Page 31 of His Brazen Tart
“Well,” Piers said after clearing his throat. “I know why you’re here, but that doesn’t explain you, Nick. I was under the impression that you couldn’t be considered alive at this hour.”
“Here to make sure he doesn’t kill you,” Nick muttered. He barely lifted his head from the cradle of his hand, and Piers could see that his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused—likely caused by a night of drinking.
Piers scoffed. “Surely there is no need for such dramatics. Mrs. Durbin isn’t the first client to end an arrangement.”
“No,” Benedict snapped. “But sheisthe first to so vehemently end her association with my agency, and I didn’t have to ask her if she intended to pass her calling card along to another potential client.That,Sir Piers, has never happened. So, now you are going to tell me what exactly you did to Mrs. Durbin to cause your arrangement to end in a smudge against the good name of the Gentleman Courtesans.”
He had hurt her. That’s what he had done. But he couldn’t very well tell Benedict that. “I didn’t do anything to her. We simply agreed that we no longer suited one another. The end of our arrangement was a mutual, amicable decision.”
Benedict leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “Do I look like a fool to you?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to offer some sarcastic retort, but Piers’ sense of self-preservation won out. He could hold his own in a round of fisticuffs, but wouldn’t subject himself to a beating if the stories of Benedict’s legendary fists were true. Besides, they both knew he was lying.
“No,” he replied. “But I do think you’re making too much of this.”
“Do you?” Benedict challenged, at the same time that Nick muttered, “Oh, dear God.”
Piers glanced back and forth between them. Nick gave him a grave look and shook his head in a futile warning, while Benedict came to his feet, tossing his hat onto his chair.
“I never liked you, you know,” he said, hands behind his back as he stalked slowly toward Piers. “I was completely averse to the idea of you working for my agency. You’re a pompous bounder who’s only in this out of boredom. That makes you a liability, as all the other courtesans have a vested interest in keeping clients happy and our business a secret. I only ever tolerated you because Nick vouched for you, and because there are only so many dominants in London for hire and there’s a demand for your particular skillset. But now …”
“At least let him explain, Ben,” Nick slurred, rolling his head along the back of his chair.
“There is nothing to explain!” Benedict bellowed.
Piers came to his feet “As you said,” he ground out, returning Benedict’s icy stare with one of his own. “There is nothing to explain. The lady and I didn’t suit. We ended the arrangement. She may now find a lover free of cost, and you are free to get the hell out of my house. Now.”
Benedict seethed, his jaw grinding and his nostrils flaring. Nick had pointed out how much they resembled one another on their first meeting. Benedict’s hair was only a few shades darker than his own, and his eyes were a brighter blue. It would seem they were also similar in temperament because Benedict looked as if he wanted to ram a fist down Piers’ throat.
“In case it hadn’t been made abundantly clear, you’re finished,” Benedict retorted. “If you breathe a word about Mrs. Durbin or your other previous clients, or my agency, to anyone, I will disembowel you with my bare hands.”
Benedict whirled, took up his hat, and thundered out the door. Nick followed, albeit much slower. He gave Piers an apologetic look and a helpless shrug before he, too, was gone.
Piers plopped back onto the loveseat and swallowed what was left of his brandy. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing pulse. His body had prepared itself for a fight, but now that there wouldn’t be one, he felt dizzy and out of sorts.
He couldn’t care less about being cut loose from the Gentleman Courtesans. After Joan, he no longer had the stomach for it. Besides, he obviously wasn’t very good at the profession if he couldn’t manage to keep his head on straight the first time a client treated him with any sort of affection or respect. He had grown accustomed to being treated like a piece of flesh to be used, and had convinced himself that he was content.
But Joan had exposed the truth so effortlessly, Piers could no longer ignore that he’d been living in denial. He was empty and wounded and alone. Perhaps at the beginning, that hadn’t been entirely his fault. Lysandra had hurt him, thetonhad scorned him, and Piers had felt the sting of that every day for all his adult years. However, the depth of his isolation and emptiness were his own doing.
He barked a dry laugh of derision at himself and shook his head. Joan had offered him a lifeline—a chance to reverse his circumstances and begin to heal from his past. And like an ungrateful ass, he had spurned her gift. Not that he had deserved it to begin with.
There was nothing left to do but determine where he was to go from here. In a moment of desperation, he had alluded to the depth of his feelings for Joan, and it hadn’t been enough. She had continued through the morning room door as if she hadn’t heard him. But, she had to have. Which left Piers with the only truth that made sense to him: his love wasn’t enough to hold her to him after what he had done. He had waited until it was too late, and now she wanted nothing to do with him. Dare he risk trying again in hopes that a few days of separation had given them both time to think and cool their heads? The very thought terrified Piers as he recalled the last time he had put his heart on the line for the sake of love. But then, if anyone was worth the risk, it was Joan.
Joan sippedher champagne and watched from beneath the veil of lowered lashes as the revelry of a ball took place around her. She typically enjoyed such events; a chance to greet friends, observe the latest fashions, dance, and enjoy an evening without the oppressive weight of Gregory’s presence. Her husband had never allowed her to enjoy a soirée without constantly reminding her that their reputations rested upon her appearance and conduct. He used her beauty and family connections to push his way into circles where he was mostly unwelcome, and was never satisfied with even the slightest progress into elevated company.
Tonight, however, her lack of enjoyment had nothing to do with her late husband and everything to do with Piers. She had not seen him since that fateful afternoon when they had last encountered one another.
Why had she bothered to attend when she didn’t want to see or speak with anyone? She had thought that leaving the lonely confines of her home for the night might improve her mood. Her assumption had proven false. She was bored out of her mind and annoyed at the useless conversations and ceremony taking place around her. The glittering facade of her lifestyle had revealed its true face, and she found it cold, uninviting, and isolating. Since becoming a widow, Joan had chased empty pleasures because she’d spent her entire life in a cage. She had thought herself content with a wide circle of illustrious friends, a string of male admirers following in her wake, and the distinction of being one of the most sought-after women amongst theton.
Odd, how taking a courtesan into her bed was supposed to have further cemented her new position in life. It was meant to excite her, engage her, and validate the choices that had led her to the life she now lived. But finding Piers had had the opposite effect, showing her that the dreams of her youth weren’t so far-fetched after all. Ironic, how after she had given up on the idea of love and happiness with another person, she found herself losing her heart to the most unsuitable man.
In the fortnight that had passed since Piers’ visit, Joan had often thought over their conversation with pangs of longing, sadness, and regret twisting in her middle.
The declaration he had made just as she’d escaped the room had fallen onto Joan with crushing force. After slamming the door she had fallen against it with a sharp intake of breath, tears stinging her eyes. Had he meant to insinuate that he loved her? It had certainly sounded that way, which made it impossible to put him from her mind as she had planned. Ending their affair was supposed to have been easy and efficient, freeing her from the pain of loving someone who could never love her back. Now, she experienced a new sort of ache—one caused by wondering if pushing away from that door and returning to her friends without a look back had been a grave mistake.
The tips of a man’s shoes came into view, and Joan glanced up with her heart in her throat, wondering if it might be … but, no, it wasn’t the man she wanted to lay eyes on most. It was a dandified lord she had conversed and danced with a handful of times at various other parties. She couldn’t even remember his name. Joan forced a polite smile and graciously declined his request for a dance.
When another shadow fell into her line of sight, Joan raised her head to find Mary returning from the dance floor.
