buttoned his fall, his handkerchief disappearing into his coat pocket. Calliope lowered her skirts with shaking hands, feeling somehow bereft as he withdrew from her—not just physically, but in every other way that mattered. She’d reveled in every moment of their coupling up until the second he’d pulled away, robbing her of the deep intimacy of sharing in the moment of his release, of the blissful haven of his arms once they were finished. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she had no right to want those things from him. That he still desired her at all was nothing short of a miracle. Or, as he had so deftly shown her the day of their first kiss, a matter of simple biology.
By the time he straightened and met her gaze again, he was composed, cold and hard as he reached out to tuck a loose pin back into her hair.
“I would have been anything you wanted me to be,” he said, his tone clipped. “But you made it clear that you see nothing more in me than what I first presented to you. I can hardly blame you for that.”
She reached for his hand, but he snatched it back with a dire warning flaring in his eyes.
“It was a mistake for me to come here … it won’t happen again. Should we encounter one another again, have a care. If you value your betrothal, your reputation … you’ll keep your distance. You’ve never seen a scandal like the one I will incite if you get too close again, and next time I won’t care who sees or what they say.”
He left without a glance back, stepping into the corridor and slamming the door behind him. Calliope sank to her knees, hands clutching at her throat as she fought to breathe and put herself back together. She was torn apart again, aching and yearning as if all the emotion she’d tamped down had come spiraling up once more. She took great gulps of air and lowered her head until she calmed.
Diana and the other patronesses were waiting, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t go to them until she had erased every trace of Dominick’s effect on her. Only then could she face a world in which her heart belonged to one man, while another owned everything else.
Dominick stared into the depths of his tumbler, his untouched brandy gleaming red in the firelight. The silence in his flat was deafening, despite it being filled with people. His fellow courtesans sat around him, trying to hide their pitying glances. Benedict had come after word reached him of Paul’s death that morning. When Nick had told him to go away, the man had obeyed—but only for as long as it took him to gather the others and return. They wouldn’t leave, and he didn’t want to disturb the other residents of Albany, so he’d let them in.
Benedict had arrived with brandy, and the others had simply come with their condolences.
Hugh had returned weeks ago from his wedding trip, but Dominick seldom saw him, which was for the best. He didn’t want to be faced with seeing how things had worked out for Hugh while they’d all gone to hell for him. Adding insult to injury was the news of Aubrey’s engagement. Ironically, he’d fallen in love with his own client and was set to marry her on the same day Calliope was to wed Martin Lewes.
Surprisingly, Benedict had taken this news all in stride, and Nick suspected it was because they’d all known Aubrey wouldn’t last as a courtesan. If anything, Nick was shocked he hadn’t been the first to step away.
He forced himself to raise the glass and take a slow sip, the brandy tasteless on his tongue, but still spreading warmth on its way down.
Hugh was the first to break the silence as he reached for the bottle. Filling his glass, he raised it and smiled.
“To Paul Burke, who was Nick’s uncle, but somehow also felt like mine, too.”
The others raised their glasses and took a drink, then Aubrey spoke up.
“I always admired him for his sense of style. Never a hair out of place, nor a limp cravat or a shabby waistcoat in sight. To Paul.”
Nick’s lips twitched with an oncoming smile as he raised his glass again to clink against the others. This was high praise coming from a man whose life was fabrics and fashion.
“He used to frequent Gentleman Jackson’s years ago,” Benedict chimed in. “I watched him