One Moonlit Night (Moonlight Square: A Prequel Novella) (14 page)

He stopped in the marble-floored corridor, struck by the stillness. His house was so quiet…all the elegant rooms seemed ever so empty.

A little unnerved, he hurried on.

Before he even arrived at the morning room, though, he could already feel a disturbing change taking place in his emotions. The anger was giving way to sorrow.

Regret.

Dangerous guests to entertain and very unpleasant first thing in the morning.

He sat down at the table, then stared unseeingly at the newspaper his butler handed to him, already folded open to the sports page.

When his plate was set before him, he looked at it and wasn’t sure he could eat it in the wave of sickening disgust that washed over him.

Self-disgust.

Because she’s right,
came the blunt thought.
That
is
who I am. That
is
what I do.

And in fact he
had
brought women to that spot before.

You’re exactly right about me, Trinny.

And suddenly it seemed to Gable that he had much bigger problems than having his funds cut off.

He set the newspaper aside and then slowly scanned the table. It was a round table, meant for a family. Or at least a husband and wife, but he sat here alone every day, and the fact was, he had relished it, had treasured his bachelor sanctuary here.

Until this very moment. And now, with no warning, it had just become unbearable.

He pushed away from the table and rose. “Think I’ll eat at the club this morning,” he told his bewildered staff.

Then he left in a hurry.

# # #

Gable took care to remain in the company of his rakehell friends around the clock for the next two days. Rogues, scoundrels, and hedonists all, they distracted him, made him laugh, got him drunk, didn’t ask what the hell was wrong. Didn’t even notice anything was wrong, probably. But then, Gable always had been a fairly smooth liar.

On the third night, at an expensive but disreputable establishment called the Satin Slipper, the lads were lounging around wasting time and watching the scantily clad girls dance and writhe.

Netherford had captured one of them on his lap, and she was feeding him strawberries from the refreshment table as though he were a sultan. Sidney, meanwhile, had made a game of things, as was his way, trying to catch the berries in his mouth as his favorite courtesan laughingly tossed them to him from across the room. He kept missing, as his reflexes were not exactly sharp after all their drinking.

Oh, it was great fun, Gable thought darkly.

If you were seventeen.

Unfortunately, he could feel a saturnine mood, cold and dark, settling over him. He glanced at Netherford in annoyance. The Duke of Scandal was in his own world, hair mussed, cravat undone, the courtesan teasing him with cherries now, passed from her lips to his.

“So, Netherford,” Gable spoke up in an almost surly tone, “what’s going on between you and Felicity Carvel?”

The sound of that name had a curious effect upon His Grace. It so startled him that he seemed to swallow a cherry pit, choking on it slightly. Recovering in a heartbeat, he dropped the harlot off his lap, sat bolt upright in his chair, and glanced around wildly. “What? Where?”

“Hey!” the girl yelled from the floor.

Gable arched a brow at his friend. “She’s not
here
, man. We’re in a brothel, remember?”

Netherford scowled at him. “You nearly killed me.”

“Well? What’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing!” he said, quite unconvincingly. He scoffed as Sidney dashed over to play the hero and dotingly picked up the dropped harlot off the floor.

“There, there, dear little darling,” he soothed in merry gallantry, dusting off her shapely bottom for her. “What a rudesby! Come sit with me, poor thing. I may not be a duke, but I will be a marquess when my old man turns up his toes, and you know I’d never drop you…”

“Thank you, my lord. At least
someone
here’s a gentl’man.” She draped her arms around the waist of the golden-haired charmer, who winked at them over his shoulder as he stole her away.

Netherford made no effort to stop his plaything from escaping, for the mention of Miss Carvel seemed to have taken all the fun out of other female company for him.

He eyed Gable in suspicion. “Why do you ask me such a thing?” he demanded.

“No reason,” he answered mildly, and the way his friend furrowed his brow and turned away in distraction disturbed him, for the look on Netherford’s face seemed to express exactly the same sort of inward tug-of-war that Gable was feeling.

In any case, the duke didn’t protest when another pretty creature sidled over to show him her wares. Ignoring Gable now, Naughty Netherford passed a lazy glance over her, offering her a hand as she lowered herself onto his lap.

“And what’s your name, lovely?” he asked, as if it mattered.

And all of a sudden, Gable was done.

Absolutely finished. With all of it. He just wanted out of here. Out of this place. Out of this life.

He didn’t even finish his drink. Heart pounding, he set it aside, stood, bade his friends farewell, slung his coat over his shoulder, and marched out, sickened by it all. He couldn’t stand another minute of that mode of existence.

Outside, the fresh night air helped to clear his head.

Then it was a quiet drive home in his phaeton. It was lonely, but he didn’t mind. The streets were deserted, the serene gibbous moon riding high.

When he got home, he retired, but before lying down, he stepped out onto the balcony off his bedchamber to gaze at the night, mentally marking the occasion.

His last night on earth as a rakehell.

Then he went back inside.
Good riddance.

With that, he blew out the candle and went to bed. But as soon as his head hit the pillow, thoughts of
her
were not far from his mind. He folded his arms beneath his head and stared into the darkness.

You were right about me, Trinny. I see that now. But you were wrong about one thing…

A leopard
can
change his spots.

You’ll see.

# # #

“To what do I owe this honor?” his father drawled when Gable called on him the next day. “If you’ve come to plead for more time, I am not in a giving mood.”

“No, sir,” he said. “I haven’t come to plead for anything.”

“Good,” his father said, all business, as usual. He sat back down at his desk. “Then how goes the search?”

