The Art of Ruining a Rake (40 page)

A sardonic look crossed her face. Then she smiled. “You do make pretty apologies.”

“Nothing as beautiful as you. Come.” He tucked his hand in hers as he led her to the chairs. “Sit, and tell me how I may please you.”

She watched as he pulled another chair closer and dropped into it.

He leaned forward and took her hands again, then watched her expectantly.

“It’s Lord Dare,” she said, biting her lower lip. “He’s come unhinged.”

Roman squeezed her hands too tightly, his alarm building. If any harm befell her because of his inaction, he’d never forgive himself. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she answered. “Thank you, though.”

He forced his grip to ease. “Then what has he done?”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. As if she wanted to tell him about Darius, but felt loyalty for his scoundrel of a brother.
 

Hesitatingly, she said, “He came to see me this morning.”

“Whilst I was meeting with my advisers?”
That little goat’s
turd
. “What did he want?”

Worry creased her brow. “Money. A great deal of it. I sent him away empty-handed but,” she hurried to add, “I thought you ought to know. He’s becoming insistent.”

Pleasure that Lucy had come to him with a concern warred with disappointment. It was the first time he could remember anyone trusting him with an important problem without him demanding the responsibility first. But what could he do about his brother’s wagering that Tony hadn’t already tried with their father?

“I feel so badly for Lord Dare,” Lucy continued softly. “He is so…scared. He said terrible things. I hit him.”

“Did you?” Roman was amused despite the hopelessness of the situation. “I suppose he earned it.”

She nodded, but didn’t laugh.

He nudged his chair forward and pulled her into his arms. His cheek rubbed against her silken hair. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t trouble you again, my sweet. Don’t fret.”

She pushed away and faced him. Her glistening eyes tugged at his heartstrings. “But what will you do? He says he’s been set upon. He showed me the bruises. He thinks you don’t care.”

Roman cupped her cheek. “Of course I care.”

“He is so desperate,” she whispered. She pressed her lips to Roman’s palm and kissed his bare skin. “He was always different as a child, but now he seems…”

Roman waited for her to find the right word. Was it wrong of him to wish she’d forget about his brother? But then, Dare’s troubles had brought her to him. She needed his help.

Problem was, he didn’t know how to do anything more than he’d already done for his wayward sibling.

“Was it like this with your father?” she asked, spearing straight to the core of the matter.

Roman stiffened.

Lucy took his hands and waited patiently, tracing his knuckles with her thumb.

“Yes,” Roman finally answered. He’d been a young man, powerless and scared. Too much of a fledgling to reprimand his father in any meaningful way. “Father saw nothing but the tables.”

Lucy’s lashes brushed her cheeks. “What did you do?”

He released her hands and leaned back. What
could
he have done? It had been so much easier to pretend he had no obligations. The tears that had stained his mother’s face had been his own personal hell, but he’d spent most of his youth at Eton and the rest of it at Cambridge. It had been too, too easy to live his life as though he had no responsibility at all.

“What did I do?” He emitted a short laugh. “Nothing at all.”

Her eyes flew open.

He held himself very still. Would she hate him for it? How could she not, when he hated himself? “I let my father turn putrid, like an open sore. I watched him rot until there was nothing left. I didn’t shield my brothers. Didn’t teach them right from wrong. Darius caught the contagion and I didn’t lift a finger to make him better. If he is loathsome, it is my inattention that has made him so. I didn’t even notice how far adrift he has become until you made me realize the purposelessness of my own life.”

She took his hands again and kissed his knuckles. He doubted she was even aware she was comforting him, but the barest brush of her lips made him feel the slightest bit less contemptible. “Oh, my dearest,” she whispered. “How awful for you. Surely, he left you no choice.”

Roman drew his hands away. Yes, it had been awful. And yes, he’d had a choice. The fetid smell of King’s Bench, where his father had contracted gaol fever, was a horror he’d never forget. Fifteen years later, he still recalled with perfect clarity the last day he’d seen his father alive. There had been little left of the man who’d run their family to ruin. A hacking cough, a bag of bones. The bleak, empty dread of a man who knew he was about to die.

“I couldn’t help him.” Speaking the words didn’t exonerate Roman or make him feel better. “I did try, though, to help myself.”

She reached for his hands again, but he snatched them away. He didn’t deserve her comfort. His own brother had gone to her and insulted her and frightened her, yet here he sat like a halfwit, lost for even a single idea how to resolve things.

“Lucy,” he said, knowing he needed to tell her the truth and yet unable to get the words past his lips. It was all too clear he was failing at managing the estate, raising his brother, and being the one she could depend upon for help. Her increasing affection for him was the one thing progressing properly in his life and it was all a lie. As long as she looked at him with love in her eyes, he’d never feel right. Because he truly was contemptible, yet she didn’t know it.

She was watching him with beautiful, soul-crushing patience.

“There’s something I’ve needed to tell you,” he said, and finally, the moment seemed right to destroy everything. “I want no more secrets between us.”

She stilled. “I wasn’t aware there were any left.”

He forced himself to face her. Dastardly, that’s what he was. He ought to have told her a long time ago.

“Go on.” Her voice shook. “You’ve given me quite a fright.”

He nodded once, then several times. Yes, now was the right moment to lose it all.

“It’s all quite done with,” he said, making the subject seem lighter than it was, “but I must explain the nature of my relationship with several women not of your acquaintance.”

She didn’t move. “You’ve had mistresses. I know that. Everyone knows that.”

“Most people think that,” he corrected. “Others know differently. I have not
kept
women. Several women have, however, kept
me
.”

Confusion lined her face. He held his breath. Waited for her to hate him. She looked down at her hands. Her gloves stretched taut over her fists. “I don’t understand.”

