Love with a Notorious Rake

by Karyn Gerrard

  Never again.

  * * * *

  Aidan watched her flounce from the room. Hell, she was magnificent. Never had a woman spoken to him in such a way. Leave it to him to imagine all that powerful fervor unleashed in his bed. His angel was a passionate creature. God, to have Cristyn writhe in his arms while he plunged in and out of her, bringing her to an earth-shattering climax. He was sorely tempted to follow her and kiss her senseless.

  “I must apologize—” Bevan began.

  “No, Doctor. Do not. Cristyn spoke her mind. Although I found it irksome, I admire her for it.”

  “I should go after her, see if she’s all right.” The doctor stated, worry knotting his heavy brows. “But I know Cristyn; she would rather be alone. At least for now.”

  Aidan took another forkful of food. “This will pass. In time.” How pompous he sounded. To hell with it. “Perhaps it is habit, but I cannot bring myself to lie to you. The attraction is mutual, and the undercurrent in this room more than proves my point. There. I said it. Inappropriate as you or I may believe it to be, there is something rather profound between your daughter and me. I will admit it to you as my physician, not as her father.” He paused, watching the doctor for any sort of reaction. He gave none. “I thought you would be angry at my confession. You are acting far calmer than I expected.”

  “Oh, believe me, inside I’m livid. But I will not exacerbate this situation by reacting in a violent way—though it’s quite tempting.”

  Thank Christ. Aidan was not much in the mood for fisticuffs. Besides, he was not recovered enough for fighting. The fifty-year-old doctor could take him easily. “I believe we can both agree that I’m in no position to do anything about this mutual attraction at present.”

  “And the future?” Bevan asked as he continued eating.

  “My future is a blank page. Completely uncertain. Another reason to stay away from your daughter.”

  Bevan sipped his water. “There is an uncertainty to everyone’s future.”

  “Mine more than most. I’ve wandered about this world with no purpose for long enough.”

  “I’m gratified to hear it.”

  “Since you’ve mentioned me immersing myself in one of my family’s causes, I’ve thought of nothing else. I believe I have found one.”

  “And what would that be?” Bevan asked.

  “My father’s main cause, and, to a lesser extent, my grandfather’s, is revising the Factory Act. I will focus my attention there. In what capacity, I haven’t yet worked out.”

  “Are the earl and viscount part of the Radicals faction?”

  “In sentiment, as they certainly wish to pull the Whigs toward a more liberal platform. The Radicals are not a party, more of a philosophy.”

  The doctor reached for the wine decanter and refilled his glass. Aidan’s mouth twisted into a wry smile at the fact that Bevan did not offer him any. “I read in the paper last week that Prime Minster Peel is siding with the Whigs to repeal the Corn Laws.”

  Fascinating. Aidan had stayed away from newspapers since his confinement. Except for scraps of news in letters from his family, he had no idea what was going on in the world. “His party will not appreciate that. It could spell his end as prime minister.”

  “I agree. But regarding the Factory Act, it is a worthy cause. It’s abhorrent how workers are treated—and how little they’re paid. I commend your choice.” Dr. Bevan laid his utensils aside. “On the topic of Cristyn, I am not sure how to say this except to speak as her father—as someone who loves her dearly. You’re heir to the earl.”

  “The men in my family are blessed with good health and longevity; it will be many years before I’m earl—or able to use the courtesy title of viscount.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m sure your family will wish you to align yourself with an equally powerful family,” the doctor interjected.

  “The Wollstonecrafts do not place much stock in aristocratic alliances, yet two of my grandfather’s three marriages were exactly that: products of his Regency and Georgian generational upbringing. He has since moved past such snobbish views. According to recent letters, he’s fallen for an ex-lady’s maid.”

  “I do not want to see Cristyn hurt,” Bevan said softly. “Though it appears she is already. If I had known she harbored deep feelings for you, I would have ensured that she was not your prime caregiver. I only noticed it during the past week. I must have been blind, or you both hid it well in my presence.” Bevan wiped his mouth with his napkin and tossed it on his plate. “You must have known that the attraction was mutual. Shame on you for not disclosing it,” he reprimanded.

