“I have to go.” She scrambled to her feet and picked up her basket. “I—”
He stood up quickly. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered, trapping her between the stone and his body.
“No,” she whispered.
“I need a woman who isn’t like her,” he muttered.
Anthony brought his lips to hers. Pulling her to him, he slid his tongue across her lips until she opened for him. Drowning in a desire he’d never felt before, he knew he had to have her. He needed her comfort, her softness. As he brought his hand to cup her breast, he heard her gasp.
“No,” she cried softly. “Not like this.”
Only Anthony was far too gone to understand her meaning.
Chapter Two
London, 1817
Anthony slammed the door behind him and hurled his hat across the room. Why did this bother him so much tonight? It wasn’t as if something similar hadn’t happened on several occasions during the past eight years. He crossed the room to the fireplace and held out his hands for some warmth. There certainly hadn’t been any warmth from that damned ballroom tonight.
Still, he’d never been specifically asked to leave a party.
Until tonight.
He walked over to the small decanter and poured a glass of whisky. He drank it all down and refilled his glass before heading to a chair. As he took a sip, he heard the door open and wondered at his choice for a place of refuge.
“I rather doubt that will help your problem,” the feminine voice said as she strolled closer. She tousled his hair as she walked past his seat and took the chair across from him.
Anthony held up the glass in salute then drank down the rest. “This is helping immensely.”
“I just cannot believe Lord Eastleigh made such a spectacle of asking you to leave in front of everyone,” Lady Whitely commented.
He grimaced. “Well, if you know about it already, I am quite certain the entire ton has heard of it by now.”
His mother laughed softly. “Now that is an exaggeration by far. Most of the ton are snug in their ancestral estates far from London.”
“Not all of them,” he whispered, thinking of his newly married friends. Perhaps it was what he deserved after all. He gave up being the respectable young gentleman ten years ago.
“You can easily solve this problem,” his mother said, staring at him.
“How am I supposed to fix my reputation at this point? My dead mother is alive and the owner of the most popular brothel in London, my father has told everyone that my mother is dead, and the last I’ve heard, I have killed over twenty people and will seduce innocent virgins in their own beds.”
“No one knows about me except you and your father. Besides,” she said with a little laugh, “I thought it was only one virgin and not in her bed.”
“Exactly. And the last time I checked, I had only killed five people, all of whom had attempted to kill me first.”
His mother leaned back against her blue velvet chair and sighed. She scarcely looked like a prostitute in her fine silk gown. Even ten years after discovering her, he still had no idea if she even took men to her bedroom. Not that it mattered. She owned the house and took her cut from the girls.
“Anthony, setting your reputation to rights is not that difficult. You are the son of an earl. You are wealthy in your own right.”
Anthony slammed down the whisky glass on the table. “I am not interested in marriage.”
“Why not?”
“You of all people have to ask that question?” He spun the empty glass on the table until he finally slammed his hand down on it. “Perhaps, I am too much like my mother.”
She released a long sigh. “Do not let my mistakes taint your future.”
“It’s far too late for that, Mother.”
“Anthony, I know you think I was selfish,” she said softly. “If I had known the outcome of leaving you and Genna, I never would have done it.”
“I know.” He closed his eyes against the painful subject. It wasn’t the first time she had tried to explain her actions of eighteen years ago. His father had just as much blame to account for as she did. Perhaps even more. He was the one who declared she’d died. He was the one who told her never to return to the estate or attempt to see her children. He was the one who left her destitute, forcing her to turn to prostitution.
“You will need an heir someday,” his mother said, reverting the subject back to his respectability issue. “And marriage to the right woman would solve your problems. All you need is a father who might want a title for his daughter. I believe Miss Susan Coddington would be a good choice. Her father is a baron and I have heard he might like to see her become a viscountess.”
He closed his eyes and considered her words. His mother made sense, but he never wanted to marry. Marriage meant trust and honesty. Not something he could ever give to a woman. Then again, if he were only marrying for respectability, it would not matter. As long as she gave him an heir and put him back in the ton, he could keep his secrets.
“Anthony, a good woman can greatly improve your reputation. The right one can make you respectable just with a ring on her finger. But only if…” her voice trailed off as she stared into the fireplace.
“If what?”
“Only if you stop working for Mr. Ainsworth. As long as you continue doing jobs for him, your reputation will continue to suffer.”
He blew out a breath and wondered if her comments stemmed from the desire to see his reputation corrected or her need to keep him out of harm’s way. Not that it mattered either way. As long as he worked for Ainsworth, he put both his life and reputation at risk.
“Anthony, I have something for you to give to your sister.” She walked over to a small chest on her desk and pulled out a pendant. Rubies sparkled in the light of the fire as she held it out for him.
“You want me to give this to Genna?”
“Yes, as a Christmas gift.”
“Christmas isn’t for three weeks,” Anthony commented with a scowl. Christmas always reminded him of the dreadful times in his life.
“I want to make sure she receives it before her wedding. Tell her I wore it on my wedding day and you thought she would like to wear it on hers.”
Anthony reached for the rubies and studied them. They were a fine quality, but he wondered at their origins. “Am I supposed to tell her you gave them to her?”
“Oh, Anthony,” she clutched her hands over his, “please, just do this for me.”
Unable to resist tears in her eyes, he nodded. “I will tell her that Father found them with your things.”
“Tell her you found them in the attic, please.”
He had learned so little of what had made his mother leave his father. When he had finally made his return to this house a year after that fateful night, she had told him of his father’s infidelities. He knew the reason for her leaving involved several mistresses and a bastard daughter.
“As you wish,” he said.
She released his hands. “Promise me you shall at least think about what I’ve said concerning your reputation, Anthony.”
He stood up to leave and looked back at her. Before he even thought of marriage he had one wrong that he had to make right. Finding that woman had been the one thing he had never been able to do…until now.
“I