A Most Demanding Mistress (Fashionably Impure Book 2) (14 page)

“Aunt Cassandra?”

“She was one of them, yes. The last one. The
fatal blow. But she was not the first by any means.” He sighed. “At least my
mother was not around to see his fall. She was not there to feel the hurt.”

“But you had to take her place?”

“Yes, in a way.” He laughed, or was it a
harsh, barking sob? He put a hand over his face. “He tore me down. Over and
over, he promised he would change. I was only a boy; I wanted to believe. I
wanted…I wanted his love. I wanted him to be worthy of
my
love.” This
time, it was definitely a sob. “I wanted someone, anyone in my life who was
worthy to be the object of my affections. But no, there was no one.” He ground
out the next words. “
No one!
Just one disaster after another to clean
up.”

She moved closer to him.

He stiffened.

She persisted.

He pushed her away. “I am not worthy of you,
Miranda.”

She fought him, placing her arms about him.

He remained rigid. “I never wanted to hurt
my sons. I vowed I would not.”

 
She
hugged him tighter. “Trust, we must learn to trust in each other, in our love.”

“How can you love a man who has neglected
and failed to protect his own son?”

“I don’t demand perfection from those I
love,” she said, a sob cutting her voice off. “I just want you to try to be a
father. I want you to try to be present for those who love you. Stop chasing
after things that don’t matter.”

He let go of a ragged breath.

There was something final in that breath.

Something frightening.

Gently but firmly, he pulled her arms off of
him and then he arose. He ran a smoothing hand over his hair then adjusted his
waistcoat and retrieved his greatcoat from where he had dropped it earlier.

“Don’t…please
don’t
leave,” she
begged.

He touched her face again and shook his
head. “I am not worthy of you. I am not worthy of my sons.”

“That’s not true!”

“I am wreckage, born from wreckage.”

“That’s not true either.”

“It is too late. Just too damned late.” And
with that, he turned and slipped out into the night.

Chapter
Twelve

Adrian sat at his club, staring into his
glass of brandy, not drinking, not really seeing the glass or aware of any of
the activity of the laughing, talking gentlemen around him. Flashes of his
childhood kept filling his mind and he felt again the terrible emptiness.

The hopelessness.

Loving Miranda had brought back that gnawing
sense of life being too painful to face.

Why?

The girl herself had not done anything to
make him feel this way. Not truly. She had been forced into her way of life. She
had done the best she knew how to do in order to keep herself and her mother
safe.

What’s more, she had found a way to keep the
flame of her hopes for love alive.

He hadn’t.

He was dead inside. All his hope and ability
to trust others was damaged.

And
,
all along,
he’d known this would eventually drive a wedge between them.

That underlying, constant anxiety had driven
him back to drinking.

She asked—no, she demanded that he give it
up.

He didn’t know if he could.

He would only fail her again, if he tried.

He put a hand to the back of his neck and
rubbed furiously. God, he’d fail and hurt her again and again.

Just as his father had failed and hurt him
again and again.

It was better to let her go, now, while she
was still alive inside. Now while she could still find someone else worthy of
her love. While she could still believe someone worthy of her love existed.

He pictured her with some young baronet or
merchant’s son. Yes, it was not too late for her.

“I hate to see a man drink alone.”

Adrian lifted his head, slowly.

His cousin, Jonathon Lloyd, stood there,
holding a steaming cup of what smelled like coffee.

Adrian didn’t particularly feel like having
company
,
but he motioned to the empty chair beside him.

Jon sat and drank his coffee in silence, yet
all the while, he studied Adrian.

Adrian was content to be quiet.

“I owe you an apology,” Jon said at length.

“Do you?” Adrian raised his brows in a wry
manner. “I thought you were angry with me.”

Jon scoffed and waved his words away. “I was
in my cups and too full of my own vainglory.” He dropped his voice to
confessional tone. “It is all my lady’s fault, you know.”

“Is it?” Adrian asked, without caring.

“She encourages me too much.” He placed his
empty coffee cup on the table. “She thinks that you are a promising young man
and I must snap you up and secure your loyalty before someone else does. She
tells me that you have the ability to give great loyalty without being a
slavish lackey. In other words, you have a
strong enough
s
mind
strong
enough
to tell me when to get shagged.”

