Lady of Pleasure (21 page)

The misery in her voice became his own. And that misery bit into him like a physical pain. “Caroline,” he whispered hoarsely, leaning forward, so as to better look at her face. “I never ignored you. I never could. From the moment we met, I was drawn into wanting to know you and be with you. I have never taken the time to know anyone like that. Especially a woman.”

She continued to miserably stare down at her hands.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he gently prodded. “Tell me how to mend this.”

She said nothing.

“Tell me,” he insisted. “I wish to mend this.” When she still said nothing, he swallowed and said, “Then I suppose we will let your brother decide on what happens next. Because I am damn well telling him. I have to. Tonight.”

Startled, she glanced up. “No. I don’t want Alex to know.”

He choked. “I can’t very well keep something like this from him. Nor will I.”

She coolly observed him. “You have kept everything else from him.”

He shifted his jaw. “That isn’t fair.”

“If you tell Alex what happened between us tonight, he will force us to marry.”

He glared. “Yes. And that is exactly what
should
happen. We
should
marry. For God’s sake, Caroline, we aren’t talking about a missing glove here. We’re talking about your maidenhead!”

She glared back. “Oh, I see. So you think because you claim a maidenhead, that somehow it gives you the right to claim the hand and the heart of the woman attached to it? Even if you haven’t earned it? No and no, Ronan. I’m not marrying into this. I’m not stepping into whatever deranged game you and your
lover
were playing tonight. I’m not.”

He stared, his breaths uneven and labored. “She played us both.”

She stared back. “If that is true, and I honestly don’t know what to believe when it comes to you anymore, then it is time you accept that
you
were the one laying in her bed. Not I. So now
you
must stay in that bed. Because I am not marrying into this. And after tonight, you had better damn well believe I don’t
ever
want to see you again. Do you understand?”

He was losing her. It wasn’t merely those words that were pushing him away. He could see it in her eyes. Those green-blue eyes that used to be so bright and so eager whenever they looked at him. Now they were flat, hard, unforgiving and full of hate. After years of cradling the only genuine relationship he had ever shared with a female, their friendship was breaking.
He
was breaking. “Caroline. Don’t do this. You and I are more than this. We are friends. We always have been. Surely you know that I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” she demanded. “Do you honestly think I deserve to settle for a man like you? For a man who whores himself to other women? Is that what you think? Whilst I have faithfully held out my hand to you and chased you up and down every facet of your life throughout the years, devoting every breath to you and only you, when did
you
ever hold out your hand to me and chase me up and down through the facet of
my
life outside of superficial letters these past three years? No wonder you didn’t visit me in Bath. You were too busy
copulating
.” She glared. “The day you walked out of that parlor, three years ago, when I was broken and ill in mind over whether you would survive your debts, and convinced my father to assist, you thought nothing of me or what I did for you. You simply galloped off to another woman who then crudely paid your debts and bought your body as if
any
price could be set on such a thing. For shame, Ronan. For shame for putting your pride and your debts before my heart.”

He momentarily closed his eyes.

The carriage rolled to a halt as the driver called out their arrival.

He wasn’t worthy of her. He had never been and had known it all along. He had known it from the moment that thirteen-year-old girl had asked to be his friend in the library. As if he were worthy of being a friend to anyone. And to now force her into a marriage that would only make her miserable was the last thing he wanted for the girl he had always secretly adored.

Opening his eyes, Ronan looked away, unable to face her. “I won’t tell him. Stay here. He may already be home. And if he is, I will come up with something to keep him from seeing you entering the house.”

He rose, threw open the carriage door and without waiting for the steps to be unfolded by the driver, jumped down onto the cobbled street and slammed the coach door shut. He numbly strode onto the pavement and over and up the stairs leading to the Hawksford household and glanced toward the fog-ridden streets and endless dark windows and houses.

Fortunately, the fog was going to keep their arrival discreet.

He prayed Hawksford wasn’t home. Ronan glanced down at his mussed clothing and cringed. After he rebuttoned his waistcoat and tied his cravat as best he could, he tested the door. It unlocked.

