Simply Sinful (31 page)

“You wish to end our relationship then?”

He looked up briefly. “Well done, Abigail. You are finally listening to me.”

“You refuse to believe that any of us cares about you?”

He waved his pen dismissively. “There are plenty of other marriages I can meddle in; why would I want to stay around yours?”

“Now you are contradicting yourself. If meddling in marriages is what you crave, how can you protest if you are treated as an unpaid prostitute?” His pen stilled and she took another step. “Is it because you’ve decided you don’t deserve to be loved? Is it easier to pretend that all your interactions are simply sexual because deep down you’re afraid that if you show love to someone they’ll throw it right back at you?”

“Don’t try and tell me what I’m thinking.”

“What happened this morning with your grandfather to finally convince you that you are unworthy of love?”

Peter stood up, the indifference on his face like a slap.

“Get out, Abigail.”

She curtsied, fought to stop her voice from trembling. “James told me to tell you I loved you, but I see you won’t believe me anyway, so why waste my time?” She headed for the door. “You’re right, I used you, James used you, but it doesn’t mean we haven’t come to love you. If you had any confidence in yourself, you’d take that love and be damned grateful instead of shoving it back in our faces.”

He stared at her, his eyes so calm and empty she wanted to cry. “And Peter, if you don’t love yourself, you aren’t worthy of the love I have for you, so perhaps this is for the best. Goodbye.”

She hurried through the deserted house and back into the street. Her carriage waited at the local tavern at the corner, and she managed to find her way back to it.

After the short journey home, she discovered James dressing for dinner in his bedchamber. His welcoming smile died as he looked at her.

“Abby cat, are you all right? What happened?”

The tears she’d refused to allow to fall in front of Peter came now, hot tears that scalded her parched throat and her cheeks.

“Peter doesn’t want us anymore.” She pressed her fist to her heart as James pulled her into his arms. “It hurts, James, and I don’t think it’s ever going to stop.”

22

P
eter swallowed, tasted the dregs of a night of relentless drinking and groaned. He rolled onto his back, realized he was in bed and wondered how he’d got there. A strip of sunlight crept along the gray silk counterpane and onto his pillow, and he shut his eyes. At least he hadn’t succumbed to his desire for opium. Adams had disobeyed his express orders to go and fetch some, and for that Peter was profoundly grateful.

“Good morning, sir.”

Peter cracked open an eye and saw Adams carrying a bowl of steaming water, which he placed on the nightstand along with a fresh white towel.

“Did you drag me up here last night?”

Adams bowed. “I did, sir. I didn’t wish the other servants or any potential visitors to see you in your inebriated state.”

“Kind of you,” Peter muttered as Adams opened the door and took a tray from the maid hovering outside. The scent of strong coffee assailed his nostrils. “Don’t make me eat anything, will you?”

Adams uncovered the tray and flicked open a starched white napkin with a practiced air. “Just coffee with brandy and some dry toast, sir. That should set you straight.”

Peter sat up and dragged the tray over his knees.

“You really are a treasure, Adams.”

“I know, sir.”

“And I didn’t mean to fire you last night, either.”

“I realize that as well, sir.”

Peter held his gaze. “Thank you.”

“I watched you struggle to give up opium once, sir. I didn’t intend to watch it happen again.”

“Thank God one of us has some sense.”

“Actually, sir, in the old days, if you’d been really desperate, you would’ve simply gone out yourself. I knew you wouldn’t do that last night, sir.”

“You did?”

“Indeed, sir, you are a better man than you give yourself credit for.”

Peter sipped cautiously at the coffee that was laced with brandy. His stomach rolled uneasily and he chewed on a piece of bread. It was true; he hadn’t been desperate enough to contemplate leaving the house in search of an opium den. Perhaps he was more mature than he realized.

Adams continued setting the room to rights, laying out clothes and preparing to shave him as if nothing had happened. Peter glanced around the comfortable room. If he gave up his share of the business to Valentin, could he afford to live like this any longer?

