“That’s not love, Georgiana,” he said gently.
She ignored that. “I waited for you, wishing, hoping that one day, when you were ready to settle down, I would be the one you chose. And then, she came along, and ruined everything. All my hopes . . .” Her voice broke, and she stopped.
He pressed his fist to his mouth, and it was a moment before he could reply. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Having had my heart broken, I always vowed I’d never cause anyone else that kind of pain. That I have done it to you—”
“She broke it.”
Her words cut through his like the lash of a whip.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your heart was broken because she broke it, Denys. I am the one who picked up the pieces.”
The former might be true, but though he could have quibbled about the latter, he chose not to. Let her believe that if it made her feel better.
“And now,” she went on, her voice rising a notch, vibrating with repressed anger, “now, just as I begin to believe that everything I have planned for us could still happen, that the future I have wished for could be mine after all, she comes back, and all my good work is undone.”
Good work, he noted, and plans, and wishes, but no mention of love. He began to wonder if his concern for her broken heart was unfounded.
“And now? Now I have stood by,” she went on, “as a lady must, able to do nothing while that woman waltzes back into your life and chases after you shamelessly. And then, she has the unmitigated gall to show up here? Here, at your own mother’s event, as if she feels she is entitled to arrive anywhere you happen to be.”
“Well, she is entitled to be here,” Denys pointed out reasonably. “She bought a ticket.”
“You took her side,” she said, and the anger formerly in her voice was gone. In its place was disbelief, the same wondering disbelief a child might display upon discovering that wishes are not reality, and life is not always fair. “You took her side instead of mine.”
“It was not a matter of taking sides. Would you have had me ignore her? Give her the cut?”
She stared. “Of course you should have cut her. There was no other proper alternative.”
“Be deliberately cruel, you mean?”
“Oh, please. I know why you didn’t do it. Everyone knows why.”
“Indeed?”
“Oh, Denys, must we pretend again today?” She looked at him, and the pain in her eyes seemed deeper, darker, mixed with anger. “She’s your mistress. Everyone knows that.”
He stiffened though he’d known all along this was bound to be the way people’s minds would run. “Then everyone is misinformed. She is not my mistress. She is my business partner. We discussed this only yesterday, Georgiana.”
“Business partner,” she scoffed, making short shrift of their conversation the day before. “Do you think I didn’t see through that arrangement the moment I heard about it? And no, I’m not talking about our conversation yesterday. I heard about that woman and why she’s here the day before I departed for Kent.”
“Perhaps you did,” he acknowledged, “but you did not hear about any of it from me until yesterday, and what you heard elsewhere is gossip.”
“It is? Do you think I didn’t see how you looked at her today?”
Of the many tumultuous emotions Lola always managed to evoke in him, he had no idea which ones he had displayed moments ago. But there was one thing Georgiana had concluded that he could dispute. “Whatever you saw, or think you saw, in my countenance earlier, you are nonetheless mistaken about the nature of my relationship with Lola Valentine. I can see,” he added, noting the disbelief in her expression, “that I must be blunt about a very indelicate subject. A mistress is a woman that a man pays to sleep with him. Lola has not indicated any desire for such an arrangement with me, and I can assure you that if she were to do so, I would not dream of accommodating her. I have not made her my mistress, and I will not. Not now, nor at any point in the future, and I am astonished that you would think I could come to you, and look into your eyes, and give you false explanations of the situation.”
Her shoulders went back. “I chose to accept those explanations. And live with them.”
“But not believe them.” He paused. “So my supposed mistress is to be tolerated, but not acknowledged?”
“If necessary.” Had he still possessed any doubts about his decision before walking into this room, that answer would have banished them. He took a deep breath. “You may be willing to accept such an arrangement, but I am not. I will always think of you with fondness and affection, Georgiana, and I hope one day, you can once again regard me in that light.” He bowed. “Good-bye, my dear.”
“You’ll regret this, Denys.” There was pain in her voice, and there were tears in her eyes, but he couldn’t help feeling that they weren’t the pain and tears of heartbreak, but rather, the disappointment of thwarted wishes. “You will regret this one day.”
He wouldn’t, but a gentleman could never say such a thing. “That is quite possible,” he said instead, and donned his hat. “Good-bye, Georgiana. I wish you every happiness.”
He left Georgiana in the music room, but he did not rejoin his family in the gardens of St. John’s Lodge. Instead, he left Bute’s house by the front entrance and began walking. It was nearing sunset, and ominous clouds were gathering overhead, but he paid little heed to that. He needed to walk—to move and to think—so he simply started around the park’s Inner Circle and kept going, over both bridges of the boating lake, across Hanover Terrace, and onto the Park Road.
As he walked, he thought of his youth, of how he’d ignored his responsibilities and the expectations of his loved ones. He thought of his cavalier seduction of a dancing girl and his even more cavalier disregard of the consequences. He thought of his heartbreak and his resolve to straighten out the mess he’d made of his life, and though he was proud of what he’d achieved, he knew the changes he’d wrought within himself had somehow sent him ricocheting to the opposite extreme. The callow, careless youth had become a man so fixed on duty and obligation and doing the responsible thing that he’d actually considered marrying a girl he did not love.
