Seven Nights to Forever (15 page)

Goddamn Amelia!
This was her fault. She just had to accept that supper invitation. And as if she did not see her lover enough, she had to linger for over two hours in the drawing room after supper, practically hanging off his arm. He should have dragged her from the mansion the moment supper had been completed, used Rebecca as his excuse. But the girl had appeared far from overtired from her long day, chatting animatedly with a circle of young ladies with Brackley hovering at the perimeter and clearly relishing her first night among the ton. Instead, he’d been forced to wait until Amelia had seen fit to depart.

Must she take everything from him? His pride, his self-respect, his hopes, and his dreams weren’t enough. She had to yank his evening with Rose from his grasp as well and crush it beneath her small feet.

And to think he had actually awoken this morning looking forward to the evening ahead of him.

“There are many other beautiful women in the house,” the madam said, jarring him back to the present. “Perhaps you would care to choose another . . . or two.”

He shook his head, a slight sneer pulling his upper lip. How easily she interchanged one for another, as if Rose herself held no value.

“I do so hate for my clients to be disappointed. Successful gentlemen such as yourself have pressing responsibilities that can often cause unforeseen delays in their schedules and wreak havoc on their plans for the evening. If you so desire, you may secure Rose now for tomorrow evening.”

“I wish to secure Rose for the next week.” And now he must surely look an even bigger fool.

He waited impatiently for her answer while she reached for the short, plain glass near her elbow and took a slow sip. With a little
click
, she set the glass back down and folded her hands once again on the surface of her desk. “I unfortunately must inform you the limit is three. It’s best to keep such arrangements shorter in duration. I am sure you can understand. The pursuit of pleasure can be a fickle beast. If you still feel so inclined toward Rose three nights from now, then we can have this discussion again.”

He was the furthest thing from fickle, but he resisted the urge to argue the point and instead stood to pull the fold of pound notes from his pocket. It contained only a third of the required amount. “You will understand if the sum is short. I will deliver the remainder tomorrow.”

She tipped her head, a pleased smile flittering across her rouged lips. “Whether you choose to visit this house or not, Rose is yours for the next three nights. Not days. Nights. I will expect you no earlier than eight in the evening.”

JAMES
pulled out his pocket watch, flipped open the silver cover, and scowled at the small black hands. Five minutes after eight. At least the madam could not claim he had violated the terms of their agreement.

Tucking his watch back into his pocket, he resumed his pacing. From the teakwood desk, between the scarlet leather armchairs, past the mahogany liquor cabinet, to the door and back again. Where was Rubicon? And why the hell was he in her office already? Rose was his for the evening. There was no worry another would usurp his place. Yet still, he had left his office well before his usual hour.

Pivoting on his heel at the door, he let out a huff of self-disgust. It wasn’t as if his continued presence behind his desk would have been productive. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day. He only vaguely recalled signing his name to various documents. What those documents contained, he hadn’t the slightest recollection. The mental image of Rose arching in pleasure beneath another, her legs wrapped around a man’s waist, her small hands gripping another’s shoulders had tormented him to no end. The jealousy building in his gut to near intolerable levels had turned him into a different man, one who could not hold on to even the barest thread of patience. Hell, Decker had barely spoken to him after James had taken issue with the temperature of his coffee that morning.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. And bloody hell, he was tired. Damn near exhausted. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to sleepless nights. He’d had more of them over the past three years than he cared to count. But last night under the cover of darkness, the thick, churning mass of jealousy had turned into pure, biting pain. Leaving him wrung out, his nerves frayed to the point of breaking.

Perhaps that was why he felt out of sorts. So at odds with himself. A stranger in his own skin. Never before had he been so consumed with thoughts of a woman. Instead of tending to his business affairs or spending a quiet evening at home with his sister, he had chosen to visit a brothel. By God, if nothing else, he was a married man. Yet he felt not one drop of guilt over the fact that he intended to spend an evening with a woman who was not his wife.

What had become of him?

A growl of purest frustration rumbled in his chest.

At the snap of a door closing, he stopped in his tracks and whirled about to see Rubicon glide into the room.

“Good evening, sir,” she said with a smile.

He glared at her, hating the fact that he had been reduced to this. He should not have come back tonight, but he had not been able to stop himself.

Her gaze flickered to the pound notes he had put on her desk the moment he’d entered her office. His impatience must have shown, for she made no attempt at pleasantries, no offer of a drink from the well-stocked liquor cabinet. She went behind her desk to tug on the bellpull then pressed on the wall. The hidden door swung open. “You know the way,” she murmured, stepping aside to allow him to pass.

He stalked up the stairs. The light from Rubicon’s office seeped up the narrow passageway, leaving the small landing at the top in almost complete darkness. Just one more evening, and then he would put an end to this. The hell with the pound notes. The madam could keep them for all he cared. And he’d take solace in the knowledge that two nights would pass before another touched Rose again. Maybe by then the thought wouldn’t make his hands clench into tight fists or that knife jab into his gut, twisting deep.

A small part of his mind tried to remind him that he had absolutely no right to be angry with her. She had done nothing wrong except do her job. It wasn’t her fault that Amelia had accepted an invitation to a supper party. If anything, he was to blame for the situation he now found himself in. If he had expended the effort to keep abreast of his wife’s social schedule, he would have known an early visit to Rubicon’s last night would have been out of the question.