He exhaled tightly through his clenched teeth. Bollocks. He was going to have to explain. In detail.

“After my father contracted gaol fever,” he said, “I knew there was no hope for our family. He’d spent everything. What wasn’t nailed down by the rules of progeny, we lost. We were reduced to our ancestral pile in Devon, this house, and the estate lands entailed to me. Lands which, as you know from your own home farm’s experience, cannot easily be cultivated due to the cragginess of the area.”

She arched her shoulders, but didn’t meet his eyes. She was afraid. As was he.

“Go on.”

He hesitated. “I only want you to know I am very, very sorry.”

Her lips turned pale. Her eyes flashed. “Go on.”

There was nothing for it but to tell her everything.

“I needed ready money,” he said calmly. “For the estate, but also for myself. I’d developed a taste for frivolity by the time my father died. I came of age with friends who borrow and borrow, and I followed their lead. One evening, a woman approached me at a ball. She was older than I, still quite fetching, and extremely…eager to experience a night with a younger man. It seemed harmless enough. She was more than happy to settle my tailor’s account in exchange for my time, she told me. She wasn’t jealous. In fact, she gave my direction to a similarly-minded acquaintance who agreed to take on my haberdasher. After several encounters, I realized I need never worry about money again, so long as I maintained certain, shall I say, friendships.”

Lucy glared at him, her body drawn taut. “You abuse the word.”

It wasn’t possible for her to sit any straighter. She held herself as far away from him as she could manage, making him feel like less than the dirt on the sole of his boot. “What you describe is nothing short of—of
harlotry,
” she spat.

Shame filled him. Harlotry was a fine description for it. Not nearly as despicable as the words he’d use.

“Yes,” he said, doing his utmost to keep his voice even lest his own emotions stir her further. “I was her cicisbeo. I thought nothing of it.”

Lucy’s look was one of pure loathing. But no, that wasn’t quite right. He studied the trembling along her jaw. Saw the first teardrop fall onto her too-pale cheek.

It was worse than loathing. She was heartsick.

“Lucy,” he croaked. His soul bled at the thought of her losing faith with him. “It was before. I promise.”

“Before what?” Her voice was strong despite her distress. “When? When did you end these liaisons? Before we…?”

He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t disappoint her again.

Her voice rose. “Tell me! Are they truly ended?”

His silence continued. She braced her hands on the arms of her chair. She seemed to double in size. As if her fury were a black cloud taking on more, growing stronger and deadlier with each passing moment.

“Are they
done
?” she cried. “Or will there be more revelations tomorrow? Another revelation the next day, and the next?”

“Lucy, please—” He stopped himself. Held back what he wanted to say because it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even entirely true.
Yes, I’ve ended everything. There’s only you.

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t been able to sacrifice his brother for her.

Lucy’s eyes were bright. Her skin glowed a fine translucent white. “You haven’t ended them all,” she said, surmising correctly. “They’re still out there. Have they paid for your quarry? Are they the investors Trestin told me you met with yesterday?”

“No,” he said quickly, defending the work he’d done, reassuring her the money he’d used was honestly gained. “Not the quarry. They’ve nothing to do with it. There is just one woman left. I’ve told her I’ll have nothing to do with her anymore, but she refuses to acknowledge the end of our relationship. The rest of it—the reprehensible man I was—is all behind me. I want a new life. With you.”

She didn’t pull away when he reached for her hands. She stared at their joined fingers, her breath shuddering. Giving him hope.

She wasn’t yelling at him anymore.

She hadn’t left.

“What next will you think to tell me?” she whispered. “What should I expect to hear tomorrow, or the day following? This woman
exists
. Celeste
exists.
The others, they move in our
circles
. They must do, or you wouldn’t have met them at a ball. Shall I accompany you to
ton
events, where any number of women you’ve lain with will be introduced to me?” Her voice cracked. “What future can we have, when your past is so sordid?”

A shudder wracked her slender frame. She turned her head away. “You are far, far worse than the man I thought you were.”

He gripped her hands as if she were his life rope. He was scared. More than he’d ever been in his entire life. He’d been so certain she’d turn away from him once she knew.

Yet he still had a chance. She was saying hurtful things, but…

She hadn’t left.
 

The thought of doing the wrong thing now frightened him more than he’d ever thought possible. He would say anything, do anything, to keep her here. He’d grovel all night if it would please her. And yet, there was really very little he could make by way of promises.

She was right. He’d held trysts with scores of ladies before he’d learned the value of his nights. He’d formed liaisons with dozens of wealthy women thereafter, both widowed and married. He’d even lain with courtesans on rare occasions. As a young miss, she was unlikely to know his consorts by name. But as his wife…

There would be no shortage of women eager to insert themselves between him and his lovely marchioness. Plenty of cuckolded husbands happy to disrupt his marital bliss with a casual reference to his days as a bird in the nest. He’d been optimistic in thinking he could tell her about Letitia and move on as though the skeletons in his closet wouldn’t come out to dance.

He’d never considered beyond the moment when Lucy first learned about his career as a paramour. He didn’t know what to say next.

“I love you,” he said, forcing himself to look at her. “I wish I could tell you there won’t be other…embarrassing particulars that come to light. At any time, any one of my past lovers may see fit to confide in you. Or their husbands. Or their friends. I hope that won’t be the case. But people, especially the sort I’ve associated myself with, are vulgar creatures. They like to cause others misery. And there are a great many revealing tales that can be told about me. But I promise, I swear on our children’s futures, I have told you the worst of it. My days as a cicisbeo are over. I can’t change them.” He kissed her knuckles, then pressed his forehead to them. “I can only change me. Please let me, Lucy, my love. Help me be whole again.”