“But what, Miranda?” There was no mistaking the irritability in his voice.
“Well, I do know how hard you try to give those you love what you think they need most.”
His expression hardened. “Not this again.”
He moved to retrieve his coat.
No, he would not run from her! She hurried to block his exit. “You will listen to me,” she said, her voice shaking with her daring.
He gave her as disdainful a look as he ever had.
And yes, it did frighten her. But she wouldn’t be intimidated. For Davey’s sake, she could not be. “You drink too much, too often,” she blurted, without any of the finesse that she’d been taught to use with men.
“Miranda—”
“You ignore your son. He needs you.”
“I am doing what I must for his future.”
“Are you?”
“What are you saying?”
“Are you running away?”
“That’s a damnable thing to say. I won’t stand for it.” He laid his hand on the doorknob, turning from her to go.
“Do you know why he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep without nightmares?”
He spun back to face her, eyes as dark as a thundercloud. “He’s grieving his mother.”
“No, not completely. A woman was feeding his fertile imagination with all manner of ideas.”
He stood there, with his arms crossed over his chest, his coat dropped to the floor. “He told you that?”
“And more.”
“He told you that when he wouldn’t tell me?”
“How could he tell you? You’re never around and those few times when you are, you are so into your cups that you all but ignore him.”
For a moment, it seemed his expression was about to crumple. But she must have only imagined it for in the next moment; it was as stony as before. “What did he tell you?”
“A woman was telling him that his mother wanted him to come to heaven to join her.”
He blanched and then he scowled. “The hell you say.”
“She told him that if he didn’t go to join his mother in heaven right away, the angels would punish his mother.”
Adrian gaped at her. ‘You’re saying this woman wanted to drive him to take his own life? My God, Miranda, such a woman would be a monster.”
“This is what he told me. And since the telling, he hasn’t had another nightmare.”
Adrian leaned back against the door. “It’s too fantastical, Miranda.”
“You don’t believe me then?”
“You say he told you this?”
“So it is your own son whom you do not believe.”
He just stared at her. “Miranda, have you heard what you’ve been saying? It sounds mad, utterly mad.”
“Yes, someone is mad indeed, my lord.”
“Obviously you’ve given this some thought. You suspect someone?”
She compressed her lips. “Yes, but it is you who must look into your own heart to find the culprit.”
“What devil kind of riddle is that?”
“If you had not left him, all alone with your addle-brained uncle and aunt, the opportunity for this wouldn’t have arisen. If you had him close to your side—if you had been a true father.” Her voice broke on a sob. “If you had kept him safe.”
“God, Miranda, you better not be lying to me.”
Her mouth dropped open. How could he ever believe she would lie about something so terrible? “I don’t think you can love me, not truly,” she blurted.
“What? Now you say not only haven’t I been—what were your exact words?—a true father to my sons but now I don’t love you either.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You are saying that the only things that mean anything to me, the only thing that gives my life meaning are illusions.”
“I am saying you had better change your life.”
“Change my life?”
“Yes, accept your lesser wealth. Stop running away from life in your brandy bottle and be a real father to your sons.”
He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “You-are-putting-me-in-hell!” he exploded.
Her heart jumped into her throat, but she kept her outward courage. Her outward calm. “Adrian, you must do these things, for me if not for your sons. But most of all, do it for your own self-respect.”
“Oh, my self-respect.” He clamped a hand over his heart. Then a scowl came over his face, and he waved a hand about the hall. “And if I give up cards, how am I to provide you with this largess, my fine lady?”
“I don’t need this house. You could find me a nice little cottage. Somewhere in greater London.”
“And how long until you find someone who can give you more?”
“I am telling you that I am willing to live with less if it means your sons can have more of you.”
“How self-sacrificial! Forgive me, if I cannot believe it will last.”
“My God.” She felt the blood drain from her face.
“What?” he said.
“Your disdain for me, because I was a courtesan—”
“You told me that once a courtesan, always a courtesan.”
“I never did, that’s your own imagination.”
“You alluded to it when you balked at my suggestion that you tone down your use of cosmetics and the glittering, low cut gowns.”
“Suggest? Ha! You ordered me!”
“Semantics.”
“No, not semantics. And we had just come to know each other as mistress and provider. You wanted instant intimacy and trust of a manner that takes time. You want this trust and emotional intimacy. You want me to make sacrifices, but you want to make none towards me.”
“What sacrifices do you demand? You demand that I end the very means of my financial existence and yours.”
“Well, it isn’t just about you and me, is it? You have children.”
“And you want me to change. You want me to stop drinking—”
“Yes, stop drinking to excess as a way to run away from
“Or?” he asked.
“Or I shan’t be able to love you any longer. I cannot love a man who I cannot respect. How could any woman respect a man who will not do right by his children?”
He gaped at her.
