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He looked surprised as he stood in front of her, his expression one of curiosity. “Well, I’ve never bedded a virgin before and I can’t decide whether to make you scream out of respect for my prowess or because you can’t bear for me to leave you once I’m done.”
“Just do it and get it over and done with,” Charity ground out, finishing on a sob. What would her beloved think if he could see her now? Would she tell him? No, his pride would be too damaged. He couldn’t help her so why torment him more than he was already?
He took her hand and led her to the sofa in front of the fire. “A glass of champagne does wonders to bolster the spirits though I personally prefer brandy,” he said, pulling on the bell-rope and issuing orders to Brown to fetch a bottle from the cellars. “Now, tell me why you’re so afraid.”
“Because…you’re putting on an act.” Charity didn’t mind telling it to his face as she held her hand against her chest. “As soon as you think you’ve calmed me so I won’t scream, you’ll have your way with me.”
“And you don’t want that? Really?” He pressed a flute of champagne into her hand as he led her closer to the fire, helping her into a comfortable chair. He seemed calmer now. Less flushed and, she hoped, less drunk. Or would she fare better if he was more drunk? There was always the chance he might pass out, then.
Nervously she plucked at her skirts. “Of course I don’t. I don’t know you.”
“I might poin
t out that this is your job. Your chosen way to earn a living. However, we’re getting to know each other now. So, Cathie, what brought you to the Red Door tonight?”
She opened her mouth in shock. Would it be folly to mention Hugo?
“My friends from Madame Chambon’s brought me.”
“They’re teaching you the tricks of the trade, are they? Nice girls?”
Charity nodded as he moved behind her. “They’ll be worried about me.”
“But you’re in safe hands. They know where you are.” To emphasise his point, he gently contoured her shoulders then stroked her neck. Charity closed her eyes as he reached her face. Submit. Submit. That’s what she had to do.
“How nice to have someone who cares even a fig for you.” He sighed. “I don’t.”
“Well, I don’t expect you to. That’s why I’m — ”
“I’m not talking about you.” He moved around to stand in front of her so he could see her. “No one cares a fig about me. Never did.”
Charity knew this wasn’t true. His grandfather had left him a fortune. He’d be receiving it in a few months.
“Is that why you must gamble? Because you’ll be destitute unless you win every time? Regardless of the cost?” She looked around her pointedly. “You really have no one else to look to?”
“I had a father and a mother, like everyone else, naturally.” He chuckled as he took a seat in the wing back chair opposite. “Can’t remember my mother as she died when I was born. My father? Well, the less said about him, the better. A cold, ruthless man. They say blood will out. What hope do I have? Thank goodness he’s about to head off to the family estates in India with my cousin. I thought I’d have to face that dastardly duty but thank God I got lucky at the cards and passed the baton to Hugo.”
And thank God Cyril didn’t know what Hugo was to Charity, since he clearly had so little love for his cousin. No, she decided, appealing to his better nature would not work. Instead, she said, “My father was a gambler and I’ve never felt the pull.”
He looked surprised. “He was, was he? And what was your father, if you don’t mind my asking?” He was toying with her now. “Let me guess. You speak decently enough. I’d say he was…a tutor? Yes, I do like guessing games. Tell me I’m right.”
“No, but my mother was a governess.”
“A governess, eh? A penniless, beautiful governess. I wonder who your father was, then? I was in love with my governess when I was sixteen. I’d have married her if I’d been able to. Were they star-crossed lovers, like we were?”
“He was a gentleman.”
“A gambler and a gentleman who’d be rolling in his grave if he saw you now.”
“He’s not dead.”
Cyril looked surprised. “So, your father is a gentleman and yet you earn your living by lying with the likes of me.”
Charity shrugged. His words hurt but she said, “What else can a girl do when she has no other means of earning her keep? Besides, my father refused to acknowledge me. At least, he refused to do so when I was eight.”
“So, you know who he is?”
Charity nodded. Good lord, had she really told him all this? She’d simply been too outraged by his pathetic claim that no one loved him. As if he were the only one.
