Love With a Scandalous Lord (25 page)

He turned his back on her.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me—”

“That’s damned good of you, because I won’t.”

“I do hope that you might understand—”

He spun around with such force that she staggered back and fell across the chaise.

“Understand?” he demanded. “I was a damned whore! I knew that, I accepted that. But to also know that I was on exhibition for your amusement. My God, if you were a man I’d beat you to within an inch of your life.”

She straightened, wiped away her tears, and met his gaze. “At least now you know why we will have a
chaste marriage.”

“We won’t have a marriage at all.”

She sniffed and angled her head. “You can’t cry off. I shall sue you for breach of contract, breach of faith. And I shall not play nicely.”

“Are you threatening to expose my past?”

“I’m not threatening, I’m promising. You have much more to lose than I, and if I learned one thing from your abhorrent brother, it was how to spin a yarn so that I come away the victim. I shall have everyone’s sympathy while you shall have nothing but their disdain.”

“I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”

“Perhaps not. But I do believe you care what Lydia thinks. She has stayed in your house. Who would think she has not been part of our games?”

“Don’t even contemplate harming her with innuendo.”

“Then don’t consider crying off. I wish to be a duchess. It’s all that’s left to me.”

“Do you not fathom that I prefer not to ever set eyes on you again?”

The familiar scheming look came into her eyes. “All I want is the title. After we’re wed, you may go to the far corners of the earth and I won’t care.” She gave him a sad smile. “Protect your little dreamer, Rhys. You know I have sharp claws and no heart.”

He turned and strode from the room. Let her make of his departure what she would.

He didn’t much care for threats or bullies, but Camilla had read him right. He did care about Lydia and was willing to do whatever was necessary to see her happy.

He hurried down the outer steps only because he wished to be away from Camilla as quickly as possible,
but once he reached the pavement, he had no desire to go anywhere. His footman opened the carriage door, and Rhys merely shook his head, surprised by the effort that simple action took.

“Take the carriage home. I wish to walk.”

He stood there a moment, listening to the clatter of the horses’ hooves, the whir of the wheels. Fog had settled in, and he quickly found himself alone in the muggy air.

How in God’s name had he brought himself to this moment? He’d been so eager with the first woman, so grateful for her attentions, but she hadn’t returned to his bed the next night. He’d thought the fault had rested with him. So he’d begun searching for answers in obscure books that he could find only on the darker side of London, books that revealed various positions for lovemaking, writings that described ways to increase pleasure.

Until the night Quentin’s wife had come to him. Sweet Annie, who had simply asked him to love her, and even though he’d known it was wrong, he’d heard her crying in the room next to his too many nights not to invite her into his bed. They’d made love so tenderly, slowly, gently that when they were finished, they’d clung to each other and wept for what might have been. For what shouldn’t have been.

Quentin had sent her to him. Three nights later she’d taken her own life and left him a note of apology—a note Quentin had discovered. A note that had ignited Quentin’s temper and drawn both his parents into the room. A note that revealed that Rhys had bedded his brother’s wife, was responsible for her death. That shamed him into running.

What sort of sick and twisted mind had his brother
possessed?

Rhys was brought back to the present by the sound of footsteps. He hadn’t realized how far he’d walked.

He glanced over his shoulder. Three shadows emerged from the fog. Before he could react, pain arced through his jaw. And he realized that his darkest nightmare was about to descend on him.

L
ydia awoke to a tapping. She opened her eyes to the darkness, disoriented and confused. What had made that sound?

Click
.
Clink
.

She eased out from beneath the covers, shivered, and scurried to the window. Parting the drapes slightly, she peered out.

William stood outside, tossing little pebbles against the house. She opened the window. “William?”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he called up in a hushed whisper.

“Wait there.”

She grabbed her night wrapper from the foot of the bed and slipped it on as she hurried down the stairs. She opened the front door to find him waiting for her. He looked as though someone had died.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s His Grace. Said he’d flay me back if I sent for a
doctor, but he needs one bad. He likes you. Thought maybe you could convince him to come to his senses.”

