Lady of Pleasure

by Delilah Marvelle

  Caroline gave her mother a withered look. “And what do you know of romance and love, Mama, outside of what happens in a bed?”

  A fan hit Caroline’s shoulder. “I’m still your mother.”

  Caroline pursed her lips. “I don’t appreciate you speaking ill of him. He hasn’t earned it, and no one knows him better than I.”

  “I don’t think ill of him, dear. If I did, I wouldn’t have allowed you to slip out of the room to see him, would I? But I do think it is time you tell your brother what you feel for Caldwell. Before more than quiet alcoves and romantic embracing is involved.”

  Caroline wrinkled her nose at the thought of telling her brother. “I can’t. I would gladly tell him if I knew Caldwell was ready to commit, but it wouldn’t be right for me to do it prior. I don’t want to say anything to Alex and then make everything awkward between all of us when nothing has been said or done. Whilst that embrace happened, yes, it’s fairly obvious Caldwell still doesn’t know how to go about initiating me. You have no idea what I had to go through to collect that embrace. I had to beg for it. He was incredibly nervous, and I don’t want to push him any harder than I already am.”

  The dowager lowered her voice. “Caroline. The man is financially ruined. Ruined. According to his uncle, he barely drags in three hundred pounds a year from the estate his father left him. Surely, that doesn’t appeal to you.”

  Caroline tapped at her mother’s fan which was still positioned toward her like a bayonet. “It’s only money, Mama. I’m worth eight thousand a year for life. I think I can well afford to love him and still have children. Now are you for or against me in this?”

  Her mother sighed. “I’m certainly not against you.” She hesitated before gently adding, “His uncle is about. Come. Let us go speak to him and see what we can do.” She swept them both out of the ballroom altogether and toward an even quieter section, away from the crowds in one of the galleries. There, leaning against the stoic bust of Lord Whittle’s great-grandfather, with a half-empty glass of wine in hand, was a gray-haired gent whose ivory waistcoat could not hide a touch of a belly protruding forth from his evening jacket.

  Despite the belly, he was rather distinguished.

  It was none other than Caldwell’s uncle, Lord Hughes. The last time she had seen him was when he had delivered flowers to their house after her father’s funeral well over a year ago.

  Her mother announced their presence by saying, “Forgive us for interrupting what appears to be a quiet moment, Hughes.”

  Lord Hughes quickly finished his wine with a toss and set it on the ledge of the bust beside him, nudging it into place so it wouldn’t fall. “Nonsense. There are no quiet moments in life.” He stepped toward them, took her mother’s hand and bowed ardently over it, kissing it. “You look exquisite, as always.”

  The dowager withdrew her hand and smirked. “How kind of you to lie to a woman my age.”

  Hughes adjusted the sleeves on his evening coat. “I never lie to beautiful women. No matter their age. It’s my way of ensuring I don’t go to hell when I die.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. She had no doubt her mother was enjoying the attention.

  Turning toward Caroline, Lord Hughes placed both gloved hands behind his back, genuine brown eyes observing her. “Dearest God have you flourished since I last saw you. You look thirty. Bravo.”

  Apparently, that was a compliment.

  Hughes edged toward her mother and drawled from the side of his mouth, “Perhaps we ought to invite her to our upcoming gathering, and assign her to Ronan for the night, eh? I have no doubt if you gave those two time alone they would—”

  The dowager smacked her fan soundly against the man’s arm. “I’m liberal, Hughes, but not that liberal. Your parties are anything but legal.”

  “Yet you gleefully fund, organize and attend every last one with me and the boys.”

  Her mother tsked. “Invite her to parties that involve clothing. They are just as divine.”

  He chuckled. “And what fun is that?” Lord Hughes leaned in closer to her mother and added in a huskier tone, “So when am I going to have a chance at you? Maybe this upcoming event? Hm? Because once I marry, it’s done. It’s over. The trousers stay on.”

