Page 5 of A Dangerous Game

Jonas’ left temple throbbed with an oncoming headache. Julia did not have it in her to vex him on purpose. He reminded himself of her youth and naiveté so that he would handle this situation with the delicacy it required.

Taking a deep breath, he softened his voice and tried to ease the tension gripping his body in a vise. “You call him by his Christian name?”

She sank back into her chair. “We are not betrothed just yet, but it is all but afait accompli. He has made his intentions clear and invited me to call him Derek. There is no formality between us.”

Jonas shook his head in disbelief. “Julia, Derek and I have not been friends for some time now. Years, in fact.”

“Nonsense. I know you have not seen him in a long while, but it takes more than distance to destroy what the two of you shared. He was always with you, Jo, on holidays and in the summers. The two of you were so close.”

A sliver of guilt threaded through Jonas as his sister’s words brought back memories he would rather forget. Derek’s family had written him off as a disgrace by the time he’d left for university. They had never written except to inform him of their expectations for his behavior each new term. Money arrived like clockwork to keep him clothed and warmed by coal, but no love or affection accompanied it. Derek had become so close to Jonas and his family because, for all intents and purposes, he hadn’t had one of his own. Jonas could not help but wonder what had become of Derek once the cord tying them together had been cut. Perhaps the loneliness Derek had spoken of referred to more than just the physical company of someone to warm his bed.

Shaking his head, Jonas pushed that notion aside. It was none of his business how forlorn Derek might be. He was a grown man capable of finding his own way in the world, and how he did that was not Jonas’ concern.

“We were boys then. Now, we are men who have grown apart because his is not the life of a gentleman. As such, he is unsuitable to be your husband.”

Julia’s tinkling laugh rang out through the drawing room, stirring Jonas’ annoyance. “Half the men of thetonmight be considered unsuitable if one measures them by their bachelors’ pursuits. Would you have me refuse them all?”

“No,” Jonas growled. “Just him.”

“I love that you are so protective of me. But, Derek is not the man he once was. He sincerely wishes to reform his life, and marriage will help him accomplish that. He has been nothing but chivalrous and gentlemanly when in my presence.”

Of course, he could not explain to Julia just how Derek was anything but a gentleman outside of her presence. Not only because she was too young and pure to hear of such things, but because if word spread of Derek’s proclivities, he could face dire repercussions. Despite wanting nothing to do with Derek, Jonas would not want to see him hurt.

Jonas gritted his teeth as his mind filled with images of Derek reclined on the bed in a whore’s bedchamber with his hand pressed against his cock. He recalled the feel of the steely organ pressed against his own and the shameless response of his own prick. Derek Dryden was a force of nature with the power to bend Jonas to his will. Jonas had nearly folded today, forced into close proximity with the man he had avoided for seven years. And with good reason. If Derek would try to corrupt Jonas, then it stood to reason he would do the same to Julia. Or, Heaven forbid, leave her alone and languishing while he went about London pursuing his own pleasure.

Before Jonas could think of the proper words to dissuade Julia from pursuing such a disastrous union, his parents arrived, followed by his brother and sister-in-law, and their three children.

“Oh, look Jermyn!” his mother exclaimed. “Jonas is here! Jonas, darling, we had begun to think you would not join us.”

Jonas accepted his mother’s kiss on his cheek, then his brother’s hearty embrace. “Apologies, Mother. I thought I had asked my man to inform you I would be here.”

A bald-faced lie. He had been in such a lather over Derek that he had stormed from the house this afternoon without answering his mother’s inquiry about his attendance at dinner. Julia locked eyes with him from across the room as he knelt to greet his nephews. Jonas clearly read the subtext in her eyes. She did not want him making a fuss over this would-be engagement in front of their parents. Jonas had every intention of addressing the matter with his father at the first opportunity, but would let the matter rest for now.

The years spent avoiding Derek had cost him valuable time with his family, especially during the hectic social season. His nephews had grown since he’d seen them last, and Jermyn’s wife was swollen with their fourth child. Seeing his brother’s growing family made Jonas think of Derek and Julia and the children they could potentially have. They would certainly be lovely babes, for his sister was a rare beauty and Derek … well, there was no one like Derek. Biting his lip, Jonas retreated to an armchair with the youngest of his nephews, trying to tune his ear to the boy’s childish babble rather than think of Derek. But now that his mind had conjured the man, Jonas could think of little else.

