Page 2 of Love with a Notorious Rake

Since early January he’d been at the Standon Sanatorium under the name Aidan Black—no one knew his real identity, except for Dr. Bevan. Aidan had arrived barely conscious, a complete wreck, suffering the ill effects of an opium addiction, accompanied by his uncle, and, he was informed later, Edwin Seward, a private investigator. They had found him in St. Giles, living in absolute squalor in a den of thieves and prostitutes. It was as low as a man could possibly descend.

In the ensuing months, he slowly recovered, thanks to Dr. Bevan’s empathic treatment and Cristyn’s compassionate care. Once he gained control of his emotions he hid them away, protecting them from exposure, though it had become increasingly difficult in Cristyn’s presence. His angel of mercy was a true beauty, inside and out, and he would be wise to keep clear.

As he took his seat in Dr. Bevan’s office, Aidan knew he would have to depart soon. And do what? Go where? An unknown future yawned before him. Damned unsettling. But he’d vowed to be honest in his dealings with the good doctor and remain as unemotional as possible.

Bevan opened the folder before him. “You’ve gained close to ten pounds since January. Excellent.”

Aidan was still far thinner than he had been. Food continued to hold little interest, but perhaps he would feel differently when he returned home, to more sophisticated meals than those served here. If he saw another bowl of stew, he would have what one American acquaintance called a “conniption fit.”

When Aidan did not reply, the doctor continued. “Yesterday afternoon, we were discussing the reasons for your descent into addiction and the accompanying lifestyle. Have you any further insight as to why?”

“I was bored, needed stimulation and excitement. Complete disregard for convention. Contempt for responsibility.”

Dr. Bevan scribbled notes as Aidan spoke. “At what point did it turn into contempt for yourself and complete disregard for your own preservation?” he asked.

Ah. There stood the crux of his downfall. “Perhaps since I’m cursed, I decided to indulge in all manner of sin and vice.”

“Cursed? Truly? How fascinating. Tell me about it,” the doctor asked, pen poised.

Aidan crossed his legs. “It has been in the family for centuries. It’s said that women, either born or married into the family, do not live long. My mother died of a heart infection when I was four—or was I three years of age? I have no memory of it. My grandfather was widowed three times. His own infant daughter did not survive. There is a cemetery on the corner of our property with rows of tombstones of women who dared to love Wollstonecraft men. I admit, when my grandfather first told me of this at the susceptible age of thirteen, it made an impact.”

“In what way?”

“I decided that when old enough, I would partake of pleasure. No curse would touch my life, as I planned to indulge and forego any serious attachments to anyone. Of course, at thirteen, I was not aware of exactly what pleasures were to be had. But I would cause no pain or suffering to anyone but myself.”

Aidan frowned as Dr. Bevan continued to take notes, dipping his pen in the inkwell every so often. Speaking of the family curse would no doubt have the good doctor come to the conclusion that he was completely daft—or he would think that Aidan was making rationalizations for his reckless behavior. In truth, the curse had played a significant part.

He believed in it more than he’d let on to the rest of his family, perhaps almost as much as his uncle. But Garrett had recently tossed aside his solemn oath to never fall in love, which made Aidan wonder if any decisions he’d made in his own life were sound, past or present?

“Can the curse be broken?” the doctor asked.

“I heard that only true love will break the curse; however, my father and grandfather proved that caveat to be untrue.” He stared at the doctor. “You are acting quite blasé about this.”

“It’s not important that I believe it, only that we explore the reasons why you do. Continue, please.”

“Eventually, the ‘serious attachments’ grew to include my family. I became increasingly distant. The complete disregard? The steep decline? I cannot pinpoint the exact moment. Perhaps it occurred when I stopped returning home for the laborious monthly family meetings.”

“Why call them ‘laborious?’”

Aidan snorted derisively. “You know my family name. My grandfather is the Earl of Carnstone; my father is Viscount Tensbridge: progressive heroes of the British Parliament. My perfect schoolmaster brother is a paragon of decency. My uncle… Well, Garrett is a little of all of us mixed together. How could I possibly live up to their exacting high standards? Their lives are consumed by good works. Helping the poor. How tedious, and, for me, meaningless. For I care not.”

Bevan arched an eyebrow. “Are you not the heir apparent?”

“I am the heir, though I loathe being referred to as ‘lord.’ What does that matter?”

“One day you will be in the British Parliament. These good works will become your responsibility.”

Aidan snorted in response.

“You’ve told me more than once that you are proud of your family and their accomplishments,” Bevan said.

“They are not my accomplishments,” Aidan replied, flicking a speck of dust from his shirtsleeve.

“Then perhaps you should select something to focus your attention on instead of indulging in your own gratification.” Aidan rolled his eyes, but Bevan held up a hand. “Before you give me a snide response, hear me out. To keep temptation at bay, you must have an objective, to aspire to something greater than your own ego. Make one of the Wollstonecraft causes yours alone. Not superficially, but truly immerse yourself in it.”

Grudgingly, Aidan admitted there was merit in what the doctor said. After all, he was determined to recover. “I will seriously consider it.”

“Excellent. I believe you will be ready to return home in two weeks. At the end of the first week of June, I imagine.”