The Rake (Boston Belles 4)

I strode deeper into the room, the overwhelming humidity and heavy sweetness of blossoms suffocating me. “Both, I suppose.”

“Well, consider yourself forgiven by me. I’m not one to hold a grudge. Though I’m not too sure the same could be said about Cece and Ursula.”

“We get along fine,” I clipped out curtly.

“That may be so, but they’ve been very lonely and sad since you left.”

My throat clogged with self-loathing.

“What’s the situation with my sister and mother?” I asked, taking a seat in front of her on the armrest of a green upholstered couch. “Whenever I see them, they look happy and content with their lives.”

Then again, I made a habit of housing them in the best apartments, taking them to the best restaurants, and treating them to the most lavish shopping sprees whenever they came for a visit.

“Mr. Hasting is positively skint. He hasn’t a dime to his name and hasn’t been pulling his weight in this household, which, now that your father’s money is held up in the will, might pose an issue.” Louisa furrowed her delicate eyebrows, grazing a thorn with her stung finger. “Cece is quite miserable with him, but she feels she is too old and not pretty or accomplished enough to divorce him and look for someone else. Your mum and Edwin had a less than ideal marriage, and I suspect she’s been very lonely, especially in the last decade.”

I stood up, ambling over to the glass and propping an elbow against it. A flock of ducks waddled across the lawn. “Does Mum have any support?”

How did I not know the answer to my own question?

“She’s stopped taking social calls in recent years. It seems pointless. With her younger daughter married to a fool, and her older son being the most infamous rake Britain has produced, she never has any good news to share. Though I try to visit her whenever I’m in Kent.”

Even as she said this, Louisa didn’t sound particularly accusing or antagonistic. She was the exact opposite of Emmabelle Penrose. Soft and pliant.

“Cece never had any children,” I mused.

“No.” Louisa came to stand in front of me, her modest cleavage pressing against my chest. I noticed her fingers were full of broken flesh, bruised by thorns. “I doubt Hasting has a taste for more than gambling and hunting. Children are not high on his to-do list.”

Her body pressed harder against mine. The game had changed between us, and Louisa was no longer the timid little girl who’d begged me to throw crumbs of attention her way.

Run away again, her eyes said, if you dare.

No part of me wanted to move. She was attractive, attentive, and interested. But I couldn’t take my mind off Sweven. The woman who snuck into my dreams like a thief, flooding them with desire and need.

“And what about you, Lou?” I curled my fingers around the back of her neck and drew her an inch away from me. Her skin pricked with goose bumps under my touch. “I heard you lost your fiancé. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well.” Louisa licked her lips, smoothing my suit with a dark chuckle. “I suppose you could say I’ve never had the best of luck when it comes to men.”

“What happened to us had nothing to do with luck. I was a selfish wanker who ran away from responsibility. You were always collateral, never the main objective.”

“I never held a grudge, you know,” she murmured, her voice calm, collected. It surprised me. I imagined heads would roll if I were in her position. “Anger just seems like such a wasteful feeling. Nothing good ever comes of it.”

“That’s a lovely way of looking at things.” I smiled gravely, thinking, If people let go of their anger, us solicitors would be left with no job.

“You’re back now.” Her dark eyes met mine, daring me again.

I took her hand, which was on my chest, near my heart, and pressed her cold knuckles to my warm lips. “Not for good.” I shook my head, my gaze holding hers. “Never for good.”

“Never say never, Devon.”

After stuffing drunken Benedict and Byron into their Range Rovers and instructing their drivers not to stop until they were on the other side of the island, I kissed Louisa farewell. I promised to call her next time I was in England, a promise I had every intention of fulfilling.

When our guests were gone, I snuck into the garden and smoked three rollies in a row, checking if I had any text messages or phone calls from the States. Specifically, from a certain American vixen. I did not.

She is too bloody broken, and you aren’t in any danger of winning any sanity awards anytime soon either. I trudged back into the sprawling, dark mansion through the back kitchen, passing Drew snoring in front of the telly in one of the drawing rooms and Cece sitting at the grand piano, staring at it silently without playing.