Adrian lifted his glass and studied it. “You
take your lady’s advice on such matters?”

“Only when she’s correct.”

Adrian chuckled, an empty sound to his own
ears. “I am not that loyal.”

“You’re loyal and hard working. Whatever you
believe in, you’ll strive for it without stint.” Jon frowned. “But it’s your
goals that need adjusting.”

“You’re speaking of Miss Jones?”

“Aye, I am.”

“Be warned, I am in a dangerous mood.
Especially where she is concerned. I won’t hear any disrespect towards her.”

“None shall be forthcoming. In fact, I am
here to offer you a solution.”

“A solution?”

“A job,” Jon said, dryly.

Adrian looked up at him.

“You could make enough money to make up for
a year’s worth gaming.”

“That’s a lot of money. I told you, I am
very lucky lately.”

Jon nodded, his utter self-confidence
apparent. “I’ll compensate you, I promise.”

“Why would you do this?”

“I need someone I can trust implicitly.
Really, I should go, but with Anne so close to her lying in, with me not
knowing what the state of health of this child will be…” Jon let his voice
trail off.

It was well known that Lloyd sons were more
often born with weak lungs than strong ones. Jon’s worries were not misplaced
or excessive.

“A job, eh?” Adrian asked.

He was surprised that he was even
considering taking paid work. For a nobleman, anything but idle indulgence or
managing an estate, was unacceptable. Playing cards and gambling with hopes of
financial gain were acceptable.

Working for your cousin? No.

Perhaps it was time Adrian changed his view
of that.

“A job in America, New York to be exact.”

Adrian was startled at how disappointed he
was at hearing that.

What a pity the circumstances and timing
were wrong. He’d actually been considering it.

“I can’t leave my sons right now.” Adrian
put the glass to his lips.

“Take them with you.”

“Brentwood is in school.”

“He would learn more traveling with you to
America than he can learn in any stuffy classroom.”

“Perhaps.”

“But you don’t want to leave Miss Jones?”

Adrian said nothing. He had all but left her
already, tonight. For her own good.

God, how her accusations still cut him to
the bone. He put his glass to his lips again.

“Take her with you, too.” Jon said.

Adrian shook his head. “A poor jest,
cousin.”

“Was it?”

“You know I cannot take my mistress on a
trip with my sons.”

“I hear that your youngest son is already
living with your mistress, in Chelsea.”

“Dorothy telling tales again.”

Jon chuckled, mirthlessly. “She was livid,
my friend. You better watch that one. Closely.”

“Dorothy means no harm. She’s just concerned
for my sons, her nephews.”

“It came across to me more as jealousy, than
concern.”

It was Adrian’s turn to scoff. “She has no
cause for jealousy. We came to a natural end.”

“You could take Miss Jones to America with
you and your sons, openly, if she was your wife.”

“I can’t marry her. You know that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have sons and their reputations
to think of.”

“Really? You really believe your name is not
old and grand enough to shake the scandal off eventually?”

“We don’t have the wealth. My sons will need
to contract wealthy wives.”

“Why haven’t you taken a wealthy wife?”

Adrian shrugged. “I am done with marriage.”

“What if it were a marriage to Miss Jones?”

“Unless you can find a heretofore unknown
marriage license between the Duke of Winterton and Miss Jones’ mother, I can
marry her. Not ever. No matter what I want.”

“You think your name won’t bear a little
scandal?”

“I know it won’t. My father saw to that.”

“You think that you need great wealth to
break the rules?”

“To break the rules and get away with it?
Yes, I do.”

“You don’t have a taste for politics. I can
understand that,” Jon said.

“No, I have no taste for politics.”

“However, you are somewhat correct; you do
need some power or wealth in order to be a successful rule breaker, in our
world. What good is an old family name if you don’t parlay it into a political
career? So you eschew politics.” Jon tapped his fingers on the table, his face
taking on a thoughtful expression. “Take my job, join with me. If you prove
yourself on this trip, I’ll make you a partner in my business.”

