Bevan folded his hands on top of the folder. “You’ve already stayed far longer than any other patient.”
“My wealthy family is not paying you enough?” Aidan snapped irritably.
The doctor ignored his outburst and shuffled the papers in the folder. “I wish to discuss the reason Mr. Colm Delaney made an appearance at my clinic to threaten you three months past. We will address this incident today, Aidan. You’ve delayed this discussion for far too long.”
Damn it all. “I am not convinced he came to threaten me. It appears that I inspire passion in certain men as well as women.” Another egotistical statement, but it held a kernel of truth. Delaney claimed he’d come to discuss what happened between them at that blasted, depraved party, but never had a chance to elaborate. Aidan had tried his damnedest to push what little he could remember of his last month of debauchery from the forefront of his mind.
“You always deflect from examining your emotions with sarcastic, self-centered comments. Be honest, Aidan, and tell me what occurred.”
“I sincerely do not remember much of the final month of my decline. I had attended a wild party in Mayfair. It was decided, since I was the prettiest of my filthy crew of thieves and whores—which isn’t saying much—that I would be sold to the highest bidder. We needed the money for opium. And gin.” Aidan paused, and frowned. “I was handed over to some aged peer, who Garrett later informed me was the Marquess of Sutherhorne. He, in turn, gifted me to his man, this Delaney character. I don’t remember much. Blocking it out? Perhaps. For a while, I thought it a recurring nightmare, but…” Aidan’s voice trailed off. Thinking on it made his insides lurch.
“When Delaney showed up here, you realized the nightmare was real,” Bevan interjected.
“Yes. Why he wanted to talk to me hardly matters. He whispered in my ear like a lover might. Offered to care for me, nurse me back to health. Hardly a threat, but I suppose it is how you look at it. I told him our brief encounter meant nothing. And it didn’t. He was a means to an end.” Jesus, talking of this is damned embarrassing. “I have no idea if this man, who is seemingly obsessed with me, will seek me out again. I can only hope he does not. I don’t prefer men—far from it. But I do hold with my family’s progressive view that what people do behind closed doors is no one’s business, which makes me wonder why you insist on discussing this topic. It is rather salacious.”
“It is that. It’s not for me to approve or disapprove. I want to ensure you will no longer be haunted by this episode. You referred to it as a nightmare. Will it impede your libido in any way? Is it disturbing enough for self-loathing to overtake your life to such an extent that you will seek out oblivion again with an opium pipe? Or bottles of cheap gin?”
Impede my libido? No, Doctor, seeing as I lust after your daughter. But he did not dare divulge such information. “No. My first stop before I head to Wollstonecraft Hall will be the Crimson Club in London.”
“Is that wise? Indiscriminant sex is what led you down this destructive path.” Aidan frowned at the doctor’s judgmental tone—or maybe he’d imagined it. “Besides, isn’t the gossip about this Mayfair incident making its way about London?”
“It has been close to four months; I am certain the old hens of society have moved on to other scandalous tattle. Besides, I won’t be in the city long.” Only long enough for a quick rut.
“Do you still crave opium?” Bevan asked.
“I could deceive you and say, ‘Why, no, Doctor, you have cured me of all my vices,’ but it would be false. I do crave it, though not as fervently as I once did.”
“Thank you for your honesty. The cravings will lessen with time. They have for most others.”
Aidan crossed his arms, giving the doctor a dubious look. “But not for all of your patients.”
A sad expression covered Bevan’s features. “Not all. There are no guarantees in life, and certainly not with addiction. The onus for a full recovery will lie with you—hence the reason I suggested you focus your energy elsewhere. Decide on a few of your family’s causes, and we will discuss which one will suit you. Speaking of your family, you’re keeping up with the correspondences?”
When he’d met with Garrett briefly in February, his uncle had dropped off numerous letters from his grandfather, father, and twin brother. It had taken him close to five weeks to even break the seals on the envelopes; it took another two before he responded.
