Page 30 of Making of a Scandal
“Dominick,” she added with a slight nod.
His lips ticked with a smile that never fully formed. How could he grin when there was nothing light or humorous about what had just happened? Odd, how such innocent contact had overwhelmed him in a way their first touch had not. Perhaps because he’d been too drunk that night, too intent on seduction and securing his next influx of funds to realize that she’d never been touched.
Because, had he known that, he might have taken the time to notice what he readily saw now—that she was like a violin string wound taut, primed and yearning and just waiting for the right touch to make her sing.Hecould make her sing. He would kiss and nibble and lick and fuck a range of sounds from deep within her throat. He could make her forget the very existence of Martin Lewes.
Fuck.
He shot to his feet, pacing away from her and willing the erection in his breeches to disappear. A whore … that was what he needed. Tonight, he would find one and slake his lust. It had been weeks since he’d last been with a woman, and that was his problem. Calliope was beautiful, but so were countless other women. He’d reacted to her as he might have anyone else who smelled so sweet and sat so close and had such full, kissable lips.
“I am ready!”
He whirled to find the Countess of Hastings entering the room, a jaunty hat perched on her head and her walking dress covered with a light spencer. She held similar effects for Calliope, who stood at the sight of her sister with one hand pressed to her belly.
“So are we,” she replied, her words coming out breathless and strained.
She darted a glance at Nick from the corner of her eye, but seemed determined not to stare. Was it just him, or did she look guilty, as if they’d nearly been caught doing something they shouldn’t? He might have scoffed at such a notion in the past, but that was before he’d gone hard at nothing more than the feel of the back of her arm and the wanderings of his imaginative mind.
Chapter 5
“It would seem the spinsters are having their day! I’ve noticed several of them receiving marked attention from eligible gentleman this week. Well done, ladies! Of course, the most notable of these is The Hon. Miss C, daughter of the notorious nabob Viscount B. Two well-known gentlemen seem to be in competition for her hand. This writer advises you all to place your bets now, as to which of them will eventually make an offer of marriage.”
The London Gossip, September 1, 1819
“I’m afraid I have nothing to report that the other physicians haven’t already determined. Mr. Burke’s condition is incurable.”
Despite having already received this news from his uncle, Nick felt the force of that declaration like a battering ram, the finality of the doctor’s words echoing in his mind.
Wizened Dr. Mosley gave him a mournful look and clapped one hand on Nick’s shoulder. “It is difficult to hear, I am sure. But, I suggest you and your family make the most of the time you have left with him.”
Nick avoided the man’s pitying stare. “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”
Once the doctor had gone, Nick hovered outside his uncle’s bedchamber. The door hung ajar, and through the crack he spied Paul, seated on the bed. Guilt at having put his uncle through yet another examination overwhelmed Nick as he went inside. But, he hadn’t been willing to simply accept that Paul was dying. It hadn’t seemed right, fair, or possible. If there had been even the slightest chance … well, it didn’t matter now, as Nick had just been informed that therewasno chance. None at all.
Paul glanced up at him as he leaned against the closed door, his expression as pitying as that of the physician. “Are you all right, Nicky?”
Nick released a sound that was a sigh and a rough bark of laughter at once. “AmIall right? I’m not the one dying of an incurable illness.”
His uncle flashed a rueful smile while buttoning his open shirt. “Yes, but I’ve had ample time to digest it. This is all new to you. I understand your need to make sense of this any way you can. Dr. Mosley has been the trusted physician for this family for years. If it makes you feel better to hear the truth from him—”
“Nothing about any of this makes me feel better,” Nick blurted, pushing from the door and approaching the bed. “I don’t want to consider a world in which you do not exist.”
“Surely you didn’t think I would live forever?”
“Yes. No … of course not. But I thought there would be more time for me to …”
Nick shut his mouth around the rest of the words. He couldn’t admit aloud that while he’d never regretted his choices in life, he now found himself wishing he’d done something to show his uncle that his efforts hadn’t been wasted. That the years he’d spent believing in Nick, trying to make him feel equal to his brothers, had not all been for naught. What had he to show for such guidance on top of a gentleman’s education? Nothing more than a scandalous reputation and a gambling habit that had nearly bankrupted him.
“There is still time. Enough for me to prepare you to inherit.”
Nick shook his head. “No.”
“Nicky—”
“No!” he exclaimed, hands clenching so tight his fingernails bit into his palms. “I will not sit here and sift through your belongings as if you are already dead, nor will I be made to feel as if I have something to gain from your death. I understand you’re leaving everything to me, and perhaps someday I will be grateful for it. But just now … you cannot ask me to delight in the fact that my good fortune will be the result of your demise. Please don’t ask me to do that.”
Paul sighed, his mouth a grim line as he studied Nick with probing eyes. After a moment, he nodded his understanding, though Nick could see he wanted to argue.
“Very well,” Paul said with a smile. “What do you say we find ourselves some entertainment for the evening? I grow bored lying around this house all day.”
