Page 3 of Love with a Notorious Rake

Trepidation moved through Aidan as swift as a flash flood. “I thought I would remain here until early autumn.”

Bevan folded his hands on top of the folder. “You’ve already stayed far longer than any other patient.”

“My wealthy family is not paying you enough?” Aidan snapped irritably.

The doctor ignored his outburst and shuffled the papers in the folder. “I wish to discuss the reason Mr. Colm Delaney made an appearance at my clinic to threaten you three months past. We will address this incident today, Aidan. You’ve delayed this discussion for far too long.”

Damn it all. “I am not convinced he came to threaten me. It appears that I inspire passion in certain men as well as women.” Another egotistical statement, but it held a kernel of truth. Delaney claimed he’d come to discuss what happened between them at that blasted, depraved party, but never had a chance to elaborate. Aidan had tried his damnedest to push what little he could remember of his last month of debauchery from the forefront of his mind.

“You always deflect from examining your emotions with sarcastic, self-centered comments. Be honest, Aidan, and tell me what occurred.”

“I sincerely do not remember much of the final month of my decline. I had attended a wild party in Mayfair. It was decided, since I was the prettiest of my filthy crew of thieves and whores—which isn’t saying much—that I would be sold to the highest bidder. We needed the money for opium. And gin.” Aidan paused, and frowned. “I was handed over to some aged peer, who Garrett later informed me was the Marquess of Sutherhorne. He, in turn, gifted me to his man, this Delaney character. I don’t remember much. Blocking it out? Perhaps. For a while, I thought it a recurring nightmare, but…” Aidan’s voice trailed off. Thinking on it made his insides lurch.

“When Delaney showed up here, you realized the nightmare was real,” Bevan interjected.

“Yes. Why he wanted to talk to me hardly matters. He whispered in my ear like a lover might. Offered to care for me, nurse me back to health. Hardly a threat, but I suppose it is how you look at it. I told him our brief encounter meant nothing. And it didn’t. He was a means to an end.” Jesus, talking of this is damned embarrassing. “I have no idea if this man, who is seemingly obsessed with me, will seek me out again. I can only hope he does not. I don’t prefer men—far from it. But I do hold with my family’s progressive view that what people do behind closed doors is no one’s business, which makes me wonder why you insist on discussing this topic. It is rather salacious.”

“It is that. It’s not for me to approve or disapprove. I want to ensure you will no longer be haunted by this episode. You referred to it as a nightmare. Will it impede your libido in any way? Is it disturbing enough for self-loathing to overtake your life to such an extent that you will seek out oblivion again with an opium pipe? Or bottles of cheap gin?”

Impede my libido? No, Doctor, seeing as I lust after your daughter. But he did not dare divulge such information. “No. My first stop before I head to Wollstonecraft Hall will be the Crimson Club in London.”

“Is that wise? Indiscriminant sex is what led you down this destructive path.” Aidan frowned at the doctor’s judgmental tone—or maybe he’d imagined it. “Besides, isn’t the gossip about this Mayfair incident making its way about London?”

“It has been close to four months; I am certain the old hens of society have moved on to other scandalous tattle. Besides, I won’t be in the city long.” Only long enough for a quick rut.

“Do you still crave opium?” Bevan asked.

“I could deceive you and say, ‘Why, no, Doctor, you have cured me of all my vices,’ but it would be false. I do crave it, though not as fervently as I once did.”

“Thank you for your honesty. The cravings will lessen with time. They have for most others.”

Aidan crossed his arms, giving the doctor a dubious look. “But not for all of your patients.”

A sad expression covered Bevan’s features. “Not all. There are no guarantees in life, and certainly not with addiction. The onus for a full recovery will lie with you—hence the reason I suggested you focus your energy elsewhere. Decide on a few of your family’s causes, and we will discuss which one will suit you. Speaking of your family, you’re keeping up with the correspondences?”

When he’d met with Garrett briefly in February, his uncle had dropped off numerous letters from his grandfather, father, and twin brother. It had taken him close to five weeks to even break the seals on the envelopes; it took another two before he responded.

Riordan had married, and his wife, Sabrina, was expecting a child. He would be building a progressive school in Kent as soon as he could arrange it. Garrett had married Abigail Wharton in Scotland last month, and they had a fourteen-year-old daughter from their brief, intense love affair at age eighteen. Aidan’s father was courting a neighbor, Alberta Eaton, and his grandfather was involved with Sabrina’s ex-lady’s maid, Mary Tuttle. From what he could ascertain from the letters, the association was serious. Life had carried on without him. It was rather sobering to discover the world did not revolve around him.

“Yes. I’m answering their letters.”

“It’s imperative at this stage of your recuperation that you allow your family to reenter your life. No more avoidance. If your uncle is any indication, you have a strong support structure in place. Use it. Accept your mistakes, learn from them. Wear them like badges of honor.”

“Oh, come now, Doctor.” Aidan tsked. “Honor?”

“Yes, honor. You have accepted your faults, agreed to treatment, and chosen the path to recovery. It takes fortitude, inner strength, character. Never doubt you have all these—along with honor. Hold your head high, continue to convalesce, and you shall not falter again. I stake my reputation on it.”

A ball of emotion lodged in Aidan’s throat. He was genuinely touched by the words. “Thank you.”

“Take a walk, as it is a lovely spring day. We’re having a special treat for dinner tonight: a crown roast of pork with all the fixings. Join Cristyn and me at seven. I expect you to eat it all.”

Aidan stood, then bowed. “I shall. See you at seven.”

He left the office and sauntered down the hall. It was the first time he’d been invited to the doctor’s home; he must be nearly recovered if he was granted entry. The invitation filled him with elation at the prospect of seeing Cristyn outside the clinic walls, but also trepidation in the fact that he was about to be released. When was the last time he attended any type of proper social event? Could he even remember his manners?

Dr. Bevan and his daughter lived in a small cottage behind the sanatorium. Aidan passed the rooms of other patients, some of whom he had met—two were still in seclusion, and no doubt going through each stage of withdrawal and recovery he had.

Last night he’d heard the agonized cries of a recent inmate in addiction hell. God, had he acted the same when coming off the poison? He could not recall, but what little he remembered chilled his black soul.