Page 4 of Making of a Scandal
“Indeed,” Benedict agreed. “You’ll ride with us to the church.”
Dominick followed as Benedict led Lucinda down the stairs. Within moments they had left the house, Benedict handing Lucinda into the carriage.
He turned to find Dominick staring off across Berkley Square, his jaw clenched and his eyes unfocused. In the harsh light of day, he looked even more a fright, his face darkened by the whiskers that had sprouted overnight, his usually robust complexion pale and wan.
With a snap of his fingers, Benedict drew the other man’s attention. “Dominick!”
Nick blinked, his eyes haunted. “Ben, I think … I think I’m going to die. Or, I’m about to be very, very sick. I’m not sure which.”
Taking hold of Dominick’s shoulders, Benedict shook him hard enough to rattle teeth and hopefully jolt his brain back into working order.
“Snap out of it. We have a wedding to attend, and you will put all thought of that woman from your mind. Do you understand? You broke the cardinal rule of courtesans and fell in love, but she doesn’t want you. It is over.”
Nick’s throat worked as he swallowed, blinking again as if awakening from a very lucid dream. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly snapped it shut. The confused muddle of emotions traversing his face melted away, replaced by a blank expression. “Right. Of course.”
Benedict studied him closely; until he felt certain Dominick wouldn’t retch or collapse or run off and do something stupid. The day had only begun, and already he was exhausted. Between smoothing things over with Lucinda, reassuring Aubrey, and managing Dominick, he felt like a bloody nursemaid.
As it turned out, Dominick did none of the things Benedict anticipated. Instead, he tugged the hem of his morning coat and squared his shoulders before approaching the carriage. As his friend climbed in to sit across from Lucinda, Benedict leaned against the side of the carriage and took a calming breath of his own. Running a hand through his hair, he growled, “Fucking weddings.”
Less than two hours later,Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey Drake were declared man and wife before a small gathering of close friends and family. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, and Benedict couldn’t help feeling a bit smug about his hand in all of it. He’d handled the unforeseen challenges of the day with a level head,andwithout allowing his memories to ruin his enjoyment of the ceremony. Yes, it had required an effort on his part, but he’d managed to give Lucy away and experience genuine happiness for his best friend.
Now standing in front of the church waiting for the carriage to carry him back to Aubrey’s residence for the wedding breakfast, Benedict tried to rest in a moment of relief.
It did not last, for there was always another niggling worry hanging over his head. One that had become increasingly dire as time progressed. Glancing over at Hugh and his wife, Evelyn, who stood talking and laughing with David, Ben experienced a moment of guilt. He had told them nothing of the latest developments, nor did Nick or Aubrey know that he’d been keeping a closely guarded secret. He hadn’t wanted to alarm them, not until he was certain matters hadn’t spiraled too far out of his control.
As far as they were concerned, nothing had changed. The Gentleman Courtesans operated like a well-oiled machine, in relative secrecy despite the rumors that swirled around London. Of course, the rumors were only exacerbated by that vile columnist,The London Gossip. The woman penned a daily scandal sheet filled with the salacious happenings of thebeau monde, to which everyone who was anyone subscribed. In it, she had exposed the existence of the Gentleman Courtesans several months ago, though she had not mentioned the names of any of the men involved.
Benedict had been confident enough to continue operating the agency with only a few adjustments in strategy. He had told the other courtesans to ignore the gossip rag and go about their business secure that they were safe to do so.
But then … he’d been attacked in an alley in Seven Dials, and the orchestrator of said attack had turned out to be none other thanThe London Gossipherself. He hadn’t seen her face, as she’d worn a veiled hat and had been protected by a collection of guards who were composed of more brawn than brains. She had issued a clear threat, one that Benedict could not ignore much longer.
The walls were closing in on him. The London Gossip knew he was the orchestrator of the entire business. That didn’t bother him as much as it ought to, when he was already known in London for spitting in the face of propriety. He mostly did it to annoy his father, a stodgy viscount concerned with appearances above all else, but also because it was damned fun. However, thecolumnist knowing his identity put the others in danger. If she knew he was the ringleader, did she also know about his friends? By associating with them publicly, was he further endangering them?
What had begun as a financial venture had now devolved into something else entirely, and Benedict feared he would soon lose control of it all. In the short time that had passed since the attack, he’d been consumed with the need to come up with some solution. However, with one courtesan getting married, another losing his head over a client, and several others who’d needed him to secure arrangements, Benedict had been overwhelmed. He was barely keeping his head above water, certain the next calamitous wave would take him under.
Swallowing the dread making his throat constrict, he forced those thoughts into the dark corners of his mind. Today was not the day for such thinking. Aubrey and Lucinda were signing the parish register, and would soon be ready to depart for the wedding breakfast. He would eat and drink champagne and bask in Aubrey’s happiness, and he would forget about this until later, when yet another sleepless night would plague him.
He turned to find Dominick striding past him, his long legs propelling him at an alarming speed. Benedict’s pulse spiked as he followed, his head echoing with bells of alarm.
“Nick?”
He didn’t respond, hands balled into fists as he pressed on. Benedict trotted to catch up, taking the other man by the collar of his coat and yanking him back.
“Nick, where the bloody hell are you going?”
Dominick whirled on him, batting aside Benedict’s hand. Fire blazed in his eyes, green sparks coming alive where before his irises had been deadened by grief. His mouth was a tight, determined line, and he radiated certainty and purpose.
This couldn’t be good.
“I’m sorry, Ben. I have to go to her.”
“What?”
Benedict flinched as several heads turned in their direction, but he lowered his voice and said, “Have you lost your mind?”
“It’s not too late. I have to talk to her, make her understand that I cannot live without her. I can’t simply stand back—”
“It is too late!” Benedict bellowed, forgetting about the other wedding guests milling about. Making a scene became the very least of his concerns.
