Page 12 of Taming of the Rake
“That is to say … we were that sorry to hear of your father. Forgive me, sir, I meant no offense.”
Of course she hadn’t, and who could blame her—or everyone within a thousand acres, apparently—from hoping things might change now that he had taken matters in hand. Though, this housekeeper must not have heard much about David if she could so readily place her faith in him. His reputation did him no favors. As well, David wasn’t sure he had much faith in himself. He already felt like an utter failure.
“Wren must have been onto you,” the constable offered with an apologetic shrug. Apparently, the man had decided to now have pity on him. “But don’t worry … I’ll have the word spread to every other constable and magistrate in Lancashire. If anyone lays eyes on him, you can be sure we’ll bring him in.”
David highly doubted that, but said nothing. If Wren was smart—which he’d proven to be thus far—he would put as much distance between himself and Lancashire as possible. Assuming he hadn’t spent all the money he had embezzled from the estate, he would be flush enough to get himself out of David’s reach.
He held himself together long enough to part ways with the constable. Shoulders slumped, David began the ride home.
Halfway there, he had to pause and dismount, unable to take it any longer. He felt as if his skin were pulled too tight over muscle and bone, his hands shaking and itching to destroy anything within reach. Wrath tangled with helplessness inside him until he felt sick with it. Stalking away from his horse, David lashed out at the first object in sight. A length of fencing that had seen better days was the recipient of several kicks, the impact radiating up his hips and back as he shouted obscenities to the empty stretches of field beyond. His throat burned with the effort and his entire body ached from the exertion, but damn if it didn’t feel good to give himself over to the toxic emotions roiling in his gut. He had spent weeks trying to maintain a stiff upper lip, to appear as if he was in complete control for the benefit of his family. Never could he allow anyone to think he was in over his head.
One of the fence posts splintered, and he had to catch himself on another to keep from toppling over. The ridiculousness of his position struck him as he glanced down to find his best boots scuffed to hell and a hole torn in the left leg of his breeches. Turning to lean against a precariously leaning post, he took a deep breath and let it out on a laugh. For, it was the one thing he could do to keep from weeping like a baby.
This was how Warin Lyons found him as he rode up the lane on his way to the house—doubled over and cackling like a lunatic. To his credit, the man simply sat astride his gelding and stared at David with his implacable expression, waiting for him to finish.
“Rough morning?” he drawled, his voice as flat and expressionless as ever.
David swiped a hand over his face to find it damp. Apparently, his hystericshadincluded tears. Thank God no one but Lyons had seen him like this. His friends would make a fuss and insist he needed their help, and his mother would tell him he ought to drink tea and lie down. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, nor did he relish being made to feel as if he needed to be led about by the hand. He was a man, goddamn it. This was his land, his home, his problem to solve.
“You could say that,” he replied, crossing the road to retrieve his mare. “You’re a long way from London.”
“I’m here on behalf of Mr. Sterling, with a contract for you to consider.”
At last, a reprieve from the dry buggering life had been subjecting him to. Just then, he might have kissed Lyons square on the mouth at the news that his prayers had been answered. A new keeper meant money, and if she were willing to pay what he was worth, his outlook might not be so dire.
“There’s also a note,” Lyons added as David swung up into the saddle and nudged his mount back onto the road. “Mr. Sterling bade me remain until you had written your response.”
That meant Benedict had received David’s letter—which he’d regretted the moment it was posted. Benedict had problems of his own, and the last thing he needed was David heaping his problems on top of the matter of the London Gossip. However, there was no one else and he’d been wallowing in his grief and desperation, needing someone to understand what he had come home to. Whatever help Benedict offered—for that was simply in his nature—David would decline. As the master of every blade of grass, tree, or shattered fence post for a thousand acres,hewas responsible for cleaning up his father’s mess.
“Come, ride to the house with me and we’ll discuss the contract.”
David calmed during the ride, feeling better than he had in days. His problems were far from solved, but a lucrative contract would certainly help matters. Aside from that, he hadn’t been feeling like himself since leaving London. Death and the drudgery of wading through his ruined inheritance had turned him into a morose, brooding heap of bones and skin. Trying to untangle the complicated situation filled him with a sense of ineptitude that had shaken his confidence.
He wasn’t used to being horrible at things. Only, the things he excelled at were of no use to him here … unless he could secure this contract. If he could get back to the business of servicing some willing woman with the full range of his carnal skill and be showered in money for it, he wouldn’t have to feel so incompetent.
By the time they arrived to the stable, not even the lonely groom and ramshackle state of the structure could rob him of his good mood. This contract felt like a lifeline being thrown just before his head went under. Clapping a hand on Lyons’ shoulder, he began guiding the man toward the house.
“Now then…”
David quickly dropped his hand when Lyons stiffened and gave a cool look that somehow spoke volumes without even the slightest shift in expression.
“Right,” he muttered, clasping both hands behind his back. “We are short on staff at the moment, so you needn’t worry we’ll be overheard. I take it this client resides in Lancashire.”
“About an hour’s ride from here,” Lyons confirmed. “I’ve just come from calling on Mrs. Regina Hurst—a widow who lives on a neighboring estate. She is amenable to meeting you tomorrow afternoon, during which she would like to discuss the terms of your agreement.”
Regina Hurst. The surname was familiar to him—another local landowner, he was certain. Was this woman Hurst’s wife or daughter? He had never been introduced to a Regina Hurst during his years of living at home.
“Perfect. Is she beautiful? No, don’t answer that, I want to be surprised. Did she mention how long she wished to contract me? Did she request me specifically, or have I been assigned to her based on proximity?”
Lyons reached into the satchel slung across his body, retrieving a sheaf of papers and offering them to David.
“Her looks, as I’m sure you know, are irrelevant. Though I cannot see that you will have cause for complaint. Mr. Sterling received word from an acquaintance of Mrs. Hurst that the lady wished to contract a courtesan. That she happens to reside in Lancashire is a coincidence proving convenient for your situation.”
David shuffled through the contract as they walked and frowned. “There’s no amount here, nor any indication of a time-frame.”
“Those have been left blank at Mrs. Hurst’s insistence. It is her wish to negotiate payment and duration with you directly. Mr. Sterling was content to allow it.”
That was certainly unprecedented. David never went into an arrangement metaphorically blind. Benedict usually arranged the pairings himself, using his skill for reading people to match a client with her ideal courtesan. David was always assigned to one of two types of women—unhappy wives who wanted the kind of pleasure their husbands couldn’t deliver, or seasoned widows who knew what they wanted and appreciated a man who knew how to provide it.
