to let him into the private hell that had been his dwelling place for the past six months, ever since he’d returned from the Afghan battlefield.
“So tell me, where’s the best establishment for seeking female companionship?” he said, changing the subject, unwilling to have his troubled brother the topic of conversation among a group of drunken aristocrats. “I gather Emma Cadbury has closed her doors.”
“And moved in with Lady Carstairs,” Lord Petersham said mournfully. “And The White Pearl has been abandoned. In fact, several of the most beautiful of highflyers in town have abandoned their profession and either left London or become depressingly respectable. It’s damnable.”
“Are you telling me I can’t find a decent whore in this city? I don’t believe you.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have an indecent whore?” Harry said, then subsided into giggles. Benedick ignored him.
“Oh, there are still a number of reasonable establishments where a gentleman might go for a glass of wine, a hand of cards and female companionship. The night is young!”
For a moment Benedick hesitated, and the fact that he did shocked him. He’d returned to London to assuage his appetites, to feast until he was gorged on sensual pleasures, and yet for a moment he could see those blazing blue eyes, looking at him with utter contempt. Lord, there was nothing more tedious than a zealot.
“Indeed, it is,” he said, rising to his feet, pleased to note that he was almost entirely sober. Sober enough to enjoy himself. A slow, wicked smile lit his face. He looked down at Harry, but his old friend was drifting, and he’d never been one for the ladies. Or the whores, for that matter.
“I do believe I’ll accompany you, Petersham,” he said.
“Capital!” Petersham beamed. “I can promise you clean and willing companionship, with this one little darling who has the most amazing trick of the…”
4
Melisande Carstairs couldn’t sleep. It was happening more and more often nowadays, and there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. Usually she kept herself so busy she would tumble into bed in a state of exhaustion more nights than not.
But that had changed recently, and she wasn’t sure why. She would lie abed and try to think peaceful thoughts, but the worries would leach through, and she would fuss over Violet, or Hetty, or young Betsey.
And when she did sleep it was worse. She would wake up, her body damp with sweat, her skin tingling, her entire body reaching for something indefinable and doubtless unpleasant.
That was what had happened tonight. After leaving Viscount Rohan in his disgusting state of arousal she’d come back home and thrown herself into a frenzy of activity, scooping up a handful of girls and leading them down into the kitchens to conduct an impromptu baking session, much to Cook’s dismay. The plump and placid Mollie Biscuits had once been one of the great whores of London, but age and girth and lassitude had drawn her into the kitchen, and once there, she’d never left. She had no problem with other women of doubtful reputation joining her there, she just didn’t like having someone else in charge. If Melisande had any sense, she would have ceded her place and gone back upstairs to look over her accounts.
But she needed the distraction as well as the cinnamon bread and lemon curd biscuits and apricot custard pots de crème. And eventually Cook unbent enough to join in the merriment, with flour and sugar dusting her plump cheeks and apricot preserves staining her apron.
And of course Melisande had eaten too much, she thought, her stomach in an uproar. It had always been a weakness, her passion for sweets, and she turned to them in times of great trial. Though why she should be so overwrought today made no sense. She’d come face-to-face with the slightly infamous Viscount Rohan, and he’d mistaken her for a madam, of all things! Normally that would have amused her, and she would have replied with enough hauteur to depress the pretensions of even the king himself. She was surprised she’d let such a silly thing disturb her.
And it hadn’t been the first time she’d seen him. Twelve years ago, during her first season, he’d been engaged to Annis Duncan and hadn’t eyes for anyone else, including the not very distinguished Melisande Cooper. She’d watch him prowl the dance floor like a great jungle cat, always circling, always one eye on his betrothed. He’d never even noticed her, which was just as well. She had