The door suddenly swung wide open, making him freeze.

One of the older servants held up a lit lantern toward his face. She squinted up at him from beneath the ruffled rim of her nightcap, and upon recognizing him – for he’d been calling on the Hawksford residence for too many years to count – the woman’s gray eyes widened. “My lord. Is all not well?”

Ronan cleared his throat. “Forgive the hour, Mrs. Tanner. Is uh…is Hawksford at home?” How he prayed he wasn’t.

Mrs. Tanner blinked. “His carriage has yet to arrive.”

He almost sagged into and against the doorframe. He could get Caroline into the house without Hawksford knowing.

Mrs. Tanner stepped back, wrapping her wool shawl tighter around her shoulders and serving attire, and held the door open, the lantern swaying in her hand. “Would you care for tea as you wait? He should be along any moment.”

Tea before the funeral. Ha. “No, thank you, Mrs. Tanner. I—”

The rustling of skirts and quick steps behind him made his heart lurch. He jerked toward the sound. Caroline hurried up the stairs, past him and in through the open door, her long loose locks bouncing in her haste. “I owe you ten pounds for waiting up for me,” she quietly announced to Mrs. Tanner and then passed through. “And another ten if you don’t mention Lord Caldwell to my brother or anyone else.”

“Yes, of course, my lady.” Mrs. Tanner promptly turned back to Ronan and lifted a fading brow. “Perhaps it’d be best if you call on his lordship at a more respectable hour.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I’ll not breathe a word to him or anyone. That you can depend upon, my lord. I have been serving the Hawksford name for as long as you have been alive, and I have kept every last secret known to the name.”

The old earl had certainly laid out big boots. “I appreciate that, Mrs. Tanner.” Ronan quickly reached into his coat pocket, knowing his leather satchel had thirty pounds in it. “Let me pay the twenty pounds, Caroline. It’s the least I can do.”

Caroline reappeared from behind the servant, her anguished face partly hidden in the shadows outside of the lantern light which Mrs. Tanner held. “I’ll not be your whore. I settle my own debts.”

He stiffened, his face burning as if he’d been slapped across both cheeks.

The clattering of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves echoed against cobblestone just down the street. They all jerked toward the sound.

In the distance, two carriage lanterns swayed from atop the driver’s seat of a brougham, like golden halos floating in through the thickness of the night fog.

His stomach churned. It was Hawksford.

Caroline jumped toward Ronan and choked out, “Whatever you do, don’t tell him, Ronan.
Please
. If you have any respect for what I’ve endured, if there was anything
ever
between us, say nothing. Don’t make me—” A sob escaped her. She disappeared into the house, her shoes clicking at a running tempo.

Mrs. Tanner tsked. “This reminds me of how the old master conducted business. Trouble. God rest his soul.” She waved him off. “Off with you. Lest we all rot for this and more.” She stepped back and slammed the door in his face, leaving him to stand all alone in the darkness of the night.

With Hawksford.

Ever so slowly, Ronan turned and watched in a state of detached dread as Hawksford’s black-lacquered carriage rolled up. It swayed to a complete halt. A footman hopped down from the back of the carriage, hurried around to the side door, opened it, and unfolded the steps before snapping himself back to attention beside the open carriage door.

The oval top of Hawksford’s angled hat and his large frame appeared in the opening of the carriage. Without bothering to use the unfolded steps, Hawksford hopped down in one solid swoop onto the pavement, his black great coat rising and landing back around his solid frame.

Hawksford strode steadily forward, then paused at the bottom of the stairs. He stared up at Ronan and slowly pushed back his top hat with the palm of his gloved hand. So as to better look at him.

Hawksford let out a low whistle. “Whose window did you fall out of?”

This was officially awkward.

“Why are you here?” Hawksford eyed him. “It’s one in the morning.”

Ronan swiped a shaky hand across his face and struggled to remain calm. He needed to give Caroline time to get back to her room. He also needed something that would enable him to survive this. “I need a drink. I was drunk earlier, but God help me, I’m feeling sober again and need to remedy that.”

