Page 46 of Why Do Rogues Fall in Love?

Several long minutes later, he handed over his coat and cane to the majordomo. The premier pleasure palace of London gleamed before him in all its decadent splendor, lanterns glowing warmly against polished stone, the air perfumed with jasmine, smoke, and promise. Velvet draperies framed gilded corridors, chandeliers cast honeyed light across marble floors, and laughter drifted through the space like a living thing. Silk-clad courtesans moved with languid grace, their smiles practiced, their beauty curated to perfection.

He made his way up the grand staircase to the second-floor terrace balcony, where the night air cooled the heat of the rooms below. There he found them—his friends gathered around a low table, decanter between them, glasses already poured, the faint smoke of cheroots curling lazily upward.

No courtesans lingered nearby.

George knew precisely why. Several of the men gathered there were married now.

And worse, they were happily so. They loved their wives with an ardor that had once seemed laughable to him, perhaps even impossible. Yet here they were, content in one another’s company, indulgence replaced by camaraderie.

He joined them, accepting a glass of whisky as laughter greeted him.

They spoke of Rebecca, the madam who was the very heart of Aphrodite, and of the scandalously provocative paintings she had unveiled only weeks earlier. The exhibition had been a year in the making. Several months ago, Rebecca had offered her patrons a tantalizing glimpse of what was to come, displaying a handful of paintings created by Sebastian’s wife. The response had been so enthusiastic that she had ordered the walls between several adjoining chambers removed, creating an expansive gallery for which she commissioned twenty additional works.

She had christened it The Gallery of Forbidden Pleasures.

Its grand unveiling had been quite the spectacle, for the paintings were as exquisite as they were indecent, depicting innocence surrendering to temptation, the awakening of carnal desire, and the intimate art of self-pleasure, explored through both the male and female form.

The works had caused such a sensation that the pleasure palace had welcomed fifteen new gentlemen of leisure and fortune into its membership almost overnight. It seemed no one had even thought to protest when Madam Rebecca increased the membership fees by a staggering thirty percent. The value of Aphrodite, after all, had never been in question.

George lifted his glass and drained it in one swift motion.

The five men gathered had known one another for nearly two decades. Some friendships had begun at Eton, others had deepened at Oxford and Cambridge, before maturing into alliances in the House of Lords, where they had championed one another’s causes. They had weathered scandals, celebrated triumphs, and indulged in more than a few illicit pursuits together. There was scarcely a thought one of them could not voice in the company of the others.

Oliver, the Marquess of Ambrose, studied him over the rim of his own drink. “You look unsettled. An expression I am not at all accustomed to seeing on your face.”

That observation caused Simon, the Duke of Basil, Alexander, Earl of Bainbridge, and Kenneth, Earl of Grantham, to turn their attention toward him.

George raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled sharply. “I have met a woman.”

Silence followed.

“George,” Grantham drawled at last, “you, my friend, have met a great many women.”

He shot him a dark look. “That is precisely the problem. There is no rational explanation for why this particular woman should unsettle me so.” He hesitated, then continued, as though the words refused to remain unspoken. “I have known women of greater beauty. Women fashioned to enthrall. And yet…” His jaw tightened. “She disarms me.”

“Bloody hell,” Grantham muttered. “This is far graver than I feared.”

George chuckled, though he felt no amusement. He told them of Cordelia, of her sharp tongue and reckless courage, of the frankness with which she spoke, as though artifice were beneath her. “She laughs,” he said quietly, “and it is as though the world tilts. There is nothing coy in it. Nothing practiced. It is simply…her. Other ladies might dazzle like stars, but Cori is the bright moon in the sky.”

“By God, you are truly smitten,” Grantham said with a frown. “There must be some damned poison in the air. Raine has only just married, and here you are looking very much like a man caught in the throes of love.”

George scowled and raked a hand through his hair. “Once, she pressed her mouth to the corner of my jaw. I suppose she intended it as a kiss. It was so damned chaste it scarcely deserved the name, and yet it struck me like a bolt to the chest. The softness of her lips lingered long after she had gone. Her scent, subtle and warm, settled in my senses like the finest whisky, slow to intoxicate and impossible to forget. That single innocent touch followed me to sleep that night, and every night since.”

He looked from one friend to the next, utterly incredulous. “I ask you…what madness is this?”

When he finished, every one of them regarded him with the same knowing, faintly mocking expression. All save Grantham, who looked distinctly irritated.

At last, the duke broke the silence. “It is your turn.”

George frowned. “My turn to do what?”

“To find the woman who seems fashioned expressly for you,” Ambrose said lightly, humor dancing in his eyes. “The one who makes you forget there were others before her. The one who has you waking each morning and thanking God she is in your life. It is no disservice to the women who generously shared a part of their lives with us. It is simply that, every so often, someone comes along who quietly alters the measure by which you judge everyone else.”

George nearly choked on his brandy.

“Do not be absurd,” he said, setting his glass upon the table with rather more force than necessary. “Since when has admiration become synonymous with finding a woman who seems fashioned just for me? What sentimental nonsense.”

The knowing looks his friends exchanged did nothing to reassure him.