Page 42 of The Duke of Seduction
“I happen to know that Lady Lavinia isn’t entirely sure if she’s marriage material either, which is why I thought you might suit.” And yet he found himself relieved that Horace might not be interested.
Horace peered at him with sharp interest. “How is it you know so much about her?”
“We have a rather, er, unorthodox friendship.”
“I’m the last person to understand the rules of Society.” Horace shook his head. “But I do know that young, unmarried women aren’t supposed to have friends like you.”
“Which is precisely why it’s unorthodox and, er, secret. She’s an intelligent woman who deserves better than Society’s Marriage Mart has to offer.” Beck realized it sounded as though he should court her. But he never planned to court anyone. Not after that first disaster.
To his credit, Horace said nothing—maybe because he knew all the regretful details. “Well, if it’s the same to you, I’d prefer to stick to Rotten Row and leave the socializing to those with far better skill than I.”
“It’s entirely up to you. I wouldn’t even be going to the park if you weren’t here.”
“Ah, I did interrupt you, then.” Horace looked at him apologetically. “We don’t have to go.”
“Don’t be silly,” Beck said. “I don’t see you very often. Besides, Felix will be there, and he’ll be gravely disappointed if we don’t show up.”
“If you insist.”
“I insist.” Beck led him outside where their mounts waited. It didn’t take them long to ride to the park. They entered through Grosvenor Gate, and paused for a moment to navigate traffic. Beck couldn’t help but survey the crowd for Lavinia. He saw her almost immediately. She wore a spring-green frock with a matching bonnet that covered her dark red-brown locks. He didn’t worry that she’d see him or Horace at this distance.
They turned their horses toward Rotten Row and were instantly greeted by two ladies who were also on horseback, Lady Fairwell and another woman whose name Beck couldn’t remember. Lady Fairwell smiled brightly. “Good afternoon, Lord Northam. Do you recall Mrs. Goodacre?”
“Certainly.” Vaguely. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Horace Jeffries from Oxford.”
Horace inclined his head toward them. “I’m a botanist. Just in London to visit with my dear friend Northam.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jeffries.” Lady Fairwell directed her sultry gaze toward Beck. “I haven’t seen much of you.”
Beck didn’t want to linger. “No, and I hope you won’t think us rude, but we’re on our way to Rotten Row.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” Mrs. Goodacre said with a warm smile.
Beck and Horace steered themselves toward Rotten Row, and Beck breathed a sigh of relief. Felix was waiting for them.
“What took you so bloody long?” he demanded without rancor.
Horace rode up alongside Felix. “We were stopped by a couple of women, one of whom was either Beck’s paramour or wants to be and he isn’t interested.”
“How do you know that?” Beck asked, blinking at Horace in disbelief.
“I’ve had plenty of experience with women in your orbit,” Horace said, chuckling. Felix joined him, and Horace turned to him and said, “And yours.”
Felix shouted with laughter. “You know us too well, Horace.”
“It’s a bit like the good old days at Oxford, I must say.”
Felix looked from Horace to Beck. “We should celebrate like that, then. I’ve the perfect place in mind—Madame Bisset’s.”
Horace smiled. “I think you took me there last time I was in town.”
“And if memory serves, you enjoyed yourself immensely,” Felix said.
Beck stifled a groan. Madame Bisset’s was one of London’s most elite brothels, catering to the highest echelons of Society. Beck didn’t visit often, but sometimes he was in the mood for a transaction that didn’t necessarily feel like a transaction, which was Madame Bisset’s specialty. The women treated you as if they were your personal mistresses—and they were every bit as skilled.
Normally, Beck would agree to go without a second thought, but he wasn’t in the mood. The idea of a transaction just didn’t interest him right now. He didn’t want to say that, however. His friends would ask why, and Beck didn’t have an answer. The last thing he wanted to do was dwell on that.
“Sounds like a splendid evening to me,” Horace said pleasantly. “What say you, Beck?” Since they were alone, he’d reverted to his familiar name.
He forced a smile. “Splendid.” It would be fine—he’d play cards, or chess, with whomever Madame Bisset sent him to. They were like mistresses in every way and would satisfy any whim, even if it didn’t involve sex.
They decided to race along Rotten Row, an activity for which Beck was most grateful. Riding fast would banish all the things he didn’t want to think about: Lady Fairwell, why he didn’t want to visit a brothel, and his sister Helen. Only now he was thinking of her and, more importantly, the women with the initials SW and DC. He was going to discover who they were and then he’d find a way to avenge his sister, whatever the cost.
