Page 53 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

Not when those risks might reap the rewards of love.

And, despite her determination to protect her heart, she had fallen in love.

“Before I proceed any further,” he said, “I must make another confession. I should explain why I went along with Dom’s scheme in the first place.”

“There’s no need,” she said. “Though my life has been somewhat limited, I have seen enough to understand your motives.”

“It was not a simple case of relishing the prospect of a seduction,” he said, “though I must confess I have always enjoyed the art. It was because of my friend.”

“Your friend?”

“Will—the one I mentioned last night. He always told me that women were prey to be chased and seduced. Of course, every young man has the same view when he first enters manhood, and many of them continue to pursue the art, myself among them, I must confess. But Will was different. He always set the stakes higher. When any of us made a conquest, he always insisted on making two.”

“He sounds like a cad.”

“He was a rogue, but had a good heart. But his one real vice, other than women, was drink. He always drank a little too heavily—a bottle of wine to celebrate a new conquest, a finger of brandy each time he lost at a turn of the cards at White’s. Before long he became dependent on the stuff. We all tried to temper his drinking—myself especially—but to no avail.”

Her stomach clenched in recognition.

William—her William—had been overly fond of liquor.

No…

It must be a coincidence.

“Surely a reliance on liquor is not so unusual among your sex?” She winced at the tightness in her voice, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Perhaps not,” he said, “but Will was unlike the rest of us, in that he didn’t have the cash to fund his lifestyle. He lavished trinkets on women in order to persuade them to…” He colored and hesitated. “Perhaps I should omit the details, but you understand my meaning.”

“Of course,” she said. “All the best whores command the highest prices.”

He sighed. “Exactly. Will’s weakness was wine and women, and he fell prey to fortune hunters, harlots who spread their legs for him to secure pretty trinkets to fund their own sordid lifestyles.”

His voice vibrated with anger and his eyes darkened.

“You were fond of him,” she said.

“Yes, I was. We were at Harrow together, and I loved him as a brother.”

He sighed. “Poor Will. It was the hunter who became the hunted in the end.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“He was destroyed by a woman. He made the mistake of spending a season in London, and I wasn’t there to protect him.”

“Surely a man can protect himself,” she said.

“Perhaps.” He sighed. “But I cannot help feel responsible. Had I been at home, perhaps I might have prevented his downfall. I’d always warned him that debutantes were far more dangerous than painted ladies. Their appearance of innocence was all the more deadly because it drew a man in.”

“Not all debutantes, surely?”

“A debutante is worse than a harlot,” he said. “With a doxy, a man knows where he stands. Their needs are simple—his, a moment’s gratification, hers, a few coins. But a debutante sets her sights on something far greater. A man’s hand. She reels him in, manipulates him into courting her while she watches and waits. There’s no love, or even physical gratification involved in their transactions. She’s purely in search of a title, and a fortune.”

“What happened to your friend?”

“He began courting a debutante,” he said. “I was serving in the army abroad at the time, but according to Dom she was a plain, insignificant little thing, lacking in title, fortune or looks. Quite unremarkable and identical to every other debutante in the room, and eminently forgettable, except for the fact that she carries the honor of having destroyed my friend.”

“What did she do?”

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