Riordan had married, and his wife, Sabrina, was expecting a child. He would be building a progressive school in Kent as soon as he could arrange it. Garrett had married Abigail Wharton in Scotland last month, and they had a fourteen-year-old daughter from their brief, intense love affair at age eighteen. Aidan’s father was courting a neighbor, Alberta Eaton, and his grandfather was involved with Sabrina’s ex-lady’s maid, Mary Tuttle. From what he could ascertain from the letters, the association was serious. Life had carried on without him. It was rather sobering to discover the world did not revolve around him.
“Yes. I’m answering their letters.”
“It’s imperative at this stage of your recuperation that you allow your family to reenter your life. No more avoidance. If your uncle is any indication, you have a strong support structure in place. Use it. Accept your mistakes, learn from them. Wear them like badges of honor.”
“Oh, come now, Doctor.” Aidan tsked. “Honor?”
“Yes, honor. You have accepted your faults, agreed to treatment, and chosen the path to recovery. It takes fortitude, inner strength, character. Never doubt you have all these—along with honor. Hold your head high, continue to convalesce, and you shall not falter again. I stake my reputation on it.”
A ball of emotion lodged in Aidan’s throat. He was genuinely touched by the words. “Thank you.”
“Take a walk, as it is a lovely spring day. We’re having a special treat for dinner tonight: a crown roast of pork with all the fixings. Join Cristyn and me at seven. I expect you to eat it all.”
Aidan stood, then bowed. “I shall. See you at seven.”
He left the office and sauntered down the hall. It was the first time he’d been invited to the doctor’s home; he must be nearly recovered if he was granted entry. The invitation filled him with elation at the prospect of seeing Cristyn outside the clinic walls, but also trepidation in the fact that he was about to be released. When was the last time he attended any type of proper social event? Could he even remember his manners?
Dr. Bevan and his daughter lived in a small cottage behind the sanatorium. Aidan passed the rooms of other patients, some of whom he had met—two were still in seclusion, and no doubt going through each stage of withdrawal and recovery he had.
Last night he’d heard the agonized cries of a recent inmate in addiction hell. God, had he acted the same when coming off the poison? He could not recall, but what little he remembered chilled his black soul.
He entered his room and stopped short at the sight of Cristyn. She was her father’s most trusted, loyal assistant and nurse. Her presence always caused his heart to skip a beat. It made him fully aware he was a man, and she a woman. Cristyn’s beauty never failed to capture his interest. She had a coal-black shade of hair similar to his, and violet-blue eyes he could happily become lost in. This glorious young lady was far too stunning to be toiling away in a country clinic for addicted reprobates.
Cristyn was making his bed, going about her chores efficiently and cheerfully. Early in his stay, there were times when she had annoyed him with her sunny smile and optimism; then he’d learned to bask in it, savor it. But nothing had prepared him for her touch. Even the lightest brush of her fingers seized his breath. He was shameless, being attracted to her while in such a pathetic state.
Could he be drawn to her because she was the only attractive woman around for months? Perhaps, for surely it could not be more. Despite his poor health, the rake still lurked under the surface. Yet du
ring his horrible first few weeks here, Cristyn had stood at the vanguard, coaxing him to eat and attending to his every need. She’d spoken to him in soft, reassuring tones, all the while acting compassionate and kind and encouraging him to embrace his recovery. My angel. My savior.
One particularly vivid memory recalled him as a crumpled heap of tears and self-pity. Cristyn had held him, speaking soothing words of support. She had called him cariad more than once. Aidan found out later it meant “love” in the Welsh tongue. A term of endearment? Did she refer to all her male patients as cariad in her sensual, musical voice? What made him worthy of her special attention?
Beyond such questions, his blatant display of emotion and weakness embarrassed him the more his condition improved. In increments, he slowly tucked away such vulnerabilities and allowed the old Aidan to emerge, at least in her presence. The cool, detached, I-couldn’t-care-less rake. It was a solid shield to hide behind. You damned coward.
