The Rake's Revenge. Gail Ranstrom

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СКАЧАТЬ he hadn’t. Their marriage had been arranged by their families when they were still in the nursery. And that lack of love was the true source of his guilt. He was left to conclude that he simply did not possess the finer emotions. So, when Maeve had ripened with child at a time when he could not have been the sire, he’d remained silent and claimed Hamish as his own. That was the least he could do for a wife he had failed in every other way.

      But, animal that he was, he’d obsessed over the identity of Hamish’s sire, and about many interesting ways he could kill the damn poacher. Who had given Maeve what Rob had not been able to give her? God help him, it made no difference now, but that question still ate at him.

      Tonight, he’d thought a trip to the gaming hells and brothels of London’s squalid side would sate his animal needs. He’d thought he’d be able to overcome the humiliation of the atrocity his body had become. He’d hoped he’d find relief, release, repose, if only for the night. Instead, when Seymour had taken him to the most popular brothel in London, he’d chosen a saucy redhead with blue eyes and a teasing smile. When he realized he’d selected a pale copy of Miss Lovejoy, he’d given the prostitute a guilty pass. He damn well wasn’t dead below the waist, but he also wasn’t interested in simple ejaculation. Fool that he was, he craved possession. He craved contact on a deeper level than the physical. He craved meaning.

      “McHugh?” Seymour asked.

      A sideways glance revealed an ale-sodden gentleman staring into his tankard. “Aye?”

      “Too bad about Maeve and Hamish.”

      Rob had no reply for that. He gestured to the publican for another glass of whiskey.

      Seymour shook his head. “You shouldn’t have let them go.”

      “I live with that every day, Seymour.” He studied the wet circle left on the bar by his glass.

      “Too late now, though.”

      He tossed his whiskey down in a single gulp and slammed the glass on the bar. “I’m gone, Seymour. My pillow is calling.”

      “But you haven’t made the two-backed beast yet. ’Tisn’t natural. You’re on edge, McHugh. The least little thing could set you off. When was the last time you—”

      Rob shook his head as he turned to the door. He wasn’t about to tell Seymour he hadn’t been with a woman in months—no, years. They’d all blurred together and been so exceedingly forgettable, the women and the years. And he’d grown accustomed to being on edge. Hell, he’d almost grown to like it.

      Afton drew the warm velvet robe closer around her and went to curl up before the fire as she waited for Grace and Dianthe’s return. Though she had more important things to think about, her mind kept wandering back to her dance with Lord Glenross and the feeling of his hand on her waist. She craved more of that feeling, and cringed with guilt every time she thought of it. She was taking his money, pretending to tell his fortune, and using knowledge she gathered as Afton Lovejoy to deceive him into thinking Madame Zoe was clairvoyant. For the first time, she felt like a common fraud.

      To complicate matters, since her sister’s arrival in London one week ago, Afton had purchased ball and riding gowns, shoes, riding boots, dancing slippers, gloves, bonnets, reticules, morning and afternoon gowns, calling cards—and the costs added up. She would not have the resources to give Dianthe a second season. In fact, if she gave up the income as Madame Zoe, she would not be able to see Dianthe through this season.

      Gads! Five years of scrimping and saving, five years of mind-numbing drudgery in Wiltshire and now in London, and all her carefully laid plans were about to go awry because an unspeakable villain had murdered Aunt Henrietta!

      Afton stood and began pacing. She had lost so much. Her mother, her father, Aunt Henrietta, the meager savings for her dowry—all gone. Lord, she was so tired! Dianthe found the uncertainty exciting, but Afton ached to feel safe for just a moment.

      Near dawn, the clatter of hooves on cobblestones pulled her from her reverie, and she hurried to her bedroom window to watch as the Forbush coach pulled up to the front door. Dianthe, accompanied by Grace and Lord Ronald Barrington, one of Grace’s many admirers, stepped out and hurried inside just as the tall grandfather clock struck the hour of four. Afton knew the routine. Lord Ronald would beg a bedtime sherry and then leave, still unrequited in his lust for Grace.

      Turning away from the window, Afton went to wait, cross-legged, on her bed. By the time her door flew open and Dianthe danced in, she had a smile fixed firmly in place.

      “Was it wonderful, Di? Did all the ton fall at your feet?”

      Her sister untied the strings of her cape and let it slide to the floor. “It was extraordinary! I feel like a princess. I adore London! I revel in all my new gowns! Why, oh why, did you not send for me ere now?”

      “I did not know how much you would like town,” Afton replied with a laugh. “I have not experienced your success.”

      “I cannot imagine why not.” Dianthe gazed at herself in the looking glass. “You are much prettier than I, Afton, and so petite. Men love that.”

      “I am not your competition, Di.” Afton smiled.

      “I know you would not want it so, but men are positively intrigued by redheads.”

      “I am past my prime.”

      “Au contraire,” Dianthe laughed. “Twenty and five is fully ripe. You are poised to fall from the tree.”

      Afton had a sudden image of herself as an apple clinging to the tree with her last scrap of strength as Robert McHugh stood below, his hand cupped and ready to catch her. She shivered and put the distracting thought away. “No, Dianthe, you will be the one to make a match before the season ends.”

      “Oh, I hope so. That is why I ordered a new ball gown when I was shopping with the Thayer twins this afternoon. Hortense and Harriett said I shall need every advantage I can secure.”

      A new gown? Afton winced. Between Dianthe’s recent purchases and Auntie Hen’s death, where would she find the resources?

      Dianthe’s eyes widened as she took in Afton’s expression. “Oh, dear. Should I have asked before I ordered the gown?”

      She touched her sister’s cheek tenderly. Dianthe would be crushed to think she had caused a problem. “I wish I had gone with you. You know how I adore shopping.”

      “Then you must come next time.” Dianthe began pulling the pins from her silken blond hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. “Why have you not entered society, Afton? Aunt Grace told me that she offered to pay your expenses and to sponsor you, but that you would not accept.”

      Dianthe softened her voice. “Have you refused Aunt Grace’s offer because of Papa? You know you cannot go through life trying to make up for his shortcomings.”

      “Shortcomings?” She gave a gentle laugh. “You are a master of understatement, Dianthe. Father was a pauper who borrowed from his friends and family until he had none left. People fled when they saw him coming. Do you not remember the humiliation? I will never impose in such a manner.”

      “He did it for us, Binky,” Dianthe said, using Afton’s pet name.

      “I’d rather have done СКАЧАТЬ