Chapter Fourteen

I nordinately proud of having earned his shoe privileges back, Luke hastened through breakfast to take his walk.

The alone time worked like the assigned chores had, freeing his mind to think about his new plan. He craved Belle’s thoughts on it, but that was not possible for a few days with Charlotte visiting.

He knew what he should do, but he needed to take this one step at a time so he did not fall back on old habits. Belle’s support had gotten him this far, and he welcomed the crutch while he had it. But it wouldn’t be there past the next fortnight in all likelihood, so he must begin implementing changes on his own.

The next afternoon, he settled back into the comfortable carriage with a sigh. He’d mastered one outing; surely he could handle a second one. He’d even earned shoe privileges. Imagine what he might get if he navigated this evening successfully.

As the carriage slowed at the men’s favored pub, his nerves returned. Other than guzzling the altar wine or frisking someone for a flask, he hadn’t had access to drink. Tonight he’d be lingering within easy reach of bottles and bottles of delicious temptation.

Inching into the pub, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the low light. Their preferred corner table was empty. He was the first to arrive. How easy it would be to order and gulp a glass of golden nectar before his friends appeared.

His hands fisted. Perhaps he’d wait outside. The place reeked of spilled beer, burned tobacco, and old grease from the kitchen—all among his favorite aromas these past months.

Straightening his spine, he strode over and plunked down on the bench. He’d hold the table for his friends and control himself, like the mature adult he was attempting to be.

Nate arrived moments later and looked surprised he had not already ordered their drinks. When he raised a hand to the barmaid, Luke stopped him and gestured her over. “A cider for me today, please.”

Nate stared, his eyes wide. Both friends knew Luke’s distaste for cider or any sweet drink.

“I’ll explain when Will is here. Tell me what you’ve been doing. I know I’ve been... unreachable.”

They discussed Nate’s specialized metal products and new inventions by his business partners while waiting for William.

Their drinks arrived. Luke took a tentative sip. Nasty as ever, coating his tongue. He waited for his belly to warm with contentment as it did with whisky. Instead, it rolled, reminding him of his first days at Belle’s, when he could barely stand the smell of food. He lowered the mug to the table. As usual, Belle had been correct—drinking cider slowed him down even if his self-control did not.

William arrived, and Nate and Luke rose to hug him and exchange words of sympathy there had not been time for at his father’s service.

William did not notice Luke’s cider, ordering his own ale, and Luke decided to explain after hearing about his friend’s more important challenges.

William described his father’s last failure, a poorly managed shipping investment with his cronies. The shipment had been ruined, a total loss, and William would likely have to release some employees. His frustration showed in his deep frown and deeper gulp of ale. He’d told Luke and Nate months ago that he’d lost all respect for his father once he’d seen the state of the earldom and the man’s ongoing lack of attention to it.

Nate shook his head. “’Tis horrid, like one last slap from the grave, if I may say so.”

Luke swung a hand with a glass and a cheroot in it. “Well at least ’tis the last. Hear, hear.” He raised the glass, and they all toasted.

Will sighed. “He’s undone over a year of work. I am just thankful I had gained enough ground that we aren’t begging on the street.”

Still unsure how his friend had invested so successfully, Luke felt a stab of jealousy. Recalling what Belle had told him about Charlotte teaching young women, he realized William had also benefited from her knowledge. He half-joked, “Yes, well done, chap. I confess I must have missed that class at university, I’ve had nowhere near the returns on my investments that you have.”

“Perhaps you drank more of them away?” Nate murmured.

Luke elbowed him, faking joviality. In reality, the dig hurt. He’d been obvious in his lack of control, and he was trying to face that head-on. Reminders of both his friends rescuing him from gaming hells in the past and pouring him into bed shamed him. He glugged more cider, which reminded him to enlist his friends’ support in his ongoing recovery.

William smiled, although the curve of his lips was tinged with sadness, and confirmed Luke’s suspicions. “’Twasn’t Oxford, South. ’Twas Charlotte, Lady Peterborough to you. The lady you doltishly addressed as a wench in her own home.”

Of course. The person William and Belle had in common.

He raised a hand to the serving girl, gesturing for another round and rolled his eyes. “I apologized for that, old chap. Are you ever going to let me forget it?”

William snickered.

The other two ordered another round. Concerned about William’s reaction to Charlotte’s rejection, Luke also wanted to distract them from the fact that he wasn’t adding his own drink. He asked, “You know, we haven’t seen you here much these past months. You’ve been at the ever-so-lovely Lady Peterborough’s. Why are you not there now?”

William shook his head, lips turning down. “She won’t see me. As far as I can tell, she is not even home.”

“Wait, do you mean she found you inheriting an earldom awful enough that she hied herself off somewhere?” Luke joked, trying to keep things light so his expression would not give his knowledge of Charlotte’s whereabouts away.