“What kind of business?”

Jon scooted his chair closer. “My associated
are focused on the Orient. They are, as we sit here speaking, building a fleet
of ships like no one has ever seen. I am ready to invest a frightful sum. If it
is everything they say it is, it will be worth the risk.”

“So, why do you need me?”

“I want you to go and see if everything they
say is, indeed, the truth.”

“I know a little of ships but I know nothing
about shipbuilding.”

“Neither did I, until I took the time to
learn. That’s one thing that Anne and I agreed upon, you are intelligent and,
when you apply yourself, you learn fast. I don’t know anyone more suited to do
this for us than you.” Jon tapped the table. “Do this job for me, this duty for
your family and you’ll have enough money to wed Miss Jones in style.”

“It is not that easy. It can’t be.”

“Bah! You are being a hen about this.” Jon
waved his hand dismissively. “When you return, wealthy, they will line up then,
begging to accept this chit of Winterton’s as your wife, your countess.” Jon
chuckled dryly. “Believe me, you’ll find such power delicious when it comes.”

“You want me to go to China. To be your eyes
and ears there.”

“Eventually,” Jon allowed. “You would of
course, take your sons and your wife with you. You could live like a king
there. But please, let’s take this one step at a time. Let’s see you go to
America first and see how things really are there.”

Adrian said nothing.

“You know, quiet ladies…” He shook his head.
“You have to watch out for them.”

“Is that a fact?” Adrian said, listlessly.

“Hmm—” Jon retrieved the case from his
pocket and withdrew a cigar. “They seem lost in their own worlds but they are
always observing others around them. They miss very little and they think very
deeply on what they have seen.”

Jon went and lit his cigar and then came
back to his seat. “My Anne is just such an observant lady. You asked if I take
her advice, well of course I do. Just the other day, she was saying that she
thought there might be another reason that you hesitate to make this chit
you’re obviously so in love with your wife.”

Adrian looked up, feeling his attention
engaged truly for the first time since Jon had joined him. “Does she really?”

Adrian wondered if Anne agreed with him that
he was unworthy of Miranda.

Jon drew on his cigar, drawing out the
suspense for Adrian. Extending that moment when he would hear himself
condemned.

Finally, Jon spoke. “She thinks you are
afraid that Miss Jones will say no, because she doesn’t want to share your
genteel poverty. Or you believe that she will not be able to live with such
genteel poverty and austerity. You think she cannot be trusted to make such a
sacrifice for love.”

“What do you think?” Adrian asked.

“I think my lady is completely correct, as
she so often is.”

Adrian stared at his drink then pushed it
away. “The hell you say.”

* * * *

Adrian returned to his townhouse simply
because it was his habit to return home in the evenings and bathe and shave.
Inside, he was seething with rage. Someone had hurt his child. He knew himself
that mental pain was often the worst kind of pain.

He had not gone to Davey and asked for
confirmation.

Or to ask who had done this.

The boy had been napping and it wasn’t the
time to upset him over something like this. Also, Adrian admitted if Miranda
couldn’t get the truth of who had done this out of Davey, then he likely
couldn’t either.

Adrian felt as though he could gladly kill
the culprit.

But if it was a woman, what was he to do
then?

One couldn’t call a woman out for
satisfaction in a duel.

He could call the watch but the only thing
she had done was speak words.

He opened his door with the key and walked
inside, tugging his cravat loose with a savage pull.

“Oh my God, Adrian!” Dorothy gasped as he
entered the vestibule.

Anger swept through him. “What the devil are
you doing here, Dorothy?”

“You allowed that woman to take your son to
her home!”

He frowned. “What business is it of yours?”

“I thought that I was releasing him into
your care. But you have abdicated that care.”

“He’s safe where he is. He is happy and
eating and sleeping again.” Adrian’s eyes narrowed “he is sleeping peacefully
now—” He leaned closer, menacingly. “Now that he has confided in Miss Jones
about the woman who told him his mother is calling him home to heaven to be
with God’s angels.”

He watched her carefully for her reaction.

Had she paled?

She did take a step or two backwards, but
that was surely just a reaction to his aggressive stance.