“That’s what I came to speak to you about, sir.”

“Well?”

Gable paced back and forth across his father’s office once or twice before he found the nerve to state his decision out loud. “Father, I’m going to ask for the hand of Lord Beresford’s eldest daughter, Lady Katrina. But…there is a good chance she’ll say no,” he added in a taut voice. “And if that is the case, I’ve come to say I accept your pronouncement to cut off my funds.” He shrugged. “I really can’t blame you. But I can’t marry someone else for convenience’s sake when I…I…” His words trailed off, and silence hung between them.

His father slowly arched a brow. “I see,” he murmured, looking fascinated. “Well, well.”

“I also want to apologize to you, sir, for any…disappointment that I’ve caused you over the years…with my, er, prior mode of life. But I want you to know, everything has changed.”

“Indeed?” The earl stared at him in shock, as though he feared he might be sleeping and this was naught but a strange dream.

“Yes. I don’t expect you to believe, but you’ll see.” Gable dropped his gaze, self-conscious. “That is all, sir. I know you are a very busy man, so I shall endeavor not to waste your time. Good day.” He bowed to him and retreated.

“Isn’t she the saucy one from the wedding?” his father said behind him, still sounding mystified.

Gable paused, facing the door.

“The young lady who thinks that all the world should wed for love?”

His back still to his father, a rueful smile spread across Gable’s lips at the memory of how she had shocked some of the stuffing out of his stuffy Lord Sefton.

He turned back and nodded. “Aye, sir. She’s the one,” he said with quiet, meaningful force.

“I see.” His father looked terribly amused; understanding glinted in his eyes. “Well! Good luck, son. I hope she takes your offer. Since there is a castle at stake, after all,” he added with a subtle note of knowing humor in his voice.

“For the record, that has nothing to do with it,” Gable said quietly.

“That is your own affair. Do let me know if we have happy news, hmm?”

Gable nodded wryly and crossed the office, wondering in hindsight if he’d misjudged his father all along. He was beginning to see that his father was just looking out for him, in his own, domineering way. But whatever the earl’s limitations, he was merely a concerned parent and had meant it for good.

Indeed, perhaps all of his father’s sober hard work had merely filled Gable with self-recrimination, and that was why he had chafed under his authority. But perhaps there was some small way he could make it up to the man.

He paused when he reached the office door and turned around. “By the way, Father, I seem to have a lot of free time on my hands these days. If there’s anything I can do to help you with your work, I should like to be of use.”

Lord Sefton once again looked astounded. He all but pinched himself. “Er, yes, actually. If you can get a few of your friends with seats in the Lords to attend the session next week, I could use their votes on my bill.”

“I can do that,” Gable said smoothly. “Do you have an extra copy of the latest draft? I’m better at persuading if I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’ll have one sent over to you this afternoon.” His father seemed to marvel at this transformation. “Thank you, son.”

“That’s what family is for,” Gable answered with a warm but guarded smile. Then he showed himself out.

He was quite tickled by how well that had gone. The amazement on his father’s face was almost worth all the annoyance his old man had caused him over the years. But although he walked out feeling that his meeting with His Lordship had gone better than expected, now came the real test. He braced himself for his next appointment with destiny.

Facing his father had always been a little nerve-racking, but at least he usually knew what to expect. His next mission, by contrast, was fraught with perilous unknowns. He was indeed venturing into terra incognita, even though it would take place on the well-trodden ground of his club.

A short while later, Gable resolutely strode into the Grand Albion, dry-mouthed, his heart racing.

Since it was only ten o’clock in the morning, none of his set was there yet. They wouldn’t wander in until late in the afternoon.

Instead, this was the respectable time of day when the place was filled with the older gents.

Gable spotted his target sitting in a large leather wing chair, alone by the wall.

Approaching in dread, and trying his damnedest to look confident, he cleared his throat, since the earl had not yet noticed him.

The gray-haired man was reviewing a stack of papers, his brow furrowed, when Gable interrupted. “Ahem. Lord Beresford,” he forced out, “might I have a word with you, sir?”

“Ah, Roland.” He put his papers aside. “Message from your father on the bill?”

“Er, no, sir. It concerns your daughter.”

Beresford stared up at him, bemused. “Which one, Roland? I have six.”

Gable swallowed hard. “Lady Katrina,” he answered firmly.

“Oh?” Her father sat back and smiled, gesturing to the chair nearby. “Do sit, lad. Tell me, what’s on your mind?”

Chapter 7

Eclipse

T
hough Abigail’s place at the table had been empty for a week now, their family dinners still felt strange. Trinny’s chair was situated right across from the second-born’s now empty one, leaving her to stare at the gaping hole in their family circle. Even though everyone was happy for their bride, they all secretly mourned her absence.

Life had changed forever in the Beresford household, but deep down, Trinny knew this was only the beginning.

Her younger siblings chatted about what exciting things the new Mrs. Freddie might be seeing on her way to Cornwall, where the newlyweds were taking their honeymoon. Of course, the two littlest ones were innocent as to the true purpose of a wedding trip.

All Trinny knew was that, with her sister’s empty chair staring her in the face, there was no way to ignore her deepening terror of her own future. She glanced around at the table: two parents and the children. And in the years ahead, one by one, the rest of her sisters would also depart, off to start their own families…and she’d still be sitting here.

In the place of a child.

But no. She refused to regret her choice. She blocked such thoughts from her mind and forced herself to join the conversation cheerfully, confident that she’d get used to this.