Chapter Twenty-Five

The carriage neared London, and Geoffrey tapped his cane to the roof. “Take me to White’s Club.”

The sound of horses’ hooves echoed his heartbeat. His driver turned to St. James Street and arrived at number 37.

Inside the famed club, Geoffrey hailed his friend, Lord Carleton, and sat beside him in an oversized leather chair.

“You look dreadful,” Carleton said. “Your face has stubble. Your eyes hold a peculiar look. Did someone die?”

“Yes. I did.” He slumped in the seat. “My Serena is betrothed to Lord Leland LeBran and will be married in three weeks.” He lifted his chin, gazed upwards, and loosened his cravat. “May she make him as happy as she has made me.”

“Geoffrey, how could that be?”

“She resides at his estate with his mother and sister in preparation for the ceremony.”

Lord Carleton motioned the attendant for drinks. The brandy was served in large snifters.

“She told you this herself?” Carleton took a sip. “Drink.”

“No. Her brother did.”

Geoffrey took a large swallow of brandy. “What a fool I’ve been. I started to care about her, bought her an expensive necklace I hoped to give her. I arrived to an empty house.” He took another swig of the liquor. “Henry told me she burned my portrait and drowned the puppy I gave her. What a hard-hearted tart. She will pay for that innocent life. I hate her. If I had her within my reach, I would place my hands at her throat and choke the life out of her. No, I would take her to the lake and drown her. Then, she would know how the animal suffered as the water filled its lungs and it gasped for air.” He looked at his friend. “Serena pulled the wool over my eyes. I do not like being bamboozled, Carleton. God’s blood, she toyed with me like a spinning top.”

“Wait a minute, Geoffrey. I find it difficult to believe this after everything you have told me. You have always been a good judge of women.”

“Serena outwitted me. My mind burns with her memory. She played me well with her ardent attention and knew how to tantalize. Her skills were as practiced as mine. How could I have not seen her ploy?” Geoffrey gulped the last portion of liquid from the glass. “She did to me what I have done to many women. She walked away without a goodbye or backward glance. It pains me to be on this anguished side.” A stab of guilt lay buried within and grew into volcanic eruption.

He appreciated women, and the joy they brought, but he had used them. “I have always been on the up and up in my affairs. I never deceived my partners the way she did. Her brother told me she wanted a fling to make LeBran jealous. Henry knew of her scars and made a political marriage arrangement for Serena, to a man who offered to ignore them for a price.”

“What scars?” Carleton frowned.

“She made me believe she could not bear to tell her brother that her husband marked her, beat her into submission. She feared if Henry knew, he would have slain the monster. Another lie of the many she told me.” Geoffrey faced his friend, fisted his hand, and unclenched it. “When I saw the scars, I wanted to protect her and keep her safe from any other brute who might think to do the same.”

His face contorted, eyes narrowed in thought. “I was falling in love with her. I wanted time, and needed to be sure I could commit my heart fully before I could consider marriage. She used me to make LeBran jealous enough to propose. I hear she has never been happier.” His eyes darkened with pain and remembrance.

“I think we should visit Madame Odette’s tonight. You will need a woman for sport. The way to forget one woman is with another. That is the manly thing to do.”

“Perhaps. I do not know. I cannot think any more. I want to get drunk. She hooked me, reeled me in like a trout on a line.” Geoffrey got up and motioned to the door.

His friend stood also. “Let’s go to your place and I will get bosky with you. When we awake in the morning with a terrible hangover, we can think more about your dilemma. Something does not make sense to me, Geoffrey, but I cannot finger it. In the state we are in, we should not draw conclusions. Liquor addles the brain.”

“Carleton, my carriage is outside. I will pay the bill and we will depart at once.”

At Geoffrey’s townhouse, his footman took charge of the traveling luggage.

“The decanters are always full in my study,” Geoffrey announced as they walked the long paneled corridor. He placed a hand to Carleton’s shoulder. “Why would Henry lie to me?” Geoffrey closed the door. “He warned me off, but I could not resist the challenge: fall in love with me or not. Serena plied her wares well.” He poured cognac into glasses, handed one to Carleton and then took a large gulp as he paced the floor. “I am a fool taken in by a widow courtesan.”

He sat in his leather chair behind the desk and motioned for Carleton to sit opposite him.

“I will give her this, though, she played her part to perfection.” Geoffrey drummed his finger against the Waterford glass.