  Staring at the man who had assisted him out of a pit of darkness and despair, ignominy covered Aidan once again. He deserved the rebuke. “Touché, Dr. Bevan. You are correct. However, I will reveal this: if it wasn’t for Cristyn’s compassionate care, I’m not positive I would have come out of this, although my complete recuperation remains an open question. Because of the admiration that I hold for you both, I will exit the stage and not have any further contact with her, or you, ever again.” His tone was arrogant, as it often was when he hid deeper emotions.

  Apparently he hadn’t fooled the doctor, who cocked a dubious eyebrow at him. “As I said, you’re adept at hiding how you truly feel. I don’t wish for us to part on such an acrimonious point of contention. I will say it once more: I’m proud of your achievements. With regards to your departure, I cannot physically restrain you, but it is my recommendation you wait for your family’s carriage and a suitable escort home. Perhaps your uncle can act as traveling companion.”

  “Why? Do you think I will go directly to St. Giles and seek out the pipe again?” he snapped.

  “Why tempt fate? Regardless, I mailed a letter to your family this morning, informing them of your imminent release. You may arrive home before the letter does. But it is my responsibility as your doctor to inform your next of kin. Stay clear of temptations. As for alcohol, if you must imbibe, stick to wine, and in moderation. I wish you nothing but the best.”

  That was as decided a dismissal as he’d ever had. Wiping his mouth on the napkin, Aidan stood. “Then I shall take my leave, not only for tonight, but as soon as I’m able to make arrangements. Good night, Doctor.” Aidan exited the room, peeved at both Bevan and his bold and beautiful daughter, and at himself for not keeping his emotions under tight rein. His departure from the clinic should not have been so fraught with emotion. Damn. Hell. Fuck.

  He had thoroughly messed things up again. As he strode toward his room, he was all the more determined to embrace his chosen cause. Not only could it be the making of him, but it would assist in healing his hurt. Because, damn it all, his heart—and perhaps also his soul—ached. He cared for Cristyn more than he was letting on to anyone, including himself—and therein lay complete destruction.

  Chapter 3

  It had taken Aidan two days to arrange the purchase of a serviceable horse, a gray-dappled gelding who looked similar to Riordan’s Grayson. The horse was a fine specimen, and Garrett would no doubt deem him a welcome addition to the Wollstonecraft stables. Aidan named him Nebula, Latin for “fog,” a reminder of where he had lived the past several months: in a vice-addled fog of his own making.

  He’d packed a small valise, and left the rest of his belongings in the trunk Garrett had sent along months ago. Arrangements were made for someone to collect it at a later date. There was nothing of value in it, just a few books and various pieces of clothing.

  It was a good thing his uncle had also sent one hundred pounds with the trunk, enough to purchase the horse and pay for his travels. After his quick stop in London, Aidan would ride to Carrbury to see his fraternal twin before traveling to Wollstonecraft Hall.

  The brothers had been inseparable as small children. They’d even shared the same bedroom, though there were empty rooms aplenty. Aidan had been sent away to school fi
rst due to his constant misbehavior, but he had always come home for holidays.

  Close to ten months had passed without Aidan seeing or talking to Riordan. Damn, he missed his brother, and he had suffered from their separation. Even though Aidan had eventually grown to resent Riordan’s basic decency, he loved his brother fiercely. Being around Riordan had made him all too aware of his own shortcomings, but it was time he placed such destructive thoughts behind him.

  Now came the goodbyes with Cristyn and Dr. Bevan. Aidan never liked farewells, whether they were temporary or not. Such emotional encounters often indicated change, which he disliked.

  There was no mistaking his churning guts, for he would be going out into the world, with all its temptations and drama. The past several months here in Standon, despite feeling as if he were incarcerated, had actually brought much-needed peace and quiet to his tumultuous life. Cristyn was a huge part of his newfound tranquility.

