Page 15 of What a Courtesan Wants
“It is as you suspected,” Aubrey replied. “The woman was bluffing. She knows nothing and we are safe.”
Benedict nodded his agreement, but still looked uncertain, his gaze going unfocused as he stroked his thumb along his lower lip, deep in thought.
“Are you well, Ben?” Aubrey asked, concern pricking him for his closest friend in the world.
Benedict wrestled with his fair share of demons, most of which originated from a single source—his father. The viscount had made Benedict miserable throughout childhood and adolescence, and now the two were estranged in a bitter rivalry that never ceased setting thetonablaze with gossip. He’d lost both his brothers within a few years of one another, and his mother had perished when he’d been a small boy. Aside from Aubrey and the other courtesans, Benedict was alone in the world. While he gave the outward impression that he preferred it that way, Aubrey knew better. Benedict like getting battered in the ring to feel alive, but also because it stopped him from feeling a different sort of pain.
Blinking, Benedict returned to himself and smiled. The motion was tight and forced. “Quite. These bruises are nothing. I’ve certainly suffered worse.”
He said this while fingering the thin white scar at his temple, which was almost always covered by the messy tumble of his hair, but Aubrey could see it quite clearly just now. Whenever asked about the old injury, Benedict was prone to make a joke of it and spin some outlandish story about its origin. Only Aubrey knew the truth, had been there the night it had happened. He was well aware of just how much worse Benedict had suffered in the past.
“I wasn’t referring to that. Howareyou, Ben?”
A sudden hardness glinted in Benedict’s eyes, his jaw going tight as he snatched his gaze away and stared out the window. “I won’t do this, Aubrey. Don’t ask me to.”
“I’m your friend, and I’m only asking out of concern. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. I just … I want to know you’ll be all right.”
Benedict’s recklessness and lack of care for his own self had never stopped worrying Aubrey. At times, the man seemed to want to have someone to talk to about it, and of course Aubrey was always that person. Just now, though, he affected the same attitude toward the subject that was most familiar to Aubrey. Apathy.
“What I want,” he said slowly, as if measuring each word, “is for you and the others to keep your women happy. Can you do that?”
Aubrey sighed, running a hand over his close-shaven hair. “Of course I can. Don’t worry. I have things well in hand with Lady Bowery.”
“I am certain you do.”
With that, Benedict came to his feet, donning his hat once more. Aubrey stood as well, following his friend to the dining room door.
On the threshold, Benedict turned back to him with a heavy sigh. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to … it’s just that, it’s been three years to the day since … well, you know.”
Aubrey did know, and it disturbed him to see Benedict still overwrought over what had happened so long ago. He’d hoped time would help, but it seemed some wounds took longer to heal. This one, however, seemed to have festered over time.
“I remember,” he replied, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to dredge up the past.”
Benedict shook his head. “You didn’t, because it isn’t the past. It’s still … I am still …”
Aubrey nodded his understanding. “It’s all right. You don’t have to explain to me. And, I don’t think you should be alone tonight. What do you say we have dinner and play a few hands at Boodle’s? It’ll take your mind off your troubles, at least for a little while.”
Benedict nodded. “I’d like that. I’ll come for you at … say, nine o’clock?”
“I’ll be ready,” Aubrey replied.
Then, he walked Benedict to the door and bid his friend farewell. Worry continued to nag him, but there was little that could be done about it. Benedict was far better now than he had been three years ago, and Aubrey supposed that was something.
Turning to stride upstairs and finish preparing for a day at Rowland-Drake, he did his best to turn away from such morose thoughts. But all that did was force Lucinda back into the forefront of his mind, where she most certainly didn’t belong. However, she remained there for most of the day, making it deuced hard for him to concentrate on his work. Thursday evening suddenly seemed a long way off.
Lucinda saton the edge of her bed; fingers clenched tight around the edges of the sheet draping her nude body. Her nipples ached from the pinch of Aubrey’s fingers and the bite of his teeth, while her cunt swelled and throbbed from use. She was hot and flushed all over, her body practically humming with satisfaction following a thorough bedding. Her mind seemed to want to fall into a similar state of satiation.
However, turbulent thoughts kept her from fully succumbing. Her mind whirled as she thought over what had just passed between them as well as the encounters of last week. Each appointed night, Aubrey came to her prepared to earn his large monthly stipend. He approached their time together in a businesslike manner, offering only the barest of niceties before getting to the matter at hand. He handled her with clinical precision, efficiently subjecting her to the desired pleasure and domination without engaging her beyond what he seemed to decide was necessary. He was gentle with her afterward, tending to her sore nipples with his salve, cleaning between her legs, and tucking her neatly into bed before preparing to take his leave.
This proved the worst part of all, for they seemed to hover on the edge of some sort of precipice with neither of them certain of whether to step into the abyss or retreat. He would always pause when putting her to bed, running his fingers through her hair, or stroking his knuckles along her cheek—looking at her as if she were some great mystery to be solved. In those rare moments of openness and vulnerability, she would lean into his touches, her soul seeming to crave the tenderness of them. She’d gone so long without pleasures of the flesh, but also without sweet touches and kisses, without intimacy. Aubrey made her miss those things, and he made her crave them in a way she hadn’t since Magnus’s death.
Just now, he had dawdled longer than usual. He watched her closely, as if sensing the conflict roiling inside her.
“I could … if you wanted me to, I could stay.”
He’d made the suggestion in a flat tone of voice, as if he couldn’t care less if she told him no. Yet, she didn’t miss the way he watched her lips for the answer, leaning a bit closer as if anticipating her assent.
Lucinda had wanted to peel back the coverlet and invite him to join her in the bed once more. Instead, she had murmured some excuse about her being a horrible bedmate—which wasn’t entirely untrue, as Magnus had often complained of her tossing and turning, and her unwitting pilfering of the bedclothes when she grew cold. Aubrey had accepted this with an expressionless nod.
