“As if you mind a little adventure,” his duchess retorted.
“I don’t—when I get to reap its sweet rewards,” he murmured.
Blushing, Em went on, “On the condition of anonymity, the maid told me that her mistress has a habit of disappearing and for blocks of time. Apparently, Antonia James’ husband is a jealous man, and she’s bribed the servants into telling him that she’s at this charitable function or that—but no one knows where she really went.”
“Good work, Em,” Papa said. “So Antonia James stays on the list of suspects, while Alastair James goes off… along with Lady Charlotte and Miss Eloisa, whose alibis we were able to verify. We still need to hear back about Peter Theale and Miss Sybil. I’ve sent a man to Bristol to speak to Albert Brace, Theale’s alibi. And McLeod will stop in Lancashire on the way back from Gretna to pay a visit to Miss Bunbury, Miss Sybil’s friend.”
“We’re making progress,” Emma said. “Soon we’ll have the villain behind bars.”
“That time can’t come soon enough,” Rosie said with feeling.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After the party, Andrew escorted Rosie home in his carriage. Tucked against his hard strength, her head on his shoulder, she felt cherished and protected. Soon the murderer would be captured, and she would be free to pursue the life she wanted—with the man she loved.
Knowing that she would soon expose her heart to him, she felt a thrill of anticipation mingled with fear. To steady her nerves, she looked through the slit in the curtains—and frowned. “The driver’s headed in the opposite direction of Curzon Street.”
“We’re not going to your house.”
“Where are we going then?” She tilted her head to look at him.
“To mine.”
Although the prospect of another adventure at his club made her tingle, at present she craved intimacy more than sexual exploration. She wanted to tell Andrew that she loved him, that she wanted to share the rest of her life with him—and then she wanted to make love in the cozy privacy of her bedchamber. Afterward, she wanted to fall asleep in his arms and wake up there, too.
Hesitating, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather visit the club another time. It’s late and—”
“The club’s not where I live, silly chit.” The chiseled planes of his face reflected his amusement. “I’m taking you to one of my residences.”
She had the faint recollection that he’d mentioned owning some properties.
“One?” She raised her brows. “How many do you own?”
“In London?”
She blinked. Nodded.
“A dozen, give or take. Two I reserve for personal use, the rest are commercial holdings. In fact, the majority of my income these days derives from rents and other investments.”
“Then why do you still operate…” She bit her lip, realizing how judgmental she might sound.
“Corbett’s? My other bawdy houses?”
Afraid that she’d insulted him, she gave a wary nod.
“It’s what I do. What I’ve always done in some form or another.” He looked pensive rather than affronted. With a self-deprecating shrug, he said, “We all have to be good at something, and I suppose I’m a good pimp.”
She couldn’t stand for him to diminish himself in any way.
“You’re more than that. You’re an employer who treats his workers with dignity and kindness. You’re a keen and hard-working businessman who has earned every bit of his success. You’re a good, honorable man who protects those he cares about and acts with integrity…” She caught herself; heavens, she was babbling like an idiot. “Well, I could go on,” she finished lamely.
Andrew was staring at her. The raw longing in his eyes melted her insides, summoning up more words, the ones she’d held back for too long. Before she could utter them, a knock sounded on the carriage door.
“We’ve arrived, sir,” one of the guards said.
She’d been so caught up in her defense of him that she hadn’t noticed the carriage stopping. The door opened, and she saw that they were still in Mayfair, in the gated courtyard of a stately Palladian mansion. Andrew exited first, then swung her down.
“For safety, we’ll go in through the back,” he said.
They entered through the kitchens, a vast and spotless space, the walls lined with glass jars of dried herbs and spices, gleaming pots hanging from hooks. Despite the scent and warmth of recent use, the room was empty.
“Where are the servants?” she said curiously.
“They’re gone for the night. I thought privacy would be best.” He led her up the steps. “If you need a ladies maid, I could be persuaded to volunteer my services.”
She smiled back at him, partly in response to his flirtation, but more so because of his thoughtfulness. Everything he did reflected his concern for her, how attuned he was to her needs and moods. The way he took care of her made her want to do the same for him. To give him… everything.
They arrived on the main floor of the townhouse, as grand as any she’d been in. The grey-veined marble of the foyer gleamed beneath her slippers, a tiered chandelier dripping light from three floors above. The double wings of the mahogany stairwell soared with majestic grace.
“Your home is beautiful,” she breathed.
“I’m glad it meets with your approval. Would you like a tour now, or are you ready to retire?”
She met his gaze, and the simmering heat in those coffee-dark eyes made her heart thump.
“I’d like to retire,” she said.
His slow smile rewarded her boldness. Then she was swept off her feet, and they were headed up the stairwell.
Her arms circling his neck, she dimpled at him. “You don’t have to carry me, you know. I’m more than willing to get myself to your bedchamber.”
“Don’t deny me the pleasure of having you in my arms, sunshine,” he murmured.
Since he did seem to enjoy it, and she knew she did, she snuggled closer, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Arriving on the next floor, he strode down the corridor and through the double doors at the end. The suite, like everything she’d seen thus far, was tastefully appointed. They passed a sitting room decorated in shades of blue and maize and entered the bedchamber.