  The doctor and his daughter stepped outside as Aidan tied his small valise to the saddle. Dr. Bevan stepped forward and held out his hand. “All the best, Aidan.”

  He took the hand and shook it. “Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

  He turned toward Cristyn, and she quickly clasped her hands behind her back. It stung that she did not want him to touch her, not even to shake or bend over her hand. Fine. He gave her a curt bow. “My thanks, Miss Bevan. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye,” she whispered. Then, in a low voice he hardly could make out, she added, “Aidan.”

  Damn. This leave-taking was affecting him more than he’d thought it would. A lump had settled in his throat to go along with his plummeting insides. For a fleeting moment, he considered taking Cristyn up on her offer to correspond, but after their argument at dinner, and the fact that he was not ready to have any type of relationship complicate his already difficult life, he allowed the temptation to pass. With his booted foot firm in the stirrup, he mounted Nebula and gathered up the reins. Aidan touched his forelock, turned, and headed down the lane.

  This part of his life was over. Now came the thorny part: the actual living. Finding purpose and meaning. Granted, stopping at a brothel was not exactly a feasible beginning, but damn it all, he wasn’t a monk. Although his heart ached, and he longed to gaze at Cristyn once more, Aidan did not look back.

  He arrived at the Crimson Club by early evening and quickly selected a solidly built, buxom woman with golden hair who went by the name of Bridget. He promptly buried himself inside her to forget the past several months. But each time he’d closed his eyes, he saw his angel’s beautiful face and warm smile.

  The sex with Bridget was fast, raw, wild, and completely meaningless.

  He lay on his stomach, the blankets and sheets in a tangle on the floor. His body was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, and as soon as he caught his breath he was having another go. Never had he been haunted like this, even to the extent that he thought of Cristyn during sex with another woman. It was disturbing.

  “My, you were vigorous in your attentions.” Bridget giggled.

  “I’m not done yet,” he murmured. He wasn’t stopping until his body gave out, or the daydreams of his gorgeous, violet-eyed angel dissipated.

  “I don’t doubt it. Tell me, Lord Wollstonecraft, are the stories they’re saying about you true?”

  Aidan had hoped that in four months the gossip would have died down—apparently not. “What particular gossip? I cannot keep it all straight,” he answered indifferently. “And cease with the ‘lord’ business. Address me as Aidan.” He’d never cared for the designation, even requested the servants at the hall not refer to him as such.

  “As you wish…Aidan.” Bridget trailed her bare foot along the back of his leg to his arse, then with curled toes kneaded it. “The gossip? Why, the fact that you indulge in orgies with both sexes. You naughty lad.” Bridget giggled, and Aidan was sorry he had not selected someone else. “And that there was an auction, and you were the grand prize, gifted to a rather wild-looking man.” The sound of a drawer being opened filled his hearing. “Well, I have a prize for you, for bringing me much enjoyment. Look here, young lordling.”

  Aidan turned his head to stare at her. She dangled a small round bag in front of him. His blood froze in his veins, for he recognized the clothed ball. Opium. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough that he hardly caught what she said next.

  “I’ve heard you will do anything for this. Even sell yourself. How about I sell this to you? I always keep some on hand for special guests. For a price, of course. My lord tiger.” Bridget giggled again. “You’ll be an earl someday, am I right?”

  His insides roiled and cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. He was Lord Nothing, as far as he was concerned. His father held the only courtesy title, Viscount Tensbridge, connected with his grandfather, the earl. Someday, long into the future, Aidan would be a viscount, then the earl. It did not bear thinking about.

  Aidan fought to keep his voice even and uninterested. “What has that to do with anything?” he mumbled, trying to tear his gaze away from the opium. His entire body tensed and his hands began to tremble, but he tucked them away. He would not show how close to the edge he teetered.

  “You can afford my price, my lord.” She shook the bag again, trying to entice him, but all it did was make his stomach turn. “I mean, Aidan.” She giggled.