Lola’s return was making him realize that neither man was the man he wanted to be. He felt chained by forces that were pulling him in opposite directions. On one side were obligation, duty, and expectation, his deep love for his family, and all the conventions and beliefs with which he’d been raised. On the other was only one thing: his deep, unwavering desire for one woman.
A drop of rain fell, tapping the brim of his hat, then another, and another, but he did not stop. When the road forked at St. John’s Church, he veered left and kept walking.
Was there no middle ground? he wondered. Was there no way for him to bend with the forces around him and not break? Was there no compromise? No stable, solid center, no eye in the midst of the hurricane where he could be content? That was what he really wanted.
In other words, he thought wryly, he wanted to have it all. And perhaps, like Georgiana, he could not quite accept that life wasn’t willing to hand it over.
Ah, but what if he took it?
There was, he knew from schooldays, a Persian proverb, something about taking what you want, but being prepared to pay the price to the gods, whatever the price might be.
What price was he willing to pay?
He stopped on the sidewalk, and it was only then that he took stock of his surroundings. He was in St. John’s Wood, walking along beside the pretty little villas of Circus Road, villas where many mistresses had been kept over the years by many young and callow gentleman of the aristocracy.
He walked farther along the road, then stopped again in front of a small stone house that stood behind a discreet wall of ivy-laced wrought iron, a house that had once belonged to him. The delphiniums planted in the urn by the gate were vivid purple in the twilight, and the granite façade of the house shimmered silvery gray in the rain. It looks the same
, he thought, and tightness squeezed his chest. It looks exactly the same.
Memories swamped him, memories of walking up those whitewashed steps, of Lola at the top of the staircase and her radiant smile beaming down on him like sunshine, of her running down the stairs and straight into his arms, of him carrying her right back up.
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, feeling the raindrops spatter his face. He inhaled deeply, but what he smelled on the breeze was not the dampness of a spring day, but the delicate sweetness of jasmine.
The clatter of carriage wheels on the road opened his eyes, and he looked over his shoulder as a growler came up the street. It stopped beside him, but when he saw the astonished face of the woman on the other side of the window glass, her eyes widening in shock beneath the narrow brim of her white straw hat, he could not share her surprise.
To him, her arrival seemed inevitable. Fate offering him a choice: take what he wanted and pay the price, or walk away for good and all. There was no middle ground, no solid center. There was Lola, and there was everything else.
She’d said he didn’t know who she really was, and that was true, because he now understood that she was not at all what he’d thought her to be. She was not a force beyond his control, she was not something to be fought, or seduced, or conquered, or denied. She was simply his woman, for now and for always, and even if she broke his heart all over again, even if everything he’d tried to be was in ruins afterward, he did not care.
He took a step toward her, then stopped. He’d already made his choice, but he wasn’t the only one who had to choose, and he certainly wasn’t the only one who’d have to pay the price.
He doffed his hat, watching as the driver climbed down from the box, pulled out the step, and opened the door for her. Hat in his hand, heart in this throat, he waited.
She didn’t move, not to come out, nor to invite him in. “What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding bewildered, almost plaintive.
“The same thing as you. At least, I hope so.”
She shook her head, as if denying it, but then she sighed, seeming to realize denials were pointless. “I didn’t know you would be at that flower show. Kitty—my friend—she bought the tickets and asked me to go, but she didn’t say it was your mother’s event. Oh, God, Denys.” She paused, lifting one white-gloved hand in a hopeless gesture. “If I’d known, I’d never have—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He rubbed a hand over his rain-soaked face, and he waited.
“And your sweetheart?” She gave a laugh that to his ears sounded forced. “I’ll wager you had a great deal of explaining to do there.”
“She’s not my sweetheart, and that doesn’t matter either.”
A tiny frown knit her auburn brows together. “But you’re going to marry her, aren’t you? That’s what the scandal sheets are saying.”
“The scandal sheets will say anything if it will sell newspapers. The truth is, I had been considering the possibility of courting Georgiana, with perhaps a view to marriage, and had been spending much more time in her company this season than previously, but I had not yet indicated any serious attachment or intention.”
She drew a deep breath. “Perhaps you haven’t, but she feels a serious attachment to you. It was in her face. I saw it.”
“Georgiana has harbored hopes about me since our childhood, and I fear my recent attention toward her fueled those hopes, much to my regret. But today, I made it clear to her that those hopes will never be fulfilled. I daresay Georgiana will make some man a fine wife, but she now knows that man will never be me.”
The rain was falling harder now. His hair was soaked, and so were his clothes, but he didn’t point that out. Though he had no idea what she was going to do, he didn’t try to help her make a decision. He willed himself not to move. He hardly dared to breathe. And he waited.
