Page 64 of The Soldier's Scoundrel
“Ha! I should bloody well like to see you try to lose your good name.” Then, he realized what Oliver was saying. “Your father is threatening to disown you because he doesn’t want you around me.” He ought to have realized this is what would happen. “He thinks I’m a corrupting influence. He’s quite right, you know.”
Oliver’s mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. “What rot. You can’t possibly think you’ve corrupted me.”
“You’re missing the point. No matter what you do, I’ll be the sordid part of your life.” Jack loved Oliver too much to be a blot on the man’s perfection. “I’ll be a dirty secret.”
“It wouldn’t be like that,” Oliver protested, touching Jack’s cheek with his gloved hand.
“It would to me.” Jack resisted the urge to press his face into Oliver’s palm.
“What are we supposed to do, then?”
Jack sighed. “We part ways. We look back on this as a pleasant interlude.” Neither of them would do anything of the sort, but it sounded better than, We regret the entirety of the last month. “That’s all we can do.”
Neither of them moved, though, and Jack wasn’t surprised when Oliver bent down and swept his lips over Jack’s own. The doorway was dark and secluded, the street empty of passersby. It was a good-bye kiss, Jack told himself. Nothing wrong with that. A kiss wouldn’t make this parting hurt any more, because that was bloody impossible at this point.
He felt Oliver’s thumb caressing his cheekbone as their mouths came together. The knowledge that this was their last kiss ruined Jack’s ability to enjoy it. When Oliver’s tongue met his own, Jack’s felt a bolt of mingled sorrow and lust. Kisses shouldn’t be this sad, he thought.
When he finally pulled away, the sun had passed behind a cloud and the street was nearly dark. Jack watched Oliver leave until the taller man was out of sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Oliver found Charlotte in her boudoir, supervising her lady’s maid in packing up gowns and baubles. She looked up in surprise when Oliver entered, and quickly dismissed her maid.
“Thank you for saying all that to Anne.” She came forward to take his hands. “She’s been in a frightful state since the . . . event. She’s sleeping now, which is a good sign.”
“You don’t think less of me for it?”
She hugged him close, a gesture he found surprisingly maternal in his fashionable sister. “Oh, Oliver,” she said without letting him go. “You always were harder on yourself than anyone else could ever be.”
“I have a problem. A riddle of sorts,” he said after she had loosened her hold on him. “What would I have to do to be considered no longer a gentleman?”
“Engage in trade,” she said promptly.
“Be serious, Charlotte. You can’t imagine someone would hire me as a clerk, or what have you. What else?”
“What on earth is going through your mind right now?” She settled into a low chair, ignoring the gowns that were strewn across it. Oliver followed her example, sitting on a divan that seemed to hold half his sister’s autumn wardrobe, not a stitch of black in sight.
“I’m glad you’re putting off mourning when you get to the country.”
“Don’t try to distract me.”
“Fine. I find that I need to dissipate myself and destroy my character.” He tried to read his sister’s face for any signs of disapproval.
She only looked curious. “But why?”
“Perhaps I’m tired of it,” he suggested, smoothing a fold of aubergine velvet that had landed on his lap.
“Of what? Decent behavior? Having friends? Being received in places that are neither gaming hells nor whorehouses?”
He thought about that. “Yes, that’s about the size of it. It’s all well and good to be the sort of fellow every lady is glad to have at her table and every man is glad to talk with at the club. But I can’t be that man anymore. “
“Whyever not?”
“I’m cultivating a broader range of acquaintances,” he said. “And not everyone wants to associate with a gentleman.”
She narrowed her eyes, looking dreadfully like their father. “I feel certain that I ought to call in a specialist of some sort.” She steepled her fingers under her chin. “And yet,” she said musingly, “am I right that there was a—what did you call it—a broader range of acquaintance in my drawing room this morning?”
