to the Gossip’s identity. As well, she is exerting her influence to ensure past clients maintain their silence, but also that they understand we are doing everything we can to si
lence the rumors. If this goes on much longer, we run the risk of losing business.”
David paused, pen hovering over the page as he glanced at Lyons. “The other courtesans often joke that you are Benedict’s long-lost son … you’re so much like him. You are suited for this work, Lyons.”
Amusement danced in the man’s eyes, but he didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Mr. Sterling has been a good mentor and an even better employer. I count it a compliment to be compared to him.”
“I meant it as one.”
Finishing off his letter with the one request he would make of Benedict, David signed it with his initial and folded it closed. After all Ben had done for him, he would not make a burden of himself. But because of Wren, he would find it difficult to trust anyone. He could not manage without a steward for long and could trust Benedict to recommend someone beyond reproach.
That done, David turned his mind back over to his new client, letting himself fantasize over what she might look like, smell like, taste like. He hadn’t had a woman since his interlude with Frances and her friends, and he’d been interrupted before finishing. David had never been one to think of the duties of a courtesan as actual work. This arrangement would serve as a pleasant distraction, something he could look forward to when the drudgery of his days became too much.
Whoever this new client was, he was going to seduce her out of her clothes as well as a great deal of money.
Chapter 3
“The notorious lady known as the Ravishing Widow has been seen about Town much these past weeks, visiting with those who are bold enough to call her ‘friend.’ One wonders why such illustrious persons of the beau monde are happy to take such a viper into their midst. She has been rumored to be connected with those disreputable debauchees known as The Gentleman Courtesans. Though, knowing the truth of her scandalous background, that should come as no surprise to anyone.”
Taming of the Rake (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 4) Page 5