Cristyn turned to face him, gifting him with one of her open and friendly smiles. No matter how standoffish he acted, she still treated him with kindness.
“I could have made the bed,” he said. “Keeping my room neat and tidy is part of the treatment here at the clinic, is it not?”
“I don’t mind helping out. Done with your daily dialogue?”
“Yes. I was ordered by your father to take a walk. I’ve come to fetch my coat. He also informed me that I am to be paroled from this desolate prison in two weeks.”
Her smile faltered. Would she be sorry to see him depart? Strangely, that thought pleased him. “You will be glad to see the back of me, I am quite sure.”
Cristyn met his gaze. “No. Not at all.”
The look that she gave him was heated, and his swift reaction took him by surprise. He must be nearly well if a wave of lustful hunger was tearing through him. He was tempted to pull her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, he gazed at her through half-lidded eyes and said, “Why not join me on my walk?”
“I have my duties to see to.”
“Surely you are able to spare fifteen minutes? I may need your arm to keep me steady.”
“You’re recovered enough to walk under your own steam.”
“Perhaps, or maybe I wish to be alone with you.” What was he doing? One sultry expression from the beautiful nurse and his shield had crumbled into dust.
Color spread across Cristyn’s lustrous cheeks. “Do not tease me,” she replied softly.
The honesty in her lovely eyes made his heart stutter. Damn it all, she did have feelings for him. While the knowledge gave him a jolt of satisfaction, it also filled him with dread. What he’d denied the past several months was crystalline clear: they were fiercely attracted to one another. For weeks, months even, this inappropriate interest had hovered about the edges of every encounter and conversation. Stopping at the Crimson Club took on a fresh urgency—it would banish his inappropriate desire for this young woman.
He couldn’t be with her. Nor could he pursue this passion, even though he was drawn toward her like a thirsty man to cool, refreshing water. What harm could a simple stroll about the grounds do? Surely he could maintain control of his impulses. And more than anything, he wanted someone to talk to. Yes, he was lonely. “Come and walk with me.”
Cristyn untied her apron and laid it on his bed. “I’ll fetch my shawl.”
As she scurried away, Aidan slowly ran his fingertips across the heavy cotton apron, still warm from her body. He glanced about, then picked it up, rubbed the material against his cheek, and inhaled the fragrance of crisp cotton, laundry soap, and the faint scent of violets. It was an appropriate flower, considering the shade of her eyes. His senses came alive, and he closed his eyes as if the apron itself was her gentle embrace. Again his reaction proved he was close to being fully recovered. Another reason to stay well clear of her.
At the sound of light footfalls, he placed the apron on the bed the way he’d found it, giving it a last touch with his fingertips. Discomfited by his actions, he turned to face the window, schooling his features into complete indifference. Difficult to achieve, considering his insides were aflame.
“I’m ready.”
Strange emotions were whirling about him. Some he recognized, like lust and desire. Others were more elusive, probably because he’d never experienced them before. It was best to put all of this out of his mind. Aidan slipped on his coat, then turned to face her. “Shall we set off?”
Once outside, they sauntered along the lane side by side. Politeness stated he should offer his arm, but touching her would light him like a firecracker.
“This is rather familiar,” Aidan said. “We often took walks together as I was recuperating. Granted, you were pushing me in a wheeled chair on many of the excursions.”
“Yes, and many of the conversations were one-sided.” Cristyn’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Well, I was barely able to feed myself, let alone form coherent sentences.” But he remembered it all, every word she had ever said to him. Every smile he’d been gifted with.
“I’m pleased with the progress you’ve made. I’m proud of you, Aidan.”
He cleared his throat but didn’t respond, for he believed he was not worthy of any praise. Embarrassment covered him, and regret for all he had done.
“Have you heard from your family recently? Is your uncle much recovered?” she asked.