He pushed that unpleasant realization away and concentrated on getting some food into his belly. What the hell had he done yesterday? Ah yes, in one fell swoop he’d alienated everyone who had ever claimed to care for him. His new life lay ahead of him, empty and friendless just as he had wanted. He stopped eating. Had he done the right thing? Did he really believe he was so worthless that no one would want him?

No, it wasn’t as simple as that. He’d done what was needed to protect the people he cared about, even if it left him with nothing. Damnation, why was he always the one left managing everyone else’s emotions? He should feel pleased with himself for doing the right thing rather than wretched.

Of course, if William Howard was telling the truth, he had the possibility of meeting with his newly discovered family. He frowned into his coffee. Did he even want that veil of respectability, of acceptance? Did he deserve it? His life history was hardly likely to enamor him to them. Brothel slave, thrill seeker, all-round bastard…

There he went again, putting himself down. He could almost hear Abigail saying it…

“A message was delivered earlier this morning, sir. Would you care to see it?”

Peter nodded and tried to guess who it would be from. The Beechams and the Sokorvskys could be equally tenacious when roused. And by God, he’d certainly done enough yesterday to deserve their anger. The note was from James.

I will be at Madame’s tonight at ten. You still owe me half an hour of your time from your original debt. Beecham.

Peter groaned. How like James to insist on him fulfilling his part of the bargain. What was he expecting Peter to do? Offer him a last half hour of sex? He pictured Abigail’s distraught face, the way she’d offered him her love and how easily he turned her down….

Dammit, of course he cared about her. Was she a complete fool? He got clumsily out of bed, dressed with a speed that made his head spin and headed down to his study. In his absence it had been cleaned, the reek of alcohol submerged in the aroma of beeswax polish. Didn’t Abigail understand that he wasn’t worthy of her? That he was damaged beyond repair? She had James, who despite his sexual preferences made her a damned fine husband.

Peter collapsed in his chair and put his head in his hands. Except he didn’t want her to have James. He wanted her all for himself. With a groan, he rubbed his face until it hurt. It was better for everybody if he moved on. Val and Sara would be happy together and so would the Beechams. He had been foolish to allow himself to become emotionally involved with them. It was time he found a person of his own to love.

He reached for the miniature of his mother, studied her face behind the now-cracked grass. Despite every advantage in life, she’d made her choices and probably lived to regret them. He had to forgive her, or the knowledge that she’d abandoned him would continue to eat away at his soul. Abigail was right about one thing. He had to learn to love himself.

The clock chimed midday and he winced at the cheery sound. He would write to his grandfather’s solicitor. Ask for more details about the family estate and plan a trip up north. That would give him time to get over the Beechams and for them to forget about him. The Sokorvskys were a different matter. He drew a piece of paper toward him, sharpened his quill pen and started writing.

Abby stared at James, her needle poised over her embroidery. The drawing room of their town house faced the street, and the glass reflected the dark unsettled sky outside, making the room full of shadows.

“You’re going to do what?”

“Meet with Peter at Madame’s. He still owes me half an hour of his time.”

“And you think he will come?”

James raised his eyebrows. “Of course, if he is a man of honor.”

Abby stuffed her sewing back into the basket. “And what exactly are you going to do in that half an hour?”

“Have sex with him.”

She shot to her feet. “Are you serious?”

James patted her shoulder. “Abby, don’t screech like that, it’s very unbecoming. I’m going to make him believe that is what I want, while really I’ll be trying to persuade him to come back to us.”

“By using sex. It’s not going to work. He doesn’t want to be used.”

“Abby…”

She swiped at a stray tear. “He doesn’t want us, James. He made that very clear.” She raised her chin. “And I don’t want him if he hates himself so much anyway.”

His smile was pitying. “You are such a liar.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You think Peter hates himself?”

“Of course. He thinks he’s unlovable because everyone in his life, including his mother, abandoned him.”

James stared at her. “How on earth did you work that out?”

“It’s obvious to anyone who has a brain.”

