She reached for the page. “I’d prefer to read for myself.”
Mr. Packer nodded and handed her the document.
She scanned the page.
David wanted to gift her with a small house and a carriage for her use during the remainder of her natural life. But did she want him to give her such grand gifts? All she had done was care for him through an illness and bed him. Goodness, it was like a fortune to a girl like her. But what would he expect in return?
Of course, she knew what he would expect. Unlimited visiting rights, just as any man would. The visits themselves weren’t anything to dread. . She’d enjoyed being under him more than any other man before. Yet his continued visits to her home could only lead to greater and greater emotional intimacy. Dependency. It would be the gradual opening of herself to the type of association where she might be expected to give all of herself. To be drained. Unable to focus on her own work. To have no peace anywhere but to be at the beck and call of another, every day and night.
“I would like to draw your attention to item number thirteen.”
She searched for number thirteen but Mr. Packer spoke before she could find it.
“You agree to never attempt to contact the gentleman again.”
The shock of that statement wiped everything from her mind.
Her mouth dropped open. “What?”
“The gentleman wishes to assure that you do not try to contact him. If contact is needed, he shall contact you.”
Heat flamed over her face and she began breathing far too quickly. It hadn’t mattered that he didn’t want to share his real identity. But for him to so coldly demand in this agreement that she would never, ever try to find out who he was! Even though she’d had no intention of taking the offer, she was insulted to the marrow.
He would know where she lived, her name, everything about her. Presuming she allowed it, he would be able to come and go from her life and to disturb her peace and privacy as his whims dictated. But she wasn’t to try and learn who he was or to attempt to contact him in return. She was done with these men and their selfish carnal needs. Their one-sided way of relating to her, wanting to impose on her whenever they willed. But this was the most galling request she’d ever known.
She took the parchment by the top edge and tore it down the middle.
“Miss Darling!”
She took the two halves and tore them again. Then she handed them to him. “You may tell the gentleman that I have no need of his compensation. I merely took care of him in a time of illness. If he is so afraid I shall impose upon him in the future, he should simply forget me, as I intend to forget him.” She lifted her chin. “Everything about him.”
* * * *
The dimmed lights, dark-colored walls and furnishings, and soft music failed to soothe David’s mind. Lightheaded with intoxication, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He’d come here to one of the most expensive brothels in London with the express purpose of fucking himself into mental and emotional oblivion.
His companions, Lord Cade and Lord Sable were already each entwined with a comely Cyprian, their gazes glazed with lust.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
Vaguely, he noticed the brunette who stood before him. He mumbled a greeting and, automatically, he opened his arms as an invitation and allowed her to slide into his lap.
Her lips brushed his cheek. Violet. He supposed she could be considered his current favorite. Two months ago, they had certainly shared a few pleasant hours upstairs. Tonight, however, her spicy, musk perfume began to cloy.
“You’re so distant this evening.” Violet reached for the bottle on the table. “Shall I pour you another?”
David accepted another brandy and appraised his companion. Her heart-shaped face looked all sharp angles, painted perfection with a pointed little chin. He couldn’t help recalling Jeanne’s softly rounded face. Her lush body.
Jeanne had torn his offer to shreds.
Torn it to shreds.
He drained the last of the brandy.
Since that day, he’d sent Mr. Packer back twice, and twice Mr. Packer had been denied audience, left standing on Jeanne's doorway. David hated to leave a debt unpaid. More than that, he’d been plagued with thoughts of her living in that depressing little garret. Yes, he’d been touched by her. It did no good to deny it and he was really too old now to lie to himself. Her blue eyes, large, slightly wistful, direct and penetrating by turns, haunted his thoughts. Like a man in his twenties in springtime, sensual memories kept him on the edge of arousal, even at the most inopportune times.
Already from the little contact they’d shared, she proved too much of a distraction. Going out for an evening, having a fuck, that was certainly beneficial to his overall well-being and concentration. Keeping a regular mistress with the associated emotional entanglement was not. It was a wholly draining experience that could eventually suck a man’s soul dry. And he could allow nothing to divert his energies or attentions from his work. He couldn't risk indulging his fancy for her. Hence the clause he had asked Mr. Parker to add at the very last moment. An afterthought born of sheer self-preservation.