“Is he sick?”

“Worse than that.” He grabbed her arm. “Come on, please.”

Horrible visions rushed through her head. Perhaps his appendix had burst. Or he’d come down with some disease: cholera, the plague. Did they still get the plague in England? Hadn’t it wiped out most of the population of Europe at some time?

Rhys would no doubt scold her for not knowing the specifics.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“I ran. That day you came to live here, I came to say good-bye to Colton. He showed me which room was yours. Didn’t think I’d ever have need of knowing.”

“Let me get dressed, and I’ll have a servant bring a carriage around.”

He nodded, and she retreated back inside. All she could think was that she’d be lost if Rhys died. How could she even contemplate marrying Sachse when her heart so totally and completely belonged to Rhys?

At Rhys’s home, William led her inside and dashed into the library. Lydia went in after him and immediately spotted Rhys slumped in a chair beside the fireplace.

“Oh, my dear God,” she rasped, as she rushed across the room and knelt before him.

His beautiful face was cut, bruised, and scraped. One eye was nearly swollen shut. “My God, what happened?”

Through his one good eye, he glared at William. “I told you to go to bed.”

“Figured you didn’t really know your own mind. Thought she’d do you some good, Guv.”

Lydia gently touched her fingers to his bleeding cheek. His torn clothes were further ruined where flecks of blood had splattered on them. “What happened?”

“I stumbled when stepping out of my carriage,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“I’m not stupid, Rhys. I have three brothers. I know what the results of a fight look like when I see it.”

“To say it was a fight would imply I’d taken part, had a chance to defend myself. It was more of a thrashing.”

“Why?”

Shaking his head, he looked away.

Stubborn man. She prodded his chest, and he issued a low moan before slapping her hand away.

She gave him a pointed look. “Your ribs are probably broken. Let me send for a physician.”

“No. I can tend to myself.”

“I don’t know why men think sending for a doctor is a sign of weakness. My brothers have a tendency to avoid doctors as well. If you won’t let me get you a physician, then you’ll have to let me tend to you.”

He snorted. “Go back to Ravenleigh’s, Lydia.”

“A doctor isn’t always available in Fortune. I know quite a bit about tending injuries.”

“Bring me a bottle and leave me be.”

She turned to William. “Get him a bottle from the liquor cabinet and a glass.”

“No glass. Tonight I have no wish to be refined.”

“Fine, but I think you’ll find it easier to drink with a glass.” While William fetched the alcohol, Lydia tried to assess Rhys’s injuries. She lifted his hair off his brow and grimaced. “How many men?”

“Three.”

“I hope you gave as good as you got.”

“Under the circumstances, I decided to take what I had coming like a man.”

“So you didn’t resist?”

He barely shook his head.

“Here you go, Guv.”

Rhys lifted the bottle to his mouth, grimacing and moaning as he tipped it up. Lydia put her hand beneath it to hold it steady while he gulped the brew, no doubt hoping for quick oblivion.

“Surely you’re gonna do more than that for him,” William said.

“Yes. Go to the kitchen and see if you can find me a cut of beef, the larger the better. Also we’ll need warm water, towels, scraps of linen.”

“I’ll find ’em all.” He scampered off.

Lydia let go of the bottle and sat back on her heels.

“Don’t look so worried, Lydia.”

“I can’t play these games, Rhys. I can’t pretend not to feel something that I feel.”

“Then you are dooming yourself to a life of misery if you stay in England and continue to pursue an aristocratic husband. Happiness in marriage is seldom to be found.”

“I don’t believe that. I can’t believe the unhappy marriages I’ve seen here are the rule and not the exception.”

“No?” He leaned menacingly toward her. “The gentlemen who beat me did so because they objected to the fact I’d entertained their wives.”

She blinked in confusion. “They beat you because you played the piano for them?”

He released a harsh, ugly laugh. “No, my little dreamer, I seduced, pleasured, and bedded them.”

