London 1884
e was pockets to let and he was bloody well tired of whoring himselffor the well-to-do ladies of the Marlborough House set. Drinking seemed an excellent course of action for the moment.
“Lord Ravenscroft, you’ve a visitor.”
Julian finished pouring his brandy before flicking a glance to his grim-faced butler. Osgood’s expression was one of distaste, as though a fly had flown into his mouth and his august bearing wouldn’t allow him to spit it out. Osgood was a relic of the previous earl’s days. A gargoyle made of stone, guarding against evil spirits and indiscreet late-night apparitions with unsavory intentions.
Oh, this wasn’t the first time an unexpected visitor had made her way to Julian’s front door. Nor, he suspected, would it be the last. It was a certainty that the visitor was female. They always were.
Osgood was far too loyal a retainer to make his thoughts about such callers known. He was a third generation butler who had served the Earls of Ravenscroft for the entirety of his life, and he was above reproach. But Julian could read him like a bad gambler.
No face forvingt-et-unon that one. Indeed, Julian thought as he sipped his brandy with great care, eying the old fellow, no face for much of anything save being a wilted stickler for propriety. Even if his employer was living on credit and bad debts, every sign indicating that he ought to flee the proverbial sinking ship like a rat.
But Osgood wasn’t a rat. And Julian wasn’t in the mood for visitors, especially not the unexpected variety.
He frowned at his butler. “I’m not at home. I believe I made that known.”
The butler cleared his throat. His expression remained suitably dour and pinched. “Yes, my lord, of course. Forgive me, but the visitor in question refuses to leave. Would you care for me to have a footman brought round, my lord, to extricate her?”
Some devil in Julian rather enjoyed watching Osgood squirm. After all, with ruin so certain a future, this may well prove his final opportunity to needle the man. He took another sip of brandy, enjoying the burn down his throat. Damn it, he wished it was enough to numb him. It never was.
“Such persistence ought to be rewarded.” His tone was careful and mild. “Do you not think so, Osgood?”
Osgood remained immovable, however. “I do not presume to think, my lord.”
“No?” Julian was feeling perverse tonight, dredged in the freeing wickedness of a man about to lose everything. “Terrible shame, that. Not to think. Or perhaps it’s a lie, Osgood? Surely it cannot be said that a man does not think. You must have an opinion. Tell me, should I be at home to this creature who dares to call so late at night?”
His butler paled, clearly not relishing the untenable position of being forced to comment on his disreputable master’s social niceties. “My lord, I’m certain I will be pleased to follow your instructions, whatever they may be.”
Ah, perhaps it had been a whimsical notion on his part to believe he could wrangle a concession from the block of ice before him. “Bring her in, then, Osgood. The night grows late and I’m in need of diversion.”
His butler’s expression didn’t alter, but Julian could sense the disapproval like a clap on his back. No matter. Disapproval had haunted him his entire life. He wore it like a mantle rather than a shroud.
Osgood bowed and disappeared. Julian took another long sip of brandy and contemplated the visitor who wouldn’t leave. He wondered, for a brief, fanciful moment if it was Lottie.
Not Lottie, his instincts told him, for Osgood would have recognized her. It hadn’t been that long ago. What, a year? Not a great deal of time when one considered the span of a lifetime.
The door to his study opened. His butler did the pretty. A feminine figure entered, clad in a luxurious pelisse overtop a promenade gown that was, unless he missed his guess, a Worth. His visitor was petite but curved in all the right places. Her nipped waist, visible even beneath her layers of fabric, emphasized her generous bosom. An ostentatious hat adorned with a stuffed bird and veil hid the woman’s identity from his view, but he scarcely cared. He’d find out who she was soon enough.
He stood. “Thank you, Osgood. That will be all.” The door had only just snicked closed before he bowed to her. He wondered what lay beneath that veil. The little he could discern of her features appeared even, unremarkable. “Madam, if I may be so bold, please be seated and make the reason for your unexpected visit known.”
Her steps did not denote confidence. Rather, they were mincing. Hesitant. As though she feared him. She stopped a notable length from his desk. “My lord, I’m here to make you an offer.”
Her voice was soft and sweet, her enunciation rounded like pebbles worn smooth by a stream. There was beauty in that honeyed voice, and it rolled over his senses like a touch. She was an American, he’d venture to say. Perhaps one of the many heiresses who had exchanged her immense dowry for a title and now found herself ensnared by ennui. Or disillusioned, her girlish dreams of snagging a coronet and living a fairytale dashed by the reality of a balding duke with a paunch and a penchant for bedding servant girls.
Julian supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He frowned. “I fear I’m no longer interested in offers of any sort.” He’d long ago grown tired of playing this role. Of whoring himself to wealthy ladies for enough money to keep from utter penury. A man could only swallow his pride for so many years before it choked him.
She clasped her hands at her waist, the sole indication of apparent indecision. “Perhaps you would care to hear my offer before you so summarily dismiss it, my lord.”
Bold of her. Now he could place her accent, the leisurely drawl. A Virginian. Julian closed the distance between them, not stopping until her pelisse brushed his trousers. “I daresay it couldn’t be an offer I haven’t already heard before.”
“You may be surprised.” She held her ground, tipping up her chin.
Feisty as well as bold, he thought, studying her with new interest. The veil was an unwanted deterrent that kept him from seeing if her face matched the lilting beauty of her voice.
He stepped closer, her skirts crushing against him, and hooked an arm around her waist. She stiffened. “What is it, love? You want me to join you and your husband in bed? You want him to watch as I fuck you? No? Perhaps you want to feel pleasure for the first time. Is that it? You’ve settled for a title but he doesn’t make you come.”
Her quick intake of breath told him he’d shocked her. She sounded young. Perhaps she was a novice to this sort of game. He should be merciful and send her on her way, but his mood was dark. A man on the edge had little to lose, and he needed distraction badly. Here was a plaything, a well-dressed naïf who had landed in his study like a benediction.
