Lady of Pleasure (6 page)

But at least the field remained.

Meaning, the house.

Carefully removing his leather traveling gloves and hat, Ronan pushed away from the door and set both onto the side table in the foyer. He sighed, thankful to have arrived at an hour that forced him to go straight to bed. Having traveled well beyond what he’d originally planned, the time he’d spent with his aunt and her children made him realize how much he missed belonging to a real family. She reminded him so much of his mother. They looked alike. When Aunt Beatrice laughed and her dark eyes lit up, it was like his mother was coming back to visit.

It was like being nine again.

God how he missed those days.

Bolting the door, so the few servants he did have needn’t be bothered with his late arrival, he turned and paused, his gaze falling to the floor before him. A set of large muddy boot prints on the wood floor, leading from where he stood, ascended the main stairwell. Only one person ever sauntered around his house with mud on his boots without bothering to scrape them on the doorstep.

His uncle.

Ronan swiped his face. That mud covering the floor represented his entire life.

Eyeing the smeared large prints, Ronan grudgingly followed the sludge up, up the stairs and into his living quarters. The faded muddy prints disappeared within an open doorway leading into…
his
bedchamber.

A pair of black leather riding boots had been carelessly removed and left outside the door, toppled onto their sides on one another. The glow from the burning hearth beyond the open door shifted light and shadows across the floor and walls.

“Turn,” a deep male voice commanded from within the confines of Ronan’s bedchamber. “
Glorious
. Now don’t move. You wouldn’t want me to miss.” The resounding hard thwack of a riding crop soundly hitting a derriere cracked in the air.

Ronan bit back a riled curse and refrained from punching the air. The son of a bitch had brought a woman into
his
house and was entertaining in
his
bed. God only knows what the neighbors were thinking. They probably thought Marquis de Sade had risen from the dead right along with his father.

Not wanting to see any of it, Ronan turned back toward the corridor and yelled out, “Have you been using my bed the entire time I was gone? Because I’ll damn well never sleep in it again knowing it! In fact, I’ll take an ax to it and deliver the pieces to your house. Would that suit you?”

There was a notable pause, followed by the frantic rustle of clothing and a solid thump against floorboards as if someone had launched off the bed. “
Ronan
?” his uncle belted out, thudding his way over. “Are you back from France? Already?”

Already
? The man made it sound like he’d left yesterday as opposed to the thirteen months it had been. Ronan veered toward the outer wall of the corridor, away from the open doorway and flopped himself against the wall. “Yes, it’s me. And yes, I’m back from France.”

“How is my sister?” his uncle called out.

“Better situated and fortunately, no longer ill.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I haven’t received a letter from her in over two months.” His uncle peered out from the open doorway of the bedchamber, a riding crop still in hand. That gray hair, which was usually brushed back with tonic, was well-mussed, and his embroidered waistcoat flapped wide open. Fortunately, his trousers were affixed. Barely.

Shutting the door behind himself, his uncle strutted toward him and swept out both arms, sending the linen sleeves of his shirt swaying and the crop jiggling. “By God, did I ever miss you. I wish you would have written more. How have you been? Come. Come give your uncle a much needed embrace.”

Ronan popped up a halting hand, trying not to be too annoyed. “Not tonight and not whilst you’re half-undressed and still entertaining in
my
bed. I told you not to bring these women into my house when I was gone.”

His uncle dropped his arms to his sides. “Sophie called on me when I was tending to some of your correspondences and ledgers, and needed attention. What was I to do? Tell her no? I didn’t know you were coming back tonight. You weren’t expected to arrive for another two weeks.”

Ronan glared. “I’ve spent well over fourteen days in a coach coming from the coast, stopping only at inns to sleep. Which I barely did. I need sleep. So I suggest you carry her out the door and whip her elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? As in her husband’s house? Oho. I don’t think so. The man works for Scotland Yard, and I haven’t lived this long to end up in a ditch.” He glanced toward the closed door of the bedchamber and lowered his voice. “Can’t you take the guest quarters? For tonight? In return for the fact that I’ve ensured your house didn’t burn down?”

Ronan lowered his chin. “Are you bargaining for the use of my own bed?”

Hughes sighed, tucked the crop beneath his arm and scanned the length of him, letting out a whistle through his teeth. “You look good. Fit. Strong. Still fencing, are you? I have no doubt you turned every female head in Paris, didn’t you?”

Why did he feel like he was being measured for yet another escapade? The man usually only ever complimented him when he was about to impart bad news. “If you have something to say, say it. What else don’t I know?”

His uncle hesitated. “Lady Danbury called on me.”

This could be good or this could be bad. “And?”

“She asked a lot of questions about Lady Caroline.”
His heart skidded knowing Theodosia was digging into Caroline’s life. That wasn’t good. “What? Why?”

Hughes shrugged. “Hell if I know. She must have heard you two were close.”

Ronan paused. He never discussed Caroline with anyone other than his uncle. Hell, he didn’t even discuss Caroline with Baxendale. “And how would she have known Caroline and I are close?”

Hughes shrugged again. “She wasn’t ruffled about it. More like intrigued. You know how women are.”

Yes, he did. But when Theodosia was intrigued, that usually meant more. The woman was notorious for tinkering with other people’s lives. She used her wealth and her name to ‘right’ things. She was the fairy godmother no one wanted in their lives. “I hope you limited your answers.”

“I did the best I could.” His uncle elbowed him hard and smirked. “I have no doubt Lady Danbury will be infinitely pleased to have you back. I could tell she missed you.” His uncle pumped his hips twice to insinuate what was really missed and chortled.

This is what happened to a man who played mistress. His own uncle made fun of him. “At least I get paid. You’re stupid enough to do it for free.”

