The Duke of Pain, page 8
part #4 of The Rakes of St. Regent's Park Series
This was Olivia’s refuge from the harsh world outside.
Gideon immediately lit the fire in the small hearth, then escorted Olivia to the chair next to it.
“You know how to light a fire? Sorry, I just assumed you had someone to do that for you,” she said.
“I do, but since I keep late nights, I do not disturb the servants at all hours to see to it. Hardly fair. Now, sit. You’re shaking.” Gideon ripped the quilt from the bed and wrapped it about her. “I know you said that you don’t want to discuss it, but you have to trust someone, Liv. It might as well be me.”
“I do want to trust you, but it is difficult to trust anyone fully,” she murmured.
“I understand, more than you know. But let us give it a go. We have already revealed so much to each other.”
Gideon sat in front of her, but not so close as if to crowd her.
“When I traveled to see the nuns, they told me that Chellenham was known to them. You see, they contacted him after my mother’s death. The duke, then a marquess, sent his man of business to handle the transaction with the childless vicar and his wife.”
“And your childhood?”
“Not as terrible as yours by any stretch. My adopted father was a stern, pious man, but he wasn’t cruel. Until he abandoned me. There were times he actually showed some sort of affection, but it wasn’t often. He could be preachy, he ran a strict household, but I was never abused or subjected to violence.” Olivia revealed shakily. “I loved him; he was my father.”
“And yet, he abandoned you, as you said. I cannot imagine how you felt. How that scarred you.”
“More so than being attacked,” she whispered. “On some levels. Do you see why it is hard to trust? As to Chellenham, I made inquires and soon learned he was a man I wanted no acquaintance with. Promise me you will not tell him.”
“I loathe the duke. You are better off. I promise I will never tell him.”
Olivia exhaled. “Thank you. And his son? The marquess?”
And what about Brookton?
“I will not tell him at this time, but I think you should consider approaching him in the near future.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “How can you say that?”
“I’ve known Brookton a while now, and he is not the cruel reprobate his father is. He is your half-brother, Liv. The science isn’t there to prove it, at least, as far as I am aware. But you need only look at him to know.”
“I can’t. I won’t.” She pulled the quilt tighter about her.
“Be at ease. There is no need to inform Brookton—now. Tell me you were not serious about leaving the city.”
“It’s one way to ensure I never run into these men.”
“What if I say I don’t want you to depart, whether it be temporary or permanent?” Gideon replied softly.
And he didn’t.
Shocking to discover that her departure would tear him in two, create a wound that would never heal. Being vulnerable was not an emotion he thought he would ever experience again, but here it is.
“I can protect you. You need never see anyone you do not wish to,” Gideon suggested.
“You’re friends and in the same club as the marquess. Besides, I can look after myself. I don’t need anyone.” Olivia raised her chin in defiance.
“What about Pan? You needed him and still do. He protects you and keeps you safe. You have your own defensive cocoon here. You rarely venture outside because your attack affected you more than you realize. I can offer the same sort of security, more so. You need never fear anything or anyone ever again.”
“Fear? I am not a victim,” Olivia snapped.
“Oh? We both have vulnerabilities. You know it,” Gideon replied firmly. “And we are victims of our past. Admit it.”
“What do you want from me? We’ve shared kisses and embraces. And physical intimacies. What else do you want?” she whispered.
“All I know is I have never felt this way before. I have not initiated sex because of what has happened to you. The violation. I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted us to know each other better. Yes, blast it all, to have some sort of courtship. Perhaps that was the wrong tack to take. I am willing to fight for what is between us. Are you?”
“I’m so weary of fighting.”
“This could be our one chance at more. A chance at that dreaded L-word many are reluctant to speak of. We are not getting any younger.”
Olivia blinked at him as if having difficulty comprehending what he was saying. “You are not speaking of—love? Surely not?”
“Loving, living, learning to trust, lust—all of it. Why not?”
“You—and me?” she scoffed.
“Don’t dismiss it, Liv. You will break both our hearts. And contrary to what we previously believed; we do have hearts.”
Her look softened. “Oh, Gideon.”
Impulsively, he jumped to his feet and stood before her. He was already dangling out on a limb, might as well go all in.
“I ask you to come with me. I swear you will not be my possession but my partner in all things. We will share it all, Liv. Life, joys, sorrows, desire, companionship, respect, trust, and perhaps more.” He held out his hand. “Take it, Liv. Take my hand and come away with me, now. Tonight. This very moment.”
Their gazes met. The cold indifference Gideon had seen in her eyes when they first met was no longer there. There was a warmth, a decided regard, but it was hard to ascertain if further sentiments resided within her.
Endless moments passed.
With a shuddering breath, he closed his eyes.
Olivia was going to say no and dismiss his heartfelt plea.
For the first time in his life, he laid open his heart, exposed his long-buried vulnerabilities, and it bloody well hurt.
Fingertips brushed by his palm.
Gideon’s eyes snapped open.
Olivia’s small hand enfolded his. His long fingers closed over her hand, and he gently squeezed in return.