Cristyn had never allowed his petulant silences to dissuade her from discourse. Though he’d mentioned snippets from the many letters from his family, he hadn’t told her everything. Garrett had been shot; he had shown up in Standon in February with a sling on his arm, but it was much later when Aidan found out the particulars. The drama his family had endured the past ten months was staggering, and he had only added to their woes. “Yes, completely. No lasting effects.”
“I am glad.”
They walked on in companionable silence, heading toward a cluster of oak trees.
“I would like to think we’ve become friends,” she said, her voice soft.
Friends? “Hardly appropriate, considering the circumstances.”
“I thought as much at the beginning, but I’ve since amended my thoughts on the matter. Over the course of the past several months, once you began to recover, we’ve had many interesting discussions. I believe we have much in common.”
Oh, God. Aidan did not like where this was leading. It was better to remain silent than to acknowledge that she was correct.
“Aidan, will you write to me?”
He stopped and stared at her incredulously. She could not be serious. “Do you ask all your former patients to correspond with you?”
She gazed up at him. “No. You’re the first.”
“Why, for God’s sake? What is to be gained?”
Cristyn turned her gaze to the blue sky above. “I cannot explain it. I wish for us to stay in touch.”
“It’s not wise,” Aidan replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He started forward, but Cristyn laid her hand on his arm, halting him. Her touch seared his skin through the layers of clothes.
“Because you’re recovering from an addiction? That is not an impediment.”
Aidan shook off her hand. “Well, it should be.” He continued forward.
“We are not even to be friends, then?”
“I make it habit not to be friends with the fairer sex. It leads to complications. Like infatuations—with me. Messy things.” He winced inwardly at the pompous statement, but even though he was attracted to her, and had been from the first, he was not ready to enter into any sort of relationship, innocent or not. Perhaps he never would be.
“Your ego knows no bounds, Mr. Black,” she scoffed. “I thought we shared…something. It appears I was gravely mistaken.”
Aidan gripped her arm, pulling her behind a large oak tree. The hurt he had heard in her last
few words tugged at his heart. He stood close, and he was aroused. If only she knew the maelstrom of confusing emotions blazing through him. A soft moan left her throat as his body adjoined hers. They were almost touching—not quite, but close enough to savor the heat. Nuzzling her neck, he briefly leaned against her and rolled his hips to allow her to feel his arousal. His cock was hard, to the point of sweet, agonizing pain.
Her fingers tunneled through his hair, making him release an animal growl from deep in his chest. How he yearned to kiss her and taste the sweetness within. He inched closer to her mouth. Her lips parted, as if anticipating.
Aidan froze. He was losing all control and could not allow it. He swiftly stepped away from her. “I apologize. How inappropriate of me to take such liberties. You have my assurance it will not happen again.”
Cristyn exhaled and smoothed her skirt. “Apology accepted. I should not have allowed it. However, I will not deny I quite enjoyed it.”
God spare him from plainspoken women. “Are you always this frank?”
“I was raised to be honest on all fronts, and to be forthright in my dealings, especially with men. Then there are no misunderstandings,” she replied matter-of-factly.
His angel was bold. He damned well liked it. Imagine all that fearlessness in his bed. Cease this at once.
“Forget I said that,” she muttered. “Forget anything happened at all.”
“Allow me to be equally forthright.”Aidan lifted her chin with two fingers and made her look at him. “When I leave here, we will not see each other again. It is for the best, for I am not a man to pin any hopes or dreams on. There will be no correspondence, no hope of more. I am not a nice man, Cristyn. I would use you and toss you aside, as I have with many other women. You are too fine of a person to be subjected to the likes of me.”
Her eyes glistened. “Isn’t that for me to judge?”
“Not in this case. I would taint you with my wretched, completely miserable past.” He caressed her blushing cheeks with the tips of his fingers. “I must end this before it begins. You will thank me.”
Love with a Notorious Rake Page 2