Master of Pleasure (15 page)

Nasser slowly drew up a leg, wrapping an arm around it. He eyed him. After a long moment, he digressed, “When my mother was fifteen, she met a very interesting woman in Paris during the rise of the revolution. This woman specialized in…
men
. Very rich men, in particular. Surprisingly, my mother and this woman became close friends during a turbulent time when the bourgeois and aristocrats were not even allowed to share the same road. My mother and
Grand-pére
were forced to flee France due to the danger and valiantly did something for this woman. They assisted her lover to escape Paris with them. He was severely injured after his house was torched. This French woman has long since relocated here to London to be with her granddaughter. My mother asked that I visit her and deliver a gift. Which I did yesterday. What was supposed to be an hour turned into eight. The life this woman has lived is…
beyond words
. I will have her call on you. Did you know her first lover was a profligate dedicated to the art of pain? She knows quite a bit about it. Maybe she can help you.”

Malcolm felt his face flush. “Help me? With what?”

“We all have fears that make us incapable of embracing ourselves,
Dalir
. She will help you.”

“
With what
?” Malcolm got up and glared. “I’m
happy
being celibate. I’m
happy
keeping away whatever the hell swallowed my brother. I don’t want it.”

Nasser rose and leveled him with a stare. “I do not think it wise you compare yourself to your brother. You are
not
your brother. You will
never
be your brother. Do you not understand that?”

In his head, Malcolm knew that. But in his heart, he hadn’t been able to connect the two. Ever since he was old enough to breathe, he and his brother had always shared too many of the same interests. And when he’d forcibly grabbed and savagely kissed the same woman his brother enjoyed physically torturing, that was when it became obvious their souls were connected into wanting
too
much of the same thing. Not to say he wasn’t curious about exploring that side of himself with a woman. He was. But how could he even begin to… “What if I unleash something I’m not prepared to embrace?”

Nasser set a hand gently against Malcolm’s cheek. “You are too good to hurt any woman. Trust yourself more. Talk to her,
Dalir
. If you do this, I will go to Persia and embrace who I really am. As you have always wanted me to. I will tell my father the truth and kneel to whatever happens in your honor. That way, we face our fears together. Like brothers. Shall we do this? Shall we become the men we have always wanted to be?”

Malcolm gaped at Nasser, his heart pounding. “You’re willing to tell your father?”

“Only if you are willing to embrace who you are. You have isolated yourself long enough. I know you want a family,
Dalir
. I have seen the way you look at mine. It is time you accept yourself in the way I accept you. This woman will help.”

Damn. “You have that much faith in this woman?”

“No,
Dalir
. I have that much faith in you.”

Thursday afternoon

At least it wasn’t raining.

Tightening her hold on Jacob’s hand, Leona bustled them down the narrow, cobblestone street doing her best to keep her flapping bonnet in place against the wind tunneling through the buildings. She only paused on occasion to make note of rusting iron gates, cracked windows, chipped stairs and unpainted houses. Everywhere.

Jerking to a halt, she glanced down at the calling card Jacob held and squinted down at it. “Are you certain we’re supposed to be on this street? Let me see that.”

Jacob angled it toward her and tilting his head, also squinted at it. “It reads…P-R-I-N-C-E and S-T-R-E-E-T. That spells Prince Street together. Does it not?”

“It certainly does.” She glanced around. There weren’t even trees. The neighborhood looked like a row of workhouses rammed in together.

An older gentleman with a frayed morning suit strode past, coughing up a gargling, crackling wad of phlegm. He leaned over one of the rusting gates and squirted a thick clump of spit before wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his coat and trudging past.

Leona made a face she couldn’t hold in. “One has to wonder how the city even names a street. Because there are no princes here. Not one.”

Jacob glanced around. “Maybe they’re all dead.”

She coughed out a laugh she almost choked on. “Let us try and be a little more optimistic, shall we? Let us assume they are all sleeping or…hiding.” She nudged him onward. “We’re only a few houses away. If we move fast enough, we’ll only be a few minutes late.”

Jacob hustled close beside her and glanced up several times, his wool cap shifting against his head. “We would have been on time but you kept going back to the mirror. Do you like looking at yourself?”

She tsked and kept moving. “No. But I couldn’t very well show up in a top knot and an apron, could I?” That was what she wore yesterday. “It’s very important to be presentable when dealing with the aristocracy.”

“Is that why you borrowed rouge from the neighbor?” he continued.

It would seem her son was onto her. “Yes. I ran out of my own.” She did.

He jerked them both to a stop. Leaning back, he used his weight to make her stay.

She turned and gently tugged on his arm. “What are you doing? Jacob, I don’t have time for this. We’re already fifteen minutes late. Which is what happens when you take directions from people you don’t know.”

He stared up at her. “Do you like him?”

She blinked. “Who?”

“The man with the scar?”

Her heart jolted. Even at the age of six they clearly understood the power of attraction. “Well, I…yes. Of course I like him.” A lot. “He has been very kind to us.” He had the most beautiful, beautiful eyes. And his well-muscled, massive frame was something worth dreaming about. After he tucked her so protectively against him when she found out about her aunt’s betrayal, she
still
inwardly melted and reveled in his concern. Was it incredibly forward of her to yearn for a man she had just met because he was kind? Was it also incredibly shallow of her to admit she wanted all that muscle wrapped around her for more than a night?