He stopped before the door. Another man had stood in this very place not twenty-four hours ago, and she had welcomed him. Had she made him feel as though he was the only man in her world? The only one who could make her smile?

Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the knob and turned it.

THE
door opened. Her breath caught in her chest. She blinked. Yes, that was James walking through her doorway, his shoulders so broad they barely fit through the narrow opening. Doing her best to mask her surprise, Rose stood from the settee.

“James.” She quietly cleared her throat and tried again to speak without a waver in her voice. “What a pleasure to see you.”

He flicked the door shut. “Good evening, Rose.”

She soaked up the sight of him. So solid and strong, his presence seeming to fill the small sitting room. A thrill sang through her veins at the notion that he had not forgotten about her after all. She wanted to rush to his side, throw her arms around his neck, verify that he had, in fact, done what she had thought unthinkable and actually returned to her. But the absolute lack of the usual warmth in his olive green eyes took her aback and kept her rooted to the spot.

She passed a hand over the front of her gown, smoothing the violet silk. Why had she worn this gown tonight? The soft gray velvet would have been the better choice. “Shall I ring for a pot of coffee?”

He shook his head. He hadn’t moved from his position just inside the door. His arms stiff at his sides, his gaze pinned on her.

Apprehension fluttered in her stomach. “Would you care to have a seat?” She indicated the settee behind her.

“No.”

“Is . . . is something amiss, James?”

“No.”

Something obviously had put him in a foul mood, but if he did not want to discuss it, then she would not press him. Men visited her as an escape from the usual routine of their lives, not to be pestered by a woman.

Struggling to think of something to say to this new, distant version of James, she glanced about the room. He had already refused her offer to make himself comfortable on the settee. There was no point in offering him a glass of brandy or whisky. “Would you like me to show you my bedchamber?”

A pause. “Yes.”

She swore her heart stopped for a moment. Pain sliced into her chest, and it was all she could do not to flinch. It was the last answer she had expected from him. The question tossed out to fill a void and for nothing more.

It was only through sheer ingrained habit borne of countless repetition that she managed to paste a welcoming smile on her lips.

Slipping into the routine she knew so well, she tipped her head. “It would be my pleasure.”

A muscle ticked along his strong jaw. On weak knees, she turned and crossed to her bedchamber, flexing her empty hand by her side, feeling the loss of his acutely.

His footsteps sounded behind her. Pausing before pushing open the door, she took a deep breath in a failed effort to settle herself. A fire burned in the hearth in the bedchamber. A couple of candles were stationed about the room, enough to cast a veil of soft golden light, but not too many to border on bright. The perfect amount to encourage intimacy, and two too many than if she had anticipated James’s visit, yet alone his response to the question she asked most every night.

The door snapped shut, the sound cracking through the room, causing her stride to falter. She stopped at the side of the bed and turned to face him. He leaned a shoulder against the door and crossed his arms over his chest.

His gaze flickered about, pausing on the large bed with its bronze coverlet and neatly arranged pillows at the headboard, before settling once again on her.

Silence hung thick and heavy. Neither of them moved. It was almost as if he were waiting for something . . .

With hands that shook the barest bit, she started releasing the buttons on the front of her bodice. Perhaps if she did not look at his handsome face, she could pretend he was just one of the many who had walked into this room. Just another man who wanted only her body and the pleasures she offered. That he had never been someone who had made her feel safe and cherished.

She pushed the gown from her shoulders and it fell to the floor in a soft
whoosh
of silk. The stays were somehow easier to see to, the chemise . . . letting it slip down her body had never been more difficult.

“The stockings as well?” she asked.

He gave a curt nod.

Propping first one and then the other foot on the edge of the mattress, she undid the ribbons holding up her stockings, pushing the sheer white silk down her calves.

Rose stood bare before him, her arms forced to her sides to keep from covering herself. A chill swept over her, gooseflesh pricking her skin. She had never felt so naked in all her life. So much an object and nothing more. So much like a whore. And she despised him for making her feel this way.

How dare he show her kindness only to snatch it away?

And why had he returned tonight, and not last night? She had shed tears over this man. Had crumpled on this very spot, her heart breaking, sobs racking her body. How dare he behave as though he had done nothing wrong? He had given her his word and promptly broken it, without even a token explanation or apology. But given his abrupt demeanor, one would think he thought her in the wrong.

She had done nothing wrong except believe in him.

If she needed another reminder of why men should not be trusted, it stood directly before her, his arms still crossed over his broad chest and his cold eyes still pinned on her.

He was just another client, she reminded herself firmly. If he wanted her body and nothing more, then he could have it.

Anger and determination surged through her veins, effectively masking the stifling vulnerability and painful despair.

He had paid for the most expensive whore in the house. Well then, he would get a demonstration of just what his money had bought him.

Lifting her chin, she arched her back, smoothly rolling back her shoulders. His gaze went directly to her breasts, his grip tightening on his arms. She kept the smirk from her mouth. Let him pretend he was unaffected by her. She knew otherwise. And within minutes, he would not stand a chance at hiding it.