“Maybe a female brain.”

Abby marched up to him and poked him in the chest. “Peter does not want to be used for sex. If you insist on pursuing this, you will only alienate him further and it will serve you right!”

James grinned at her. “Don’t worry, I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse.” He kissed her hand. “You want him back, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then trust me.”

Peter arrived early at Madame’s. He had no intention of allowing James to put him at a disadvantage. He also intended to have a few stiff drinks inside him before he met his former lover. James could be formidable in his own way.

He scanned the salons, bowed to Helene but didn’t approach her. She raised her eyebrows in an obvious question but he was far too vulnerable to deal with her. A card game started up to his right and he gladly took a seat. Perhaps he might meet the man or woman of his dreams here this very night.

But he had met the woman of his dreams…

He ruthlessly quashed that thought. Abigail might fancy herself in love with him, but her attraction was based on the fact that he had introduced her to sex, not true emotion. His mouth twisted into a wry smile. And his attraction to her? He returned his attention to his cards, discarded one and threw another coin into the center of the table. Perhaps he simply coveted the security of her life and her place at the heart of the Beecham family.

It wasn’t as if he could ask her to leave James. What did he have to offer her? A dubious heritage, a less-than-perfect past and an uncertain future. What woman would take on a man like that?

Abigail would
.

He discarded two more cards, picked up another and frowned at his hand. What the hell was he doing even thinking about her? He loved James too and he refused to destroy their marriage.

“Are you busy, Peter?”

He looked up, found Valentin looming over him.

“Yes.”

Valentin blatantly studied his cards. “I don’t think so, not with that hand.”

Peter briefly closed his eyes and then threw in his cards. He stood up and faced his friend.

“What can I do for you, Lord Sokorvsky?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Peter sighed. “Again? Didn’t Sara explain my position to you?”

“Sara? I haven’t seen her today.”

Peter led the way to the quieter of the three main salons. Valentin stopped him with a gesture by the stairs leading upward.

“What should Sara have told me?”

“That I wish to discuss the dissolution of our business partnership.”

Anger flared in Val’s eyes. “Fuck that.” He grabbed Peter’s arm. “Come upstairs and let’s have this out properly in private.”

Peter set his teeth. “I have an appointment at ten.”

“With Beecham I presume? Does he fuck as well as I do?”

“Better—probably because he wants to be with me.”

“I doubt that. Come and talk to me in private or I’ll say what I need to say right here.”

Peter started climbing the stairs, Val right beside him. He stopped on the first landing and stuck his finger in his friend’s face.

“Firstly I’d like to say that I’m tired of being ordered around by the aristocracy, and secondly, the only reason I’m coming upstairs with you is to preserve your wife’s reputation!”

Val carried on up another flight of stairs and pushed open the first door he came to. Peter followed him into the room and leaned against the door. He frowned as Val marched into the center of the room, struggled out of his coat and wrenched off his cravat. Peter blinked at him.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m stripping.”

“Why?”

Valentin paused to pull his shirt over his head. He emerged, his violet eyes a deep enraged purple, his long black hair escaping its ribbon.

“Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? Me, naked, on my knees, begging you.”

“Begging for what?”

Despite his anger, Peter’s shaft twitched at the erotic sight of Val’s muscular body. His friend glared at him.

“For your cock.”

“That’s not what I want at all.” With a huge effort Peter kept his voice light, his expression cool.

“Liar.” Val pulled off his boots and started on the buttons of his breeches. “This is what it’s all about, isn’t it? You fucking me.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Val paused, his fingers stilled on the waistband. “I don’t believe you.”

“I can get sex anywhere. You know that.” Peter shrugged. “I’m incredibly skilled and I’m happy to service both men and women.”

Val frowned. “You’re not a prostitute anymore. You don’t need to sell yourself to anyone.”

“Don’t I?”

Val met his gaze, his expression full of concern. “Peter, you are one of the worthiest and most courageous men I’ve ever met. You put me to shame.”