He took his glass and cradled it in both hands. The fire had been lit in the carved marble hearth and was filling the room with a soothing warmth and flicker as the sky outside darkened to sunset. He regarded the two wingback chairs set before the fire and wondered which to take. He decided that he would rather not face the door directly, and so he chose the opposite and made himself comfortable to wait.
Waiting had always been one of his strong suits, for he was an incredibly patient man. It had often been said to him that he was too patient, that as the Earl of Brenleigh it was his prerogative to wait for almost nothing, but he had never minded. It gave a man time to think, and that was one thing Henry Cortland did a lot of. Think. It was because of his penchant for thinking rather than talking that he was sitting where he was at that moment, and it was why he had even known about such a place as Madam Dorlet’s. It was amazing what a man could learn if he merely kept his mouth shut and listened.
Despite not having been to London since he was a boy, he had decided to take advantage of his de facto membership at White’s and had taken lunch there only the week before. News traveling in the
ton
as it did, it had not taken long for everyone who was anyone to know that the reclusive new Earl of Brenleigh was finally in London. Several gentlemen were curious enough to introduce themselves, and he had gladly invited them to join him for lunch, as he was eating alone and no one liked that.
Almost immediately they had begun the required process of bringing him up to snuff on all the latest gossip and goings-on, most of which he could not care less about. But Henry’s manners were impeccable, and he asked questions where proper and raised his eyebrows where expected. He had been only half listening to some scandal about Viscount Kilsen and the Baroness of Sunderdale when the man who had introduced himself as Mr. Evers had abruptly changed the subject with a tone designed to draw attention.
“You must hear this, though, old man,”
Evers had begun, leaning in toward the others.
“Will Stoning told me just this morning that Farnsworth had quite the almost adventure last night. Turns out that the damn fool was so drunk he instructed a hired coachman to take him to a brothel.
Any
brothel. I’ll give you three guesses where he ended up.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, who taught you how to tell a story?”
one of his friends had scoffed.
“Just spit it out.”
Evers and the other two men had shot uncertain glances in Henry’s direction, no doubt considering if the earl whose acquaintance they had just met might be a high stickler who would object to such talk. Henry had put their fears to rest by raising his eyebrows and showing all the same morbid curiosity as the others.
“I suspect I am about to learn something,”
Henry had said with a laugh.
“That you might, my lord.”
Evers had grinned.
“It turns out that the cab dropped Farnsworth off at Madam Dorlet’s on Russell Street.”
Without hesitation, Evers and the others had burst into fits of delighted laughter and managed to drop in a few suggestive facial expressions, though suggestive of what, Henry could not be sure. His confused, though amused, expression had sobered them enough for Evers to continue.
“Forgive me, my lord. I have forgotten that you don’t spend much time in London and are perhaps unfamiliar with Madam Dorlet’s.”
“I am afraid that I am less than familiar, if truth be told. And please, feel free to call me Brenleigh. This is my first time to London since I was twelve, which might just as well have been never. What is amusing about Madam Dorlet’s?”
Evers had chuckled along with the others.
“No gentleman of any decent breeding goes there. It isn’t exactly a respectable house, you know.”
What whore house would be?
He had bit his tongue, though, and nodded as if he understood.
“I see. A low-class establishment, then? Some dressed-up inn catering to the dregs?”
“Well, not quite that.”
Evers had shrugged.
“From what I hear, the place is fine enough, but it’s all
vulgar riche.
Cits and social-climbing merchants trying to purchase a scrap of gentility.”
The other men had laughed and snorted, as if the very idea of someone working for a living and raising their place in the world was a joke.
“Ah,”
Henry had said, hoping the conversation would move on.
“But
that
is not what makes the story amusing,”
Evers had continued brightly.
“You see, Madam Dorlet is known to offer services of a more, shall we say, Greek persuasion. And rumor has it that she provides nightly lodging to men and their, eh
, particular
friends.”
There had been no confusion in that moment. Henry was an educated man, and he doubted that Evers might be referring to Mediterranean beauties. He had read everything he could find on the
unnatural
tendencies of the ancient Greeks.