  The dowager smacked him with her fan again.

  Caroline eyed them. Apparently, something was going on between these two. And she prayed it wasn’t that sort of something “Mother?” she inquired. “Are you and Lord Hughes…?”

  Her mother’s lips pursed. “Of course not. After your father, I only touch men under forty.” Her mother stared Lord Hughes down in annoyance before glancing toward the crowded ballroom well-beyond where they stood. “Hughes.” She lowered her voice. “Is your nephew interested in my daughter at all? Do you know? Is matrimony a possibility or is she wasting her time? She needs to know. More importantly, I do.”

  Caroline’s brows rose. Her mother certainly knew how to get to the point.

  Lord Hughes hesitated. “Well…I…that isn’t for me to say. Ronan has always veered away from matrimony for reasons he never talks about. Of course, one can’t blame him. His childhood wasn’t an easy one after his mother died. And his bastard of a father made his life a dismal one.”

  Caroline’s throat tightened. It was a childhood Caldwell never talked about. One she had asked about throughout the years, but one he only superficially disclosed in pieces. All whilst averting his gaze.

  Adjusting the sleeves on his coat, Lord Hughes added, “The truth is, Ronan is bound to the life of a gentleman with very little income and has an aunt who depends on his generosity. I only earn enough to assist him in maintaining his house which is about the only thing his father left to him that didn’t have a long list of debts attached to it. He has always struggled, mind you, but after the fire destroyed that ten thousand pound investment he had hoped would raise him out of murky waters, he never recovered.”

  Caroline felt her stomach churn. She didn’t realize he was still struggling.

  Heavy steps approached, making them pause.

  Someone cleared their throat from behind. “Lord Stanley is in desperate need of a dance partner. So I naturally thought of you. Are you up for it?”

  Caroline groaned, knowing her brother had found her.

  Hughes gently tugged on Caroline’s arm, leaned in and whispered, “Ronan adores you. You are all he has ever talked about throughout the years. Don’t give up on him. He needs a good woman in his life.”

  Her heart skipped. It was all she needed to hear.

  Another hand grabbed Caroline’s upper arm from behind and yanked her back and away from Lord Hughes. She stumbled and glared over at her brother. “Alex, what are you— ”

  Her brother stepped past and towered over Lord Hughes. He lowered his voice to lethal. “I don’t know what you just said to my sister, Hughes, but don’t ever whisper things to her again.”

  Caroline smacked her brother’s shoulder from behind with her fan. Whatever she could reach of it anyway. “Cease being rude. He did nothing wrong.”

  Alex spun toward her and glared down at her with blazing green eyes. “Do not argue the point of my intentions. This man’s lifestyle equates to the devil. And coming from me, those are heavy words. Now come. Lord Stanley is hoping for a dance.” Grabbing her arm, he tugged her toward the opposite direction and back into the ballroom.

  Why couldn’t her mother have hired a real chaperone? One who wouldn’t humiliate her both in and out of the house? “Alex, please. I’m already exhausted and I promised the waltz to Lord Gifford.”

  He glanced back at her, brows going up, but continued to lead her through the crowds all the same. “Gifford? You’re giving him the waltz? You never give men the waltz. What brought this on?”

  She knew that look. “It isn’t what you think.”

  “I’m not objecting.” His green eyes brightened. “In fact, I like Gifford. He has money and manners. If he proposes, you had better damn well accept or I’ll marry him
for you.”

  Leave it to her brother to take over the conversation and her life. “I don’t like him in that way, Alex.”

  “Too many freckles?”

  “Don’t be absurd. It has nothing to do with his freckles. He is incredibly dashing. I simply have no interest in him as a man.”

