The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,97
wicked club.”
He winced. “Yes, but I was just visiting Landon for drinks. She pressed herself against me. She offered herself. I didn’t want her. I didn’t want—”
“What you want and who you want isn’t really my concern,” she lied, hating the thickened quality of her voice, praying he didn’t look closely and see it for the hurt it was. Hating herself more for caring how he spent his nights. Hating herself for having believed him.
“Emma,” he called frantically, dragging on his garments. “Please, just let me explain.”
And knowing he intended to convince her once more, and fearing she’d believe those lies, Emma bolted.
She raced through his townhouse, not breaking stride until she reached the waiting hackney. Out of breath from the pace she’d set, she banged on the ceiling. The carriage lurched forward, and Emma peeled back the curtain a fraction and peeked out at Charles, running bare-chested after the departing conveyance.
She swiftly let the velvet fall.
She’d made so many mistakes where Charles was concerned, and she’d do well to put her energies and efforts where they belonged—on the Mismatch Society.
Chapter 20
THE LONDONER
SCANDAL!
Yet another scandal has erupted between the Mismatch Club and Club du Livre. This time, shocking though it may be, the scandal belongs to the Earl of Scarsdale!
M. FAIRPOINT
Last night hadn’t marked the first time Emma had rejected Charles.
Even so, in the immediacy of making love to Emma, he’d been fairly certain his feet would never find their way back to Earth.
Until they had.
Until she’d seen his garments and believed every worst thing about him.
And why shouldn’t she have? The evidence had been damning.
And there was no going back this time, the truth of that ushering in a wave of finality that left him bereft.
“Egad, man, you’ve returned to woeful, heartbroken chap,” Landon bemoaned. “But then passing on the buxom beauty last evening, which”—Landon held his cue stick aloft—“by the way, I should thank you for. She was magnificent. That being beside the point, of course. Now you’ve let your billiards game go to hell?” The other man jabbed the bottom of his stick on the floor, thumping it several times. “This isn’t to be borne.”
Had it not been for Landon’s setup, as he’d called it, there wouldn’t have been the rouged shirt, and things with Emma last night would have ended very differently than they had. “Enough with the mention of the damned woman,” he growled. Except it wasn’t Landon’s fault. Not really. Charles had continued visiting those illicit clubs . . . ones where women were put on display. Desperate women, as Emma had pointed out . . .
Emma . . .
Charles’s eyes slid shut briefly until Landon spoke, forcing Charles’s focus back to the marquess.
“Hmph. Seems someone is still resentful. Regretting your decision,” Landon persisted, nagging as only he could.
Charles slammed down his cue stick. “It’s not because of . . . of . . . her.” But rather because of the one woman he wanted in his life and in his heart and in his bed. None of which he could say. None of which he could admit, because to do so would be to acknowledge he’d been with Emma. Charles’s shot went wide.
“Oh, dear,” Landon murmured. “You are in a bad way.”
“I thought you should welcome your win,” Charles shot back testily.
“Ha-ha, yes, of course,” Landon quipped. “Let us all make light of my depleted coffers.”
Coffers all society knew the other man had himself depleted. Reaching inside his jacket front, Charles withdrew a purse and tossed it across the table.
Shooting up a hand, Landon closed a quick fist around it, the coins rattling with a clink. The debt-ridden lord gave the bag a little shake. “And as appreciative as I am for the winnings, it is hardly enjoyable to fleece a distracted man, particularly a distracted friend.”
“Another game? Double the odds?” Charles offered instead, invariably knowing the best way to divert his bothersome, if well-meaning, friend’s attentions.
Landon wagged a finger. “I know what you’re doing, chum.” He grinned. “And I’ll allow it. I was teasing before. I know very well what has you out of sorts. That this has something to do with your Miss Gately.”
Bloody hell. Charles made a show of rearranging the twelve balls, and took the first shot, with Landon following . . . and securing the right to play first for points.
The other man gave him a knowing look. “Hmm,” he said pointedly, and Charles’s skin flushed hot.
He never admitted his friend Landon was correct about anything.