Jacob shook her arm in reprimand. “It wouldn’t be right for you to like anyone else. What about Papa? Aren’t we going to live with him now? Isn’t that why he came back?”

A breath escaped her. Feeling the strength in her legs fading, she lowered herself to his level. Releasing her son’s hand, she cupped his soft, freckled face. “Dearest?” she whispered, knowing it was time he hear it.

Green eyes that were the exact shade of her own met hers.

She swallowed. “Your father is already married. You know that. Which means he and I could never be a family. He has a whole other life, and although, yes, he wants to make you a part of that life, if I let him, we would no longer be together. It’s therefore up to us to create our own family. And I promise, even after what Aunt Judith did to us, we won’t be in London much longer. You’ll be playing in fields, not streets. I’ll work very hard to ensure we have at least a garden. It’ll simply take some time. We won’t be able to afford much, either, but I promise we’ll be happy.”

He lowered his gaze. “Is Papa a bad man?”

She would be a horrible mother if she made her son believe such. “No. Of course not. I used to love him very much.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

Her throat tightened. “No. I don’t. All of my love went to you.”

He eyed her. “If you don’t love him anymore, it means he isn’t worthy. And if he isn’t worthy, I don’t want to see him anymore. He made you cry. I want a new Papa. One who won’t make you cry.”

She often wondered how she ended up with such a beautiful child. She must have done something right. She gently squeezed his hands. “I thank you for thinking of me, as always. Do tell. If I remarry one of these days, what would you like in a new papa? So I may know what to look for.”

His eyes brightened. He dabbed at each finger on his hand, using every one as an example. “He has to be nice. He has to be able to carry me down the street. He has to play with me. He has to teach me how to ride a horse. He has to be nice.”

She bit back a smile “I’ll ensure he is not only nice but that he
stays
nice.”

Jacob excitedly continued, “He’ll also have to take us on carriage rides, buy us whatever we want, including big pieces of toffee, and teach us how to swim, so we can board a ship without drowning and visit America. Mrs. Henderson says there are Indians there, you know. I would very much like to meet an Indian. They hunt buffalo! Oh. And maybe when we’re there, you can pray to Jesus and ask that he give me four brothers.” He paused. “No. Not four. Five. And a sister. I want a sister. But only one. I’ll have to see if I like her first before I ask for more.”

Sometimes she envied her son’s ability to dream. She missed that about herself. She used to have a lot of dreams. So many, she couldn’t keep up with them. Ones that included dancing on stage on pointe at Her Majesty’s Theatre and riding up in an air balloon over France while sipping champagne and kissing the lips of a good-looking, rich gentleman. Now her dreams included trying to sleep six hours. “A big family would be divine, wouldn’t it? I know I never had any brothers or sisters. I would have liked that.”

Jacob paused. “Is the man with the scar married, Mama? Do you know? Would he be interested in being part of our family?”

Oh, dear. “I’d rather you not marry me off just yet. Lord Brayton is very highly placed. If he were to ever marry, I doubt he would settle for a mere Miss like me. I barely own a shoe.” She adjusted his cap, rose and took his hand again with a sigh. “Now come along. Or we’ll be
so
late, he won’t even open the door.”

Hurrying down the street, they eventually paused at their destination. A small wooden plaque with the address of
31
was crookedly hanging beside the door, attempting to cling to the single nail that adhered it to the house.

It was obvious Lord Brayton was financially ruined.

Her heart squeezed. Damn him.

Unlike the other houses whose stairs had at least been swept, there was debris scattered on every step from passing peddler carts that included wilting turnip tops, parsnips and cabbage. A rolled-up newspaper had been unceremoniously shoved between the rusted railings, clearly having been read and disposed of by someone passing by.

And this was only the outside of the house.

She released Jacob’s hand with an exasperated breath, yanked out the newspaper from between the rails and proceeded to use the end of it like a broom, clearing away the debris down toward the pavement. She owed the man this much. Whether he was able to pay her was a whole other mess she wouldn’t think about until forced to.

Veering in beside her, Jacob used his bare hands to scoop up two large handfuls of soggy, rotting vegetables covered in dirt. He turned and whipped it, hitting a well-polished carriage parked in the street.

She gasped. “Jacob!” She frantically grabbed his arm to keep him from throwing more. “Try not to hit the carriages.” She paused, realizing his hands were completely covered with…dog excrement. She groaned. “Jacob. There was a reason why I was using the newspaper.”

He gaped. “But you didn’t give me one.”

Unable to resist his adorable little logic, she burst into laughter and shook her head. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I should have given you a newspaper. How irresponsible of me. Now hold still. And please don’t touch anything. Not yourself and most certainly not me.”

He pinched his lips and stiffly stuck out both hands before himself, waiting. “It smells.”

“Of course it does. It came out of a dog’s rear.” With a shake of her head, she unfolded the newspaper and separated the pages in a makeshift attempt to create napkins. “Give me your right hand first.”

He angled it toward her. “Why not my left?”

“Because your right is dirtier than your left. Now stop arguing.” Leaning closer to him, she was about to wipe off the thick brown muck on his hand when a male figure leaning against the open doorway of the house made her pause. Her pulse lurched, realizing who it was. Her fingers instinctively crushed the newspaper.