Chapter 5
Inside Aphrodite was, as ever, fun and decadent.
Lively yet haunting music drifted from the grand salon, a low, sinuous thread beneath the buzz of laughter and the clink of crystal.
Perfume hung in the air, sweet as bruised peaches.
Sebastian felt the familiar shift that came whenever he crossed this threshold, as if the world outside slipped away and the need to unwind and indulge swan through his body.
He had not meant to come. Habit and restlessness carried him here.
The hall was crowded with gentlemen and beauties in silk peignoirs and smiles.
A pair of masked ladies, draped more in confidence than in clothing, measured him with frank interest. He tipped them the faintest nod and let his gaze move on. Not tonight.
A figure detached from the flow near the card room.
Thomas, Earl of Radbourne, lifted a brow as if he had discovered an anomaly in his own drawing room.
Marriage had made him fitter and easier in himself; happiness had smoothed the old boredom and jadedness from his eyes.
It still startled Sebastian to find him here at all.
“It looks like you could use a drink,” Thomas said, grinning lazily.
“Or perhaps what you need is several rounds of wicked sport. Madame Rebecca has three new girls. Can you believe she tried to send them to me? I am astonished she has no fear of my darling wife skewering her for the audacity. Shall I make the introductions?”
“Not interested,” Sebastian said, scanning the room. “I am here for—”
His mind blanked, and he could not finish his sentence. What in God’s name was he doing at the pleasure palace?
“Given what you said, I now understand Madame Rebecca’s worry,” drawled another lazy voice at his shoulder. “She swears she is losing clients. She even listed you among them, and I told her nay—she must be imagining things.”
Sebastian turned and smiled despite himself. “Templeton.”
George, Viscount Templeton, was everything his enemies in the House of Lords feared and some of his friends secretly envied: a libertine who could skewer a bill with a phrase and charm a duchess out of a prejudice.
Tonight, he wore a black coat, a faintly amused mouth, and the look of a man who knew where all the good cards lay.
His silver-dark gaze gleamed with its usual debauchery and wit.
Sebastian had met him as a lad at Eton, and they had been fast friends and confidants ever since.
“I arrived with Grantham. Let me go and find him. Ah…speak of the devil, he is coming this way.”
Kenneth Collingwood, the Earl of Grantham, was another friend who society had labeled a scoundrel rather than a gentleman.
Interestingly, the man had never taken one of Aphrodite’s top courtesans to his bed, and seemed as if he attended the pleasure palace to be an irreverent thorn in Madam Rebecca’s side.
“Come,” George said. “The second-floor rooms are quieter. Radbourne, Grantham, and I shall rescue you from the boredom so evident in your gaze.”
Sebastian chuckled. They climbed the broad stairs, passing a coterie gathered at the landing to watch a dancer undulate behind a gauze screen.
The dancer’s shadow arched like a bow and brought a murmur from the crowd.
Sebastian did not slow. The private room they chose had walls the color of good claret and a long table set for faro.
Several lit candles pooled soft light upon green baize; a chandelier gilded the edges of a portrait of Aphrodite rising from the foam, painted with such frank delight that the goddess seemed about to step down and claim a chair.
Two courtesans, beautiful and scarcely dressed, lounged upon a chaise.
They brightened when the gentlemen entered.
“Not tonight, darlings,” Radbourne said, polite and clearly untempted. “We require privacy.”
They pouted prettily and drifted out, leaving behind a ghost of perfume and orange blossoms. A footman appeared with a tray.
They took brandy without speaking. Sebastian let the first sip burn a clean line down his throat.
He was silent for a long time, letting the tension unspool from his shoulders.
He dropped into an armchair by the fire and sprawled there, indolent and wholly ungentlemanly.
Radbourne settled into a chair and stretched his long legs. “Have you heard about Madame Rebecca’s latest scheme to wake the jaded?”
Sebastian frowned. As one of the silent investors in Aphrodite, Madame Rebecca usually shared the schemes she devised to make money and keep patrons salivating. He recalled, dimly, her proposal last week and the role she wished him to play. Bloody hell.