He had been sure to show appropriate outrage and amusement.
“Oh
, really!
I’m guessing this Farnsworth fellow sobered up quick enough.”
“Quick as you please!”
Evers had assured him.
“They say time is the only cure for a liquor-swelled head, but set a man down next to that sort of abomination and watch his wits come back like a finger snap!”
The entire group had cut up in delighted and saucy laughter, having no idea that as they did, Henry was dedicating the names Madam Dorlet and Russell Street to firm memory.
And here he was. It had taken him a week of subtle inquiry and some indecent gossip of which he was not quite proud before he had learned enough and worked up enough courage to request an interview with Madam Dorlet. Evers had been right. The brothel was fine and tasteful, but definitely outside the purview of the ton. He was unlikely to meet anyone he knew, nor anyone who would recognize him on sight. And since he had no intention of sharing his real identity with anyone, he felt safe enough. He had shared his real name and identity with Madam Dorlet only because she had insisted that she needed to protect her patrons, and she could not do that if she thought some potential blackmailer was trying to gain entry on false pretenses.
He lifted his glass for another sip, only then realizing that he had already managed to finish the brandy off. He set the glass on the narrow side table and began to turn it in slow circles as he stared into the fire. No more. He needed to have his wits about him. He needed to make certain that there was no impairment on his memory, because he needed what happened tonight to last the rest of his life. He had decided that just one night was all he would allow—one night to experience what he had long ago accepted to be his unfortunate nature—and he could not go back on that decision, ever, because Henry Cortland would never be anything less than a faithful man.
He was, after all, to be married in hardly more than a month.
* * * *
“Don’t touch me!” Richard snarled as he slapped an exploring hand away from his thigh. “You think this is a joke?”
“You’re in quite a mood, aren’t you?” the other man said with a haughty sigh. He sat back against the elegant velvet squabs of the carriage and tapped his slim fingers on the windowsill. “Honestly, Richie, you’re being a bore tonight.”
Lord Richard Avery clenched his fists at his sides and felt as if the heat of his anger was about to set his scalp alight. He turned large black eyes on his companion and was driven further into rage by his carefree posture.
“A bore, am I? Be careful, Julian. Your behavior tonight certainly suggests that you are something that at least rhymes with that.”
“A whore?” Julian shook his head as if disappointed. His raven-black locks, which he always wore rakishly long, brushed against his temples and made him look infuriatingly lazy. “Whores take money. Are you suggesting that Shaw slipped a few sovereigns into my coat pocket while he had me bent over?”
“A
slut
, then!” Richard growled through his teeth. He was furious, humiliated. He should have known better. He had known for a long time that the way things were going would simply not do, and yet he had made no move to change anything. Tonight it had all been thrown into his face.
“Forgive me, but am I missing something? Did I make some promise or arrangement that I don’t remember?” Julian leaned away from the window and laid a hand on Richard’s shoulder. “We agreed that we would not restrict ourselves.”
“It is my fault, I suppose, for believing you would at least exercise some kind of consideration instead of humiliating me.” Richard’s lip curled with disgust. “Shaw? He has fucked half of London—”
“I see.” Julian chuckled. “So we agreed we would not restrict ourselves so long as I…restrict myself? You’re not making much sense tonight. Besides, you didn’t have to come looking for me in the back rooms like some chaperone hunting down his little charge.”
“That isn’t what this is about, and you know it!” Richard shot back. “You talked about me to him. That comment about kissing…” He shook his head. “You have no respect for me. You laugh at me, Julian!”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Julian turned his face to the window again.
Richard did the same and could swear his very skin was cooking on his bones. Shaw was obnoxious at the best of times, but tonight, at the gaming hell, he had seemed to be going out of his way to get under Richard’s skin. Staring at him and making insinuative comments in front of their other companions, none of whom knew a thing about Richard’s preference for men. Shaw was a fool and a dangerous one. If he didn’t draw in his arrogance, he was going to raise suspicions with the wrong people someday and find himself swinging at the end of a rope.
