The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)

by Grace Callaway

  In recent years, the London Underworld had undergone a quiet revolution. The bloodshed had risen to a degree that benefited no one—and resulted in the most powerful men of the rookeries coming together to hammer out a solution. Both Andrew and Todd had been at the table when territories had been drawn, treaties negotiated. And Bartholomew Black, the most powerful of them all, had been crowned King of the Underworld, giving him the right to mediate and dispense justice as necessary.

  In some ways, the system heralded back to old Arthur and his round table. Only the King was a certified cutthroat and the knights were men who made their living off the darkest trades of London.

  “I don’t see Todd quaking in his boots,” Grier said with a snort, “seeing as how the King happens to be his father-in-law.”

  “Black may be ruthless, but he’s fair.” Andrew straightened the papers on his desk. “Moreover, he and Todd don’t see eye to eye, and Todd won’t dare risk Black’s wrath. In the meantime, put an around-the-clock watch on the Nursery House. Tell the men not to engage but to report in immediately if there’s any trouble.”

  Grumbling, Grier took off, but not before he snuck a glance at… Fanny’s bosom?

  Good God. Andrew headed for the whiskey decanter. Half-past three in the afternoon and he needed a drink. Not a good sign.

  Fanny tagged at his heels. “You’re not going to shut down Nursery House, are you? I’ve just finished settling in the girls and—”

  “I’m not shutting it down.” He downed a shot of whiskey.

  The bawd studied him. “You look like hell. As hellish as an Adonis can look, at any rate.”

  “Is that a compliment or an insult?” He tossed back another shot.

  “An observation. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  He hadn’t… because of Primrose. She’d featured nightly in his dreams, torturing him with what could never be. Now that she knew who and what he was, she would understand that no future was possible between them. That the one thing she craved—respectability—was the one thing he couldn’t offer. As much as he told himself that this was all for the best, that he had no business being a part of her life, his spirits had plunged into an abyss.

  “And you’ve been distracted since you returned from your trip.” Fanny’s brows formed thin arches. “Care to talk about… her?”

  A rap on the door prevented the necessity of a reply.

  Tim, one of the footmen, appeared. “Sorry to disturb you, sir. But someone’s here to see you.”

  “I’m not expecting visitors.” Andrew frowned. “Did he give his name?”

  “It’s a lady. Came through the back and dressed in black, she is—and veiled like a bloody apparition.” Tim shuddered. “Scared the bejesus out o’ Cook and the kitchen maids.”

  Hope seized Andrew. Don’t be a fool. Primrose would never come here, would never want to see you again now that she knows who you are.

  “Send her in.” The footman left, and Andrew said to Fanny, “We’ll talk later.”

  The bawd took her sweet time gathering her things. The door opened, and Andrew forgot all about her as Primrose swept in, taking center stage. Her slender form was cloaked head to toe in black, lace veiling her face, yet he’d know her anywhere. She lifted the heavy veil, revealing the golden jade eyes that haunted his every waking and sleeping moment.

  He strode over to her. Staring into her exquisite oval face, he thought he must be dreaming. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek—as smooth and silky as he remembered. Real.

  “What are you doing here, sunshine?” he said hoarsely.

  “I had to see you.” Primrose’s voice trembled.

  A foreign emotion leapt in his chest. It took him an instant to recognize it as joy.

  “Ahem.”

  The indiscreet throat clearing from behind him brought reality crashing back. Hell, he and Primrose weren’t alone. He turned to Fanny, deliberately blocking Primrose from the other’s view.

  “You were just leaving,” he said curtly.

  “Was I?” Fanny inquired.

  Before he could march the other out, Primrose peered around him. “Who’s she?”

  He would be damned if he introduced her to a madam. “No one to concern—”

  “I am Mrs. Fanny Argent. I work with Corbett.” The bawd gave Primrose a once-over, her brows lifting. “Who are you?”

  Primrose stiffened. Before Andrew knew what was happening, the two women were facing one another, their expressions reflecting mutual animosity.

  “I am a friend of Mr. Corbett’s,” Primrose said, her chin lifting. “Not that it is your place to inquire about his affairs as you are a mere… employee.”

  The glance she raked over the bawd’s working attire made Andrew wince. Clearly, she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion and assumed Fanny was one of the wenches.

  “Forgive me.” The dangerous glitter in Fanny’s eyes belied her apology. “Due to my close working relationship with Corbett here, I see so many of his hoity-toity friends that it can be difficult to sort out who is who.”

  Color flooded Primrose’s cheeks.

  Enough is enough. He said sharply, “Be off with you, Fanny.”

  The bawd smirked and sailed out. Andrew shut the door, locking it.

  The instant he turned, Primrose burst out, “Who is she?”

  “She works for me.” He couldn’t take his eyes off Primrose, couldn’t believe that she was standing in front of him. In his club—wait. What the hell was she thinking? “You shouldn’t be here. Your reputation—”

  “Is she your lover?”

  He blinked. “Who…you mean Fanny?”

  Primrose gave a fierce little nod. She was… jealous? While, normally, he avoided possessive females like the plague, the idea of Primrose feeling that way about him filled him with tenderness.