She gave him a wobbly but warm smile. “Share it all, Gideon.”
Chapter 10
Olivia took Gideon’s hand and followed him to his townhouse on Hyde Park Corner. A man she had only met a few weeks before, and in all places, a brothel. One night had passed since she made that hasty decision.
Olivia reached for the pot and poured tea into her cup.
Perhaps she’d made a grave mistake.
Taking a sip, she looked about the plush parlor. The room spoke of class and money, something Gideon had in abundance from what she could ascertain. It seemed to be decorated with a Rococo and Elizabethan mix, not that she was an expert. What little she knew; she had learned from books in her vicar father’s extensive library.
Olivia’s thoughts drifted back to the absent Duke of Watford.
Gideon had made such a heartfelt declaration. The emotionally spoken words breached Olivia’s protective walls.
She had taken his hand, acting on a reckless impulse.
Then, he dumped her at his townhouse and departed for points unknown. He mumbled that he had something to see to. And that he would return as soon as possible.
She had not seen him since.
Gideon’s staff was attentive and saw to her every need. So much for his emotional plea that they share everything. Even now, she could recollect every fervent word.
“I ask you to come with me. I swear you will not be my possession but my partner in all things. We will share it all, Liv.” He had held out his hand. “Take it, Liv. Take my hand and come away with me, now. Tonight. This very moment.”
Somewhere along the line, she had turned into a romantic fool. Olivia set the cup on the saucer and placed them on the table. A wave of frustrating annoyance roiled through her. She should leave.
And go where exactly?
James would welcome her back. She frowned, for she owed her dear friend an explanation, far more detailed than the scribbled note she’d left in her room. James had taken her off the street, right where her father had abandoned her. He gave her a roof over her head, protection, and friendship.
And she returned it by running off with a spontaneous yet thoroughly tempting duke?
Gideon’s butler, Hobson, entered the parlor and bowed. “Is there anything else you require, Miss Durham?”
“Yes, the whereabouts of the duke would do for a start!” she snapped. Hobson did not even flinch at her sharp tone. Olivia exhaled. “Forgive my temper. Do you know where he is?”
“His Grace rarely tells me of his comings and goings, miss. He instructed me to see to your every need and that he would return soon. He did not give me an exact date or time.”
A terrible thought struck her.
Good heavens, he hadn’t gone to Chellenham and Brookton? Not after he had promised not to tell the devil duke? Those peers stuck together and covered for each other, did they not? It was a horrible thought, especially after he had been nothing but supportive and kind since she blurted out her dark secret.
Olivia took another fortifying breath to calm her irritation—and her worry.
“Please bring me a pen, ink, and stationery. I will want a letter delivered. Is there someone who can see it done?”
“Robert, the footman, will be happy to deliver whatever you wish. I can show you to the study where you might be more comfortable composing your missive.”
“No, I will do it here. Thank you.”
Hobson gave a stiff bow and left the room.
She had to speak to James right away.
* * *
Gideon had spent the night at The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park club location, drinking copious amounts of alcohol while he brooded. He stared into the contents of his whiskey glass. The thing is, he rarely drank copious amounts. It was usually the occasional glass of scotch, and that was about it.
His head swan, his thoughts muddled, and he didn’t like the sensation.
The Rakes kept a few rooms for just such an emergency or for the occasional clandestine meeting.
He must have looked imposing and thunderous as Tolwood had departed almost immediately after he had arrived at the club the day before.
Impulsive behavior was not something Gideon could be accused of.
Until he had met a golden-haired beauty with haunting blue eyes.
God, she had captured his attention and his empty heart. They had shared so much, giving, taking—and trusting. He had brought her to his townhouse in Mayfair and then did not know what to do next.
So, he made an escape.
Coward.
His cold, indifferent heart made up the essence of Lord Craven, the nickname he despised. The name spoke to his sexual cravings, not for its meaning of possessing a timorous nature.
But for once, he lived up to the true gist of the word.
His selfish, sexual appetites fueled his existence these past several years. As long as he received pleasure in his debauched adventures, he did not give a hang for anyone else.
Yes, he was a miserable excuse for a human. A complete cad.
Until he met Olivia, who, it turned out, was as deeply unhappy as him.
Gideon took a swallow and let the single malt burn down his throat. The alcohol hit his empty stomach in a fiery, raw blast of heat. His weary eyes cracked open as he wondered if she was still at Hyde Park Corner. Perhaps she’d left.
He wouldn’t blame Olivia if she had.
Sighing wearily, Gideon emptied the glass and set it on the table. The liquid courage was not working. He would have to dig deep and find it without the inducement of alcohol. Considering his arrogance and self-confidence in most situations, this should not be a difficult task.
Where Liv was concerned, all previous actions and behaviors had been thrown out the window.
The door swung open, and Christian Bamford, the Duke of Allenby, Asher Colborne, Baron Wenlock, and Damon Cranston, the Marquess of Brookton, strode into the room.
Oh, God. Brookton.
