He almost wanted to crow, to pump a fist in the air like he’d won a hurling competition. But he calmed that reaction and tilted his head. “Terms?”
She nodded. “Yes. This is an arrangement that may not be exactly like the kind I normally come to, but certainly there is business to it. Coming to agreed-upon terms is one way to avoid disappointment or hurt when it ends.” She hesitated. “Not that any terms I put in place did that when it came to Harry. But that’s different. You and I aren’t talking about sex or love.”
He felt a flicker of disappointment in his chest when she said that, but nodded. “You’re correct. As we discussed, this would all be an act, a falsehood. I have no expectations that you’d take me to your bed and I don’t think either of us is ready in any way to take someone to our hearts.”
“No, I’ll never do that again,” she said softly.
He wrinkled his brow, unexpectedly bothered by the idea that she would surrender any hope of love in her life so easily. Southwater didn’t deserve to have taken that from her. But it wasn’t his business.
“You are the expert and I’m sure you’re right,” he said.
“Very good.” He watched her walk to the bell at the door and she rang it. When her butler appeared she said, “Parsons, the earl will be joining me for supper.”
“Very good, Miss Comerford,” Parsons said with a slight incline of his head in Vaughn’s direction. “I’ll let the staff know. We shall serve in about half an hour.”
“Good.” When he left, she faced Vaughn again. “May I offer you a drink?”
He nodded and watched her move to the sideboard. Now that they had agreed to this odd arrangement, he felt something had shifted in her. There was something more sensual in her movements, something more certain like she was back in her own skin after wearing a costume for too long.
She really was lovely.
At the sideboard, she looked at him over her shoulder. “What do you like? I have cognac, brandy, a very fine whisky.”
He arched a brow. “Heliked cognac, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
He smiled a little. “Then I’ll drink that. It would serve him right.”
“I asked whatyoulike, my lord.”
He stared at her a moment, feeling her even gaze on him. She said nothing else, but waited for him. He shifted and at last said, “Brandy.”
“Very good.” She grabbed for a bottle and poured him a snifter. As she handed it over, she said, “Every part of this doesn’t have to be for revenge. You should have what pleases you.”
He broke his gaze from hers and found his voice was thick as he said, “Well, that would be something, wouldn’t it?” He took a sip of the drink and smiled at her as the flavor hit his tongue. “That’s lovely.”
“Good.” She poured herself a madeira and took a place on the settee. She motioned for him to join her and he did, watching her every move like she was a mesmerist in the park. It was impossible not to be drawn in.
“We’ll discuss the terms over supper shortly,” she said. “But I thought perhaps you’d like to know the kind of person I am. So that you’re certain you wish to affiliate yourself with me. After all, you told me some painful things about your marriage, it seems only fair.”
He flinched. Hehaddone that. He tried to forget about it when he thought about Evelina. Tried to pretend like he hadn’t spilled himself out like that with a stranger.
“I cannot imagine I would think less of you no matter what you tell me. But I admit a curiosity about you. You are difficult to read, Evelina Comerford.”
She gave a flash of a smile. “The best courtesans are. I forgot that for a while when I pretended it could be more.”
Her smile fell and he reached out to cover her hand. They both stared for a moment and he pulled it away. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“Perhaps not, but I must correct it now,” she said with a sigh. Then she shook her head. “Let me focus. My past, yes? I was born to Albert and Rebecca Comerford. I don’t remember my mother—she died when I was just two and a half, trying to have the son my father insisted she bear for him. She had four pregnancies in just as many years and it broke her body. Arabella recalls her a little—flashes, she says—but when someone says the wordmother, I’m afraid Julia and I have just a blank there.”
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “What about your father?”
She stiffened. “He was a gentleman, but he never acted like one. My mother was nothing more than a broodmare to him, his daughters disappointments and convenient targets for his anger and occasionally his violence. Arabella took most of the brunt of it, trying to protect Julia and me. When she ran away, went to London to be a courtesan, I took up her role.”
He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Evelina. That’s terrible. He died recently, yes? Wasn’t it an accidental shooting when he was in his cups?”
She hesitated a moment, like she was pondering that statement. He could see her deep discomfort and then she said, “That’s the story, yes.”