“I should be enough for you. When your life is too painful, you should be able to turn to me for solace.”
His face when ashen and without warning, he slid to the floor and put his head in his hands. “My God.”
She dropped down to sit beside him. “Adrian! Are you well?”
He looked up at her his face stricken. “Hell no, I am not well.” He closed his eyes, his hand cupping her face.
She pressed his hand closer. “Tell me.”
“You tell me this fantastical tale about some woman, some insane, sadistic devil woman who hurt my child. It’s such a horrid tale that I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. Yet, I look into your face. I see nothing but sincerity.” He opened his eyes. “You would not lie to me.” He compressed his lips then continued. “You would not lie to me, not even about my own sins. Christ, Miranda, you love me enough to accuse me of my own sins.”
Each word he spoke was like a knife in her heart. “Oh, Adrian…”
“No, do not weaken. You are exactly correct to press me on this.” He closed his eyes again. “My father neglected me. Alternatively, he made me lavish promises to do better. I learned never to trust the promises of others. Yet, in the end, his desire for—.” Adrian tightened his jaw so firmly that Miranda could hear his teeth grinding. “Let’s call it what it was, his desire for sexual congress with beautiful women, a desire he would satisfy no matter the cost to anyone else around him, even me, his son, in the end that desire destroyed him.
“Do you know what it is like, finding your father with his wrists slashed because he drank himself into a delusional, depressed stupor over some woman he’d become obsessed with and lost?”
“Aunt Cassandra?”
“She was one of them, yes. The last one. The fatal blow. But she was not the first by any means.” He sighed. “At least my mother was not around to see his fall. She was not there to feel the hurt.”
“But you had to take her place?”
“Yes, in a way.” He laughed, or was it a harsh, barking sob? He put a hand over his face. “He tore me down. Over and over, he promised he would change. I was only a boy; I wanted to believe. I wanted…I wanted his love. I wanted him to be worthy of my love.” This time, it was definitely a sob. “I wanted someone, anyone in my life who was worthy to be the object of my affections. But no, there was no one.” He ground out the next words. “No one! Just one disaster after another to clean up.”
She moved closer to him.
He stiffened.
She persisted.
He pushed her away. “I am not worthy of you, Miranda.”
She fought him, placing her arms about him.
He remained rigid. “I never wanted to hurt my sons. I vowed I would not.”
She hugged him tighter. “Trust, we must learn to trust in each other, in our love.”
“How can you love a man who has neglected and failed to protect his own son?”
“I don’t demand perfection from those I love,” she said, a sob cutting her voice off. “I just want you to try to be a father. I want you to try to be present for those who love you. Stop chasing after things that don’t matter.”
He let go of a ragged breath.
There was something final in that breath.
Something frightening.
Gently but firmly, he pulled her arms off of him and then he arose. He ran a smoothing hand over his hair then adjusted his waistcoat and retrieved his greatcoat from where he had dropped it earlier.
“Don’t…please don’t leave,” she begged.
He touched her face again and shook his head. “I am not worthy of you. I am not worthy of my sons.”
“That’s not true!”
“I am wreckage, born from wreckage.”
“That’s not true either.”
“It is too late. Just too damned late.” And with that, he turned and slipped out into the night.
Chapter Twelve
Adrian sat at his club, staring into his glass of brandy, not drinking, not really seeing the glass or aware of any of the activity of the laughing, talking gentlemen around him. Flashes of his childhood kept filling his mind and he felt again the terrible emptiness.
The hopelessness.
Loving Miranda had brought back that gnawing sense of life being too painful to face.
Why?
The girl herself had not done anything to make him feel this way. Not truly. She had been forced into her way of life. She had done the best she knew how to do in order to keep herself and her mother safe.
What’s more, she had found a way to keep the flame of her hopes for love alive.
He hadn’t.
He was dead inside. All his hope and ability to trust others was damaged.
And, all along, he’d known this would eventually drive a wedge between them.
That underlying, constant anxiety had driven him back to drinking.
She asked—no, she demanded that he give it up.
He didn’t know if he could.
He would only fail her again, if he tried.
He put a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed furiously. God, he’d fail and hurt her again and again.
Just as his father had failed and hurt him again and again.
It was better to let her go, now, while she was still alive inside. Now while she could still find someone else worthy of her love. While she could still believe someone worthy of her love existed.
He pictured her with some young baronet or merchant’s son. Yes, it was not too late for her.
“I hate to see a man drink alone.”
Adrian lifted his head, slowly.
His cousin, Jonathon Lloyd, stood there, holding a steaming cup of what smelled like coffee.
Adrian didn’t particularly feel like having company, but he motioned to the empty chair beside him.
Jon sat and drank his coffee in silence, yet all the while, he studied Adrian.
Adrian was content to be quiet.
“I owe you an apology,” Jon said at length.
