Master of Pleasure (12 page)

“Don’t apologize.” Malcolm slowly released her and stepped back, letting her and Jacob’s hands fall away. His chest tightened seeing them both lingering in tears. “I will right this.”

Despite the tears, she met his gaze. “If only the world was more like you, Lord Brayton. So beautifully kind.”

Beautifully kind? He damn well wasn’t that. He made people bleed out of their noses for a living and thoroughly enjoyed watching it drip. “Let us not go that far. I’m an admiral. Not a saint.”

Her anguished features became more subdued. Another tear traced its way down her smooth cheek. “I was merely offering you a compliment. I am and will always be eternally grateful to you for offering me a position and helping me.”

And here it was. The tears and the sort of messy emotion and gratitude women were so well known for. The sort that made a man of steel snap in half and turn to rose petals merely because there was a damn tear tracing down soft skin.

There was a reason he surrounded himself with men at sea. So he’d never have to get attached to a female who would only send him down a path no rational woman was ready to embrace. Not willingly, anyway. “I don’t need compliments to get me through the day, Miss Webster. This is about getting you through the day. So I humbly ask you do so.”

She politely sniffed, set her chin and then forged a small smile, her tear-streaked green eyes struggling to brighten. “You needn’t worry about me. I’ve gone through worse.”

This woman was the sort of trouble a man could stub his toe on and still love whatever pain it brought. “I admire your fire. Keep that chin up. I’ll see you tomorrow and will send someone over to pick up all of your belongings so you’ll already be settled in.” He inclined his head and then gave the older woman a pointed look. “Good day, Mrs. Henderson. Try not to marry her off to anyone. I know well-placed people who will resolve this.” He turned and in passing Jacob, Malcolm leaned down and nudged the boy with an elbow. “Until tomorrow.”

Jacob stumbled against the elbow and gaped up at him. “I almost fell because of you.”

Malcolm grinned and nudged him again. “Good. The sooner you learn how to balance yourself, the sooner I can teach you how to throw blades.”

Jacob straightened, eyes wide. “
Blades
? Truly? Who will we be throwing them at? Aunt Judith?”

Leona gasped and hit Malcolm’s arm from behind.

His senses sparked to life. Grabbing her hand, he yanked her hard toward himself and spun her straight into his body. The pulsing softness of her bare hand and his instinctive aggression toward her astounded him into realizing just how dangerous their association could be.

Passion was the one thing that had drowned his own brother into becoming someone unrecognizable and if he wasn’t careful, it would drown him next. “I wouldn’t do that again, Miss Webster,” he pointed out, trying to ignore her skirts bundling against his trousers. “As you can see, I have a tendency to overreact.”

Her astounded gaze held his for a moment. “I’m sorry. I…Can you please keep my son out of the navy?” She leaned in, as if determined to set her nose against his chest. “He’s only six.”

That seductive scent of pepper and vanilla drifted from her skin again, taunting him. It teased him into wanting to rip clothing and scrape all of his teeth against her skin. Not. Good.

Malcolm instantly released her hand, the muscles in his body tightening. Digging into his pocket, he grudgingly pulled out his gloves and yanked them on, adjusting them around each finger. “The boy should learn how to defend himself.”

“No blades,” she countered. “He’s too young. He’ll hurt himself.”

Maybe the boy
was
too young. Maybe if he and his brother hadn’t been allowed access to so many dangerous things in their youth due to absolutely
no
supervision, their lives would have been different. Maybe. It was always maybe. “All right. Fine. No blades.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated and then patted his arm as if he were a dog who pleased her. “You may go now.”

This woman was going to exhaust the hell out of him. Puffing out a breath, he left.

That afternoon

The double mahogany doors leading into the lavish private quarters of His Royal Highness, Prince Nasser as-Din Qajar, were swept open. Two dark-skinned Persians dressed in identical flowing emerald-green garbs bound by thick, red sashes around their waists pulled back doors on command.

Without waiting to be formally announced by the wigged butler in livery, Malcolm strode in, his boots thudding against the gleaming white marble. A line of servants departed the large receiving room and the doors he entered through closed, leaving him to address the prince alone.

He hadn’t seen his dear friend in eight months. It was the longest they’ve ever been apart.

Malcolm paused in astonishment, realizing Nasser had abandoned his traditional style of Persian garb his father expected of him. Instead, the man was dressed in all black, save a blue silk cravat and a blue embroidered waistcoat.

Looking very much like any other upper-class European, Nasser was stretched out on a green velvet chaise in black wool trousers and polished boots. His favorite book, the
Kama Shastra
, was angled open just below his square shaven jaw. It was a new man. Even Nasser’s black hair, which was usually finger-tousled was meticulously swept back with tonic, mimicking the latest French style.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Malcolm drawled, removing his gloves and tossing them onto a nearby table. “Did all of New York grab you by the turban? I don’t like it. You look like everyone else.”

“That is exactly the point,
Dalir
. I am
trying
to look like everyone else. I think I look dashing.” Glancing up from his book, Nasser’s dark eyes brightened. He tossed the book aside and swiveled off the chaise, rising. His mouth quirked. “By Allah, how I have missed you and your gruff ways. My time in New York City was worth
nothing
without you there. Nothing. Because you are and will always be the love of my life. The moment you tell me you are ready to be my man, I will gladly abscond from my crown. Then you and I can disappear into the Caribbean and share…
coconuts
.”