  “I see. Well, before you up and judge the man, think on this: money aside, he already has four sons waddling about his estate. Four. What does that mean to you? That means there won’t be any expectations for you to have any heirs. Because he already has them. It’s like showing up to a dinner party you don’t have to plan. Done.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you listened to yourself, and the way you talk sometimes, maybe you would understand why I never come to you for advice. And despite what you think, I am not dancing with Lord Stanley. He makes snide remarks about his servants, and picks his nose when he thinks no one is looking.”

  He laughed. “You sound annoyed with me.”

  “I am annoyed with you. As of late, you only ever want to talk to me when it involves potential prospects. As if that is the only conversation I am worth. I’m insulted. And that is an understatement.”

  He sighed. “I’m sorry. This whole business of trying to get you married off is not what I aspire to do. Neither is the Season itself.” He sighed again. “I’ll have our mother take you to these things from here on out. All right? Do you want to go home?”

  “I can’t. I promised Lord Gifford a dance.”

  He hesitated. “I like Gifford. Did I tell you that?”

  Oh, God. “Yes. You told me that.” She sighed and followed her brother left and right for the rest of the night, demurely accepting superficial introductions and conversing with a long list of men who spoke to her about the world and life as if she were three. Or at best…four.

  She really hated being a woman sometimes.

  The tapping of violin strings from the orchestra on the other side of the room suddenly announced the upcoming waltz.

  She inwardly cringed, preparing herself for three minutes of being in the arms of a man who wasn’t Caldwell.

  Lord Gifford, on cue, appeared at her side. “Lady Caroline. Honor me.”

  Her brother nudged her and smiled.

  Caroline ignored her brother and extended a gloved hand to Gifford. “My lord.”

  Lord Gifford set her hand onto the sleeved forearm of his evening coat and led her to the floor with a cool stride. Joining all the other couples on the dance floor, they turned in unison toward each other. Taking her hand into his, he rigidly drew her close, and positioned her against himself, setting a large hand on her corseted waist. Holding her gaze, he smiled, his blue eyes brightening.

  She lowered her gaze to his linen cravat, knowing it was best not to engage him.

  The music commenced and Gifford swept her effortlessly across the floor, turning them both with a quick ease and precision that was downright sensational.

  She blinked. He danced incredibly well.

  “Impressed?” he asked, in between dancing steps.

  He had clearly noticed that she had noticed. “Very.”

  “I have a question,” he said.

  “And I have an answer,” she said.

  He tightened his hold. “Do you think I’m too old for you?”

  Her startled gaze flew up to his and she almost tripped on his feet in the middle of their turn. This couldn’t be happening. She was a Hawksford. And he the epitome of respectability. “I don’t judge people based on their age, Lord Gifford,” she managed.

  He heatedly held her gaze. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Maybe she should have lied.

  His hand fingered hers as they rounded behind another couple. “Might I call on you sometime?”

  Why did she feel as if she were sinking into a quagmire merely for being nice? “I’m already spoken for. I’m awaiting a proposal.” It wasn’t a lie.

  His features stilled but his boxed steps never wavered as he swept them right. “I would still like to call on you. If I may. Until you are formally spoken for. Might I?”

  If only Caldwell were this determined. “Please don’t complicate my life.”

  “If you think I’m looking to complicate your life, you don’t know me.”

  “Exactly. I don’t.” She hoped that was the end of their conversation.

  “Would you like to?”

  Did he not get the point? “I already told you I was spoken for.”

  “I know.”

  They danced the remainder of the waltz in complete silence.

  When the music ended, Gifford brought them to a halt and released her, his hand lingering in hers before finally releasing it. He captured her gaze. “I will only relent once I hear of your engagement. You can’t fault a smitten man for that.” His gaze softened. “Until then, I remain yours and enchanted. I will see you on the riding path tomorrow.”

  He smiled and departed. But not without glancing back at her one last time.

  Caroline cringed, knowing she had a problem.

