Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [106]
Mr. Vawtry truly believed himself to be at the last stages of desperation. The modest stock of common sense and self-confidence he'd once possessed had been ruthlessly vandalized in a matter of days by a man whose primary delight in life was making other people miserable.
Vawtry was incapable of recognizing that his situation wasn't half so catastrophic as it appeared, any more than he recognized Francis Beaumont as the insidious agent destroying his peace of mind.
His mind poisoned, Vawtry believed that his friendship with Dain was the source of his troubles. "'He must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil,'" Beaumont had quoted, and Roland Vawtry had promptly realized that his spoon had been too short for dining with the likes of Dain, and that his own case was the same as Bertie Trent's. Association with Beelzebub had ruined them both.
Now, Vawtry was not only ruined, but— thanks to Charity— in imminent danger of a violent death. He needed to think— or better yet, run for his life. He knew he couldn't do either of those things properly while his lap was filled with a buxom trollop.
All the same, angry as he was with her, he felt disinclined to push her off. Her luxurious bosom was warm and soft, and she was stroking his hair back, just as though he had not nearly killed her minutes earlier. A woman's touch— even that of a brazen whore— was very comforting.
Under the comforting touch, Vawtry's mind softened toward her. After all, Dain had done Charity an ill turn as well. At least she'd had the courage to confront him.
Besides, she was pretty— very pretty— and exceedingly jolly company in bed. Vawtry squeezed her breast and kissed her.
"There now, you see how naughty you've been," she said. "As though I wouldn't look after you. Silly boy." She ruffled his hair. "He won't think anything like what you say. All I have to do is tell people how Mr. Vawtry paid me…" She considered. "Paid me twenty pounds to keep out of the way and not bother his very dear friend, Lord Dain. I'll tell 'em how you said I wasn't to spoil the honeymoon."
How clever she was. Vawtry buried his face in her plump, pretty bosom.
"But I come— came— anyhow, because I'm a wicked, lying whore," she continued. "And you was— were— that vexed with me, you beat me." She kissed the top of his head. "That's what I'll say."
"I wish I had twenty pounds," he mumbled to her bodice. "I'd give it to you. I would. Oh, Charity, what am I to do?"
She, possessing an innate skill for her profession, showed him what to do, and he, having a knack for misconstruing the obvious, interpreted professional skill as feeling for him. Before many hours had passed, he'd confided all his troubles to her, and for hours after, while he lay asleep in her arms, Charity Graves lay awake planning how to make all her dreams come true.
Chapter 16
Half an hour after he'd stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door, Dain stood upon the threshold of Jessica's dressing room. He bent a frigid stare upon Bridget, who was taking the pins from Jessica's hair. "Get out," he said very quietly.
Bridget fled.
Jessica stayed were she was, upon the chair at her dressing table. Spine stiff, she lifted her hands and continued removing the pins. "I am not going to quarrel with you about this any longer," she said. "It's a waste of time. You refuse to listen to a word I say."
"There's nothing to listen to," he ground out. "It's none of your bloody business."
That was how he'd responded during the drive home to her efforts to make him understand the problem…because one short scene with a female from his past had cancelled all the progress Jessica had made with him. They were back to where they'd been when she'd shot him.
"You are my business," she said. "Let me put it to you simply." She turned in her seat and met his