Pleasure Me (5 page)

He didn’t even have to pull his key from his pocket, as Carstairs opened the front door when he was only two steps from the top of the stoop’s stairs. He handed the butler his top hat and cane then headed toward the staircase. Carstairs cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, my lord, but Miss Mary would like a moment of your time.”

“Now?”

He pulled out his pocket watch to see the time. It was only six forty-five. She was an early riser like him, but never quite this early. He frowned. What could be so urgent—had Wycombe been so crass as to visit her unannounced? The staff had explicit instructions not to let anyone cross the threshold unless he or Mary said otherwise. Sleep would have to wait.

“Where is she?” he asked as he met the butler’s stoic gaze.

“In the parlor, my lord.”

With a nod, he headed toward the salon where Mary spent a great deal of her time studying with the tutor he’d hired for her. As he entered the room, she was waiting for him. She jumped to her feet at his entrance, a look of trepidation on her face. Her blonde hair was piled fashionably on top of her head, and her blue day dress complemented her peaches and cream complexion. While he knew other men would find her exquisite, he’d never found himself aroused while in her company. It was one of the reasons he’d offered to provide for her with the understanding that their relationship would be strictly platonic.

“Good morning, Mary. You’re up unusually early.”

“I wanted to talk to you.” She seemed nervous. He frowned, but forced himself to smile at her.

“What about? Is the new cook not working out to your liking?”

“Oh no, Mrs. Boardwine is wonderful.” She hesitated then rushed onward. “Actually, I needed to tell you that I’m getting married.”

If she’d pulled a gun and shot him, he couldn’t have been more stunned. What the devil was happening to his life? First, the Set trying to root out information about his mistress, and now Mary was telling him that she was leaving him for another man. No, she was getting married.

“Who is he?” It was impossible to keep the sharp note of anger from his voice, but he was too upset to care.

“Jeremy . . . Mr. Routh.”

The tutor. Christ Jesus, he’d been cuckolded by the goddamn tutor. His mistress no less. No, that wasn’t possible. One couldn’t be cuckold if one hadn’t consummated the relationship. And he and Mary had never been together in that way. The fact was he’d
never
been with a woman. At the ripe old age of twenty-nine, he’d yet to discover whether a woman could find him desirable. He cringed inwardly.

Did it matter? Did he really care what anyone thought? He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone. The harsh voice in his head sounded as clearly as if his uncle were standing in the same room with him.
You’re half a man, boy. No woman will have you, let alone want you. You’ll never understand what it’s like to be a real man.

“I see.” His voice bitter, he glared at Mary.

“Oh please, Garrick. Please don’t be angry. We didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.”

Knowing Mary as he did, he knew she was telling the truth. He suddenly grew still and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Does he know the truth?”

“Yes.” She nodded as a look of sorrow flitted across her features. “I told him everything. He loves me in spite of it all, and he wants us both. He loves Davy as if he were his own son.”

The mention of his godson made his heart sink. Naturally, she’d take the boy with her, and the knowledge cut deep. Davy had become the son he’d never have. He’d been there at his birth, held him and loved him. Parting with the two of them would not be easy. Damn it, he didn’t want things to change. He wanted everything to stay the way it was.

Guilt streaked its way through his veins. He’d made Mary into a whore in the eyes of others. For almost three years, he’d deliberately ignored that fact. The two of them knew the truth, but it didn’t change the fact that in everyone’s eyes, even the servants’, she was a fallen woman. Remorse snagged at him like a piece of cloth ripping on a nail. Christ, he was a selfish bastard. He’d used her for the sole purpose of impressing on Society that he was something his uncle had continuously said he wasn’t. A real man. Closing his eyes, he turned away from her.

“I regret ever offering you such a devil’s bargain. It was self-serving of me.” She was at his side in seconds to tug hard on his arm, forcing him to look at her.

“That’s ridiculous, and you know it,” she snapped. “As I recall, you were the one who found me after . . . after what happened. You offered me a safe harbor.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I took advantage of you as well. You were vulnerable. I could have taken you to a different part of the country. Presented you as my recently widowed sister. I should have found some other way to protect you from Tremaine.”