“What, was her first marriage to an earl so horrible it put her off for life? Or is she wealthy enough to want to keep a string of young men to play with, but never wed?” Nate added.

“Watch it!” William sat up. “I’ll not have you speak of her like that. Do you really think I’d be someone’s plaything?”

Nate shrugged, muttering almost to himself, “If the sex was good...”

Luke roared with laughter a little too hard and loud for the topic, preoccupied with the need to confess his sins to his friends.

William glowered, and Nate changed the subject to a funny interaction with a customer, reminding Luke of the point of the evening—to cheer his friend.

When the evening ended without Nate asking him about the cider, he took it as an excuse to delay the inevitable. His lips twisted in derision. Perhaps they were enjoying not having to pour him into his bed too much to question it.

Luke walked William back to his house as though headed to his own townhome, then changed course to Belle’s, hoping she had avoided drinking sherry all evening with Charlotte. He wanted to celebrate. He’d conquered the pull of the bottles of liquid gold behind the bar, and was more than ready to return to her preoccupation with his chest hair.

As he rounded the house to the kitchen door, he grew excited about the potential of her following that T .

Luke crept up the servants’ stairs, the candle in his hand casting eerie flickers. The heels of his shoes clicked against the wood despite his best efforts to be silent, so he bent to unbuckle them and slip them off. No point in waking up the entire house. Turning to continue up with them clenched in one hand, he lifted his candle to find Belle standing at the top of the steps in her red nightrail and wrap, hands on hips.

“Hallo.” He grinned at her, happy she was awake so they might revisit the prior night’s conversation.

“Clodpate. You’re louder than a herd of elephants. Get up here and into my room.”

“I am at your service, milady.” A chap could hope. He bowed when he reached the top of the stairs. “How do you know what a herd of elephants sounds like?”

She shoved him into the room and clicked the door shut. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “How many drinks?”

For a moment he flashed back to standing in front of The Earl, being reprimanded about grades when he’d tried his best. He’d long ago stopped trying to earn his father’s respect, however, so this hurt worse. He wanted Belle to be proud of him, and her doubting his self-control pierced his balloon of happiness.

Reminding himself he had to do things because he wanted them, not to impress others, he straightened. Glaring, he answered, “Not even one, but gee, thank you for the trust.”

“What?” She gaped.

“Disappointed? Are you so rarely wrong?”

“No, no. I simply cannot believe anyone can make that much noise sober.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I am sorry, Luke. I should have asked a different way. It was only because you clattered up the stairs, as it took me back to the night of the sherry raid.”

His lips pressed together, he muttered, “’Tis fine.”

“Actually, it is not. You deserve a reward.”

He perked up, his brows raising as his lips relaxed. He should make her go through the three steps of begging his pardon, but he was too eager to take advantage of her interest from the night before.

“Like what?”

“Anything.” When he opened his mouth to respond, she added a quick qualification. “Anything other than wine or spirits.”

“I don’t want that.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

Replaying his quick refusal, he realized it was proof he was on the path to being cured of his dependence.

“Shall I offer some choices then?” she asked.

“No, thank you. I know what I want. I want to touch you.” Since before he held her feet in his hands, he’d wanted to see all of her, touch all of her. He stalked toward her. For every one of his steps, she retreated a step. The back of her knees hit her bed, and she lost her balance, sitting hard. Dropping to his knees before her, he put his hands on her ankles.

She looked nervous, but played it off with a blasé tone. “Another foot rub? ’Tis rather unimaginative of you, Clodpate. But I suppose I can live with it.”

“Hmm. Unimaginative? I dare say, I can do better, my Belle.”

She glared at his use of that name.

Undoing his cravat, he began unfastening his shirt.

“What are you doing, Clodpate?”

“Given your interest last night, I thought to offer you visual stimulation whilst I take my pleasure.” He tugged his shirt off and sat back on his heels. When she remained silent and her gaze roamed his chest and belly, he grinned.

With that, he slid his hands up to just below her knees and yanked her closer to the edge of the bed. Off balance, she fell back. Before she could rise, he slid the satiny fabric up her body as far as her supine position allowed. He held the hem in place with a hand on her belly, his lower palm burning at the feel of her bare skin.

She gasped.

“I want to worship you in all the ways you’ll permit.” He licked the top of her knee. “You taste far better than that cider. You shall be my sweet treat and reward all in one.”

Her mouth closed and opened.

He smiled for a moment. His Belle was finally speechless. He scanned her silk-clad form. The hard tips of her nipples and rapid rise and fall of her chest told him she was not averse to this act of contrition. But he needed to hear her permission.

Lowering his head, he ran his lips up one inner thigh from knee to crease, then the other. At long last, his hands resting on her hipbones with thumbs teasing the edge of her nether lips, he asked, “May I enjoy my reward?”