  The heartbeat that thundered in his ears was now accompanied by a high-pitched whine. “Do not believe all the tittle-tattle you hear. I’m not interested. Besides, I am not here for conversation, or the procurement of opium.”

  Bridget shrugged, then popped the bag back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

  Aidan exhaled in relief. His first test, and he had passed it—but barely. Slowly his body unclenched, and the sounds flooding his brain quieted.

  She stood, unconcerned that she was naked. “Perhaps a drink, then?”

  Not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips since January. Would a sip of scotch send him reeling? Push him off the wagon of sobriety? Not taking a drink would be suspicious, and cause for comment. “Red wine, if you please,” he murmured. Surely wine would not unsettle him; Dr. Bevan said it was allowed. He need only sip at it.

  “I’ve another proposition for you,” Bridget continued as she strode toward the sideboard, her ample breasts bouncing with every step. “I’ll be setting myself up as a courtesan. I want to give you first crack.” She poured him a glass of wine and set it on the table next to the bed. After pouring another glass, she rejoined him, using her bare foot to slide along his backside as she nosily sipped. “I know you haven’t been here in months, but I want two or three men as sponsors, and I’d like one of them to be you.” Aidan stirred, and she laid her foot flat on his back to stop him from turning over. “You’re one of the few men I actually enjoy in my bed.”

  “Do not be insulted, but I’ve been in your bed before?” Damned if he could remember. But then, he hardly recalled the faces of anyone he’d had dealings with since the beginning of his steep decline.

  “Yes, you have. Multiple times last autumn.”

  No wonder he hadn’t recalled any of it: he was in the grip of his vices by then. Much remained a blur.

  “You made quite an impression on me. You were wild, and, when the need called for it, not caring exactly, but mindful of my needs. Rare to find in this business. And you’re rich and well-connected. Handsome, tall, with dark hair and lovely blue eyes. A combination most women desire.” Her toes caressed his arse again. “And insatiable. What more could a working girl ask for?”

  Aidan grunted in response. It was good to know that despite his dissipation, he had still been able to satisfy a woman. But, God, would she ever stop talking?

  “More importantly,” Bridget droned on, “I know deep down you would not mistreat me. Hurt me.” The last two words ended on a soft whisper.

  Well
, she was correct there. Aidan had never understood why men mistreated women. Growing up, he had been taught to treat women with the respect they deserved, that they were individuals who warranted equal footing with men, regardless of what society dictated. But having a courtesan on retainer? It had never appealed to him. He’d chosen Bridget today because she looked solidly built to take his fierce pounding. If he were to admit it, she looked the least like Cristyn of any of the available prossies. He batted her leg aside and rolled over, facing her. “I’m flattered. I’ll think on it.”

  Her luscious mouth curved into a cynical smile. “That means no. I appreciate you being polite about it.” She stretched her arms above her head, giving him a full view of her generous breasts, which stirred his arousal afresh. “There are other men in your family. Maybe I can entice one of them. Your father, for example.”

  Aidan arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been with Viscount Tensbridge?” He knew that through the years the men in his family had often visited the Crimson Club. It was clean, well-run, and had a respectable air about it—at least as respectable as a brothel could be.

  “Not lately. Not for close to two years, but I recall he’s as much of a tiger in bed as you are.”

  “Please. I don’t want to hear of my father’s attributes. Besides, his attention has been turned toward a woman. You may not see him here again.” Aidan’s gaze lingered on Bridget’s lush, naked form. “In fact, I don’t believe you will see any of them darken the door here in the future. I am the last man standing.” Clasping his semi-hard cock, he gave it a couple of quick strokes until he was fully erect. “On your hands and knees,” he demanded in a gruff voice.

  “Oh.” She licked her lips, giving him a hungry look. “Going full beast, are we?”

  Aidan reached for a French letter and slipped it on his stiff prick. He was lucky he had not caught any poxes or diseases during his reckless sexual encounters, and he would make damn sure he wouldn’t in the future. Beast? Indeed. He’d been referred to as one through the years for his prowess in bed.