Gideon thought back to last autumn, just before the delivery that shook their club to its very foundations.
They were all sitting around the table, and the subject of illegitimate children came up. Brookton gave a decided, fierce opinion on the subject. Not like him at all.
“Yes, children. Avoid at all costs. If it does happen, however, never deny the child. Never refer to him or her as a mistake. Or a by-blow, God, I loathe that term. A child is not to be shunted about, lost in the morass of society, or tossed aside like rubbish. This child will be of your blood and deserves care and acknowledgment. At the most, love and acceptance.
I’m extremely cautious in my carnal dealings. My father, the duke, not so much. There are at least three siblings of mine out there in the world, borne from three different women of various classes. I’ve tried to find them.”
Three siblings?
Was Olivia part of that three, or part of the dozen or so others Brookton had alluded to before? But a more interesting question might be: why was Brookton looking for these people? One thing Gideon would do here and now, banish thinking of illegitimate children as by-blows. Brookton was right. It was a loathsome term.
“Tolwood was correct. Watford is drinking himself to oblivion,” Christian said to the other men. Then he turned and gave Gideon an arch of his eyebrow. “I had one of my footmen bring food and strong coffee. William will bring it up directly.”
“All of you, leave me alone,” Gideon growled.
As usual, his fellow rakes ignored him and sat at the table.
“This is playing out almost exactly like my situation. Brooding and drinking over a woman. It is a woman, is it not, Gideon?” Asher asked, his voice soft with empathy.
He could be the cold, ruthless bastard he had always been and dismiss the overture.
But Olivia had changed everything.
“Is this the part where you order us to leave, so you can wallow some more? No woman is worth such bother and attention,” Brookton said, sarcasm lacing his voice.
There have been many times through the years Gideon had wanted to plow his fist into that handsome face and silence Brookton’s sardonic tone forever. He wanted to do it as recently as a couple of days ago. But that would require an emotional response, so Gideon had never bothered to do it earlier.
Before he met Olivia.
However, now was not that time.
Gideon shot out of his chair and gave Brookton a glancing blow across the cheek.
A scuffle ensued, with Asher holding Brookton back while Christian held Gideon.
“Easy, lads,” Christian yelled. “Perhaps we should have set up a boxing ring in here instead of card tables.”
“Maybe we should have,” Gideon ground out. He made another lunge toward Brookton, who growled in return.
“Enough,” Christian said firmly.
Brookton broke from Asher’s grip. “You are not the leader any longer, Christian.” He dabbed at the few drops of blood that had accumulated on the corner of his lips. “That is the best you can do, old man?” he scoffed.
“I was aiming for your nose. Give me another chance. I will get it right this time,” Gideon snarled in response.
“Let’s have another drink,” Asher suggested. “Gideon?”
“Why not? Release me, Allenby. I am calm enough.”
Already this heated exchange had rattled him. An emotional outburst—how not like him. At. All.
Seated once again and with fresh drinks, the men all looked to him as if waiting for an explanation. Brookton’s lips were curved into a slight sneer.
Gideon honestly did not know what to say.
He wished Bran was here, but he had recently departed to Canada with his new wife and stepson. He would be gone for two years; Gideon could hardly confess to him of his feelings. And what of the rest of this group of men?
“Whether you believe it nor not, we are your friends,” Christian said as if reading his mind. “Inasmuch as you try to stay above the fray, emotionless and detached, we care about you. That is why we are here. Tolwood told us you were in dire straits, and we did not hesitate to give our support.”
“He didn’t come with you?” Gideon asked as he sipped his scotch.
“He’s always been a little afraid of you,” Asher interjected. “And a little in awe.”
Brookton rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Well, don’t include me in that pathetic group.”
Gideon shot him a warning look, then took another sip of alcohol. Asher had refilled his glass. His whiskey-soaked brain struggled to sort through his churning emotions.
To hell with it. He pushed the glass away.
“Damon, I’m sorry I hit you,” Gideon began.
“Damon? You have never called me by my given name. Why now?”
Why? Because he felt empathy toward the man for the first time ever.
“Did you come here to offer friendship or stick the knife in, knowing my misery?” Gideon said, aiming the question squarely at Damon.
Damon shifted uncomfortably. “Since you apologized, let’s say friendship.”
“Then friendship it is, to all of you. I appreciate you coming here.”
“Is that all you want, Gideon?” Damon asked.
“I want so many things,” Gideon said, his voice low. “I want my empty life to cease being so bloody barren. I want to give a damn about something—or someone. Having just turned forty, I assumed it would never happen. Believing my heart was dead and buried, I continued on with my hollow life, always reaching for the next meaningless encounter. Until—her.”
“Ah,” Christian said. “Her. I believe Asher and I know of what you speak.”
“Tell us about—her,” Asher encouraged.
“Feelings I have never felt before bubbled to the surface in those first few intense hours with her. I want to protect and care for her. Hell, perhaps I want to love her, though I am not capable.”
“Yes, you are capable, Gideon. Even you, the most jaded rake among us. Well, outside of Damon,” Christian smiled.