“I know the feeling.” Jogged up the remaining stairs, two at a time, Hawksford landed beside him with a thud before the door. “All I have is brandy. Which I know you don’t touch.”

No. He didn’t. Brandy reminded him of his father. Brandy reminded him of vomit. Brandy reminded him of all the hours he spent alone. But Caroline needed time to get to her room and into her bed. And he…he needed…. “Brandy is good.”

Hawksford paused. “You never touch brandy. Should I be concerned?”

“I need something. Anything.”

“Anything it is.” Hawksford waved his carriage off and pointed toward the door. “Come in.”

Ronan followed him deep into the house straight into the study which was barely lit by two, fading candles. The stark darkness of the study and the silence around them was unnerving.

Hawksford stripped his top hat and greatcoat. He tossed them onto a wingback leather chair, where they landed perfectly atop and stayed. He glanced at Ronan from over his shoulder, his face barely lit, and made his way over toward the oak sideboard where he always housed the brandy. “I would hate to know the sort of trouble you’re in if you’re calling on me at this hour and in your state.”

Ronan wanted to say something. He knew he ought to, but he knew that saying anything would result in a forced union. And he wasn’t about to force Caroline to be his after what had happened. He couldn’t do that to her. For he knew all too well what it was like to be forced into a situation one didn’t want to be in.

Hawksford pulled open the sideboard, yanked out a full crystal decanter of brandy and two crystal glasses and set them atop the sideboard. He filled each glass halfway, the sound of liquid rushing against glass resonating like the roar of an ocean in the silence. Hawksford plucked up both glasses, turned and ambled toward him. “Did you want to talk?”

Nausea hit Ronan hard. He felt like such a traitor. “No.”

Hawksford paused before him and extended one of the crystal glasses filled with brandy. “Here. I only filled it halfway. Go slow.”

Ronan took the glass, noting that his hand visibly trembled. He tried to hide it by lifting the glass to his lips. The penetrating sting of brandy lashed him back to days he didn’t want to remember.

Was it worse than hurting Caroline? No.

Without allowing for a breath, he gulped and gulped down the entire contents of the glass, hoping to drown out the reality that he had debauched Hawksford’s own sister. The burning liquid soothingly went down. He choked against it, feeling as if he were swallowing vomit, but shoved it down his throat, knowing he deserved it. He deserved to suffer for what he had done to Caroline.

He swiped his lips with the back of his hand that now held the empty glass wanting the brandy off his lips and paused, noting that Hawksford hadn’t even touched his drink.

Hawksford’s green eyes sharpened with concern. He leaned in. “Are you certain you don’t want to talk? Because I’m listening.”

He had to stop being so obvious. “I’m just tired.”

“Is that what you call it?” Hawksford finished the rest of his own brandy, causing a few bronzed strands of hair to fall onto his forehead as he gestured toward Ronan. “Since you’re here, I’d like to discuss something with you. And I ask that you not be offended by it.”

Ronan swallowed. “What?”

“It’s about your uncle.”

Not good.

“Can you ask him to stay away from my mother
and
my sister? Because I don’t need him breathing down my mother’s neck and then whispering things to my sister in public for all to see. I’m trying to run a respectable household here.”

Ronan felt his lips growing numb and he knew it had nothing to do with the brandy. “I will tell him.”

“You do that.” Hawksford pointed toward Ronan’s empty glass. “Do you want another glass?”
Ronan almost choked at the thought. “No. I barely swallowed it. And I’ll be suffering in the morning as it is. I had two bottles of champagne tonight.” He shoved the empty glass toward him.

“Two?” Hawksford took the glass and commented, “I once finished five. And you were there to see it. I never pissed so much.”

Yes. He remembered that night all too well when Hawksford had brazenly taken on more than one woman at the last champagne party they’d attended years ago. How… inopportune.

Ronan backed himself toward the doorway of the study. “I know that we sometimes agitate the piss out of each other and aren’t always as honest with each other as we should be, but you have always been like a brother to me. And I wanted you to know that.” He had to say it.

Hawksford quirked a bronzed brow and pointed at him with one of the empty glasses. “Did you do something you shouldn’t have?”