Samuel did, and rather pressing ones at that, but if he acknowledged his desires to his cousin, Lovell would set a horde of courtesans upon him, and the next thing he knew, he’d have a skirmish on his hands.
Or worse, a frontal assault.
“We’re not here to indulgemyappetites, but yours.” Indulge them, and pray a tumble with a courtesan tonight would keep Lovell out of mischief for the restof the season.
It was dangerous, bringing Lovell back to London when the fashionable crowd of debauched noblemen he’d been running with were still lurking about the city, drinking and wagering and generally making arsesof themselves.
Samuel glanced across the drawing room at Lord Peabody, one of Lovell’s former companions. Peabody had put away an astonishing quantity of port in the short time since Samuel had arrived, all while assessing the ladies as if they were prime horseflesh at Tattersall’s. He’d just chosen a tiny girl with chestnut hair, who looked more terrified than flattered by his attentions, and was tugging her toward the stairway.
Courtesan or not, Samuel despised seeing a lady manhandled. It made him ill to think of Lovell in company with such a blackguard.
When Samuel left England eight years earlier, Lovell had been a sweet-tempered lad of fifteen. The worst that could be said of him then was that he was given to misty-eyed dreaminess. He’d fancied himself in love a half-dozen times before the age of twelve, drifting from one harmless adolescent infatuation to the next like a bee sampling every blooming flower in its path.
Samuel blamed his Aunt Adelaide for Lovell’s romantic notions. She’d named the boy Lancelot,for God’s sake.
Lancelot.
If ever there was a name to tempt the fates, that was it, and fate had caught up to Lovell with a vengeance. Looking at him now, Samuel couldn’t find a hint of the good-natured boy Lovellhad once been.
He’d been ruined, in nearly every way a mancouldbe ruined.
Lovell had been seduced by the glamourous coterie of aristocratic wastrels. He’d become a London beau, flitting from one dangerous escapade to the next like a deranged insect. He brawled and wagered, trifled with demireps, engaged in endless scandalous affairs, and traded one mistress for another as often as he changed his cravat.
Predictably, Lovell’s messy antics had led to an even messier duel that had landed him in bed with a dangerous fever from a pistol ball lodged in his leg.
When Samuel returned to England to bury his Uncle Lovell, he’d found his family in chaos. His uncle dead, his mother and aunt in a mutual hysterical frenzy, and his cousin bedridden from a festering wound, more dead than alive. Months had passed in terrifying limbo while Lovell fought off the fever that threatened his life—months in which Samuel had plenty of time to reflect on all the ways he’d failed his cousin.
On some level, he must have known Lord and Lady Lovell’s petting would spoil Lovell beyond recovery, but even his deep affection for his cousin hadn’t been enough to persuade Samuel to spend another day under the same roof as his Uncle Lovell. That it was Samuel’sownroof, his own estate he’d left behind hadn’t made the least bit of difference. It hadn’t been his home since his father’s death manyyears earlier.
It would have been a just punishment for Samuel’s selfishness if Lovell had succumbed to his fever, but by some miracle, he’d survived, and now Samuel was determined to see Lovell restored to himself, and back in possession of all he’d lost. His health, his family, and the future that had nearly been ripped away from him with one pistol shot.
Starting with…well, with a courtesan, ironically enough.
But she was simply a precaution, a final wild oat to settle Lovell, who’d been cooped up inside their London townhouse in a sickbed for weeks.
“Go on, then.” Samuel elbowed Lovell, and nodded at the brunette courtesan. “Your seraph is waiting for you.”
“She is, isn’t she? Very well, but do find something to do with yourself until I return, Lymington. I won’t have you stand about glaring like a gargoyle all evening.”
Lovell approached his choice, offered her a courtly bow and a charming smile, then took her hand and led her toward the staircase. Samuel watched them go, his chest pulling tight as his cousin struggled to negotiate the stairs. The surgeon insisted Lovell’s limp would hardly be noticeable once it was fully healed, but there would never come a time when Samuel wouldn’t notice it, no matter how indiscernible it became toeveryone else.
Guilt lodged under his breastbone, sharp and heavy.
Lovell had never berated him for leaving, had never uttered a single word of blame, but the coldness between them now was as palpable as icy fingers squeezingSamuel’s heart.
The duel, Lovell’s injury—they should never have happened. If Samuel had been here, if he’d remained in England as his mother had begged him to do, itwouldn’t have.
There’d been more than one painful scene with Lady Lymington, more than one bitter maternal tear shed in the weeks between Samuel purchasing his commission in the Royal Navy and his hasty departure, but not even Samuel’s mother had been as devastated as Lovell when Samuel announced his intention toleave England.
Lord and Lady Lovell certainly hadn’t shed any tears for him. His aunt and uncle had been delighted to see him go. No doubt they’d prayed he would never return. Lovell stood to inherit the Lymington title and fortune if only Samuel would have the good grace to drown, or get himself blown to bits by cannon shot.
In the end, it was his Uncle Lovell who’d had the good grace to die, and Lovell who’d nearly beenblown to bits—
“Such a fierce frown, my lord. You look as if you’ve just shot your favorite horse.”
A soft touch on the sleeve of his coat made Samuel glance down. A small hand rested there, with dainty fingers curled around his forearm. A trio of ladies—one fair, one dark, and the third red-haired—had sidled up to him, suggestive smiles on their painted lips.
“He looks bereft, doesn’t he, Nellie?” The brunette gave Samuel a flirtatious wink. “Pity, but perhaps we can cheer you. Come upstairs, you poor man, and tell us all about your dead horse.”
