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“I tried keeping a mistress once, but the experience left me unenthusiastic.”
“Obviously, you didn’t have the right one,” said Percy. “Rotten bit of luck, that’s all. You can’t let one bad apple spoil the whole barrel.”
A rueful smile lifted the corner of Henry’s mouth. “I can only imagine Adorée’s reaction to hearing a man compare her to fruit—rotten fruit, at that.”
Percy sat up. “Adorée? The Adorée? When was this?”
“Before I went to India.” He hadn’t told a soul. She’d made him promise to keep their relationship a secret. Both beautiful and sensual, she’d been every man’s desire—and she’d chosen him. She’d even gone so far as to call it “love,” but the truth had quickly become apparent as her skilled hands had dug deeper and deeper into his purse. He’d given her as much as he could, which was no pittance, but it had not been enough to buy her loyalty. The moment a wealthier man had shown interest, she’d cooled toward him.
“Bloody hell, man,” said Percy, frowning. “You could have told me, at least. I would have kept your secret and congratulated you on the coup. I’ve been trying to coax that woman into my bed for years, but I can’t afford her.” He leaned forward, his face eager. “Tell me, was she as good as they say?”
“Her expertise would have left even you breathless.” Already he was regretting having divulged his secret.
“And yet you decided to forsake her perfumed perfection in favor of—how did you put it? Ah, yes—pungent India.”
“I did not have much choice in the matter. Father insisted I take the post after I refused to accept the bride he’d selected for me.” It was mostly true. Adorée’s defection had wounded his pride in such a way as to make it the most palatable option. Despite the fact that he’d known her for a courtesan from the beginning, he hadn’t been able to bear seeing her with another man.
“Well, if the carnal tempts you not, then tell me what will,” continued Percy. “Name your vice, and I shall gladly support you in its indulgence.”
Henry smiled and shook his head. “I am already in danger of hell’s flames on several counts. And I think you’ve blackened your own soul quite enough without offering to aid others in their journey to moral turpitude.”
“How we ever ended up being friends is a mystery,” groused Percy. He let out a long sigh. “Very well. Off with you, then. Go home to your lonely bed.”
“I’m not lonely.”
; It was a bold lie, and one that fooled neither of them.
Percy peered at him, all traces of humor gone from his eyes. “Normally I should shudder to say such a thing, but you might consider marrying before you wither away entirely.”
“I’m not lonely, and I’m certainly not withering away,” Henry said with a laugh.
“Then what is it that has you moping about of late? Is the lovely Adorée still to blame? Or is it something else that has effected your transformation?”
“What do you mean? I’m the same as I’ve always been—and I’m not moping.”
“You’ve changed, Henry. You’re becoming your father.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry said, dismissing his friend’s claim with a snort. But he knew he’d changed. He was vastly different from the brash young man he remembered being years ago. Time and experience had altered him irreversibly.
He felt older than the man before him, though they were the same age. I might have been more like him, had I stayed here…But he’d run away, plain and simple, not wanting to face responsibility.
And now it had found him and dragged him back to England. There was no escaping it. Father’s health could no longer take the strain of managing the estates, and as the eldest it was his duty to take over their care. He sighed, feeling the weight settle across his shoulders.
Sabrina. Again, the memory of her intruded upon his thoughts. On the washed-out canvas of his life here in London, she was an unexpected splash of bright color. “The Red Pestilence,” he chuckled.
“I beg your pardon?” said Percy.
Henry coughed. “My apologies, I was woolgathering. I think I shall call it a night.”
“Suit yourself, I suppose,” said Percy, looking disappointed. “You’ve not been yourself of late, you know. Admit it.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Henry signaled the footman to send for his carriage. “I shall see you at the Pendletons.”
“Nighty-night, then,” said Percy, tossing his cards to the table with a shrug.
Henry stepped out into the night air and breathed deeply. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. London hadn’t had a good rain in days and it smelled like it.
