It was a fair question—an obvious one—but it still demoralized him to have to explain it. His futility had never been more apparent than the day he had not been able to save his little sister.
“I tried. I went to him and demanded he make it right. She’d been sixteen. He laughed at me. Refused to acknowledge the child or Margaret and said that if I made claims against him publicly, he would expose her pregnancy. He needs a rich wife, and I couldn’t afford to dower her. And he was right; he had me. I couldn’t force his hand. My mother was horrified of bringing shame on Anne and didn’t want to ask for help from anyone else in the family. So we arranged for her to go away to have the baby.”
“That mealy-livered bastard. And your poor, dear Margaret. What an ordeal it must have been.”
He nodded, relieved she understood. “It was frightening to watch. But she recovered. And we hope that she might meet a gentleman and find a marriage that brings her happiness. If the story is exposed, that will never happen.”
“I will find her a husband,” Constance said instantly. Seeing his alarmed expression, she laughed and held up her hands.
“Don’t worry. No gossip. I have thoroughly learned my lesson.”
He exhaled. “Thank you.”
Constance tapped her chin. “You know, Julian. This means that Lord Harlan knew you had information that might ruin his chances of marriage at the time he was courting Gillian.”
“Yes. I’m sure that’s why they cut us at the opera. He wouldn’t wish for her to learn of it.”
“Do you remember when I mentioned the actress from the Theatre Royal? And you asked me to let the matter go?”
“I do.” His own efforts to pursue the lead had come to nothing.
She bit her lip. “Well … I didn’t let it go. Don’t be angry, but my dressmaker has been quietly unraveling the connection, and last week she left me a note with what she’s uncovered. It seems the woman who was spreading rumors about you at Lady Palmerston’s is a theater actress who sees a number of gentlemen in an apartment she keeps on Charlotte Street. Where it is possible she saw you coming and going and drew conclusions, or spoke to neighbors, or overheard. Valeria mentioned that one of the gentlemen she entertains is Harlan Stoke. I know you think there is not a conspiracy, but there must be some connection! For if he knew about your club, the best way of protecting himself would be to destroy your credibility.”
“But how would he know to tell you?”
She sighed. “Well, he wouldn’t on his own. But it seems Gillian has gathered I am behind the circular. It’s possible she mentioned it to Lord Harlan, who conspired to plant the rumor so he he could then send my circular on to Evesham without betraying his own involvement.” She slumped down on the settee, looking dejected. “So it’s my fault. As usual.”
“Don’t say that. Even if it’s true, it changes nothing. He’s already gotten away with it.”
“Well, perhaps not. We could use the information to put pressure on him to do the right thing by Margaret. Or to warn others.”
“No,” he said sharply. She looked startled at his tone.
“I’m sorry,” he said, softening his voice. “But I promised Margaret and my mother we would never speak a word of this to anyone. They would be devastated if anyone outside our family knew.”
It had been bad enough that he had not protected his sister the first time. He would not cause her to suffer more than she already had.
Constance looked unconvinced. It made him nervous.
“Constance, promise me you will say nothing.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “Yes, of course. I promise.”
“In any case, it is not my sister’s secrets I came here to tell you. It’s my own.”
She smiled. “I already know about your Wednesdays, Lord Bore.”
He took a deep breath. “No, you don’t. Not entirely. And it is possible—likely even—that the truth will come out. Maybe sometime soon. Henry Evesham is circling around the club, prodding for more information. If he exposes me, it will cause another scandal. A bigger one.”
In true Constance fashion, she looked more intrigued by this than alarmed. “Why?” she uttered. “What is the truth?”
He drew in a deep breath. “The club you wrote about? I was not a member of it. I was a host.”
She shook her head blankly. “You mean, like an investor?”
He sighed. “No. I mean like … a tart.”
“What?” she asked, with a strangled, disbelieving laugh.
“I worked there.”
“As … a courtesan?”
“Of sorts. My role was to play a domineering sort of man in bed for members who paid for the privilege of indulging such a fantasy.”
Constance was staring at him with her jaw suspended, like he was an exhibit in a museum. “It was all very discreet, I thought,” he said quickly. “I wore a mask, and was known there only as Master Damian. I didn’t sleep with anyone I might know outside the club. And it was safe, as those things go—I took measures to protect against disease.”
“I see,” she said softly, taking this in. She ran her eyes over him, as if seeing him in a new light. “What do you mean by fantasies?”
“Members would come to me with things they desired to experience that were outside the ordinary. Being ravished by a pirate or a bandit … being bound, or flogged … or being commanded to another’s will while making love …” He trailed off, for her eyes were now so wide he was worried she might faint. “I listened to what they wanted and made whatever it was come true.”
She nodded, faintly. “May I ask why?”
He shrugged. “For money. It began as something I did privately. As a young man I had a lover who had certain proclivities that I found I enjoyed. After the mines failed, I was desperate for coin, and she introduced me to her friend, a woman called Mistress Brearley, who happens to be the proprietress of the club. She hired me. And her members pay very handsomely. I made enough to be sure that my mother and Margaret were provided for in their daily needs while I tried to restore our fortunes.”
“I see,” she drawled. He could not entirely read her expression.
“Constance, I want you to know I would not have risked it had I seriously thought the truth might ever be exposed. I was honest about how I felt about you, how I hoped to marry you. That I did this doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
“Julian,” she said softly. “I know you think I’m innocent, but I’m not upset that you’ve had lovers. Have you forgotten that I surround myself with every roué and fallen woman who will have me?”
He sighed. “You’re being kind, sweet girl. But you well know this is not simply a case of having lovers. I took their coin. I would never wish for you to be humiliated on my account.”
“You found the act humiliating?”
He bit his lip, unsure of how to answer. He didn’t want to lie to her, nor to cause alarm, but the truth was complicated. “Actually … far from it, Constance,” he said carefully. “It arouses me to give pleasure to those who crave it, and making love in that way—being a bit commanding and rough—is something I enjoy, when my lover has an interest. I’m not ashamed of what I did. But regardless of how I feel, if Henry Evesham publishes that I’ve been whoring to pay my tailor’s bill, my reputation won’t recover. My wife will suffer the consequences of such a scandal all her life. And I don’t want you to regret marrying me.”