“I always listened, Lavinia,” he said quietly looking in her eyes.
“Often you humored,” she returned with an arched eyebrow.
“Perhaps, but I always made your changes.”
“Only because you did not want to anger my brother.”
“Had your requests gone against what was best for His Grace, I would have argued the point and then refused.”
She had not expected that answer. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“It appears that even back then I was being tempted by the rake and was unaware.”
Demetrius leaned forward. “I am not a rake.”
“But you are. I had you investigated, remember.”
“You had me followed and that person made assumptions that were inaccurate.”
“Did you visit brothels, actresses, lightskirts and widows?” she challenged.
“I did.”
“That would make you a rake.”
“I am not a rake.”
“I do not think less of you for being such,” she assured him.
“I would think less of me if I was.”
With that she frowned.
“The reason your investigator followed me to such places was because of what my mother endured. She had no choice. She was the daughter of a marquess and look at what she was reduced to. Women born into less than ideal circumstances are limited and many often turn to prostitution to survive.”
“What of the widows?”
“The financial security is usually controlled by whichever gentleman her husband deemed appropriate if there was not a son who had reached his majority.”
Lavinia believed that she was beginning to understand. “No different than when daughters are forced into an arranged marriage or convinced that a marriage of power is more important than love. Such as mine,” she whispered.
“Too often women are destitute or pawns, and I do what I can to help them gain some control, or better their circumstances, as a solicitor. Not a lover.” He shook his head and took a drink of his brandy. “When I was younger, yes, I did visit brothels with my friends. I was foolish and believed they were in a profession that they wished. It wasn’t until a few years after that I realized that they were victims of circumstances, much like my mother, and it sickened me.”
He stood and walked to the sideboard where he added more brandy to his glass.
“I will not pretend and claim that I have had no lover since, but it was never anyone who relied on such intimacy for survival, but a mutual need and desire.”
“A lonely widow,” she suggested quietly.
He nodded. “It was because they missed the intimacy once shared with their husbands. We were friends and shared an attraction. There was no transaction involved. Simply two people who were taking comfort and pleasure with the other.”
“I understand. No different than me.”
He looked up, his eyes boring into hers. “You will always be different from them.”
Lavinia swallowed, not certain what to make of his words, though there was an intensity behind his tone.
