Page 24 of The Ruin of a Rake
Julian grumbled and pushed a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead. He didn’t begrudge Rivington the win, but he was deeply annoyed that his strategy of fencing until his head was on straight hadn’t worked. It always had in the past. He had believed that his ability to overcome any stray licentious impulse was owing to his rigorous training and perhaps an innate strength of character. But that was before he met Courtenay.
In Courtenay’s arms, Julian had let something off the leash he hadn’t realized was restrained in the first place. He had gotten something he hadn’t known he wanted.
He realized Rivington had been talking. “I’m sorry, what was that, Rivington?”
Rivington raised his eyebrows. “I was only saying that my other advantage was that your mind is elsewhere.”
Julian muttered something about not having slept well, but this only reminded him of Courtenay, and that would never do. He rose to his feet. “After I get changed, I’m going to Manton’s to fire some pistols.” If physically exhausting himself hadn’t worked to exorcise thoughts of Courtenay from his brain, perhaps forcing himself to concentrate on a target would.
“Another time,” Rivington said, checking the clock on the wall. “I have to be going home.” He paused and gave Julian a crooked grin. “Cook’s making my favorite supper.”
Julian regarded his companion with astonishment. Dining at four in the afternoon in London was positively déclassé. Perhaps this was what happened when a man was cast out by decent society. Julian shivered. He’d dearly like to avoid finding out if this were typical.
He bid good-bye to Rivington and sat back on the bench, resting his head against the wall and letting his eyes droop closed. God, he was tired. And still his brain was assaulted by thoughts of Courtenay.
As if summoned up by his own imaginings, he heard his name spoken in Courtenay’s drawl.
“Medlock, is that you in that getup?”
He opened his eyes and saw Courtenay peering down at him. He clenched his jaw. “This is perfectly normal fencing attire.”
“If you say so. Your valet told me I’d find you here.”
“Briggs? How the devil did you find my lodgings?”
“I asked your sister’s butler.”
Julian goggled. “Tilbury told you where to find me?” Tilbury hated Courtenay.
“Under the circumstances, he was happy to oblige.”
Julian stood so he wouldn’t have to keep tilting his head back to look at Courtenay. “What circumstances?”
Courtenay gestured to a sort of alcove where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Your brother-in-law has returned. He evidently hadn’t informed anyone of his intentions, so Tilbury may have an apoplexy over household arrangements.”
“I should damned well think he might.” Julian was feeling dangerously close to apoplexy himself. “How is Eleanor?” He couldn’t imagine how she would feel, literally couldn’t puzzle out whether she’d be happy or sad or some combination of the two, because he had worked so hard never to talk to her about this one topic. He had to go to her.
“Shocked.” Courtenay had dark circles under his eyes and his brow was wrinkled in concern that was at odds with his usual careless manner. “She’s safe with him?”
“With Standish?” Julian was taken aback. “Yes, of course she is. We practically grew up with Standish. His father was with the East India Company.”
“What I mean is that... When he walked in he took us unawares. He might have gotten the wrong idea about what was happening.”
Julian drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, might he have?”
“I had gotten some bad news and she was comforting me.”
“Was she now? This comfort occurred horizontally, I take it? Christ, Courtenay, can’t you keep your hands off my sister?”
“It wasn’t like that.” His voice was now a sinister whisper. “If you think I went from you to your sister you’re bloody depraved. But I’m not going to stand here in a fucking corner and defend myself. You can think what you want as long as you see to it that your sister is well. I have an urgent appointment to keep with a couple of whores.”
Courtenay doffed his cap ironically and left without sparing Julian another word. Shaken, Julian lingered alone in the alcove. He had heard the pain in Courtenay’s voice, and felt an unexpected wash of shame at having put it there.
Chapter Eleven
Julian found Eleanor’s house in the kind of deliberate silence that only comes when people have no idea what they ought to say or what they ought to do, so they try their hardest to not do or say anything. The footman who opened the door informed him that his sister was in her bedchamber. “The master,” the footman informed him with wide eyes, “or am I to say his lordship?—is in the green bedchamber.”
“Where is Tilbury?”