As dinner was served, Jonas found he could hardly make sense of the conversation happening around him. He sulked over his food and drank more wine than was his custom. By the time he had downed his fourth glass, Jonas realized the wine had only caused the memories to play through his mind more slowly, forcing him to agonize over every detail. He sat staring at boiled turnips and beefsteak without the desire to taste them, his fingers twitching around his fork as his mind took him to a faraway time and place. A time and place he had sworn never to visit again, but despite his better judgment found he was drawn to like a moth to a flame.

Paris, France

Seven years earlier…

Jonas swallowed past the lump of nerves lodged in his throat as he gazed about the exorbitant but gaudy furnishings of a brothel drawing room. Gold trimmed everything here—the sconces, the frames of paintings, the clawed feet of the furniture, even the doorknobs. The room reeked of floral perfume that burned Jonas’ nostrils and inflamed his already frayed nerves. A cluster of young men surrounded him, some standing and others reclining on various bits of furniture. Low whispers and ribald comments flew between them as a set of gilded French doors swung open to reveal the madame and her wares. One by one, the scantily clad whores paraded into the room, smiling and swinging their hips with every step.

Jonas’ cheeks grew furiously hot as he realized that the bodices of their gowns had been cut to rest below the breasts. Some had rouged their nipples, while others sported jeweled clamps that rose high and proud, glittering in the flames of crystal chandeliers. Jonas’ mouth went dry, and his stomach roiled, leaving him feeling as if he might become ill right here in front of everyone. His ears roared with such a clamor that he hardly heard the words of the madame, who grinned at them with rouged lips and gestured to her generous offerings.

He did not want to be here, in this place, surrounded by these people. Whenever he imagined having his first taste of a woman, Jonas had conjured the image of a proper wedding night with a blushing young bride. He would snuff the candles and do his best to be gentle with her, for such would be his duty as a husband along with the obligation of siring a child or two.

At the tender age of nineteen, he was nowhere near ready to consider marriage. However, he must think of it, or he might never come around to the idea. Because the truth was, while he liked women well enough, he was not entirely certain he ever wished to take one to bed. The whores standing before him were certainly lovely. As for their physical charms, he had no basis for comparison other than art, and could find no fault with them. He could appreciate a lovely neck, pretty legs, or a nice bosom, but not in the way his companions seemed to.

Oh, why had he agreed to join his old schoolmates on the Grand Tour? Jonas had, at first, looked forward to the museums, galleries, shops, and architecture. However, those who accompanied him on this trip were interested in none of these things. It had been foolish of Jonas not to realize that young bachelors would rather attend scandalous salons, court actresses and ballet dancers, and sample the offerings of every brothel they came across. Now that they had arrived in Paris, the other men seemed determined to debauch themselves to the point of incoherence, leaving Jonas with no choice but to join them in their escapades or sit alone in his room at the home that had become their host for the next several weeks. He had tried that a time or two, but soon learned that this only called more attention to him. A man could only take so much of being referred to as an old maid or a eunuch.

So, here he sat, hoping no one would notice that he was not enjoying himself. Jonas tapped his fingers against his thigh in a show of nerves as, one by one, the men chose their lovers for the evening and disappeared down the corridor. Each time the doors opened, Jonas received an earful of the most scandalous sounds. Gritting his teeth, he stared at the plush, Oriental rug beneath his feet. How the devil was he going to get himself out of this? He could hardly look at any of the women without feeling sick. How could he be expected to bed one?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the gentle nudge of someone’s shoulder against his. Jonas’ spine snapped straight as he recalled that someone shared the sofa he occupied. The tension coiling through him grew nearly unbearable as he locked eyes with Derek Dryden. They had shared a room at Cambridge with two others, and due to a twist in circumstance had become friends of a sort. Despite his popularity amongst their schoolmates, Derek seemed to prefer his own company and often withdrew from the others. Because Jonas felt so different from men of his age, he was often alone himself, withdrawn and sullen as he did his best to hide his shame. He was not among those who were periodically teased and beaten, thank Heaven, but neither was he part of any particular set.

That he had been invited on this tour was a testament to the kindness of Dryden. It was he who had convinced Jonas to come along. Though he might regret his decision at times, Jonas took comfort in having Dryden nearby. There was something oddly calming about his presence, and Jonas drew on that familiar comfort now as he looked into Dryden’s whisky-brown eyes.

“Follow my lead,” Dryden whispered with a knowing look. “And stop staring at your shoes; someone is bound to notice.”

---