Crossing the threshold of his inner sanctum, she felt a secret thrill. A white marble hearth flickered along one wall, the firelight gleaming off the heavy masculine furnishings and the posters of a huge bed which lay in shadows just beyond.
Catching a movement in that bed, Primrose blinked.
Andrew’s muscles turned to rock around her.
An instant later, a female voice emerged from the dark. “Corby, love, what took you so long?”
What on earth?
Before Rosie could gather her wits, Andrew set her on her feet, pushing her none too gently behind him. “How the devil did you get in here?” he growled.
This question wasn’t directed at her but at the woman who’d emerged from the bed—from Andrew’s bed. Pressure built in Rosie’s chest as she took in the other’s voluptuous form, the ripe curves barely covered by a scanty negligee of flesh-colored satin. The woman’s auburn hair tumbled lushly around her classical features, framing eyes that were an arresting shade of grey. She was older than Rosie, somewhere in her forties, with fine-grained skin and handsome features that suited her aura of worldly sophistication.
“How did I get in?” The woman gave a husky laugh. “Why, with the key you gave me, lover.”
“Andrew, who is she?” Rosie’s voice trembled along with the rest of her.
“You don’t remember me?” The curve of the woman’s red lips stirred a sense of recognition, frost spreading over Rosie’s insides. “Ah, but I remember you. How my little flower has blossomed.”
“Don’t speak to her.” Menace dripped from Andrew’s voice. “Get out. Now.”
“Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
Smirking, the woman came even closer, ran a finger down Andr
ew’s lapel.
He caught her wrist, shoving her hand aside. “We’re not friends.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “In the two years since I last saw you,”—her emphasis on the verb implied that she and Andrew had done a lot more than look at each other—“it seems you’ve forgotten your pretty manners. The manners that I taught you. Clearly, you need your Kitty to take care of you.”
Primrose’s heart knocked against her ribs. “You… you’re Kitty Barnes?”
Kitty’s eyes gleamed. “Recognized me at last have you, Primrose?”
In her imaginings, Rosie had pictured Kitty as a witch of a woman. One whose exterior matched up with the dark and ugly emotions Rosie associated with her. Far from being a dried-up old hag, Kitty brimmed with vibrant sensuality.
In a flash, Andrew moved, his hand closing like a vise around the redhead’s arm. “I’m bloody tossing you out.”
“No need. I can see that I’m not wanted… at the moment.”
Already reeling, Rosie took in the knowing curve of Kitty’s full mouth, and her insides twisted into a knot so tight that she could scarcely breathe.
“I’ll come back when you’re not busy, lover,” Kitty drawled, “and we’ll pick up where we left off. Like we always do.”
“Shut up, you damned bitch—”
“Andrew, what does she mean?” Rosie’s shock faded, replaced by a suffocating awareness. “Are the two of you… still lovers?”
He swung to face her, his face ravaged. “Primrose, I can explain—”
“Corby and I have been lovers since you were in leading strings, dear.” Kitty’s smile condescended and gloated at the same time. “We’ve had our ups and downs, but he always comes back to my bed.”
Pain ripped through Rosie, hopes and dreams bleeding from her.
“It’s done between Kitty and me,” Andrew said in a gritty voice. “Whatever we had, it was nothing like what we share, Primrose—”
“How long has it been since you’ve shared her bed?”
His turbulent gaze held hers. “I love you. I’ve loved you since—”
“How long?”
His chest heaved. “Two years.”
Two years. It’s only been two years since he made love to that woman—that witch who sold me to a monster. Rosie’s chest burned, fire rising to the back of her eyes.
“It ought to have been over long before that,” Andrew said hoarsely. “I knew it wasn’t right; it never was. I tried to end it. I wouldn’t see her for years, but then she would show up and I… I don’t know why I let her back in. If you’d let me explain—”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!” The words left her in a shout.
“That’s probably wise, dear,” Kitty drawled, “since it seems Corby here hasn’t been entirely disclosing to you. Did he mention, for instance, that he knew that I planned to sell you to the highest bidder—that he could have prevented it… but instead he ran off and took up with another bawd? Well, I suppose one can’t blame him for his survival tactics. As they say—once a whore, always a whore.”
If Rosie had thought her life couldn’t shatter any further, this was proof that she was wrong. The shards of her dreams rained upon her, slicing the heart she’d exposed into a thousand foolish pieces.
“Primrose, please listen to me—”
She backed away from Andrew’s outstretched hand, his tormented eyes. “Stay away from me. You’re disgusting… you disgust me. I never want to see you again!”
Whirling around, she ran from the room.
~~~
With leaden steps, Andrew ascended the stairs to his chamber. Inside he was cold—colder than he ever remembered being. He’d watched the woman he loved run from him… and he was powerless to stop it.
He didn’t know how he would fix things with Primrose. Didn’t know if he could or deserved to. He did know that there was nothing he could do about it tonight. So he’d let her go. He’d instructed his guards to take her back to her parents, waiting for confirmation that she was safe.