  He touched her cheek. “No, she isn’t. She manages several of my clubs.”

  “You mean she’s a... procurer?” Primrose’s golden lashes swept up.

  “Yes. Like me,” he forced himself to add.

  He waited for her response. He didn’t know if her parents had told her about his past, but given that she’d found him at his brothel, she could have no illusions about who and what he was now.

  “Well, I don’t like her manner,” Primrose said with a scowl.

  Absurdly, he found himself fighting a smile. She was so damned adorable. At the same time, the rational part of his mind reminded him that she was taking an unacceptable risk.

  “Sunshine, you shouldn’t be here. If anyone were to see you—”

  “I took precautions.” She waved at her pinned-up veil. “And I came in through the back.”

  “Your parents…”

  “I’m staying with my sister, and she thinks I’m out on an errand. Please, Andrew,” she said, “don’t send me away. You told me once that you would be there for me. So much has happened, and I need to talk to you.” Her eyes beseeched him. “Only you can help me understand my past.”

  He had no defense against her pleas. It was only natural that she would want to know that which had been kept from her—and it was the one thing he could give her. So they would have this time together, he reasoned. He would tell her what she wanted to know.

  Then he would let her go once and for all.

  “Let’s sit,” he said quietly. He led her to the divan in front of the crackling fire, taking her cloak while she removed her bonnet. “Shall I ring for some refreshment?”

  “All I want is the truth.” With her hair glinting like spun gold and delicate chin lifted, she looked like a warrior princess. “Mama has been hiding it from me all these years, and I won’t stand for it any longer. I must know about my past.”

  He sat next to her. “How much of it do you know?”

  “Mama told me about you… and Kitty Barnes.” Her cheeks turned pink. “And what your, um, trade was.”

  “I fucked women for a living.” He refused to sugar-coat or be ashamed of the fact,
even for her. “Kitty was my pimp. Occasionally my lover.”

  “That’s what Mama said. But I don’t remember anything of my life with the two of you.”

  Seeing the uncertainty in her gaze, he felt that familiar surge of protectiveness. Only now it was mingled with desire, the combination dangerously potent.

  Stay in control.

  “That’s not surprising. You were only four when we parted,” he said.

  “What do you recall of those years? Of… me?”

  Too much. Everything.

  “You were a little chick, chirping away and making everyone around you smile. You were brave, too. Life wasn’t easy, and we didn’t stay in one place for long, yet you never complained. About anything.”

  “Were we friends?” Her gaze searched his.

  “In a fashion. Given our age difference, I thought of you more as a little sister.”

  “Is that how you think of me now?” she said softly.

  God help him, what kind of question was that?

  He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “I should think the answer is obvious.”

  Her tremulous smile made him ache with something more than desire. More than he’d ever felt for any female. “If I asked you something, would you tell me the truth?”

  “I won’t lie to you,” he said.

  Her gaze dropped to her lap, her knotted fingers. “What do you know about the man Kitty Barnes sold me to?”

  His gut clenched. “Not much. Kitty and I had parted ways before then.”

  “Did you know what she planned to do with me?” Primrose raised eyes bright with anguish.

  The years ripped away, and guilt bled like a fresh wound.

  “I knew that she could no longer afford to keep you. She said that she meant to place you with rich folk who could take care of you. I tried to stop her,” he said gruffly, “but I didn’t have the means, the money or the power. You were her ward, not mine. In the end, I… left.”

  Self-disgust burned like acid in his chest. At least Primrose now knew the truth of his cowardice. He waited for her condemnation.

  “I hate Kitty Barnes. She’s a callous, calculating witch.” Primrose’s voice shook not with fear but rage. “Wherever she is, I hope she suffers the way she made me suffer.”

  It crossed his mind to tell her… and he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He reasoned to himself that it didn’t matter; true, whatever he’d had with Kitty had lasted far too long—but it was over and done with. It had no bearing on what was happening now between him and Primrose.

  “You confused me,” she said suddenly. “When you showed up out of nowhere at Aunt Helena’s masquerade and started telling me what to do. Without even telling me who you were.”

  “My approach to you was wrong from the start,” he admitted. “I kept my identity a secret because you shouldn’t know a man like me. In truth, I should have just continued handling matters from afar—”

  “Hold up.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “What do you mean handling matters from afar?”

  Right. He slanted her a glance, wondering how badly she was going to take this.

  “For some months now,” he said, testing the waters, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

  “Define keeping an eye.”

  “When gossip about you and those men began to circulate, I squelched them,” he said bluntly. “I couldn’t stop the talk entirely, but I made sure the bastards in question kept their mouths shut.”

  Her jaw slackened. “How did you do that?”

  “I have access to certain information about them. Between the various businesses I own, I also hold the vowels of half the men in London. It was easy enough to gain their compliance.”

  “You blackmailed them?” She stared at him. “For me?”

  “I used what leverage I had to shut up a bunch of lying braggarts,” he said flatly. “They dallied with you, not vice versa. If anyone deserves condemnation, it’s them. The buggers are lucky I didn’t call them out, but to do so would have only caused more scandal for you.”

