I’ll stand by and let you hurt the mistress,” Violet announced in strident tones. A chorus of bellicose assent echoed from the women who lined the stairwell, looking down on them.
“That’s enough, girls,” Mrs. Cadbury said, sounding more like a schoolmarm than a notorious madam. Then again, she looked more like a schoolmarm, albeit a badly dressed but still exquisitely beautiful one. If she were planning to live a life of celibacy it was a damned shame, he thought absently.
At another time he might have considered changing her mind. At another time he would have signaled Violet and he knew, despite her disapprobation, that she would follow him home and do anything he required her to do, and do it with great pleasure and enthusiasm. He preferred his women, even the ones he paid for, to honestly enjoy themselves in his bed, and Violet had a natural ability for pleasure.
Unlike the frowning Mrs. Cadbury.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to speak with you, madam,” he said with thinly veiled impatience.
“If you do not speak with me then I will be forced to call on you, and to keep calling on you in your house in Bury Street until you’re willing to meet with me. You may as well get it over and done with.”
He looked at her with real dislike. A year ago, six months ago, six days ago, he would have given a great deal to have this woman in his bed. Now he wouldn’t touch her if he were the one paid to do so. He glanced up at the staircase at the faces leaning over, watching them, and he realized he didn’t want any of them, or their painted sisters who still populated the elegant houses he knew so well.
There was only one woman he wanted, and he needed to get far away from her. One didn’t seduce a gentlewoman merely for sport, even if widows were considered fair game. Melisande, for all her calm good cheer was closer to a virgin than a woman who understood her own body and needs, and it would get very messy indeed if he didn’t put a stop to it now.
In fact, he could consider himself fairly noble. He’d given her just enough pleasure to let her understand what could exist between a man and a woman. She would find someone suitable and marry him, living a rich, full life, all thanks to him.
Yes, he was a hell of a fine fellow, he thought mockingly. Always willing to do what was necessary for the good of womankind.
Mrs. Cadbury gestured toward an open door that clearly led into a salon, and short of manhandling her there was no way past her. “Five minutes,” he said tersely. “After you.”
She blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘after you.’ Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a dash for the door the moment your back is turned. I’ll come in with you.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “I’m not used to gentlemen having me precede them… We’re usually bidden to follow meekly behind.”
“I believe I have manners,” he said, his sharp tone belying his words.
“Manners usually don’t extend to whores,” she replied.
He was tired, he was frustrated and he was angry. He wanted to reach out and strangle her. “Consider it one of my quirks. I believe in treating everyone equally.”
“You mean you treat everyone this abominably?” Mrs. Cadbury murmured.
“No, madam. This is how I treat my friends,” he said icily.
“We’re friends? How delightful,” she said, sweeping ahead of him into the room. He considered making a run for it, after all, and then stopped himself. Just how craven was he?
He strolled into the room after her, all insouciance, to see her already seated behind a massive mahogany desk, and his image of her as a stern schoolmarm increased enough to force him to smother a laugh with a false cough.
“Please sit down, your lordship,” she said in that same stern voice that was no request but a clear command.
It wasn’t too late—he could still run.
He took the nearest comfortable chair, sat back and crossed his legs, the picture of insolent grace. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Cadbury?”
“You can stop trying to seduce Lady Carstairs.”
19
The sixth Viscount Rohan, son of the Marquess of Haverstoke, scion of the ancient and thoroughly wicked house of Rohan, was not likely to listen to orders from a retired abbess. He stared at her haughtily, not changing his indolent position.