“He would have found me no matter where I went. He found me here.” A flash of emotion flared in her blue eyes. “The only reason Tremaine never came back was your threat of having him thrown into prison.”

The memory of finding Viscount Tremaine here in the house still made his gut clench. The libertine had threatened to take Davy from her in his attempt to get Mary to leave with him. The man had been lucky he’d not beaten him to an inch of his life. Instead, he’d dragged Tremaine down the stairs and thrown him out of the house with the warning that if he ever laid eyes on the man again, he’d kill him. But not even that excused his own selfish behavior. Almost as if she could read his mind, Mary gave him a slight shake.

“It didn’t matter to others whether or not the bastard forced himself on me. I was soiled goods in the eyes of everyone who knew me. I had few options open to me. You saved me from a horrible existence. You saved Davy, too.”

Perhaps she was right. They’d needed each other at the time, and the arrangement had given Mary a chance to heal emotionally and physically. Her resilience amazed him given what she’d gone through. And the fact that she’d insisted on keeping her baby despite the violence of the conception had made him admire her that much more.

“You’re generous in your assessment of me.”

“And
you
are far too hard on yourself. You’re a good man, Garrick. The woman you marry will be a fortunate one.”

Her words sent a chill through him. If she knew the full truth, she’d realize such a thing would never happen. Resigned to his fate, he walked across the floor to stare down into the fire in the hearth.

“How soon before the wedding?”

“We were hoping to be married this week. Jeremy accepted a headmaster position in America. A boys’ school outside of Philadelphia, and he needs to be there in two weeks. They’ll even take Davy as a student.” She crossed the room to touch his arm. “I was hoping you . . . that you might give me away.”

Anyone else might have thought it a strange request, but with her parents dead, she had no one. He actually found it touching that she thought so highly of him as to even ask. He glanced at her and nodded.

“It would be an honor to do so, Mary.” His response elicited an impulsive hug and a kiss on his cheek as she smiled happily.

“Oh thank you, Garrick. You don’t know what it means to have you say you’ll give me away. It just wouldn’t seem right to not have you there.”

He released a sigh of resignation at her enthusiasm. While he was happy for her, he couldn’t help but feel a touch of envy at the joy that made her face glow. It filled him with a longing for something he knew he’d never find. No woman would be able to accept him as he was, let alone his inability to sire children. Garrick squeezed Mary’s hand and forced a smile.

“I’m happy for you my dear. I shall have to think of a suitable wedding present.”

“But you’ve given me so much already.”

“All the same, it would be remiss of me to let you run off and marry your Mr. Routh without a dowry. I’ll have my solicitor see to it.”

“You’re far too generous, Garrick. I only wish you could find someone to make
you
happy.”

“I’m quite content with my life the way it is, thank you.” He suppressed a yawn.

“You’re tired,” she exclaimed softly. “I should have waited until this evening, but I—”

“It’s all right, Mary. You expected me to be up early, not just coming home at this hour.” He flinched. Home. This
was
home. More so than Chiddingstone House. This was where he came when he wanted peace and quiet. It was a place to gather his thoughts. Chiddingstone House, on the other hand, was a house of constant frenetic energy, and as much as he loved his siblings, he found it wearing on his soul. Now everything was going to change.

“I have an afternoon appointment, which shouldn’t take long. Why not invite your Mr. Routh to dinner? I would like to ensure he intends to be good to you.”

“I’m sure he’d be honored.”

With a kiss to Mary’s forehead, he left the salon and quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned against the hardness of the carved mahogany for a moment before he pushed himself away and climbed the main staircase. Now what was he going to do? It had always been difficult keeping his secret, but at least the illusion of a mistress had left everyone thinking that he wasn’t ready for a wife yet.