Not in the least bit amused, Malcolm came to a halt before him. “You and I have to talk.”

Nasser spread out both hands. “At long last. He wishes to have a conversation. I gather there is a perfectly viable reason as to why you never once wrote to me whilst I was all those months in New York. I am rather…how do you English say…
miffed
with you. You have no respect for my love.”

“On the contrary.” Malcolm stared him down. “I took a year leave from my position to help you with this mess. And if I may say, this is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. Your association with Miss Grey is unholy.”

“Pfah. You think everything is unholy.”

Malcolm glared. “You sent me into London because you wanted me to look into Lord Banfield’s life and give you an opinion you can trust. And I’m giving it to you. Lord Banfield has been in love with Miss Grey for years. According to Holbrook, and a few other more than reliable sources, she never once resisted their engagement. In fact, she has been enthusiastically replying to all of Lord Banfield’s letters since she was fourteen, which means…she isn’t telling you the whole story. Either way, I don’t like it. Marriage is meant to be a sacred union of mutual respect. Not a means of hiding one’s identity from the world. You’re treating her like some monkey you plan to pet for the rest of your life. It’s wrong.”

Nasser was quiet for a long moment. “She told me she was dreadfully unhappy with the arrangement.”

“I have seen nothing to support that. She probably only wants access to your crown.”

“No. She has become family. So I ask you treat her as such. Something else must be amiss.” Nasser squinted. “Forgive me for being shallow but is this Lord Banfield...unattractive? Do women scurry away from him? Does he have crooked teeth and bushy brows that wag like little fingers?”

Malcolm refrained from tapping Nasser’s head. “No. Both brothers exude a little too much charm and could easily take advantage of women.”

“Do they?”

“No. Holbrook has a tendency to play and flirt far more than he should, but he doesn’t abuse or wheedle women. As for Banfield, setting aside what appears to be a single visit to a high-class brothel done in the name of education, he doesn’t associate with women at all. He keeps busy with the estate and is completely and utterly devoted to Miss Grey.”

Nasser blinked rapidly. “Why would my
azizam
try to escape a man who is devoted to her? That makes no sense. There must be something wrong with him. Is he the violent sort?”

“Far from it. The man hasn’t gotten into a single scuffle since he left Eton. There isn’t a person who has ever spoken ill of him. Not even his own servants. I have no idea what is going on, but given his affection for the girl, expect him to follow you into Persia.”

Nasser swiped his face. “I did not realize this Lord Banfield was so attached.”

“The man is more than attached. He sleeps with her portrait. And who knows what that means.”

“
Ya weld elgahba
. If that is true, I am not touching this. My life is complicated enough. I went to New York for a reason. To see new things and escape my overbearing parents and the mess they are making of not only their lives but mine.” Nasser pointed at him. “When Miss Grey arrives into town, which should be in the next week, I will talk to her and put an end to it.”

“What about your father?”

“What about him?”

“Didn’t you already tell him you were getting married to this girl?”

Nasser sighed. “Yes, but when he discovered she was an American, he threw a fit. He will be more than pleased by the termination, I assure you. I suggest moving out of Holbrook’s house. The sooner we distance ourselves from whatever happens next, the better off we are. Would you like a hotel or would you prefer to stay here with me until we leave for Persia?”

Malcolm paused. Leona needed him. As did Holbrook. “I can’t leave the house quite yet.”

“Why not?”

If only he was more like his brother and didn’t give a damn. “Holbrook had an argument with Banfield back in February about some girl who put him in debt. And I mean a lot of debt. He had to sell his townhouse and move into a place even rats consider beneath them. I’ve been more or less keeping him out of debt. Not that he knows it.”

“
Dalir, Dalir
. Always a hero to everyone but himself.”

Unfortunately. “Laugh. Because it doesn’t end there. I also elbowed my way into
another
situation. I hired this…this…female to tend to whatever is left of Holbrook’s house because the one servant Holbrook does have is useless and only ever sells lithographs from the back door. I intend to stay with Holbrook until it’s time to leave London and was hoping you could actually help me with something.”

Nasser lifted a brow. “I knew it was coming.”

Malcolm retrieved Ryder’s calling card from his pocket and held it out. “This is about the woman I hired. Her aunt swindled her out of a lot of money, and now this moron, Mr. Blake, is threatening to take her child away based on grounds of financial neglect. And believe me when I say, this boy is anything but neglected. I need you to get your grandfather involved. With him being one of the presiding judges overseeing cases at the Exchequer of Pleas, this should be easy. Just have him send someone of power over to Mr. Blake so his bollocks invert. Whatever your grandfather wants in return for his assistance, make sure he gets it.”

Nasser sighed and took the card. He glanced at it, before tucking it away into his waistcoat pocket. “Your generosity is going to bankrupt me.”

Malcolm stared him down. “It shouldn’t cost you anything but a few words to a man you and I both know has England’s right and left ear. But if it
does
cost you anything, take it out of my naval annuity. I don’t mind.”

“Keep your silver,
Dalir
. Everything will be fine.
Grand-pére
will ensure no lawyer goes near Mr. Blake. Now come here. We have not seen each other in a hundred and seventy-two days. I counted.” Nasser grabbed the sides of Malcolm’s face and grinned. “You look well for yourself.” He kissed Malcolm’s forehead twice. “Was life incredibly difficult without me? It was, was it not?”