Page 12 of Making of a Scandal
He retrieved a handkerchief and offered it to Nick, who took it and promptly scrubbed away the evidence of the whore’s kiss. Benedict then inspected Nick from head to toe.
“I suppose you’ll do. Come.”
Nick noticed the man’s carriage idling at the curb, a footman swinging the door open as they approached. “Business, at this hour? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s nearly dawn,” Benedict corrected. “Our new client is terrified of being caught dealing with us, so she insisted on meeting when she was least likely to be seen.”
“Smart woman,” Nick declared, slumping on the squabs.
The carriage swayed, and he had to close his eyes and take deep, slow breaths to keep from losing his dinner as well as the quantities of spirits he’d poured down his throat.
“That London Gossip bitch has made it damned difficult for us to conduct business, but there is still a demand for our services. I’ve had no shortage of women finding their way to me, and this particular client seemed perfect for you.”
Nick pried one eye open, his mouth slanting in half a grin. “I take it that by ‘perfect for me’, you mean blonde, well-endowed in the bosom, and filthy rich.”
“You’ve got the filthy-rich part right, which is all that should matter to you. Miss Barrington has a very specific need, and you are the only available courtesan who’s right for the job.”
“What about David?”
“David isn’t right for this assignment. For now, you’re the one without a keeper and drowning in debt.”
“Correction,” Nick said, holding up one finger. “I am treading water with my head well above the surface, thank you. No more debt.”
“If you want to keep it that way, you ought to stay away from the gaming tables. Damn it, Nick, we’ve talked about this.”
“Yes, yes … I know. Gambling, bad. I’m terrible at knowing when to walk away. It is reckless and irresponsible. I could better increase my money your way.”
“Wise investments and frugality aren’t ‘my way’. They are the smart way. I know you might be tired of my constant harping, but I’d rather have you annoyed with me than rotting away in debtor’s prison.”
Benedict had been after him to curb his gambling and lavish spending habits for years, where everyone else in his life had given up. His father, an earl, had cut him off after growing tired of lecturing him on the wise use of his generous monthly allowance. Nick’s mother had stopped pleading on his behalf after his father had given him another chance, only for him to turn around and piss away an entire month’s worth of funds in a single night. That had been a new low for Nick, who had never found himself in such dire straits in his life.
Thanks to Benedict and the enterprise of the Gentleman Courtesans, he had his own stream of income, which had only recently been strained for lack of a keeper. It was because of this that Nick put up with the nagging of his oldest friend in the world.
Besides, he did have a point. Speculation was its own form of gambling, but Benedict had a keen mind for such ventures and had gained more than he’d lost. Combined with his income from the Gentleman Courtesans, and prizes from the occasional bare-knuckle boxing match, his friend had managed to amass a small fortune of his own over the past few years. It was the sort of thing he ought to have done for himself, he realized. His looks would eventually fade, and there were only so many wealthy women in London willing to risk scandal and ruin just to bed him. Someday, he would have to find something else to do with his life. Even if he wasn’t certain just what that was yet, it would be nice to not have to worry about money while he figured it out.
“Fine then,” Nick said with a shrug. “When I secure this new arrangement, I shall put half the earnings into your keeping. Invest it for me, and keep the profits out of my reach unless it’s for something I absolutely need. Would that make you feel better?”
Benedict pursed his lips, staring out the carriage window as they rolled to a stop. “Only marginally, but it’s enough for now.”
Nick followed him out of the carriage, which had let them off at the back of Madame Hershaw’s dress shop. Benedict’s secret office could be accessed this way, keeping them from sight. This late—or rather, this early—there wouldn’t be anyone of importance about, but they could never be too careful.
He really had spent the entire night at the gaming tables without being aware of how much time had passed. Perhaps Benedict was right to insist he had a problem. It wasn’t a good sign that he’d wasted the entire night, as well as a good deal of his money.
Of course, there were also the betting books, horse races, cock fights, and Benedict’s boxing matches. He would have to be vigilant if he truly planned to stop letting his little habit get the best of him.
The door to Benedict’s office stood open, and Nick detected the glow and crackle of the fire from the hearth within. Farther into the shop, he could hear the jingle of keys and click of footsteps—likely themodisteand her seamstresses preparing to begin business for the day.
As Benedict approached the door, Nick held out a hand to halt him.
“I hardly need you to hold my hand. I’ve begun enough liaisons to know how it’s done without your apron strings to cling to.”
Benedict cast him a dubious look. “Miss Barrington isn’t like the others, Nick. I think you should—”
“AndIthink you should relax and let me do what I do best. I’ll have that contract signed, and this Miss Botherton chit eating out of my palm in ten minutes flat.”
Benedict’s lips quivered as if he fought not to laugh, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that so?”
Nick ran a hand through his hair. “Quite. Stand aside.”