With a dismissive grunt, his uncle said, “No woman could afford me if I were to set a price on it and then I’d be one lonely son of a bitch.” He paused and then imparted through the side of his mouth, “The reason why I even brought up Lady Danbury is because I’m a touch worried about the woman. And you should be, too.”

Ronan paused. “Worried? Why? Is something amiss?”

“There could be. She started calling on Lord Spencer’s bastard child, Mister Evan Ridley, a few weeks ago.
Ridley
. I didn’t comment to her about it, as it wasn’t my place, but you and I both know what they say about that man. His head isn’t right.”

Ronan stared. Yes, he knew full well what was said. There were whispers Ridley had spent years in a madhouse as a child for reasons never specified and had emerged at the age of seventeen ‘sane’ but never ‘
the
same’. Now almost thirty, Ridley had a vicious temper, was a recluse who never left the house and whose mother had tried in vain to bring society to his door in the hopes of having him take an interest in a woman.
Any
woman. It always resulted in chairs being flung and people hobbling out, dusting off splintered furniture. “Are you certain she is calling on Ridley? Did she tell you that?”

His uncle used the crop to scratch his chin. “Yes and yes. Her lips moved in unison to say she is assisting his mother in managing his affairs.”

Ronan scrubbed his hair. “God only knows what that means. What is she doing? Ridley is a loon. I should probably call on her. Before she gets herself into trouble.”

“About that. She insisted you not call.”

Ronan blinked and a part of him was so relieved he almost sagged. He hadn’t quite figured out how to end things with Theodosia. “She had asked to end things?”

“Oh, no, no. It isn’t like that. You won’t get off that easy. She still preens over you. She merely insisted that you leave a card with her butler when you do arrive into town. You know how she is. You don’t contact her, she contacts you.”

So much for the front door flit he was hoping for. Ronan shifted his jaw and knew that, yes, Theodosia liked to control everything, even his visits. She was an odd bird he had long ceased questioning. He collected his money and left her to herself until she wanted to see him for chess, conversation, dinner, wine and dessert. Him being dessert, of course. Despite her quirks and oddities, she was a surprisingly good person. Which was why it had lasted as long as it had. He worried about her and feared that one day her obsession with other people’s lives was going to hang her. And this Ridley business could very well do that. Damn it. He wouldn’t know peace until he talked to her. Then he’d ease into talking to her about ending things, as well. The woman was getting too attached. Which he didn’t need. “Do you know her plans for this week? Did she tell you?”

“She mentioned the Whittle ball this Friday. Why?”

“Do you have an invitation for that?”

“I accepted it a few weeks ago.”

“Good. Ask Whittle to add me to the list, will you? That way, I can go and talk to her. Because God knows when that woman will let me see her with the sort of schedule she keeps. She is never at the house.”

“Of course. I will inform Whittle of it.” Sweeping out the crop, his uncle playfully tapped Ronan’s thigh. Those dark eyes brightened. “How was France?”

“
Incroyable
. As always.” A part of him yearned to go back. He missed all of his nieces and nephews and the thudding of their little boots and slippers as they ran in and out of rooms, shouting for him to follow in French. It made him want the very thing he knew he couldn’t afford: a family. Such things didn’t pay the bills. They only created them. “I spent most of my hours organizing Aunt Beatrice’s ledgers. It was a mess. All of it. She never kept records of anything and the incidentals she did keep records of had missing summations and/or debts. Once that was done, I decided to move her into a bigger house. She was living in a one-room flat with eight children. It was…” Ronan’s throat tightened. “She cried when she got her own room.”

His uncle eyed him. “How much did it cost?”

Ronan swiped his face, not wanting to think about it. “Everything I saved for myself these past three years is gone. I owe money.”

The crop hit the side of Ronan’s scuffed riding boot. “Damn you, Ronan! I told you I sent her money. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. I love my sister, God knows I do, but you can’t keep taking responsibility for her life.”

Agitated with his uncle for making him feel as if loyalty to family was a bad thing, Ronan bit out, “If my mother were alive, she would have taken a stick to your head for saying what you just did. You know how close she and my mother were. Aunt Beatrice and those children have no one but us.”

“Then have her and those children move here to London. It’s less expensive than having you travel to France every two years. They can live with me. Unlike your rot of a townhome, my house has enough rooms to host them all comfortably.”

“Her way of life is in Paris. And none of her children speak English.” Ronan also refused to have her move to London and expose her children to the
ton
for having married an outcast. He also wasn’t about to expose his mother’s own sister to how he truly lived with three servants and a few pieces of furniture that filled a mostly empty house in desperate need of renovation. He had hidden his struggles from his aunt for years because he knew full well she would never accept his assistance if she knew the state of his finances.

His uncle sighed. “I send her money all the time, Ronan. You know that.”

“It isn’t enough. I went through all of her ledgers myself when I was in Paris. It’s not as if she is living senselessly. Quite the opposite. The reality is it costs a small fortune to clothe, feed, entertain and educate eight children. And that doesn’t include what she needs on a regular basis. I cannot and will not stand by to watch my own aunt and nieces and nephews live in squalor. Hence why I depleted what I saved. Because I can always save again. They are done living in squalor. I’ve ensured it.”

“Oh, I’d say. Given the last letter I received from her, they’re living better than we are. Why would you buy her a fully furnished house on the Seine with a governess and servants? Knowing you can’t afford it? I may have a grand home that I inherited from my father, but it’s the only grand thing about my life and I barely have the means to maintain it. And unless Beatrice moves into said grand home with me, I can’t financially assist her in the way I would like. And neither can you. I think it time you tell her how you have been paying for everything. She has a right to know.”