Radbourne continued, “Rebecca claims she is losing patrons to ennui; many old members are getting married or taking permanent mistresses, and some are complaining they are bored. She plans something to make them howl for weeks.”
Templeton laughed. “We are all hoping for another titillating auction like last year’s.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “What will be the new source of delight for her clientele?”
“She is assembling a private art collection,” Thomas said, swirling his glass.
“Paintings to titillate and shock. She wants real patrons captured in flagrante delicto.
Says it will be the height of seduction and scandal.
“Anyone who wishes to view this titillating gallery must pay a premium for the privilege.”
Sebastian chuckled, barely recalling the conversation.
“Rebecca is nothing if not inventive; it will bring half of London’s scoundrels back to her doors.
Her note delivered to me earlier makes sense now; she wrote of a ‘most delightful indulgence.’ She wants me to pose for her painter.
An assessment of sorts, to see if this painter will fit in with this crowd. ”
Templeton’s smile sharpened. “Will you do it?”
“I might allow myself to be painted while tupping,” Sebastian said, voice dry. “But it is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“You do look distracted,” Templeton said lightly. “Cards may help. Or confession. I am a dreadful listener, but I can be bribed with an orgy later on.”
Thomas gave Sebastian a more sober look. “What is wrong? We are here should you wish to talk.”
Sebastian let the silence hold. Somewhere below, laughter rose and fell like a tide. “Four ladies appeared on my doorstep a few days ago. There are three girls and one young woman. They claim to be my family.” In a clipped tone, he told them everything.
Grantham studied him. “Despite this indifferent facade you wear, I can tell that you are bloody furious.”
Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair.
“My mother is not well. That is why she has been in Bath. The physician warned against any undue strain or excessive emotions that might put her heart at risk. If she learns my father kept bastards, it will absolutely kill her. She has always spoken of their grand love match. Those stories are what planted the notion in Cordelia’s mind that she must marry for love alone.
Our mother encourages it, and I find myself with little choice but to indulge her.
But imagine what it would do to my mother to learn that the marriage she holds so dear—the love she remains so fiercely proud of—was nothing more than an illusion.
That the man she still loves, still mourns, still speaks to as though he stood beside her, betrayed her faith so completely.
I cannot bear to see that memory shattered, nor the belief she has carried in their union undone. ”
“Then never let her find out. I say do away with them,” Templeton said coldly. “You owe them nothing.”
“I have thought it more than once,” Sebastian said, finishing his drink in a single swallow. “But that would be tossing them to the wolves.”
Grantham tipped his head back, thinking.
“If you help them and your mother discovers it, she will be terribly wounded. If society discovers it, there will be those quick to remind everyone that the Countess and the Earl of Raine were once envied for their courtship and marriage, and that it was all a sham.”
“I have considered every possibility,” Sebastian said. “And the certain scandal. Society is never so content as when it feeds upon someone else’s pain.”
Radbourne tilted his head. “What have you decided?”
“Nothing that holds for more than an hour.” Sebastian set his glass down and looked into the fire as if it promised answers.
“When I look at them, I feel indifference and anger. And yet I cannot cast them to the wolves. Do I give them money and send them away? Do I set dowries and trust that without connections, they will find decent matches? Do I put them in the country and bind the servants’ tongues?
All of it feels inadequate or dangerous. ”
Templeton regarded him over the rim of his glass. “Here is a fact. You are not required to do anything for them. Your only duty is to Lady Raine and Lady Cordelia. To protect your family, you may let the wolves have them.”
Cold, ruthless sentiments, yet Sebastian had thought the same more than once. He reached for the decanter, refilled his glass, and lifted it to his mouth. He let the brandy warm his tongue and granted himself the charity of ten heartbeats.
Radbourne sighed. “What will you do?”
“I have moved them for the moment to my investment townhouse in Russell Square and given the house staff a plausible story. The servants will keep their heads down. A modiste will fit them out with proper wardrobes. After that, I have no damn clue what to do with them. The solicitor my father used for his secret pretends there is no provision. My father could be careless in some things; with money, he was exact. If he loved them as his letters implied, he would not have left them to the wind. Something is missing, or mislaid, or misused.”
