Page 10 of Love with a Notorious Rake

He’d packed a small valise, and left the rest of his belongings in the trunk Garrett had sent along months ago. Arrangements were made for someone to collect it at a later date. There was nothing of value in it, just a few books and various pieces of clothing.

It was a good thing his uncle had also sent one hundred pounds with the trunk, enough to purchase the horse and pay for his travels. After his quick stop in London, Aidan would ride to Carrbury to see his fraternal twin before traveling to Wollstonecraft Hall.

The brothers had been inseparable as small children. They’d even shared the same bedroom, though there were empty rooms aplenty. Aidan had been sent away to school first due to his constant misbehavior, but he had always come home for holidays.

Close to ten months had passed without Aidan seeing or talking to Riordan. Damn, he missed his brother, and he had suffered from their separation. Even though Aidan had eventually grown to resent Riordan’s basic decency, he loved his brother fiercely. Being around Riordan had made him all too aware of his own shortcomings, but it was time he placed such destructive thoughts behind him.

Now came the goodbyes with Cristyn and Dr. Bevan. Aidan never liked farewells, whether they were temporary or not. Such emotional encounters often indicated change, which he disliked.

There was no mistaking his churning guts, for he would be going out into the world, with all its temptations and drama. The past several months here in Standon, despite feeling as if he were incarcerated, had actually brought much-needed peace and quiet to his tumultuous life. Cristyn was a huge part of his newfound tranquility.

The doctor and his daughter stepped outside as Aidan tied his small valise to the saddle. Dr. Bevan stepped forward and held out his hand. “All the best, Aidan.”

He took the hand and shook it. “Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

He turned toward Cristyn, and she quickly clasped her hands behind her back. It stung that she did not want him to touch her, not even to shake or bend over her hand. Fine. He gave her a curt bow. “My thanks, Miss Bevan. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” she whispered. Then, in a low voice he hardly could make out, she added, “Aidan.”

Damn. This leave-taking was affecting him more than he’d thought it would. A lump had settled in his throat to go along with his plummeting insides. For a fleeting moment, he considered taking Cristyn up on her offer to correspond, but after their argument at dinner, and the fact that he was not ready to have any type of relationship complicate his already difficult life, he allowed the temptation to pass. With his booted foot firm in the stirrup, he mounted Nebula and gathered up the reins. Aidan touched his forelock, turned, and headed down the lane.

This part of his life was over. Now came the thorny part: the actual living. Finding purpose and meaning. Granted, stopping at a brothel was not exactly a feasible beginning, but damn it all, he wasn’t a monk. Although his heart ached, and he longed to gaze at Cristyn once more, Aidan did not look back.

He arrived at the Crimson Club by early evening and quickly selected a solidly built, buxom woman with golden hair who went by the name of Bridget. He promptly buried himself inside her to forget the past several months. But each time he’d closed his eyes, he saw his angel’s beautiful face and warm smile.

The sex with Bridget was fast, raw, wild, and completely meaningless.

He lay on his stomach, the blankets and sheets in a tangle on the floor. His body was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, and as soon as he caught his breath he was having another go. Never had he been haunted like this, even to the extent that he thought of Cristyn during sex with another woman. It was disturbing.

“My, you were vigorous in your attentions.” Bridget giggled.

“I’m not done yet,” he murmured. He wasn’t stopping until his body gave out, or the daydreams of his gorgeous, violet-eyed angel dissipated.

“I don’t doubt it. Tell me, Lord Wollstonecraft, are the stories they’re saying about you true?”

Aidan had hoped that in four months the gossip would have died down—apparently not. “What particular gossip? I cannot keep it all straight,” he answered indifferently. “And cease with the ‘lord’ business. Address me as Aidan.” He’d never cared for the designation, even requested the servants at the hall not refer to him as such.

“As you wish…Aidan.” Bridget trailed her bare foot along the back of his leg to his arse, then with curled toes kneaded it. “The gossip? Why, the fact that you indulge in orgies with both sexes. You naughty lad.” Bridget giggled, and Aidan was sorry he had not selected someone else. “And that there was an auction, and you were the grand prize, gifted to a rather wild-looking man.” The sound of a drawer being opened filled his hearing. “Well, I have a prize for you, for bringing me much enjoyment. Look here, young lordling.”

Aidan turned his head to stare at her. She dangled a small round bag in front of him. His blood froze in his veins, for he recognized the clothed ball. Opium. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough that he hardly caught what she said next.

“I’ve heard you will do anything for this. Even sell yourself. How about I sell this to you? I always keep some on hand for special guests. For a price, of course. My lord tiger.” Bridget giggled again. “You’ll be an earl someday, am I right?”

His insides roiled and cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. He was Lord Nothing, as far as he was concerned. His father held the only courtesy title, Viscount Tensbridge, connected with his grandfather, the earl. Someday, long into the future, Aidan would be a viscount, then the earl. It did not bear thinking about.

Aidan fought to keep his voice even and uninterested. “What has that to do with anything?” he mumbled, trying to tear his gaze away from the opium. His entire body tensed and his hands began to tremble, but he tucked them away. He would not show how close to the edge he teetered.

“You can afford my price, my lord.” She shook the bag again, trying to entice him, but all it did was make his stomach turn. “I mean, Aidan.” She giggled.

The heartbeat that thundered in his ears was now accompanied by a high-pitched whine. “Do not believe all the tittle-tattle you hear. I’m not interested. Besides, I am not here for conversation, or the procurement of opium.”

Bridget shrugged, then popped the bag back into the drawer and slammed it shut.

Aidan exhaled in relief. His first test, and he had passed it—but barely. Slowly his body unclenched, and the sounds flooding his brain quieted.

She stood, unconcerned that she was naked. “Perhaps a drink, then?”

Not a drop of alcohol had passed his lips since January. Would a sip of scotch send him reeling? Push him off the wagon of sobriety? Not taking a drink would be suspicious, and cause for comment. “Red wine, if you please,” he murmured. Surely wine would not unsettle him; Dr. Bevan said it was allowed. He need only sip at it.