The Art of Ruining a Rake (12 page)

The tentative smile left Celeste’s face. Sorrow, even this long after the fact, betrayed just how devastated she’d been by Ashlin’s ghastly reaction to learning she’d been a courtesan.

Roman still felt like a rat for being the one to tell him.

“He wasn’t speaking to me,” Celeste agreed, giving a dejected shake of her head. “I would have sacrificed anything for one night in his arms. When she expressed the same sentiment to me about you, I allowed my heart to lead me. It wasn’t done out of spite. But…” Those brilliant eyes sparked. “It did occur to me she might hurt you. I didn’t care. If you learned how it felt to be shunned by the person you loved, so be it.”

The blow landed squarely on his chest. He’d suspected as much, and yet her admission felt like being walloped by a cricket bat. “You knew she’d walk away.”

“Yes.”

He pushed off from the mantel. Long ago, he had deduced Celeste had meant to wound him. Even after accepting it, it hurt like the devil to have it confirmed.

“I’m sorry, Roman.” Celeste’s color rose, as if she did feel some regret. “She believed you’d move on to the next conquest the moment you tugged on your boots. Leaving was her way of redressing the many years she’d waited for you to take notice of her. I understood. And, I let her.”

He willed himself to calm. He wanted to take that bat and swing it, breaking everything in the room.

Celeste, once his closest friend, thought him a bounder.

It wasn’t like him to suppress emotion, but violence wouldn’t resolve anything. He ground his jaw so hard, his teeth gnashed together. “You thought I would defile an innocent and leave her to fend for herself?”

Her color heightened to a vibrant pink. “I was hurt.”

Yes. So had he been. He must remember that.

He drew a shaky breath. It was long past time they made amends. “I shouldn’t have come between you and Ashlin. I’m sorry for that.”

“I should not have lied to him,” she replied, turning the ring on her hand. “What’s done for me is done. But have you told Lucy
your
secret? She will want to know about you.”

Ice spread from his heart to his chest. “No.”

Celeste was watching him carefully. “If you love her, you will tell her.”

“I love her.”

“You care for her. You admire her. You lust after her. She lusts after you. A good place to start, but not love. When you learn the difference, you will win her.”

He rounded on Celeste, needing to prove his sincerity one last time. “Did you ever love me?”

She closed her eyes the briefest moment. “You were my most cherished friend. But no, I did not love you the way you mean.”

“Then don’t tell me I don’t know what it feels like.”

She pushed herself forward and tilted her head becomingly. A perfect auburn curl fell across her clavicle. “Roman,” she said breathily. “What do you see?”

He shied away. “Stop that.”

“Look at me. The woman you once loved. What do you see?”

He knew well what she meant, but he forced himself to do ask she asked. He could admire the picture she made, but she didn’t stir him. He’d felt no more than a flutter in his chest at the thought of her in a very long time. More recently, only a nostalgic twang.

Today he felt… Not quite revulsion. Emptiness, perhaps. He missed Lucy. Arguing with Celeste wasn’t the same as sparring with Lucy.

He didn’t have a single instinct to kiss her, for one.

“Why are you doing that?” he asked, beginning to feel uncomfortable. This was Ashlin’s
wife
.

“You were only ever infatuated,” she said, straightening. With a flick of her wrist the curl disappeared, the temptress gone. “A poet’s greatest asset is his capacity to imagine. ‘What if I had her? What if I lost her? How would I
feel
?’ A husband’s greatest strength is his certainty. He adores her. He will stand by her. He will earn her love in return. You must have conviction, before you can ever truly be in love with her.”

Before he could object, she flicked her fingers to indicate his person. “You cannot fall in love with her from here. Pining away at your estate isn’t accomplishing anything. Go to her. Show her who you are. If you’re to have any hope of winning her affection, she must see past the caricature you’ve drawn.” She gave him a pitying look. “No woman falls in love with her besotted swain.”

Chapter 5

CONDENSATION BLURRED the glass panes of Ashlin’s hothouse. Shadowy movement was visible between the streaks. Roman opened the door and winced at a blast of humid air. The outbuilding stank of citrus and dampness, laced with the pungency of fresh manure.

“I’ve learned to be wary of your presence here,” Ashlin drawled as he came around a potted fern. “It never goes well for me.”

Roman forced a light chuckle past his lips. “I can no longer surprise you as I used to. Ah, well.” He dug around in his pocket, and then tossed a clean kerchief to his friend. “To trying harder.”

Ashlin caught the offering with one hand. With deliberate movements, he rubbed at the dirt griming his palms. “Who is she, then? Or rather, how much will it cost me?”

Roman pretended to be affronted. It wasn’t difficult. “No lecture? How will I learn to be a better man if you don’t itemize my faults?”

Ashlin took special care with the half-moons caked under his fingernails. “You won’t improve. You never have, so I see no reason to waste my breath.”

Another sock to Roman’s gut.

Roman feigned an interest in a broad-leafed flora at his left. “Trouble is, old chap,” he said lightly, “your sister won’t have me until I’ve learned my lesson. I prefer the rebuke to come from a friend than—”

“What the devil do you mean, my sister won’t have you?” Ashlin’s eyes, a distinctly golden color, lit from within. “Did you ask her to marry you a second time?”

Smoldering embers burned into Roman’s face until he found it difficult to get an answer past his lips. “I did.”

“May I ask why?”

Roman swallowed hard. “There’s been an incident…” He stepped back, fearing the retribution building in his friend’s countenance. “It appears I may have—”

Ashlin advanced. “It ‘appears,’ or it happened?”