  Later that evening

  The Spaniard Inn

  Ronan knew he had to end things with Theodosia. He knew their association had lasted well beyond what he had meant it to. For the mess the woman had created for him tonight that resulted in him almost ripping the hooks off Caroline’s gown in an alcove outside of a ballroom filled with over a hundred people, damn well reminded him that if he wasn’t careful, Theodosia would end up doing what she did best: orchestrating people’s lives, particularly his.

  Ronan stalked toward the mahogany table that was unceremoniously cluttered with decanters of cognac, reached out a heavy arm and grabbed a crystal filled with cognac. The amber liquid swayed from side to side within the narrow throat of the decanter, and he knew it made no sense filling a glass he’d have to keep tending to.

  Bringing the rim of the smooth crystal to his lips, he tilted back his head and drank down the liquid. He forced down more and more and more, trying to finish as much as he could without coming up for air.

  A muffled knock came to the door.

  He stiffened and broke away from the cognac, but somehow forgot to level out the decanter. Cool liquid exploded across the front of his coat and trousers. “Sod it all.” In that moment, he felt like his father. Slathered in drink. “Bastard.” He slammed the almost empty decanter onto the table and swiveled toward the door, swiping off the liquid as best he could. “It’s open.”

  The door to the rented room widened as a cloaked figure stepped into the room. “Is there a reason you wanted to meet here?”

  A heaviness centered in his chest. “Yes. You and I need to talk. And I didn’t want anyone seeing me going to your house or anyone seeing you coming to mine.” He made certain his voice indicated that he was anything but pleased with her. “Close the door.”

  She firmly shut the oak-paneled door with the heel of her satin slipper, her gaze never once breaking from his. The glow of flickering candles revealed an elegant face framed by silver-streaked mahogany hair that had been swept up into a chignon that glistened from countless pearls woven through its strands. A faded, white crescent-shaped scar above her right eye whispered of a past she never spoke of. Everything about her had always been genuine, but equally sad and dark. It was what had originally lured him.

  Theodosia understood things other women didn’t care to understand.

  Amber eyes pinned him into place. “I take it you aren’t pleased with me.”

  “No. I’m not.” He rigidly tapped the side of his head. “What the devil were you thinking telling Lady Caroline to meet me in the alcove in your stead?” In agitation, he shifted from boot to boot. “Before we get into all of that – and let me assure you we will, for there is much to discuss – I also want to know what is going on between you and Ridley. I heard you were calling on him. Is that true?”

  “I’m not bedding him, if that is your concern.”

  “I wasn’t questioning that. I know the sort
of woman you are. Hell, it took you two months of us being in the same bed before you put your hands on me. I’m concerned for your safety. The man is known for assault. All one has to do is follow the trail of broken glass on the street to his front door.”

  She stared. “Ridley would never hurt me.”

  Apparently, she had a new project. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t care for these questions.” She set her chin. “How was France?” Her voice took on an all too casual tone that meant she was diverting the conversation. “I heard from your uncle when I last visited him that you bought a house for your aunt on the Seine. I imagine a generous gift such as that didn’t come cheaply. Did you need money for it? All you have to do is ask. You know that.”

  He widened his stance. “I don’t want to talk about money right now.”

  She sighed. “What do you want to talk about then?”

  “I’m worried about you calling on Ridley. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. Only you brushed off our meeting to Lady Caroline. Ridley has a history few dare to even whisper about let alone understand. And I know you. I know the way you do things. You tinker and dig into people’s lives because you believe you have a greater purpose for them. A purpose, which in my opinion, isn’t usually in the best interests of the person you are trying to help.”

  Her expression stilled and became lethal. “Are you saying I didn’t help you when you needed it?”

  He huffed out a breath. “No.”

  “Then don’t judge me. I have plans for Ridley.”

  “Plans? What? Is that between you and his mother?”

  Her expressive face became more somber. “If you must know, I intend to find him a wife. Ridley needs someone who can offer him the support he needs given his broken spirit. Surely you can’t object to my assisting him with a match.”