Page 19 of What a Courtesan Wants
A few short minutes of trying to feel even a fraction of the things Aubrey had awakened in her had proven fruitless, and she’d wriggled out from under him with a frustrated huff. Flushing with embarrassment, she had dismissed him as politely as she’d been able, assuring him that the fault did not lie with him.
“I am the problem here, Magnus … I know it.”
The man stared silently at her from the painting, offering no response. She took another swallow of sherry, trying to wash away the bitter taste of failure and defeat. Her first time seeking out a lover and she had managed to become far too curious about one man, while failing to stir even the slightest bit of interest in the other. Her traitorous body screamed for the kind of release that only a certain type of man could give, while her mind never ceased assaulting her with the reminder that she’d had such a man within her grasp but had chosen to be done with him.
“It was for the best,” she murmured to herself more than to Magnus.
She could never be with Aubrey without being at war with herself, and that would only leave her exhausted and wrung dry over time. What was supposed to have been a reprieve from the constant sadness and pain of grief had become far too trying. Better for her to end it now before she found herself entangled in complication.
“In the morning, I will simply visit Mr. Sterling and tell him I wish to terminate my contract completely. I hope that once I surrender my initial payment, he will be willing to let the matter drop with no hard feelings.”
Lucinda hated knowing she had wasted the time of Benedict and his courtesans, but realized now that perhaps she hadn’t been ready to take such a monumental step. One might argue that the customary mourning period for a woman who had lost her husband was one year, and she was well past that. Many women might begin actively seeking a new husband by now, or happily taking discreet lovers in order to warm their cold beds.
“I think perhaps you were right to call yourself selfish, my love,” she murmured, staring mournfully at the portrait. “Even though I protested when you said it. But, how could you make me love you so much I can hardly stand to live now that you are gone? I wed you thinking we would have forever, but you knew all along there could only be a few years.”
In truth, she’d had Magnus for far longer than anyone might have predicted, and for that she ought to be grateful. But, where the devil was she to go from here?
Heaving another sigh, she drained what was left of her sherry and set the glass down before rising to her feet. She supposed a good night’s sleep was all she might salvage from the evening. With any luck, she would accomplish it without feverish dreams of Aubrey making her toss and turn while trying to ignore the throbbing between her thighs. Such cravings seemed to have died after two years of being untouched, but a few nights with a new lover had changed that. It was as if she’d been awakened after a long sleep, and now that Lucinda remembered how it felt to experience such all-consuming pleasure, she couldn’t seem to make it go away again.
Tugging at the belt of her dressing gown to tighten it, she pulled the door open only to register the sound of male voices coming from the entrance hall. They were slightly raised, and she recognized the cultured, though argumentative tones of her butler. She blinked, certain she must have had more to drink than she’d realized, if she was also hearing Aubrey’s voice.
Making her way down the corridor, she soon realized it wasn’t drink or her imagination. Aubrey stood framed in the doorway, his dark brow furrowed as he stared down at her butler. Shock rippled through her at the sight of him. She struggled to draw air as she thought of what his appearance must mean. Benedict had likely informed him of her decision by now. Had he come here seeking an explanation? Or, worse, had Benedict already been told about her short-lived time with David and sent Aubrey to demand answers? Embarrassment made her face grow warm.
“As I said, my lady is indisposed,” Roskins was saying, shoulders squared and face reddening. “You may call upon her at a more suitable hour.”
Most visitors were easily put off by the butler’s authoritative tone and pompous air, but Aubrey held his ground.
“If you could be so kind as to ask her yourself if I might have a word—”
“See here, you—”
“It’s all right, Roskins,” Lucinda interjected, coming out of the shadowed corridor to reveal herself.
Lucinda wanted neither man to suffer the wrath of the other due to a mess of her own making. Roskins stepped back from the door, eyes wide and bright with indignation as he gave her a bow.
“My apologies, my lady. But this … thisupstartinsisted I disturb you to request an audience with him, even after I informed him of the lateness of the hour.”
Lucinda raised her chin and gave the butler a cool stare. She didn’t like the way the man looked at, or referred to, Aubrey.
“Mr. Drake has visited before, you will recall, and is a welcomed guest. In the future, you will admit him when he calls and immediately inform me of his arrival.”
“Of course, my lady.”
The butler accepted Aubrey’s coat with a scathing look in the man’s direction, but Roskins departed without another word. Lucinda clenched her hands to still their shaking, her stomach giving a violent lurch when she looked into Aubrey’s eyes to find them dark and cold. The hard set to his jaw and the tension in his shoulders were sure signs that he’d come here to take her to task.
After a long moment of tense silence, he finally spoke.
“Might we speak in private?”
Aubrey had posed the words as a question, but they held the clear ring of a command to them. Lucinda could see there would be no putting him off. Benedict was not here for her to hide behind, so she must deal with the matter herself.
“Of course,” she replied, careful to keep her tone even and cool. “Right this way.”
Even turning her back to guide him did nothing to lessen the effect of his presence. She felt the heat of him radiating at her back as he followed her to a nearby drawing room—the one she’d just entertained David in. The reminder filled her with guilt.
What did she have to feel guilty for? She was an unattached woman, a widow who had tried to enjoy the company of a man in her own home. Yet, even as she tried to fill herself with righteous indignation and tell herself she owed no one an explanation for her behavior, Lucinda found it difficult to deny that the opposite was true. She’d been callous, and now it seemed Aubrey did not intend to let her get away with it.
Closing the doors tight behind her, she turned to face him. “I suppose you are here to discuss the end of our contract.”