Now it was time to deal with Kitty.
He entered the bedchamber, not surprised to see her fully dressed, sitting by the fire. She hadn’t come for sex—of that he was certain. For Kitty, pleasure had always come second to her desire for gain: for money or power or whatever it was she wanted.
During their association, he’d accepted her cold, calculating nature. She was who she was… just as he was who he was. Survival had made them both hard, immune to life’s venom. But his time with Primrose had changed him. Her sweetness and generosity had shown him a relationship he’d never imagined he could have. One full of laughter, passion, and love.
Seeing Kitty in his wingchair—in his house where she had no business being—he felt her poison seeping into his bloodstream. And it made him cold with rage.
He stood in front of her chair. “Who put you up to this?”
“Maybe I missed you, lover, and wanted to fuck for old time’s sake.”
“You have a minute to answer me before I throttle it out of you.”
“You’d never lay hands on a woman, Corby. You and I both know that.”
Her bravado faded when his stare didn’t waver, his knuckles cracking as his hands fisted.
“At any rate,” she said hastily, “I did you a favor. What were you thinking, letting that milk-fed chit wind you around her little finger?”
He slammed his palms onto the wingchair’s arms with enough force to make Kitty jolt.
“Who. Paid. You?” he roared.
“T-Todd,” she stammered. “It was Malcolm Todd.”
Just as he thought. Twice now, Todd had crossed him. The bastard was going to pay.
Straightening, Andrew stalked to the mantelpiece and clipped out, “Tell me everything.”
“Todd approached me. Apparently, he has some beef with you,” Kitty said warily. “He discovered that you were having an affair, and since it’s no secret that you and I have a past, he wanted me to cause trouble for you. Between you and your new lover.” She swallowed, her throat bobbing. “I had no choice, Corby. I owe Todd money. I’ve played too deeply at his tables, and you know what he does to those who don’t pay their debts. This was the only way I could save myself. I had to do this.”
He looked into her pleading grey eyes—and felt nothing.
“Get out,” he said.
Instead of leaving, she came to him. “I… I’ve missed you. I’ve thought about what you said the last time, about wanting more than fucking, and I realize that—”
“I don’t want more from you. I don’t want anything.” He didn’t know who disgusted him more: her or himself. “Fucking’s all we ever did, Kitty, and it wasn’t even good.”
Her eyes flashed, but she said in a wheedling tone, “I’ve changed—”
“I don’t give a damn,” he said flatly. “Your poison stopped working on me long ago.”
That was what Kitty had fed him for all those years: her own brand of toxicity. What she’d labelled as necessary for survival had been a recipe for his self-doubt and self-hatred—the better for her to manipulate him with. He’d realized this when he’d ended things with her; now he felt it in the depths of his soul. The soul that had been awakened by joy and love—because of Primrose.
Pain bled through his icy control. How could he make things right with her? How could he—when the truth was she deserved better than him?
“You think that high-kick chit is better than me?” Kitty scoffed.
“I know she is.”
“She’s a bastard,” Kitty spat, “same as you and me.”
“She’s a lady, and it has nothing to do with her birth. It’s something you’ll never understand. Now get out,” he said in glacial tones. “If you breathe word of this, if I see you again—you will regret it.”
Fear darkened her eyes—then again, she’d always been a coward. She’d bullied and used those weaker than her. She’d called it survival, but in truth she was nothing more
than a predator.
She headed for the doorway, where she, being who she was, couldn’t resist a parting shot. “What lady would want a pimp for a husband?” she sneered before flouncing off.
It wasn’t Kitty’s words that stayed with him but Primrose’s.
You disgust me. I never want to see you again.
A spasm hit his chest. I don’t blame you, sunshine.
Going to his bedside table, he opened the drawer. The rag doll looked out at him with lifeless eyes. He sank onto the mattress, his elbows bracing his thighs, and dropped his head into his hands.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
In her old bedchamber, Rosie opened the cabinet that contained her dolls. She’d left them here when she’d moved into Curzon Street; at the time, she’d thought of it as a symbolic letting go of her childhood. Now she found herself holding Calliope once more, looking at the doll’s composed porcelain face, her fingers curling into the folds of the doll’s perfect ballgown.
“Why did he lie to me?” she whispered.
Calliope stared back at her blankly.
“I don’t understand it. I thought Andrew loved me—he said he did,” she said, her throat swelling. “Why would he go to such lengths to protect me, only to betray me in the end?”
She’d been asking herself that question for the past two days. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. The day after Kitty’s shocking revelations Rosie had spent weeping. She’d cried and cried and cried. When her parents and even Edward had come to check in on her, she’d told them, “Go away.” She hadn’t been ready to talk; the last thing her misery wanted was company.
That had been yesterday. Today, she felt as dry as bone. But now that her emotions were sapped, fresh questions whirled in her mind.
Why did Andrew lie to me about Kitty?
Now that she was calmer, she had to admit that he hadn’t lied, not exactly. His sin had been one of omission. He simply hadn’t told her when he’d ended things with Kitty, and, to be fair, she hadn’t asked. She’d just assumed that it had been longer than two years.
The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6) Page 28