  “That is what Mama said when Papa wanted to challenge them,” she murmured. “She said it was better to let the business blow over. And it might have, if it hadn’t been for that poem…” She froze, and he saw the instant that realization struck. “Oh my goodness—The Prattler. Did you blackmail the owner too?”

  “No, I paid him off.” Andrew shrugged. “He was happy to retire on the sum.”

  Her eyes were as round as saucers. “Is there anything else that you’ve done on my behalf?”

  Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.

  “Odette reports to me. That is how I found out about your rendezvous with Daltry in the Pantheon and your elopement.” He paused. “And that’s it, I swear.”

  Primrose lowered her gaze to her lap, unusually quiet. What was she thinking? How was she taking the news of his interventions? To a sheltered miss, his actions likely seemed ruthless. He didn’t give a damn: no one was going to bully or hurt her while he had the power to stop it.

  “I did what had to be done,” he said. “I have no regrets.”

  Her eyes lifted, and the shimmering gratitude in them stole his breath.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  He gave a wordless nod.

  “Do you know,” she said after a heartbeat, “it wasn’t your identity that confused me the most but how I felt about you. You were a stranger, and yet you made me feel safe. Protected. How could I trust someone I didn’t even know?” Her eyes searched his. “Now I understand. You’ve always protected me, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve tried. Your happiness, Primrose,”—his voice roughened—“it matters to me.”

  Her shoulders straightened, and her chin jerked as if she’d come to some inner decision. “If that’s the case… if I asked you to help me with a matter, would you do it?”

  Yes. Anything. Name it, and it’s done.

  He’d lived long enough, however, to know the folly of his heart’s reply.

  “It depends,” he said, “on what the matter is.”

  “Could you… that is would you… be as kind as to…”

  “Yes?”

  She drew in a breath. “Would you please relieve me of my virginity?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  She couldn’t believe that she’d said the words aloud.

  Instinct had brought her here tonight; Andrew’s gruff admission that he’d been protecting her from afar confirmed that her decision had been the right one. The fact that he’d done all of that for her—she could scarcely fathom it. She owed him too much, and now she’d asked one more favor of him.

  She trusted him to take care of her problem. And, given his worldly experience, he had to be the one man in London who wouldn’t be shocked by her request. Judging from his dumbfounded expression, however, her assumption might have been wrong.

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “Please don’t make me say it again.” Embarrassment scalded her cheeks. “You heard me.”

  He stared at her, his dark brown eyes inscrutable. He stood abruptly. “I need a drink.”

  As he went to the decanter, she said, “I’d like one too, please.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t stock ratafia or sherry in here.”

  “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

  “I’m drinking whiskey.” He swigged it like water.

  Although she’d never had whiskey, the occasion might call for it. “I don’t mind.”

  Wordlessly, he refilled his own glass and brought one over for her. As he handed her the drink, their fingers touched. Awareness shot through her, tingling at her nerve endings.

  His hand jerked back, and he prowled to the mantel like a restless lion. “Perhaps you’d care to explain your… request.”

  She took a sip of the amber liquid; it went down like fire. “Daltry’s family wants proof that my marriage was consummated.”

  “In Gretna, you told me that it had been.”

 
; Discomfited by the intensity of his stare, she said, “What I said was that I’m the Countess of Daltry. Which I am. I have the marriage papers to prove it.” She blew out a breath. “And I did, um, share a bed with Daltry.”

  “Did he tup you?”

  “There’s no need to be crude—”

  “You’re asking me to relieve you of your virginity. Given the topic, I think we’ll call a spade a spade,” he said flatly. “Did Daltry tup you?”

  “Um… perhaps?”

  “Bloody hell,” he growled, “stop playing games. There is no perhaps about it. Either Daltry put his cock in you or he didn’t.”

  Shivering at the lethal expression on Andrew’s face—not to mention his carnal vocabulary—she said defensively, “I’m not playing games. I’m just not certain what happened. I’d had several glasses of wine, you see, and it was dark. Daltry came to bed, and he started to, um, touch me. You know… down there.”

  “What else did he do?” Andrew set his glass on the mantel, his knuckles white.

  She strove to maintain an impervious façade. To preserve the veneer of her composure.

  “He got on top of me. He was heavy, suffocating,”—panic fissured, too close to the surface, and she fought to keep her voice from cracking—“and I couldn’t really tell what was happening. He fumbled about, and for an instant, I felt stretching… down there. But I don’t know if it was his fingers… or his, um, you-know-what. But then he started cursing, saying this had never happened to him before, and it was all my fault—”

  To her horror, her voice broke, her vision fracturing into liquid fragments.

  An instant later, the glass was removed from her grasp. Male strength engulfed her, and she buried her head into the comfort. Into the sanctuary that was Andrew.

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to say any more.”

  “I haven’t told this to anyone—I’m so ashamed,” she whispered into his waistcoat. “I don’t know why I thought I could talk about it with you.”

  “Because you can, sunshine. You can tell me anything.”

  “Do you… hate me?”

  “No, love. Never.”