Templeton leaned back. “Dowries can be arranged quietly—five thousand pounds each. Enough to make a rector’s son see the sun with new eyes, or to tempt a conscientious second son from a respectable family. If you wish to avoid the scent of trade, procure a sponsor of polish to usher them forward.”
Sebastian considered and let the notion sit. Such entanglement was not feasible, and he felt no call to involve himself so deeply in their lives.
Grantham poured himself a drink, a faint frown settling upon his features, his hazel eyes thoughtful as they darkened with contemplation. “Their illegitimacy will ensure that no proper gentleman makes them an offer—unless their connection to the Earl of Raine is made known.”
“And that will never come to pass,” Sebastian said, his tone edged with a chilling indifference. “Which means I must sever whatever connection exists between us—and do so without delay.”
The door opened after a discreet knock, and Madame Rebecca drifted in, red silk peignoir like smoke about her, diamonds caught in her hair as if she had shaken them down from the ceiling. Her smile was perfect.
“My lords,” she said, sinking into a sensual curtsy. “How delightful to find you all assembled.”
“Never say you have been pining for us,” Grantham replied, rising to kiss her hand. “Does this mean you will at last fall into my bed and favor me with your charms? I have long wished to delight and corrupt you.”
“Ah,” Madame Rebecca murmured, eyes bright. “How shocking that you believe there remain things for me to learn, Grantham—and if there were, a young pup such as yourself could not teach them.”
“How you wound me,” he drawled, amusement glinting in his hazel gaze. “I am told you have never yet been brought to the pinnacle—that all challengers have failed abysmally. I promise I could have you crying out within ten minutes. What am I saying? Let that be five minutes.”
Faint color touched Rebecca’s cheek, and for a moment Sebastian was bemused. Was she blushing?
“I have no wish to indulge in your flirtation, Grantham,” she drawled. “Pray seek out someone more susceptible to your particular brand of wicked charm. It will never succeed with me. I have never been inclined to find a sybarite appealing.”
Yet from where Sebastian sat, he could see the quick, betraying flutter of her pulse at the delicate curve of her throat.
How very interesting.
Grantham, for his part, regarded her with the keen focus of a hawk, while Rebecca lingered nearby with the quiet watchfulness of a mouse.
“How I admire a challenge,” he murmured.
“I am, I confess, a most ardent devotee of luxury and carnal indulgence. I had thought you might relish the notion of reforming me of my wicked ways.She withdrew her hand from the earl’s grasp and turned away without responding to his provocation.
“Raine, I was hoping you’d come bearing good news about our little gallery. It is fair to say you are one of my most beautiful members, and more than a few of my girls have spoken fondly of your… endowment. I think many ladies would be delighted to behold such exquisite art.”
“Listen to you, attempting to rouse my jealousy,” Grantham drawled. “It very nearly succeeded, which I find warrants some introspection.”
Rebecca ignored him, though the flush in her cheeks deepened. “There will be veils, masks, and shadows. No faces revealed unless a gentleman wishes to be so bold. The patrons will only see what I allow. It will do wonders for your legend.”
“His legend can withstand a dull season,” Radbourne said, laughing.
Madame Rebecca’s glance slid to him and softened.
“Yours has been improved by matrimony. Give my respects to your lady. She sent word that if I so much as attempted to offer you any of my ladies, I would wake to find my pleasure palace reduced to ashes the next morning. I have already sent a dozen roses in apology.”
“I will give her your respect,” Thomas said, warmth in his tone.
“My artist is visiting me tonight,” Rebecca said, shifting her regard to Sebastian. “I thought you might… conduct the assessment of her suitability. I have no one else in mind for it. Please say you will assist.”
Something in her emphasis pricked Sebastian’s curiosity. He rose. “Then I shall oblige.”
“Finally,” she murmured, “there is the wicked glint my ladies adore.”
He chuckled. This was why he had come: to indulge illicit pursuits, to drown duty and responsibility for a brief hour, to forget the females who had entered his life unbidden.
For the rest of the night, he would indulge his senses in the most satisfying debaucheries—and do his utmost not to think of warm, golden-brown eyes.