Page 34 of A Wicked Business

Anger rose on the back of hurt and he strode out of the copse of trees, hardly knowing what direction he took. He walked without looking, without noticing who he passed or what direction he took, only put one foot in front of the other and kept going, fuelled by rage and frustration, by a sense of injustice and a nagging ache in his chest that insisted he had lost something he’d not even known he’d had, or had even wanted.

That was the most maddening sensation of all and made his anger burn hotter.

Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, loud enough to shake Felix free from the turmoil of his own thoughts. By the time some sense of reality returned to him, he realised he was on Berwick Street, and he hurried along to the smart red brick house that belonged to Larkin Weston. As he hammered on the door, the heavens opened and the rain fell, fat drops smacking fiercely against the dusty pavements as if they too were angry and venting some grievous hurt.

Felix was greeted by the surprised face of Barnes, Larkin’s valet and butler and a man who had been sorely tested by his master’s behaviour over the past year.

“Is he in?” Felix demanded, with no preamble. Barnes had seen it all before and would not blink an eye at Felix’s obvious emotional disarray.

“Yes, sir. In his studio, Mr Knight. Shall I announce—”

“No, no. I know my way,” Felix said gruffly, moving past Barnes and hurrying towards the back of the house.

The studio was usually a bright room but even that was cast into gloom on a day when the skies had turned the colour of slate, tinged with an odd purple light. Larkin was standing before the large windows, staring up at the tumble of heavy black clouds with interest. He turned as Felix closed the door behind him and smiled.

“Excellent timing, my friend. Can’t see to paint in this ghastly light. What a display, though! The lightning has been putting on quite a show.” Larkin’s amused expression faded as he sensed Felix’s less than sunny mood. “Do you need me to help you bury a body?” he asked cautiously.

Felix snorted. “Not yet, but give me time. I may come around to the idea.”

“Ah,” Larkin said with a sigh. “I recognise these symptoms, I’m afraid, as I’ve been living in close quarters with them for some months.”

“What symptoms?” Felix demanded, stalking over to a bottle of brandy and two mismatched glasses he spied sitting on a table haphazardly piled with jars of brushes and bottles of linseed oil. Mercifully, it was two-thirds full. He pulled the cork with his teeth and poured himself a large measure, turning to Larkin with an enquiring expression.

“No, thank you. I’ve just about got my life back in order and I’m not about to turn things upside down again when everything is going so well,” Larkin said, giving Felix a pitying smile that did not improve his mood a whit. “And the symptoms are unmistakable, I’m afraid. Unless I miss my guess, there’s a woman at the heart of it.”

Felix froze with the glass in midair, glaring at Larkin. “Not a woman, a… a… fiend! A creature put on this earth with no other ambition than to drive me distracted!”

“Unmistakable.” Larkin sighed, shaking his head. He moved across the room, plucked the bottle from Felix’s hand, and danced out of reach before he could take it again.

“Give that back!” Felix said furiously.

“I shall,” Larkin promised, holding out his free hand in a peaceable gesture. “I promise I shall. But I want the full story first. Come and sit down and tell me everything and once you’re done, if you still want to drink yourself into a stupor, I shall pour it down your throat myself. Deal?”

Felix glared at him. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “But I want the good stuff you keep in the cellar. The bottles you stole from your father’s house.”

Larkin winced, and Felix knew he was pushing his luck.

“Very well,” Larkin said with a shrug. “I owe you that much for all the times you’ve dragged me out of the gutter this year and seen me home. Come along. I’ll get Barnes to rustle us up some grub, I’m famished.”

So, over plates heaped with eggs and bacon, mushrooms and sausages and fried bread, Felix told his friend of his dealings with Lady Belinda, only leaving out the precise details of the business venture with which he had helped her. When he finished unburdening himself and had found, somewhat to his surprise, that he’d cleared his plate, he sat back and regarded Larkin, expecting a sympathetic response from one of his oldest friends.

Instead, Larkin reached across the table and smacked his forehead with the flat of his hand.

“Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?” Felix demanded, rubbing the place to take away the sting.

“For being an utter pratt, that’s what,” Larkin said, looking thoroughly exasperated. “This beautiful girl—and I know she’s a beauty, for I’ve met her several times—this beautiful, intelligent girl who is out of her mind with worry, turns to you and asks you to marry her, and you reject her out of hand. Then you kiss her like a madman in Hyde Park where anyone might have come across you—and I’m guessing it was likely the first time any man has ever taken such a liberty—and then you tell her it was a mistake. Does that about sum it up?” Larkin glared at him, folding his arms and sitting back in his chair, watching Felix as though he expected the penny to drop at any moment.

It did.

Felix swallowed as a weight far heavier than a penny made his stomach drop. A cold sensation settled in his guts and the breakfast he’d just eaten sat uneasily. Put like that it did sound rather awful.

“Er…” he said, suddenly wondering if he had been a bit too quick to judge, a bit too much on his dignity. If he had earned her fury and if perhaps those old wounds and slights he’d suffered about his father’s heritage had been rather closer to the surface than he’d realised.

Perhaps Belinda had been well within her rights to say he was no gentleman. Christ, what a bastard he had been, and how she must hate him. Belinda, with her fierce pride, had shown him her vulnerability, had shown him she not only needed him but wanted him, and he’d rejected her in the most callous way possible. His heart clenched as he realised just what he’d done. Had he hurt her beyond repair? Was she even now weeping because of him? His own heart hurt as he considered it. How on earth could he fix this? How could he do anything to stop her from hating him for the rest of his days?

Suddenly, that Belinda might be out in the world, despising him, was the worst thing he could think of. That he’d had her admiration and respect, perhaps even her love, and he’d thrown it back in her face made him so panic-struck he could hardly breathe. Had he just thrown away the woman fate had chosen for him because he was too pig-headed to give up his bachelor existence?

“Oh, damn me to hell,” he said, and put his head in his hands.