Page 11 of Love with a Notorious Rake

“I’ve another proposition for you,” Bridget continued as she strode toward the sideboard, her ample breasts bouncing with every step. “I’ll be setting myself up as a courtesan. I want to give you first crack.” She poured him a glass of wine and set it on the table next to the bed. After pouring another glass, she rejoined him, using her bare foot to slide along his backside as she nosily sipped. “I know you haven’t been here in months, but I want two or three men as sponsors, and I’d like one of them to be you.” Aidan stirred, and she laid her foot flat on his back to stop him from turning over. “You’re one of the few men I actually enjoy in my bed.”

“Do not be insulted, but I’ve been in your bed before?” Damned if he could remember. But then, he hardly recalled the faces of anyone he’d had dealings with since the beginning of his steep decline.

“Yes, you have. Multiple times last autumn.”

No wonder he hadn’t recalled any of it: he was in the grip of his vices by then. Much remained a blur.

“You made quite an impression on me. You were wild, and, when the need called for it, not caring exactly, but mindful of my needs. Rare to find in this business. And you’re rich and well-connected. Handsome, tall, with dark hair and lovely blue eyes. A combination most women desire.” Her toes caressed his arse again. “And insatiable. What more could a working girl ask for?”

Aidan grunted in response. It was good to know that despite his dissipation, he had still been able to satisfy a woman. But, God, would she ever stop talking?

“More importantly,” Bridget droned on, “I know deep down you would not mistreat me. Hurt me.” The last two words ended on a soft whisper.

Well, she was correct there. Aidan had never understood why men mistreated women. Growing up, he had been taught to treat women with the respect they deserved, that they were individuals who warranted equal footing with men, regardless of what society dictated. But having a courtesan on retainer? It had never appealed to him. He’d chosen Bridget today because she looked solidly built to take his fierce pounding. If he were to admit it, she looked the least like Cristyn of any of the available prossies. He batted her leg aside and rolled over, facing her. “I’m flattered. I’ll think on it.”

Her luscious mouth curved into a cynical smile. “That means no. I appreciate you being polite about it.” She stretched her arms above her head, giving him a full view of her generous breasts, which stirred his arousal afresh. “There are other men in your family. Maybe I can entice one of them. Your father, for example.”

Aidan arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been with Viscount Tensbridge?” He knew that through the years the men in his family had often visited the Crimson Club. It was clean, well-run, and had a respectable air about it—at least as respectable as a brothel could be.

“Not lately. Not for close to two years, but I recall he’s as much of a tiger in bed as you are.”

“Please. I don’t want to hear of my father’s attributes. Besides, his attention has been turned toward a woman. You may not see him here again.” Aidan’s gaze lingered on Bridget’s lush, naked form. “In fact, I don’t believe you will see any of them darken the door here in the future. I am the last man standing.” Clasping his semi-hard cock, he gave it a couple of quick strokes until he was fully erect. “On your hands and knees,” he demanded in a gruff voice.

“Oh.” She licked her lips, giving him a hungry look. “Going full beast, are we?”

Aidan reached for a French letter and slipped it on his stiff prick. He was lucky he had not caught any poxes or diseases during his reckless sexual encounters, and he would make damn sure he wouldn’t in the future. Beast? Indeed. He’d been referred to as one through the years for his prowess in bed.

“Full beast.” He thrust into her and she moaned in response, arching her back as she took him deep.

Forget.

Starting slow, he built into fierce, rapid strokes.

Oblivion.

Aidan spent the night at the club, then, after a hearty breakfast, bid farewell, for he would not be returning for some time—if ever. It had disturbed him to hear the gossip was still being discussed, and the farther he was from London—and temptation—the better. The multiple sex sessions had taken the edge off his frustration, especially when Bridget brought in a silver-haired vixen called Madeen to join them. It was a wild night, to be sure. But it had done nothing to banish Cristyn from his mind. She was his first thought as soon as he’d awoken to find both women curled up next to him.

Yes, the sex had been hollow. And, surprisingly, it had left him feeling emptier than before—and more fatigued, which proved he was still recuperating.

Since he was tired, he stopped at an inn at the halfway point of his journey. He had taken his time, soaking up the sun and inhaling the fresh air. Once refreshed, it was onward to Carrbury and his reunion with his brother.

Carrbury was a small town in East Sussex, south of Wollstonecraft Hall. Aidan took a more westerly, circuitous route to avoid Kent altogether. It was a pleasant late spring day. Insects droned in the grass and in the bracken, mixing with birdsong high above. Aidan could not remember when he’d last appreciated nature. Perhaps he never had.

From reading Riordan’s descriptive letters, he recalled that the school was nestled in a wooded area a mile north of town. It was going on five o’clock, and, according to Riordan, he usually stayed after dismissal to work. It would be prudent to meet his brother privately before venturing to Riordan’s town house. He clicked his tongue and sank his heels gently into Nebula’s flanks, and the gelding vaulted forward into a brisk canter. With luck, he would arrive at the schoolhouse before half past five.

At last, a large wooden structure came into view. Damn it all, he was nervous. Would Riordan be angry? Show his disdain, and be distant? No, that described himself more than his brother. Aidan did not know if he could handle seeing the disappointment on Riordan’s face—or the face of anyone in the family. Especially their father.

Bracing himself for the emotional reunion, he slipped from Nebula, tethered the reins to the post, and gave the gelding a pat. The horse nickered gently in response. All was quiet; was Riordan even within? Aidan opened the door and crossed the threshold. Moving through the small alcove, he stepped into the schoolroom. There was his beloved brother, sitting at his desk at the front of the room, scribbling furiously.

“Riordan.”

His brother looked up, his eyes widened in shock. He rose quickly from his chair, and it crashed to the floor. Before Aidan could form another thought, his brother ran toward him and gathered him in a fierce embrace. At first, Aidan stood stiffly, his emotions churning.

“Oh, God, Aidan. Aidan,” Riordan said tenderly, his voice shaking.

Hearing the stark emotion in his brother’s voice broke away any self-imposed restraints. He returned Riordan’s embrace, clapping him on the back for good measure. “I’ve missed you, Brother.”

At last they parted, but still gripped each other’s upper arms. “Why didn’t you send word? Have you been home?” Riordan asked.