And then, after what seemed an eternity, she slid back on the seat to allow him inside with her, and Denys’s heart leapt in his chest with such force, it hurt.
He was across the remaining distance in less than a second. “The Savoy,” he told the driver as he stepped into the cab. “If I don’t tap the roof when you arrive there, keep circling Covent Garden and the Strand until I do.”
And then, he was in the cab, Lola was in his arms, his mouth was on hers, and he knew he had just walked straight into the teeth of the storm. He knew the choice he’d just made might cost him everything he’d spent the past six years trying to earn. He knew he might have to give up all the trappings of his position and the pleasures of good society. He might even have to sacrifice the affection of his family and the respect of his father. But if that was the price to have the only woman he had ever loved, he’d pay it. He’d pay it gladly.
Chapter 18
Lola knew this was a mistake, one that would probably wreck him, and her, and everything both of them were trying to achieve, but with his mouth on hers and his arms around her, she just couldn’t summon the will to stop it. When he dragged her onto his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and when his tongue touched her lips, she parted them in willing accord.
The kiss was full and lush. His tongue caressed hers with carnal strokes, sliding deeper, then pulling back. Her body was flushed with heat, aching with need.
He broke the kiss, but she had time for one gasp for air before he was tilting his head the other way to kiss her again. This time, it was a slow, drugging kiss that seemed to go on and on as he explored her mouth, tasting her, rediscovering her. It’s been so long, she thought, and moaned against his mouth. God, Denys, it’s been so long.
He broke the kiss again, and pulled back. Afraid he was calling a halt, she grasped the soaking-wet lapels of his jacket. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”
“Who’s stopping?” he muttered, and his hands came up between them. He pressed kisses to her face as he began unfastening the buttons of her jacket, waistcoat, and shirtwaist.
He yanked apart her necktie, then pulled apart the edges of her garments, and bent his head to trail kisses along the side of her neck.
By the time he slipped his hand inside the placket of her shirtwaist, her breathing was quick and shallow, and her body was flushed with heat, and when his fingertips caressed the swell of her breast above her corset cover, she moaned, sinking back against the carriage seat, her weight on her elbows.
He followed the move, undoing more buttons as he came over her, and she closed her eyes, tilting her head back, arching her breasts upward as he pressed kisses along her collarbone. He worked his hand beneath her chemise, to touch her bare skin, and the heat in her grew stronger, hotter, pooling in long-forgotten places—her breasts, her abdomen, and between her thighs.
His free hand grabbed handfuls of white silk and lawn, pulling up her skirt and petticoats, getting beneath. Then his hand glided up her thigh, and the heat of his palm burned through the thin nainsook of her drawers.
Suddenly, he withdrew his hand from her bodice and sank to his knees beside her, then he was shoving her skirts up against her stomach. He pinned them to her waist with his forearm, as his other hand spread across her belly.
And then he went still.
“Denys?” Panting, she opened her eyes to find him hovering above her, breathing hard, but other than the rise and fall of his chest, he did not move. In the last vestiges of daylight that peeked between the carriage curtains, she could see the desire burning in his eyes. “Why did you stop?”
“I want to be sure you really want to do this,” he said, his voice ragged, his countenance harsh with the effort of holding back. “If you don’t, then for God’s sake, stop me now.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to go out on a limb, didn’t you?” she panted, sucking in air, unable to get enough into her lungs, given the tight confines of her corset. “This is about as far out on a limb a girl can go, don’t you think?”
“Is it?” His hand slid down over her belly an inch or two, then stopped again.
“Don’t tease,” she groaned. “Don’t tease me.”
“Go out a bit further on that limb,” he coaxed, moving his hand closer to the apex of her thighs. “Tell me what you want.”
“Touch me,” she gasped, parting her thighs, but it wasn’t much access, for her bent knee hit his arm. She jerked her hips, urging him on. “Touch me like you used to do.”
He complied, his finger sliding between her thighs and into the gusset of her drawers. Sharp sensation speared her, and she cried out.
He began to caress her with the tip of one finger, light, delicate circles that spread pleasure throughout her body, the delicious pleasure of so many summer afternoons. “Denys,” she moaned. “I remember this.”
“So do I, Lola,” he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her mouth. “You are still every bit as soft as I remember. And so, so wet for me.”
He deepened the caress, sliding his finger between the folds of her feminine opening, overwhelming her with sensations she’d never thought to feel again, and she bent her arm to stifle her own panting sobs, for she didn’t want the driver to hear. “Denys. Oh, God, Denys.”
“Yes,” he coaxed softly, “That’s it. You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she sobbed. “Yes, yes,” and then she did, climaxing in exquisite waves, again and again. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he promised, his fingers continuing to caress her, wringing the last shards of orgasm from her until she finally collapsed, panting, against the seat.
“I’d forgotten, Denys,” she whispered in amazement. “I’d forgotten how it feels.”
She opened her eyes, but it was dark now, and no light peeked between the curtains. But though she could barely see the outline of him in the darkness, she could hear the harsh rasp of his breathing.
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