He took her head in his hands and looked at her hard. “I promise that I will take care of you. You will not be left ruined and destitute by me. Nor should you assume it will end. I don’t.”
Not destitute, but ruined for sure. Not that there was much to ruin.
Oh, how she yearned to believe his view of it all. Even the charming assumption it might not end. Yet, how could it not? “You are past the age for marriage. Do you think to have a wife on your estates and another woman in a house in town?”
“It has been done.”
“Not with me as the woman.” She slid her arms into the bodice of her dress. She reached behind and fixed the tapes. “Even without trying I have learned about you and women. That is how notorious you are. Wealthy women. Exquisite beauties. You are a devilish charmer, but your fascinations do not last long, it is said. You are quick to love and quick to leave. It would be horrible to have you trying to pay me off in nine months when your eye drifts to another. It might ease your conscience then and the promise serves your purpose now, but I would hate it.”
She slid off his lap and fixed her skirt. He reached for her and drew her closer again.
“Can you so easily turn away from me? From this? It is a rare pleasure that we share, Amanda. You may be too inexperienced to know that, but I am not.”
Her heart broke on hearing him admit that they shared a special intimacy. Her courage began leaking away while she gazed in his eyes.
“I have no choice but to turn away.” She kissed him. “If I dance with the devil, I will surely get burned.” She ventured one more kiss. He rose and embraced her and made it a long one, designed to seduce her the way his kisses always had.
Miserable with her choice, she eased out of his arms. “Do not follow me, please. I do not want you to see me weep.” She took two steps, then looked back to him. “Thank you. I am grateful in more ways than you will ever know.”
She made it to the back garden portal and into the alley before her tears flowed so hard that they blinded her.
* * *
Stratton and Brentworth sat in Gabriel’s dressing room, making small talk. Brentworth kept eyeing the empty bottles lined like soldiers on the carpet. Miles fussed about, going again to the shaving implements and rearranging them with a forlorn expression.
“You sent for them, didn’t you?” Gabriel addressed his valet, interrupting another tidbit from Stratton about how quickly his son kept growing.
“He did not,” Stratton rushed to say.
“So it is a coincidence that the two of you found each other on a Sunday morning and the inspiration struck to visit me before noon? I may be a fool, but I dislike being treated like one.”
“No one said you are a fool.”
“No? Well, I did.”
Brentworth toed the soldiers. “Have you had other visitors?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miles subtly shake his head.
“I have gone out, but no visitor has been here.” In particular, no women had been here. To be very precise, no Miss Waverly had called, entering by either door or window.
He had thought she might, idiot that he was.
“We know you went out. Your behavior at the club Friday night is all the talk,” Stratton said. “It is unlike you to engage in fights when you are drinking.”
“All the talk, is it? Good. As for fighting, I am tired of standing down when fools speak in kind and goad me. Sir Gordon is insufferable and everyone knows it. If I called his bluff and he is the worse for it, I should get a medal, not your damnable scolds.”
“No one scolded,” Brentworth said.
“Not yet, but it was coming.”
“Indeed it was. You look like hell. Let Miles shave you and make you presentable. And damnation, stop wallowing in self-pity about some woman. It isn’t like you and it is unseemly.”
“This has nothing to do with a woman.”
“The hell it doesn’t. Your shepherdess wouldn’t have you, is my guess. It happens.”
“Not to me.”
