Page 27 of Making of a Scandal
As for Mr. Burke, she would simply tolerate him until her own ends were achieved. Then, she would leave him behind and never think of him—or the unsettling effect he had on her—ever again.
By the afternoonfollowing the Covington’s ball, Nick was inundated with messages and invitations to more soirees for the next several weeks. Thorpe had been delivering them by the handful, his typically stoic expression holding a hint of humor. Apparently, the invitations he’d received before were nothing more than an afterthought. No hostess had expected him to show his face in any room where desperate matrons were shoving their virginal daughters under the noses of any male with a pulse. Now that he’d appeared at a ball and made a public spectacle of himself with Calliope, everyone wanted his attendance at their next gathering.
With an annoyed huff, he tossed aside the twelfth invitation to arrive in the past few hours and ran his fingers through his hair. Here lay the proof of why taking Calliope Barrington as a client had been a terrible idea. Aside from the fact that their arrangement barred him from making his way between her thighs, there was the side-effect of everyone who mattered in London speculating that he was on the hunt for a wife. What other reason could there be for all the invitations? He had opened the night waltzing with an unmarried woman before escorting her to supper. Then, he’d spent the other half of the ball partnering other ladies, because it was far too soon for him to make Calliope his only partner for an entire night.
But, what a partner she had been.
Slouching in his chair, he let his mind take him back to their dance. From the moment he’d seen her standing at Lewes’s side, vibrant and sumptuous in yellow silk, he had been transfixed. No woman in the room could compare in their drab pastels, their charms unremarkable when contrasted with her undeniable allure. Then, she’d let him take her into his arms for the waltz and that damned aroma of vanilla and roses had assaulted his senses.
She had been as stiff as a plank of wood at first, but then had fallen into the rhythm of the dance with him, her body relaxing into his hold. It had taken every ounce of his will—which, he had to admit wasn’t very strong to begin with—to keep from hauling her against him. He clenched his teeth, unable to stop himself from remembering the night they’d met and the way she’d felt against him then. That only made him wonder how it would feel to have her under him, arching and writhing, the grace of her movements translating into something primal and wicked in the bedchamber.
It had been damned distracting, trying to remain on his best behavior while she stood so close, taunting him with what he couldn’t have. So, he had opened his mouth to fill the silence between them … and promptly inserted his foot.
Had all the things he’d said to her been true? Absolutely. The problem with her pursuit of Martin Lewes was clear to him, and he thought she should be aware of it.
However, his delivery had left much to be desired, and now he regretted his choice of words. He’d insulted her. Again. During supper last night, she had done her best to avoid looking at him, only speaking to him when necessary. It seemed she had forgotten that they were supposed to give the impression of a newly burgeoning romance, and had spent the entire meal engaging with her sister and the others seated near them. If he’d been on fire, Nick doubted she would have troubled herself putting out the flames.
He laughed and shook his head, astonished as he realized what he’d come to. Dominick Burke, notorious debauchee and secret courtesan … panting for a prudish spinster after nothing more than a waltz. He, who had fucked whores in alleys, and widows in the most sumptuous of bedchambers. He, who had once pleasured three women at the same time with half a decanter of brandy in him, who had climbed out of countless windows to escape discovery by unsuspecting husbands.
Perhaps there was something to be said for desire of the unattainable. Ladies had made it easy for him for years now, throwing money at him for the thrill of having him in their beds. Now, the woman financing his lifestyle didn’t want him, and that stung considering the strong reaction he’d had at the first sight of her.
He was being ridiculous. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he stood and pushed those damnable thoughts aside. He had a job to do, and daydreaming about how badly he’d like to be the one to deflower Calliope wasn’t it. Later this evening, he would find himself a whore and pay her to let him exorcise this fever in his blood. In the meantime, he needed to make amends to ensure his income didn’t dry up overnight due to his uncontrolled mouth.
Ironic that the thing which had earned him so many contracts might ruin his current arrangement.
Sending for Thorpe to help him prepare for an afternoon out, he ensured his appearance was in order before leaving his rooms. He’d sent his man out this morning to procure flowers for Calliope and have them delivered to Hastings House. He hoped this gesture would soften her toward him, and word would spread of the bouquet that had arrived at the Hastings residence for a certain unwed lady. All the better if it got back to Lewes.
As he made the trip on foot, he thought over what he would say when he saw her. ‘I’m sorry I called you an icicle’ didn’t seem like quite enough, while ‘I was wrong’ was a step too far. After all, Nick had many flaws but prided himself on his penchant for speaking the truth.
By the time he arrived, he had rehearsed a few flowery speeches but discarded them. Calliope didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would appreciate that—which was fortuitous, because he’d never been any good at gallantry. As he used the door knocker, he fixed his face with a polite smile and settled on a tactic of bluntness mixed with apologetic reasoning.
He expected to be informed that Calliope was ‘not at home,’ but was surprised when a footman promptly admitted him and took his gloves and hat before guiding him to a drawing room.
The first thing he noticed was the overwhelmingly cloying stench of flowers. He smelled them before he saw them, their perfume wafting through the corridor and agitating his senses. Rubbing at his itching nose, he did his best to appear unaffected as he came face to face with both Calliope and the Countess of Hastings. They were surrounded by blossoms in vases that littered every surface, filling the room with bursts of color. There had to be at least fifteen bouquets here along with his, and for some reason that annoyed Nick to no end.
“Good morning, Mr. Burke,” the countess chirped with a sunny smile. “The bouquet you sent Callie was so lovely. And look at all the others that arrived just this morning! Apparently, you’ve made my sister the envy of every unwed chit of theton, and the object of curiosity for all the unmarried men.”
Nick returned her smile, but his gaze was on Calliope. She remained where she sat, watching him as if he were a snake expected to strike any moment. Her back was ramrod straight, and her hands clenched in her lap. Something within him tightened like a coiled spring at the sight of her, dressed in white with the light of the sun making her skin gleam like burnished bronze. Her hair looked darker in such light, her features softened by loose, framing locks that fell from her coiffure.
“Miss Barrington, you are looking lovely this morning. I hope I haven’t come at an inopportune time.”
“Not at all,” Diana declared when Calliope failed to reply. “In fact, Hastings was just about to escort Callie and I on our daily walk. Why don’t you join us? It would be the perfect chance for the two of you to be seen together.”
“Diana!” Calliope admonished, looking horrified at the thought.
Whether she didn’t want his company or didn’t want her sister speaking of their arrangement out loud, Nick wasn’t certain.
“Oh, do relax, Callie. Mr. Burke, you have no need to worry, as this entire scheme was my idea. So you can rely on me to keep it a secret.”
Nick studied Calliope as he absorbed that revelation. She looked utterly embarrassed to have the countess reveal this, as well as a bit annoyed. He was the reason for her ill humor, which would never do. The woman was terrible at hiding her emotions, which meant he couldn’t be seen in public with her just now. He needed to smooth things over first.
“I would be delighted to accompany you on your walk,” he said to the countess. “But first, I wondered if I might have a word with Miss Barrington.”
Diana’s eyes widened and she gave him a meaningful look, before turning to glance at her sister. “Of course. Callie, I’ll just go get our hats and wraps. I’ll return shortly.”
Calliope came to her feet, a pleading gaze leveled at her sister’s retreating back. “Please—”
“I’ll be right back!” Diana declared as if she hadn’t heard, then bustling from the room.
