Page 26 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

“No! What? They’re not bad. They’re in excellent health, plump and merry and stomping all over me.” At Leo’s look, he shrugged. “What can I say? I was bored.”

“That’s what you get for selling your commission. Find an occupation.”

“I have an occupation. I rack up debts, and then I develop ingenious schemes for paying them off.”

“Such as betting on the date of my engagement?” Leo said. “Two hundred pounds of winnings won’t cover your debts.”

St. Blaise kept rummaging through drawers. “I’ll win double if you get engaged to the lady I’ve nominated. I think you should marry Miss Susannah Macey. Rumor has it she likes decorative arts too, so if all else fails, you could spend the rest of your days discussing teapots, and really, what else does marriage need?”

Leo found himself in front of the drinks, studying crystal decanters that glinted in the light. “Thank you for that enlightening perspective,” he said.

“I can’t be far wrong: You do seem to have singled her out for attention. Though you’ve been singling ladies out for years.” St. Blaise’s voice became muffled as he stuck his head in a cabinet. “Everyone is talking about your serial courtships. It’s bordering on a scandal.”

Leo had to laugh. “Hardly. I’ve not debauched a single one of them.”

“I can help with that, if you like.” St. Blaise slipped a small crystal fox into his pocket and continued to the next cabinet. “Speaking of debauchery,” he went on, “have you never been tempted by the luscious Miss Bell?”

“No.” Leo poured a brandy and downed it in a gulp.

St. Blaise picked up a snuffbox and turned it dreamily in his hands. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, while she was drawing me yesterday. There I was, in nothing but a loincloth, and she saw me only as an object. ‘Naught but lines and shadows,’ she said. I cannot decide if it was utterly debasing or utterly thrilling.” He sighed. “I do believe I’m in love.”

Leo snorted and poured another drink. “Only a fool would fall in love with Juno Bell. She has so much appetite for life that she cannot stay long in one place or devote herself to one person. It is part of her charm, the way she immerses herself in something, then dances away like a will-o’-the-wisp. She would tell you she loves you, and at the time she would mean it, but then she’d find something else, and in the end, you’d be nothing more to her than a passing fancy.”

And the fool who believed her words and decided he loved her in turn? Leo knew that fool, knew him too well.

That was the fool who’d been a lustful virgin and confused his pleasure in her company with the frantic desires of his changing body. The fool who had decided this desire must be love.

That was the fool who had lurked in the cold, dark streets of Vienna, staring at silhouettes in windows, ready to sell his soul for a mere glimpse of her. Hiding in the shadowy corners of glittering salons, wishing hell upon the Czech violinist who won her kisses, then doing sums so he would not weep. Making friends with the bottle and a fast crowd of hedonists, his evenings a disjointed kaleidoscope of nightmarish grotesqueries, until mercifully there was nothing. Until he awoke again, putrid and empty and sick.

He laughed ruefully at the memory. How earnest he had been. How self-righteously he had bided his time, and never once considered that Juno might not feel the same as he did.

“If I did attempt to seduce Miss Bell, would you mind?” St. Blaise said. “Would you, Polly?”

Leo relaxed his fingers on the glass. “Juno makes her own choices and treads her own path. Always has, always will. Don’t be fooled by her warm smile and amiable manner.”

“And that goddess’s body. Glorious!” Then he added, in glum tones, “Thwarted lust. Messes with a man’s mind. It’s like being very hungry or very tired, making easy actions difficult and turning simple matters confusing.”

Leo wheeled away from the drinks, toward the desk. He had no wish to discuss Juno’s body.

“A man should have more control,” he said.

“Of course he should,” St. Blaise agreed. “I’m talking about how his thoughts get confused, like shipwrecked sailors who are so thirsty they drink seawater though they know it’ll make everything worse. When one gets too lustful, one cannot think straight for all the delusions and fancies.”

St. Blaise might, for once, have made a useful point.

“And Miss Bell is surely no maiden,” he added, and Leo went right back to wanting to punch him.

Yet Junowasvery sensual, and she would surely be bold and playful in bed. She would enjoy exploring her lover’s body, and having her own explored, and she would—

Don’t think about it, he told himself.

His mind immediately began thinking about it.

Desperately, Leo seized a list of numbers: the Dammerton Foundation’s account. Leaning on his knuckles, head bent like a Catholic penitent, Leo mumbled the numbers out loud until they iced his imagination like a midwinter swim.

* * *

Leo had almost forgottenhis half-brother was there, until a soft sound of interest caused him to look up.

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