“Frequented the place? You haven’t touched a single woman in weeks,” Julian drawled, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler with practiced indolence.
Nathaniel stretched his leg, affecting the same careless pose that had served him well in the past. He had to look nonchalant and act it. “I would remind you that my uncle passed away. There is a mourning period to observe.”
“Oh, now you are concerned about mourning periods? That wasn’t the case when you decided to ignore it all to find a husband for your uncle’s widow,” Julian replied.
“That is different. They hardly knew one another. I cannot be seen acting in ways that are unbecoming of a duke so soon after my uncle’s funeral.”
“And yet, here you are,” Julian replied.
“Because you invited me. I thought we were taking dinner at White’s.”
It was true; he had been a little put out when Julian decided to change the location of their dinner from White’s to Westcott’s, knowing fully well what would transpire afterward. How was it that he had once loved such places? He was never the sort to be reckless. He did not gamble away his funds, nor did he seek out young ladies to scandalize; however, he did, on occasion, frequent clubs like these, where young ladies sought attention. Sometimes for the benefit of connection, sometimes for the benefit of funds. The women at places like these knew what they wanted and what the risks were.
And he had not been a stranger to these places. Yet, he had not felt a desire to come here for a long while now. Not since he’d arrived in England. There had been too much going on. Too many distractions to contend with. Well, one.
“Have you grown bored of the ladies?” Julian asked, drawing him from his thoughts.
“No, but perhaps more selective,” he replied with a shrug and took a sip from his glass.
“Selective?” Julian’s laugh was soft and entirely too knowing. “Nathaniel, you’ve never been selective about ladies. You collect women like other men collect snuffboxes—frequently and with little discrimination.”
The barb found its mark, though it was not entirely accurate. He had his fair share of notches in his belt, but he was not a rake. At least not in his own estimation. Instead, he lifted his glass in amock salute. “How flattering of you to catalog my conquests with such… enthusiasm.”
“It’s not your conquests that interest me,” Julian replied, leaning forward with predatory grace. “It is the sudden and complete absence of them. Tell me, does this newfound celibacy have anything to do with a certain dowager duchess who resides within your walls? One named Evelyn?”
The name hung in the air between them like a challenge. Nathaniel felt his jaw tighten involuntarily, a reaction he cursed even as it occurred. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous?” Julian’s eyebrow arched with theatrical precision. “Since the moment that particular young lady took up residence under your roof, you have ceased your usual pursuits entirely. No flirtations at the opera, no dalliances in dark gardens, no scandals whatsoever. That, my friend, is what I find truly ridiculous. Whenever you came to London before, you were an uncontainable beast.”
“That is taking it a little far,” Nathaniel said, for this was truly an exaggeration.
“Well, perhaps not a beast. But you could have rivaled our good Lord Byron.”
“Hardly,” Nathaniel said and drained his brandy in one burning gulp, using the moment to school his expression into something approaching indifference. “I’ve been occupied with protecting her reputation. Someone must ensure she doesn’t fall prey tothe sort of libertines who frequent establishments such as this. That is all. My appetite for entertainment and the ladies remains unchanged.”
The words tasted like ash in his mouth, and from Julian’s knowing smile, his friend was entirely aware of the lie.
“Prove it,” Julian said with silky smoothness, settling back in his chair like a judge pronouncing sentence.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If she means nothing to you beyond the burden of guardianship, then prove it. Go charm some willing lady. Seduce someone. Be the charming prince we all know and love.” Julian’s smile turned razor sharp. “Unless, of course, you find yourself… incapable.”
The challenge struck home with the precision of a rapier thrust. Nathaniel rose from his chair with deliberate casualness, his movements betraying nothing of the turmoil roiling beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He would show Julian. All their lives, they had jested with each other, challenged each other, and he’d always risen to the occasion. He would this time as well.
“Very well,” he said, his voice carrying just the right note of bored indulgence. “If it will satisfy your apparent need for entertainment.”
He surveyed the room with the calculating gaze of a practiced seducer. Near the far wall, a vision in emerald silk had positioned herself with artistic precision upon a velvet chaise. Lady Catherine Hastings—widow, beauty, and notorious for her appreciation of handsome young lords with flexible morals. Her golden curls caught the candlelight like spun fire, and her mouth, painted the color of ripe cherries, curved in invitation when their eyes met. She would never be seen like this out in the world; she would never have dared.
But in this place, she was someone else. She was free. None of the gentlemen who came here would dare breathe a word of who they had seen within these walls. Not if they had any hope of returning.
In here, silence and discretion were sovereign.
Nathaniel approached with the fluid confidence that had opened more bedroom doors than he cared to count. He lowered himself into the chair beside her with practiced grace, allowing his gaze to sweep over her form in frank appreciation.
“Lady Hastings,” he murmured, his voice dropping to the intimate register that had proven so effective in the past. “You grow more radiant with each passing season.”
She laughed, a sound like silver bells touched with sin. “Your Grace. I heard you had come back into town from Edinburgh. You live here permanently now?”