“As it happens, it did
happen
…” Roman tried to stand his ground. “I didn’t mean for us to be caught, I swear it, it’s simply that—”

Ashlin had Roman in a chokehold before he’d even finished his sentence. “Simply that
you’ve lost your mind
? Did you really come here
again
to tell me
again
that you’ve ruined my sister
again
?” He didn’t wait for Roman to answer, but freed Roman’s neck with a forceful push.

Roman staggered backward. When he had the breath to do so, he rasped, “I deserved that.”

“Oh, ho.” Ashlin began to circle him. “Oh, yes, you did. What do you mean, you’ve ruined my sister? When? Where? Where is she?” Ashlin seemed to realize what he’d just asked. “Where is she?” he roared.

Before Ashlin could grab him in a chokehold again, Roman darted behind a leafy palm. “In Gloucester. She’s in Gloucester. I’m going there. I’m practically on my way—”

“You’re hiding behind a potted plant like a pathetic
coward,
” Ashlin corrected him. “When are you leaving?”

 
“Straightaway. As soon as I finish here. I’m going to find her and I’m going to convince her to marry me. I promise you, I’m going to give it my best effort.” He edged from behind the fern.

Ashlin tucked his chin against his chest. Glaring at Roman as he did, he resembled a bull about to charge. “Is that the best you can do? ‘I’ll give it my best effort.’ Why am I not reassured?”

“Well,” Roman laughed nervously, “it’s not for me to decide, is it? Or even you. You’re the one who raised her up to know her own mind.”

 
“
You’re
the one with a black reputation.” Ashlin grasped for a sharp-looking trowel hooked at his waist and curved his hand around the wooden handle as though it were a pistol grip. “What saddens me is that we must discuss this at all. Why did you come here, when you know I’ve resigned myself to having you for a brother-by-law? Is it up to me to force your hand? Is that why you’ve come, rather than make things right with her? You need someone to walk you along?”

The fern wasn’t big enough to stand between Ashlin and Roman, not in any useful way. Roman regretted that. “Actually…”

Ashlin raised one hand as if he meant to seize Roman’s throat again.

Stalling didn’t buy anything, he was quickly coming to realize. “Actually, I thought you might give me permission to court her. Real permission. With your blessing, and all. It might go a long way with her.”

Ashlin’s eyes flared. “Have you ever spoken to her? She doesn’t give a fig what I think.”

But Roman did. He wanted Ashlin on his side. He needed his help. “See here, I’m sorry. I
am
very, very sorry. I lost my head. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” A weak apology, even to his ears. Ashlin had every right to be enraged. “I just want your forgiveness.”

“Please,” Ashlin spat, “spare me the details of your attraction to my sister. ‘I lose my head when I’m with her. She’s so lovely it hurts when I’m with her.’ Et cetera, et cetera, until I want to vomit.”

Roman tried to smile. “You have the right of it.”

Ashlin tossed the wadded kerchief back to Roman. “Marry her, then.”

Roman caught the dirty rag and thrust it in his pocket. “I’m trying. I need your help.”

The peach house went silent save the rush of their breaths. “I’ve given my consent,” Ashlin said after a time, his chest still heaving. “What more do you want me to do?”

“Bring her to London.”

“London is your cesspool!”

Roman gritted his teeth. Had he really developed such a reputation? He supposed he had. The
ton
’s opinion had never mattered to him, not when being near Celeste had been his goal. Though their relationship had always been platonic in nature, many had assumed they were intimate. They’d moved in the same fast set. They’d attended the same titillating parties. They’d bent their heads together and laughed together and spoken in codes only they understood. As a courtesan in high demand, she’d never cared how many women he took to bed. Because of that, he’d indulged in the offers that had come his way, even the extraordinary ones. He’d thought their shared life of debauchery brought them closer together.

He’d never meant to become contemptible.

“London is where I’m most comfortable,” Roman agreed reluctantly, “but the city is also where Lucy shines. She’ll hate being at Worston. She’ll hate me for causing her to come here. If you take her to London, I can show her a new life. One she might actually enjoy.”

Ashlin wasn’t moved. “Your women are in London.”

Roman scowled. Ashlin was so devilishly good at poking holes.
 

“I’ll send letters,” Roman assured him. “Mrs. Addington and Lady Yarborough will want nothing more than a pretty verse. I’ll pen odes from Plymbridge. Lady Letitia…” He grimaced at the thought of informing his hot-tempered patroness she was being set aside. “I’ll write her, too. I’ll have all the letters turned out within the week.”

 
“So it’s true. Your nights are for sale.” Ashlin’s derision cut like a blade.

Roman’s teeth ground again.
“Were.”

“Is this what it’s come to?” Ashlin asked, turning away. “I’ve allowed Lucy’s every wish to be fulfilled. Her school, her Season, her heart’s desire, everything she ever wanted in life, I accepted. She’s wasted it on you.” He jabbed his trowel into a nearby pot. “I suppose I’ll grow used to this idea, too.”

An enormous weight lifted from Roman’s shoulders. That was the blessing he needed. If it wasn’t tied in a bow, it was good enough. Ashlin supported the match. Roman’s relief was palpable.

“I suppose London is as good a place as any to court her,” Ashlin said, turning back toward Roman. “She can’t come here.”

Roman was aghast. Of course Lucy was welcome at Worston. “What do you mean?”

Ashlin rubbed his hand across his face. A smear of dirt sullied his cheek. “An unmarried young lady can’t live here, no matter how much I may wish to have Lucy near. Not with a courtesan for a sister-by-law. Would I have done
that
if Lucy wasn’t established?”