Pleasure Me (20 page)

“For the time being the two of you will stay here until I can make other arrangements.” The boy opened his mouth as if to protest and Garrick waved his hand at him. “I have no intention of separating the two of you, but she’ll need someone to look after her.”

“I look after Lucy, me lord. She needs me, an’ I don’t like leaving’er with strangers.” Samuel’s stubborn stance said his sister’s fate was nonnegotiable, and Garrick nodded his agreement.

“All right, but we’ll discuss it tomorrow. For now, you look like you could use a bath and some supper.” The words immediately threw his thoughts back to Ruth and everything that had followed after she’d emerged from her bath.

“Thank ye, me lord,” Samuel said. “I’ll work ’ard. I promise.”

“I imagine your sister needs a bath and supper as well. See to it, Willie,” he grunted.

“Thank you, my lord. I knew you’d be able to help.”

Willie shot him another one of those heroic looks that only served to make Garrick grimace with self-disgust. As the footman led Samuel out of the room, Carstairs returned with another glass of whiskey. He noted the butler had filled the glass almost to the brim, and he arched an eyebrow at the man before taking a drink. His elbows resting on the arms of the chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes with a weary sigh.

“Is there anything else I need to be made aware of, Carstairs?”

“No, my lord. I believe that is the last of the excitement for the evening.” A touch of relief accompanied the butler’s response. “Do you require anything else this evening?”

“Nothing other than a little peace and quiet.”

“Very good, my lord.”

The butler’s soft tread and the salon door closing told Garrick he was alone once more. He opened his eyes to stare at the full glass of whiskey. Although his head was a bit fuzzy, the amount of liquor he’d consumed had done little to wipe away the remnants of the evening’s disastrous events.

Ruth. He should be happy that she’d thrown him out. He’d caressed her like a lover then rejected her in a humiliating manner. How was he supposed to explain himself without sharing his secret? The internal question lanced through him like a sharp, poisonous spear.
Secret.
Whatever secret he thought he had, there was a very strong chance his uncle had divulged it.

A vicious hatred welled up inside him as he took another drink of his whiskey. He’d destroy the man. Beresford would have nothing left when he got done with the bastard. Deep down, he’d always known his uncle would one day break their contract. But he’d prepared for that. His solicitor had been keeping track of his uncle’s financial matters over the years.

Every time Beresford had invested his finances, Garrick had reviewed the venture. If it was a sound investment, he’d bought a higher stake in the business for the sole purpose of destroying Beresford if the time ever came. Wycombe’s persistence in attempting to learn more about his personal affairs had been more of an inconvenience than a threat. But his appearance at the Club with Tremaine in tow had changed all that, particularly with Tremaine’s reference to Beresford.

Just the way the bastard had smiled at him when he’d mentioned his uncle had been enough to make Garrick believe the worst. It was possible his uncle hadn’t revealed the specifics of his secret, but whatever Tremaine knew or had deduced, the son of a bitch would use it against him. He released a groan and leaned forward in his chair with his head bowed.

Bloody hell, what was he going to do? He didn’t want Ruth to look at him with the same amusement Bertha had that night so long ago. He snorted with disgust. Look at him? Ruth wasn’t going to have a thing to do with him after tonight. The knowledge should have made him happy, but it didn’t.

Whenever he was with her, it felt right. There was something about her that made him trust her.
But you don’t trust her enough to tell her your secret, do you?
He growled with anger. Tonight should never have happened. Thank God he’d come to his senses before things had gotten out of hand. He tossed down the last of the drink and stared at his empty glass. When the hell was this stuff going to numb his senses to the fact that he’d hurt her?

He didn’t like the answer that came back. The idea that nothing could alleviate his guilt only made thinking about it that much worse. All of this could have been avoided if he’d just stayed away from the woman from the start. But he hadn’t. The compulsion to pursue her was something he didn’t understand, but he knew the need wasn’t going to go away.

God help him, but he wanted to see her again. Wanted the opportunity to try and explain why he’d touched her and then rejected her. Even if he could form a rational explanation for her to believe, he wasn’t very confident she’d even give him the chance to explain himself. It didn’t matter. He had to try, if only to make sure she understood how desirable she was.

That was paramount. He wanted to make sure she knew his rejection had been because of his own inadequacies. Not hers. He was the one with the flaws. Damaged goods. His uncle and Bertha had made him understand that so many years ago. Christ Jesus, his head ached. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his fingers against one temple. He needed to go to bed, but he was feeling too damned drunk to bother getting up out of his chair. It was much easier to simply stay where he was. The liquor was doing exactly what he’d intended all along. It tugged him downward into the darkness where he could forget all the pain. His glass slipped from his fingers to fall to the floor as he slid deeper into the alcohol-induced shadows. The tinkling sound of crystal shattering against wood was a distant sound, and he vaguely wondered where it was coming from.