But it had come to a head tonight when Shaw had disappeared into the back rooms and Julian had followed a decent quarter of an hour later. It had been obvious to Richard what was going on, and despite his so-called understanding with Julian, he had been furious. He had gone in pursuit and run into Shaw in the dark hallway as he was making his way back to the gaming room.
“Ah, Lord Richard,”
Shaw had said with a satisfied grin.
“Looking for someone?”
“Go to hell,”
Richard had muttered, though he had used all his considerable height and build to make Shaw uncomfortable.
“Oh, don’t be sore
, Rich,” Shaw had crooned, obviously unworried.
“I didn’t kiss him, after all, and I know that’s where your tender interests really lie. How sweet.”
It had taken everything he had not to pop the man’s cork right then and there. What the hell did he mean by that? It had not taken him long to guess.
“Our understanding,” Richard said into the dark as the carriage jostled over uneven streets, “was not such that I believed you felt free to discuss our personal conversations with other people, especially people you know I despise!”
“This again? You are not usually so lacking in humor that you can’t laugh at yourself a bit. We all have silly little quirks. Most of us can make a joke of them. Are you getting old and staid? You’ve begun to take yourself so seriously.”
Silly little quirks
. “You think my desire to…to kiss you occasionally is silly?”
Julian groaned dramatically. “For God’s sake, Richie. I’m not your wife.”
“Driver!” Richard rapped his stick against the roof. “Stop here!”
“What are you doing?” Julian demanded. “We’re almost to White’s.”
“Go by yourself,” Richard said as the carriage came to a swaying halt. He didn’t wait for the coachman to reach the door, but opened it himself and hopped down to the wet cobblestones.
“Come back inside,” Julian insisted. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, I
have been
ridiculous, and I’m done being a fool.”
“A fool?” Julian scrambled across the bench, finally looking worried. “Is that what you think? That I’ve played you for some fool? If this wasn’t what you wanted, you should never have agreed.”
“You’re right. Good evening, Julian.” He turned and set off into the night, not even sure what street he was on. He did not look back, but he was aware of the horse hooves on the cobblestones as the carriage pulled away.
He knew how it would go. A day or two would pass, and Julian would call on him at his bachelor rooms. Julian would be apologetic, though not profusely and not sincerely. He would phrase his apologies in such a way that he would manage to sidestep any wrongdoing, and he would be tenderly affectionate for a while. It would not last, however. Soon enough, Julian would once again grow tired of tolerating the sentiments he simply did not feel. He would begin laughing again, once again making jokes about how Richard should get himself a cat if he wanted to hold and pet something.
I’m a damn fool.
He kept walking, turning corners here and there, hardly bothering to look up. He knew London like the back of his hand and it would only take a glance to get his bearings once he felt like doing so. It was early yet, the sun having gone down not an hour before, and he could not stomach the idea of returning to his rooms and his thunderous brooding. He had been doing that too much. He had been doing it for a long time.
Julian Garrott was not his first failed relationship. Though that statement only rang true if one could say he had ever even had relationships. Had he? There were precious few men like himself, and the vast majority of them seemed to have no interest in faithful relationships, or at least they did not for very long. Many of them had wives and children, for God’s sake, and indulged their true natures as little more than a sexual proclivity.
He supposed he was being somewhat unfair. Attachment and tenderness were dangerous. They led men to begin spending too much time with each other, concocting ever more suspicious reasons to visit the country alone or to conspicuously be absent from the same social events at the same time. And he had no business moralizing, did he? Aside from being a depraved sinner in the eyes of the church, he had done his fair share of whoring. There had once been a time when there wasn’t a molly house in London that didn’t know him on sight, and he had enjoyed those days. He had enjoyed the experimentation and the freedom, the joy of indulging without fear, even if his partners were being compensated in coin. The last time he had done so had been just before he met Julian, just before he had once again fooled himself into thinking that he could persuade a man to open his heart as well as his legs.