His callous words caused pain to pierce her heart. She’d never expected him to speak so crassly about his
relationships with other women.

“It disappoints you to know Annie wasn’t the only married woman with whom I’ve slept.”

“Of course it does. I believe in the sanctity of marriage. I thought Annie was an exception.”

“No, Lydia.
You
were the exception.”

She didn’t like the way he said that, as though there was more at stake here.

“So you had affairs—”

“An affair indicates a lengthy time together. For me, it is usually only a few nights.”

A few nights?
Was he easily bored with women? Had he grown bored with her? Was that the reason he now seemed to favor Lady Sachse?

“Is what happened tonight behind your reason for not marrying me?”

Silence.

“I love you,” she said.

“Love me? Love a man who not only slept with married women, but was well compensated to do so?”

Her entire body tightened with his implication. Surely he didn’t mean…“You mean like a woman in a…a brothel?”

“Precisely.”

Revulsion caused her stomach to roil. “Why?”

“Why not? My family had turned me out. I know where ladies are most sensitive.” He trailed his finger from her temple to her chin. “Behind her ear, along the length of her spine, behind her knee.”

She scooted back, beyond the reach of his touch. “No.”

“Ah, yes, Lydia. You were more sensitive than most. Easily seduced.”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t take advan
tage.”

“Didn’t I? I am a master of pleasure. I have dedicated my life to it. Ask any of the women whose husbands attacked me tonight, and you’ll find that I gave them what their husbands never did.

“I have studied poetry until I can whisper the most beautiful false flattery into a lady’s ear. I have unraveled the ancient arts and discovered secrets that can carry a woman to heights she’s never before achieved. I can make her forget how
sad
an evening was.”

He’d said something similar before. Tears stung her eyes. “The night of my first ball—”

“I replaced your unhappy memories with glorious sensations, did I not? Just as I’d promised? Each touch was well planned. Each caress served a purpose. Each stroke of my tongue was designed to help you forget.”

She shook her head. “No, no, you were never false with me.”

“I am a man who has bedded countless women, and loved none of them, who suffered through their touch because of what they could gain me. How can you ever be sure, my little dreamer? Will you always wonder if my words were practiced, whispered to someone else before I whispered them to you? I have given countless women memories to replace those they wished to forget. Why should you be any different?”

“Because you love me.”

“I’ve told you before that I do not have love to give. Lust I know well. Love I know not at all. You have confused one with the other. Perhaps you need another lesson.”

He slowly came to his feet. She couldn’t stand the doubts plaguing her, the thought of him touching her as he’d touched so many others—not with love, but only
with lust.

She scrambled to her feet and raced toward the door.

She heard his harsh voice calling after her. “That’s right. Run, Lydia, run!”

She dashed outside and into the carriage. As the driver guided it through the streets of London, Lydia curled into a ball and wept. She didn’t know the man she’d just left. Perhaps she’d never known him.

“Where’d Miss Westland go?” William asked as he walked in carrying a box laden with the things Lydia had requested.

“She left.” Rhys located a glass and poured himself a stiff drink. He downed it even though it stung the cuts on his lips and his jaw ached when he opened his mouth.

“Why?”

“Because she’s a true lady.”

She’d been repulsed by his confession, reacting just as he’d always known she would if he revealed the truth regarding what he had been.

As much as her leaving had hurt, as hard as it had been for him not to pull her into his arms and hold her close, he knew all had happened for the best.

She would be safe now, spared the humiliation that was sure to follow.

He had little doubt gossip would run rampant and most of the truths would be trampled until all that remained was the ugliness of the entire affair. He didn’t want to contemplate what would happen if the gossip reached the ear of the Queen. If she decided he was unworthy of his titles, he could well lose them. With many of the husbands in the House of Lords, he thought it possible his family could lose everything. At the very
least his family’s good name would be ruined.

“I thought you fancied her,” William said.

“You thought wrong.”

He didn’t fancy her; he loved her—more than life itself. He’d do anything to see her happy—even if he had to destroy himself in the process.