He had not meant to come. Habit and restlessness carried him here. The hall was crowded with gentlemen and beauties in silk peignoirs and smiles. A pair of masked ladies, draped more in confidence than in clothing, measured him with frank interest. He tipped them the faintest nod and let his gaze move on. Not tonight.
A figure detached from the flow near the card room. Thomas, Earl of Radbourne, lifted a brow as if he had discovered an anomaly in his own drawing room. Marriage had made him fitter and easier in himself; happiness had smoothed the old boredom and jadedness from his eyes. It still startled Sebastian to find him here at all.
“It looks like you could use a drink,” Thomas said, grinning lazily. “Or perhaps what you need is several rounds of wicked sport. Madame Rebecca has three new girls. Can you believe she tried to send them to me? I am astonished she has no fear of my darling wife skewering her for the audacity. Shall I make the introductions?”
“Not interested,” Sebastian said, scanning the room. “I am here for?—”
His mind blanked, and he could not finish his sentence.What in God’s name was he doing at the pleasure palace?
“Given what you said, I now understand Madame Rebecca’s worry,” drawled another lazy voice at his shoulder. “She swears she is losing clients. She even listed you among them, and I told her nay—she must be imagining things.”
Sebastian turned and smiled despite himself. “Templeton.”
George, Viscount Templeton, was everything his enemies in the House of Lords feared and some of his friends secretly envied: a libertine who could skewer a bill with a phrase and charm a duchess out of a prejudice. Tonight, he wore a black coat, a faintly amused mouth, and the look of a man who knew where all the good cards lay. His silver-dark gaze gleamed with its usual debauchery and wit. Sebastian had met him as a lad at Eton, and they had been fast friends and confidants ever since.
“I arrived with Grantham. Let me go and find him. Ah…speak of the devil, he is coming this way.”
Kenneth Collingwood, the Earl of Grantham, was another friend who society had labeled a scoundrel rather than a gentleman. Interestingly, the man had never taken one of Aphrodite’s top courtesans to his bed, and seemed as if he attended the pleasure palace to be an irreverent thorn in Madam Rebecca’s side.
“Come,” George said. “The second-floor rooms are quieter. Radbourne, Grantham, and I shall rescue you from the boredom so evident in your gaze.”
Sebastian chuckled. They climbed the broad stairs, passing a coterie gathered at the landing to watch a dancer undulate behind a gauze screen. The dancer’s shadow arched like a bow and brought a murmur from the crowd. Sebastian did not slow. The private room they chose had walls the color of good claret and a long table set for faro. Several lit candles pooled soft light upon green baize; a chandelier gilded the edges of a portrait of Aphrodite rising from the foam, painted with such frank delight that the goddess seemed about to step down and claim a chair. Two courtesans, beautiful and scarcely dressed, lounged upon a chaise. They brightened when the gentlemen entered.
“Not tonight, darlings,” Radbourne said, polite and clearly untempted. “We require privacy.”
They pouted prettily and drifted out, leaving behind a ghost of perfume and orange blossoms. A footman appeared with a tray. They took brandy without speaking. Sebastian let the first sip burn a clean line down his throat. He was silent for a long time, letting the tension unspool from his shoulders. He dropped into an armchair by the fire and sprawled there, indolent and wholly ungentlemanly.
Radbourne settled into a chair and stretched his long legs. “Have you heard about Madame Rebecca’s latest scheme to wake the jaded?”
Sebastian frowned. As one of the silent investors in Aphrodite, Madame Rebecca usually shared the schemes she devised to make money and keep patrons salivating. He recalled, dimly, her proposal last week and the role she wished him to play.Bloody hell.
Radbourne continued, “Rebecca claims she is losing patrons toennui; many old members are getting married or takingpermanent mistresses, and some are complaining they are bored. She plans something to make them howl for weeks.”
Templeton laughed. “We are all hoping for another titillating auction like last year’s.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “What will be the new source of delight for her clientele?”
“She is assembling a private art collection,” Thomas said, swirling his glass. “Paintings to titillate and shock. She wants real patrons captured inflagrante delicto. Says it will be the height of seduction and scandal. “Anyone who wishes to view this titillating gallery must pay a premium for the privilege.”
Sebastian chuckled, barely recalling the conversation. “Rebecca is nothing if not inventive; it will bring half of London’s scoundrels back to her doors. Her note delivered to me earlier makes sense now; she wrote of a ‘most delightful indulgence.’ She wants me to pose for her painter. An assessment of sorts, to see if this painter will fit in with this crowd.”
Templeton’s smile sharpened. “Will you do it?”
“I might allow myself to be painted while tupping,” Sebastian said, voice dry. “But it is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“You do look distracted,” Templeton said lightly. “Cards may help. Or confession. I am a dreadful listener, but I can be bribed with an orgy later on.”
Thomas gave Sebastian a more sober look. “What is wrong? We are here should you wish to talk.”
Sebastian let the silence hold. Somewhere below, laughter rose and fell like a tide. “Four ladies appeared on my doorstep a few days ago. There are three girls and one young woman. They claim to be my family.” In a clipped tone, he told them everything.
Grantham studied him. “Despite this indifferent façade you wear, I can tell that you are bloody furious.”
Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair. “My mother is not well. That is why she has been in Bath. The physician warned against any undue strain or excessive emotions that might put her heart at risk. If she learns my father kept bastards, it willabsolutelykill her. She has always spoken of their grand love match. Those stories are what planted the notion in Cordelia’s mind that she must marry for love alone. Our mother encourages it, and I find myself with little choice but to indulge her. But imagine what it would do to my mother to learn that the marriage she holds so dear—the love she remains so fiercely proud of—was nothing more than an illusion. That the man she still loves, still mourns, still speaks to as though he stood beside her, betrayed her faith so completely. I cannot bear to see that memory shattered, nor the belief she has carried in their union undone.”
“Then never let her find out. I say do away with them,” Templeton said coldly. “You owe them nothing.”
“I have thought it more than once,” Sebastian said, finishing his drink in a single swallow. “But that would be tossing them to the wolves.”