He muttered a harsh oath of frustration, and the door to his bedroom crashed back into the wall before he slammed it shut. With a vicious movement, he removed his coat and threw it over the back of a nearby chair. Unlike his friends, he had no valet. Shame had taught him to do without a manservant. He jerked off his tie then unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, uncaring when a button popped off and flew across the room.

Stripped to his bare skin, he caught a glimpse of himself in the floor-length mirror he passed on his way to the bed. He paused at the sight of his reflection. A sense of revulsion rose up inside him. His uncle was right. With only one ballock, he wasn’t a real man at all. He abruptly turned away from the mirror.

He’d been eleven at the time of his father’s suicide, when Beresford had assumed guardianship of him and his siblings. Not only had his uncle managed Garrick’s home and inheritance as if they were his own, but for some twisted reason, the man had taken pleasure in tormenting him. His uncle had tried to do the same to his sisters and brother, but Garrick had managed to shield his siblings from the majority of the man’s cruelty. And Beresford had excelled at it. A sliver of a memory taunted him, and he fought to push it back, but failed.

An image of Bertha flashed through his head, and he drew in a sharp breath. He closed his eyes as the painful past reared its ugly head. His uncle had routinely held parties, inviting the worst of the demimonde to the house. Bertha had been a pretty ballerina he’d stumbled across the first night of one of Beresford’s decadent house parties. He’d been smitten with her from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.

At seventeen, he’d thought himself in love. He’d courted her persistently, and when she’d asked him to visit her rooms, he’d been giddy with excitement. But what was supposed to have been a night of passion had turned into one of deep humiliation. It wasn’t until he’d undressed in front of her that he’d realized his mistake. Bertha had been revolted by his physical deformity. Mere moments later, her revulsion had changed to mocking peals of laughter he could still hear in his head.

His hands curled into tight fists at the memory of his uncle barging into the room. At that moment, it had been evident the entire event had been staged by Beresford for his own sick amusement, which only sealed Garrick’s mortification. His gut knotted viciously as he fought to bury the past deep in the back of his mind.

From that night forward, he’d done everything in his power to make people view him as a man who other men wanted to emulate. A man who could ride and hunt better than anyone else, an exceptional boxer, a man of discriminating taste in all things, even women. The illusion where women were concerned had been the most difficult one to create and preserve.

He’d made it a point to develop a skill for kissing, but had used it sparingly. On the one or two occasions when desire had actually become a problem, he’d quickly extricated himself from the situation. Mary agreeing to pose as his mistress had freed him from those types of problems. Now she was leaving, and with her his ability to keep up appearances.

He didn’t begrudge Mary her happiness, but hearing that Wycombe had a wager to learn more about his mistress made the timing of her impending nuptials awkward. The mattress gave way slightly beneath his weight, and he pulled the covers over him. Well aware how hedonistic sleeping in the nude was viewed, he took a small amount of satisfaction in defying the social norm.

Arms tucked behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling as he tried to figure out what to do next. Where in the hell was he going to get a new mistress who wouldn’t question why her patron refused to touch her? Ruth’s face fluttered its way into his head. Absolutely not. He was far too attracted to the woman. And she was far too intelligent not to question his reasons for their relationship to remain platonic. A groan rolled out of him. Maybe he could go to Paris for a few months. No, he had responsibilities, and he wasn’t about to walk away from those.

Perhaps he could say he was between mistresses at the moment. The thought was laughable. It had always been difficult to avoid the marriage-minded matriarchs who constantly pushed their daughters in front of him. The moment news circulated that he was no longer supporting a mistress the vultures would circle. Even the somewhat rakish reputation he’d worked hard to foster would do little to keep some mothers away.

Images of Ruth forced their way into his thoughts. She’d been a tantalizing vision in the gaslight with hints of gold in her chestnut hair. The dress she’d worn had highlighted every delicious curve of her, right down to the fullness of her breasts. His cock stirred to life as he recalled the sweet sensuality of her lips. She had a mouth begging to be kissed. Even more pervasive was the memory of her scent. A mysterious, exotic mix of jasmine with a touch of spicy citrus. Would she taste as delicious as she smelled?