“Do you?” Adrian raised his brows in a wry manner. “I thought you were angry with me.”
Jon scoffed and waved his words away. “I was in my cups and too full of my own vainglory.” He dropped his voice to confessional tone. “It is all my lady’s fault, you know.”
“Is it?” Adrian asked, without caring.
“She encourages me too much.” He placed his empty coffee cup on the table. “She thinks that you are a promising young man and I must snap you up and secure your loyalty before someone else does. She tells me that you have the ability to give great loyalty without being a slavish lackey. In other words, you have a strong enough s mind strong enough to tell me when to get shagged.”
Adrian lifted his glass and studied it. “You take your lady’s advice on such matters?”
“Only when she’s correct.”
Adrian chuckled, an empty sound to his own ears. “I am not that loyal.”
“You’re loyal and hard working. Whatever you believe in, you’ll strive for it without stint.” Jon frowned. “But it’s your goals that need adjusting.”
“You’re speaking of Miss Jones?”
“Aye, I am.”
“Be warned, I am in a dangerous mood. Especially where she is concerned. I won’t hear any disrespect towards her.”
“None shall be forthcoming. In fact, I am here to offer you a solution.”
“A solution?”
“A job,” Jon said, dryly.
Adrian looked up at him.
“You could make enough money to make up for a year’s worth gaming.”
“That’s a lot of money. I told you, I am very lucky lately.”
Jon nodded, his utter self-confidence apparent. “I’ll compensate you, I promise.”
“Why would you do this?”
“I need someone I can trust implicitly. Really, I should go, but with Anne so close to her lying in, with me not knowing what the state of health of this child will be…” Jon let his voice trail off.
It was well known that Lloyd sons were more often born with weak lungs than strong ones. Jon’s worries were not misplaced or excessive.
“A job, eh?” Adrian asked.
He was surprised that he was even considering taking paid work. For a nobleman, anything but idle indulgence or managing an estate, was unacceptable. Playing cards and gambling with hopes of financial gain were acceptable.
Working for your cousin? No.
Perhaps it was time Adrian changed his view of that.
“A job in America, New York to be exact.”
Adrian was startled at how disappointed he was at hearing that.
What a pity the circumstances and timing were wrong. He’d actually been considering it.
“I can’t leave my sons right now.” Adrian put the glass to his lips.
“Take them with you.”
“Brentwood is in school.”
“He would learn more traveling with you to America than he can learn in any stuffy classroom.”
“Perhaps.”
“But you don’t want to leave Miss Jones?”
Adrian said nothing. He had all but left her already, tonight. For her own good.
God, how her accusations still cut him to the bone. He put his glass to his lips again.
“Take her with you, too.” Jon said.
Adrian shook his head. “A poor jest, cousin.”
“Was it?”
“You know I cannot take my mistress on a trip with my sons.”
“I hear that your youngest son is already living with your mistress, in Chelsea.”
“Dorothy telling tales again.”
Jon chuckled, mirthlessly. “She was liv
id, my friend. You better watch that one. Closely.”
“Dorothy means no harm. She’s just concerned for my sons, her nephews.”
“It came across to me more as jealousy, than concern.”
It was Adrian’s turn to scoff. “She has no cause for jealousy. We came to a natural end.”
“You could take Miss Jones to America with you and your sons, openly, if she was your wife.”
“I can’t marry her. You know that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have sons and their reputations to think of.”
“Really? You really believe your name is not old and grand enough to shake the scandal off eventually?”
“We don’t have the wealth. My sons will need to contract wealthy wives.”
“Why haven’t you taken a wealthy wife?”
Adrian shrugged. “I am done with marriage.”
“What if it were a marriage to Miss Jones?”
“Unless you can find a heretofore unknown marriage license between the Duke of Winterton and Miss Jones’ mother, I can marry her. Not ever. No matter what I want.”
“You think your name won’t bear a little scandal?”
“I know it won’t. My father saw to that.”
“You think that you need great wealth to break the rules?”
“To break the rules and get away with it? Yes, I do.”
“You don’t have a taste for politics. I can understand that,” Jon said.
“No, I have no taste for politics.”
“However, you are somewhat correct; you do need some power or wealth in order to be a successful rule breaker, in our world. What good is an old family name if you don’t parlay it into a political career? So you eschew politics.” Jon tapped his fingers on the table, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. “Take my job, join with me. If you prove yourself on this trip, I’ll make you a partner in my business.”
“What kind of business?”
Jon scooted his chair closer. “My associated are focused on the Orient. They are, as we sit here speaking, building a fleet of ships like no one has ever seen. I am ready to invest a frightful sum. If it is everything they say it is, it will be worth the risk.”
“So, why do you need me?”
“I want you to go and see if everything they say is, indeed, the truth.”
“I know a little of ships but I know nothing about shipbuilding.”
A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) Page 12