Page 30 of His Brazen Tart
She lowered her gaze, though Piers didn’t miss the flicker of emotion in her eyes. It had been brief, but clear. But was it sadness he saw, or simple resignation? “It’s what is best for us both.”
“Is it?” he challenged, defiance steeling his spine and setting his jaw. “If boredom is your problem, that is easily remedied. Had you told me you desired a more … adventurous experience, I would have been happy to oblige.”
“It isn’t that,” she said, still infuriatingly calm and poised while he was swiftly coming unraveled. “I think our time together has run its course. I am certain you are relieved. You will be able to move on to your next keeper without me holding you back.”
“What the devil are you talking about? I have never indicated the slightest interest in taking another lover.”
“Perhaps not, but you were certainly in enough of a hurry to get away from me when last we were together.”
Piers paced away from her and ran a hand over his face, too restless to stand still. His entire body vibrated with dueling urges to flee or take her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
“I have only ever given you what you asked of me. And then … some things that you did not. Things that I shouldn’t have …”
He sighed, realizing that his words made no sense. At least, they wouldn’t to her. Piers was at a loss, wanting to explain but finding himself muted by the doubt that had been plaguing him since he realized that Joan meant more to him than a bank draft and a roll in the sheets.
“I am grateful for everything you have given me,” she whispered. “But I think it is best—”
“You said that already,” he snapped. “I think I know well enough what is right and best for myself, thank you.”
“Do you?” she fired back, her gaze snapping up to meet his. The indigo depths now blazed with fury and light, burning away the dispassionate facade of before. “Sometimes I wonder if all men are so incredibly dense, or if some of you are more oblivious than others! If you had half the sense God gave cattle, you would know not to come barging in here to paw at me only a few days after your abominable behavior. You would know that what I wanted from you wasn’t to be treated like a convenient place for you to bury your cock before taking your leave. You would know that before you so eloquently reminded me of the original boundaries of our arrangement, and the need to protect your bloodyinterests, I thought myself in love with you! And like a fool, I believed that perhaps you had come to feel some affection for me, even if it had not yet become love. I allowed myself to think that this might be different than my previous affairs and that you were different than the men I have dallied with. Still, you have proven me wrong so thoroughly that I have decided it is no use paying to have the illustrious Sir Piers in my bed when London is full of men just like you!”
Piers’ mouthed opened and shut several times, but he found no words forthcoming. She had revealed so much with her outburst, but the assertion that she had thought herself in love with him rang loudest of all through his mind. With sudden and startling clarity, Piers realized that he had made a terrible mistake. He had made assumptions where he ought to have been more levelheaded. Cautious, yes, but not closed off to the idea of a deeper connection between himself and Joan.
He might have been capable of thinking clearly if he hadn’t let Lysandra get into his head. If he had allowed himself to be reckless enough to hope. Now, he would pay the price for his cowardice.
“Joan,” he whispered, his voice strained by the heavy knot forming in his throat. “I never—”
“Get out,” she interjected, narrowing her eyes at him. “We’re finished. But a word of advice for when you find yourself a new keeper … do try to remember that not everyone is as heartless as you are, and that even the slightest deviation from the aforementioned boundaries can result in a lady misconstruing your actions and intentions.”
Piers reached for her as she stormed toward him, but Joan sidestepped his advance.
“Good day, Sir Piers,” she said, storming through the door without a look back.
Piers gave chase, determined not to let their conversation end this way. He had to explain himself, to convince her that her feelings were not unmatched.
“You have it all wrong,” he blurted. “I didn’t push you away because I have no regard for you. It was because I was afraid you didn’t return my feelings that I acted the fool. If I had known—"
He drew up short as Joan disappeared in a flash of skirts, and the drawing room door slammed in his face, echoing in a death knell of harsh finality. It would seem his declaration had fallen on deaf ears. Or, perhaps, he had simply uttered the words too late.
Chapter 12
It was only a matter of time before Piers was forced to face the other people he had disappointed with his idiotic misstep with Joan. A sparse two days after she had thrown him out of her house, Piers arrived home from a morning ride in the park to find Dominick Burke awaiting him, along with the elusive proprietor of the Gentleman Courtesans agency, Mr. Benedict Sterling. The two men sat in matching armchairs near a window, and on a table before them sat a tea service that had gone untouched. Dominick—who was seldom seen about town this early in the day—looked drowsy and annoyed. Benedict’s hat rested on his knee, and he hadn’t shed his gloves. This visit was, apparently, all about business, and his guest wanted him to know that.
Closing the morning room door behind him, Piers tossed his hat, gloves, and riding crop onto the nearest piece of furniture and paced to a display of various decanters. He had spent more time at the bottom of the bottle than was gentlemanly the past few days, but Piers knew no other way to numb himself to the pain weighing down his chest. Even once he had consumed the last drop of whatever spirits he’d decided to pour down his throat, he couldn’t stop thinking over every word that had been said during his final conversation with Joan.
Apparently, his misery was to be compounded by this visit, during which his employer would dress him down for ruining a lucrative contract.
“I know why you’re here,” Piers muttered while splashing brandy into a clean tumbler. “We can move right past the pleasantries if you wish and get on with it … I have matters to attend.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Benedict tense, and heard the creak of leather gloves when he clenched his meaty hands into fists. The man matched Piers in height and outweighed him by a stone. Rumors flew about London concerning secret bare-knuckle boxing matches, which were considered undignified for the son of a viscount. It amused Piers to listen to such talk and know how much of a pariah Benedict would become if word of his covert profession as a cock-bawd made the rounds.
“I won’t be rushed,” Benedict snapped, glaring at Piers while he sank onto a love seat facing his guests. “Not that I intended to begin this conversation with pleasantries.”
Piers propped both feet on the table between them, his boots inches away from the tea service and an untouched platter of cakes. He stared at Benedict over the rim of his glass and took a slow sip. “I take it you’ve spoken with Mrs. Durbin.”
“There wasn’t much talk involved. I was presented with a bank draft in the amount owed for the final weeks of your contract and told that your services were no longer needed. When I offered Mrs. Durbin her choice of another courtesan, I was abruptly told that she would not enlist the service of any gentleman in my employ again, ever.”
Piers grimaced. He had known how angry Joan was with him, but hadn’t been prepared to hear that because of him she was finished with the agency altogether. While he couldn’t deny satisfaction that she hadn’t immediately taken another lover, his stomach twisted at the knowledge that Joan could have any man she wanted when she was ready. And just how long would that be?