An unexpected rain pelted the window just as she had pummeled his heart. The thunder rumbled as if inside his head. Geoffrey ran his hand through his hair and stared out the window. The slick cobblestones glistened beneath the gaslights that illuminated the street.

“For a woman so agreeable and such a temptation, I never saw it coming, Carleton. I remember when she danced for me, and I compared her to Salome seeking my head on a platter. Well, she got it, the bitch.”

“Geoffrey, you work yourself into a lather, my friend. Your first instinct is to become offensive like when we played rugby. Perhaps you should consider your good fortune at the revelation.”

“I want retaliation. She is a deep bruise to my pride.”

“Revenge is a dish you can choke on, Geoffrey. You are in no mental state to think with a clear head. Besides, I know well enough to realize any harshness toward this woman or any other will be only with your words.”

“She has enraged me more than any other, Carleton. I could embarrass her, show up at the wedding and tell everyone I took her long and well. I could congratulate the bridegroom, then tell him I enjoyed her favors first, that he is a lucky man to have a wife to whom I taught the art of bed sport that could put a royal courtesan to shame.”

“Your pride is indeed wounded, and yes, it hurts, but you will not show up at the wedding and give her the satisfaction of your humiliation. If in a drunken stupor you should try such a thing, I will stop you.”

“You cannot stop me!” Geoffrey pounded his closed fist on his desk, shaking the ink well.

“I can, dear friend, and I would save you from your own humiliation. Go ahead, get angry with me if it pleases you. At least you dispel your hatred for the moment.”

The gurgle of the Waterford decanter seemed to echo in the room as its liquid refilled their glasses. The memories of the times he lavished cognac over her body, when his tongue laved to his heart’s content, taunted him. He didn’t want to think any more, yet the consumption of alcohol did nothing to dull his brain.

Geoffrey rose, walked in front of the fireplace where his father’s picture hung. He pounded the wall with his fist, time and time again, until the picture shook on the wall. “Liar. Liar. Liar.” Curses fell from his mouth, his anger a fury of rants. The veins on his neck bulged and corded.

Carleton grabbed his wrist. “You will break your hand and do no good. Come back and sit.” He guided his friend to his chair as one might a wounded child.

Geoffrey stared into space. He’d showered her with affection. Memories of the harlot tasted like days old bile.

She repaid him with her wanton treachery.

“I have lost control of my senses, Carleton. I need to reclaim them.”

“Indeed. You will put aside these thoughts and find another woman to warm your loins,” his friend offered.

Geoffrey took another deep swig from his glass. At last, his mind became fuzzy. He welcomed the sweet bliss of oblivion. “Women are all the same. One is as bad as the other. In the end, their sole purpose is to deceive you with bed sport. There was nothing special about Serena. Just another wanton.” His words slurred, “Though, I do admit,” he laughed, “her wondrous port tempted, and I, the willing vessel, sailed into it.”

Carleton counseled, “We shall not speak of her further. She is no longer a concern. Move on, Geoffrey. We shall pretend she is dead.”

“It would be easier to forget if she were. There would be no other alternatives,” Geoffrey mumbled.

Carleton opened the door and called to Neville. “Bring us some food. We need to fill our bellies since we are drunk. Sickness would befit us in the morning.”

Fifteen minutes later, the majordomo presented a tray laden with meat, cakes, and fruit.

Carleton filled the plates. “Here.” He handed Geoffrey a helping. “Nourish yourself.”

Geoffrey took what Carleton offered, wrinkled his nose. “I do not know if I can eat.”

“You can—you must, unless you have a desire to make love to the chamber pot in the morning.”

After forcing the first few bites, the food offered some comfort and Geoffrey cleaned the plate. When they finished, they sat near the fire, silent. The clock struck three times.

“My friend, I need to lay my body on a soft bed.” Carleton patted Geoffrey on the shoulder.

“Take any of the spare rooms upstairs. Neville will attend to your needs. I will enjoy the fire a bit longer.”

“Good night, then.” Carleton bid.

Geoffrey stretched his legs toward the hearth and stared into the crackling fire. His eyelids became heavy, his mind drifted. The flames before him danced and hidden in their movement was an image of Serena dancing—no, struggling with a man who held her wrist, bruised her face with his harsh blow. He yanked her into the air then slammed her against the stone floor.