He swallowed the last of his brandy and placed the glass on the center table in the parlor and stood. “I am leaving.”
His lover pouted, her calculating eyes tracked his movements. “Have you found someone else?” she asked from her reclining position on the chaise lounge.
“No.”
“You seem a touch restless, Tobias.” Arabella shifted, and draped herself on the cushions so she was provocatively posed, the silk peignoir cut low where her breasts were displayed to their best advantage.
She meant to beguile him, but he felt nothing. It was alarming the degree to which Lady Olivia entranced him, which had him so on edge. “I intend to return to Derbyshire.”
Arabella stiffened. “So soon, darling? You’ve only just arrived in town.”
“Duty calls,” he said, shrugging into his superfine coat without assistance.
For a brief instance, anger flashed across her face, before she buried it underneath false charm. “I so miss you when you leave.” She cleared her throat delicately. “My good friend, Lady Bartley, received an invitation to your mother’s very exclusive and much sought after house party.”
He glanced at her. “And?”
A flush climbed her face. “I…I would like an invitation, if you would be so kind.”
“No,” he said bluntly. His mother had already cornered him and asked if there was any truth to the rumor he and the widow of the late Viscount Trotman were lovers. Tobias had been disgusted with the ease at which the rumor mongrels thought to discuss his private life with his mother. She, of course, had been warning him to stay away from Arabella’s bed, for all of London knew she was seeking her third husband to support her own extravagant lifestyle. Tobias had shook his head and simply changed the topic, much to his mother’s frustration. She had then attempted to throw one of her fits, even crying a few tears, to which he had been coldly immune. Then she had taken to her rooms for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing unusual—he was familiar with such pathetic attempts at manipulation. Tobias acknowledged, however, how important society’s views and expectations were to her, so he would not invite his mistress to his estate while his mother, sister, and the scheming Lady Willa were in residence.
“Why, my darling?” she asked, pouting.
“I am quite certain we had this conversation last week, and we will not have it again,” Tobias said flatly. Arabella was a good sport, and he enjoyed their talks of politics as much as when he conversed with any man. She was learned, witty, and beautiful, but he would not allow her to manipulate him.
“Why not?” Pique filled her tone. “I shall write to your mother and introduce myself as your dearest friend and—”
Icy displeasure filled him, and he did nothing to suppress the emotions surging through his veins. He met her eyes and she faltered. Arabella suddenly found uncommon interest in the armrest of the chaise lounge, and Tobias sighed. He did not like the idea of any woman being wary of him. “There is no need to shy from me, Arabella.”
She glanced up. “Your anger is…very alarming, Tobias.”
“I am not angry.”
Skepticism flashed across her features before a polite smile tipped her lips. Her reaction annoyed him. From the moment he’d inherited the earldom, every waking breath had been spent trying to restore the honor of the Blade name. Society had waited eagerly for him to follow in the step of his ancestors. They had wagered among themselves when he would soon start the whoring, gambling, and brawling with cuckolded husbands over their wives. They expected him to keep numerous mistresses and to indulge generally in wild debauchery. What young man of twenty would behave differently when they came into their inheritance at so young an age, and with his family’s reputation? Tobias had. He’d had a lifetime of such indignities and he had ruthlessly worked to achieve another reputation for his line, one his future sons and daughters would be proud to inherit and be a part of.
He’d achieved it through a rigid adherence to his own strict rule of conduct, which he’d crafted as early as his eighteenth year. He’d never been drunk and never would be, and he would not duel or fight with another man over a woman, nor would he ever allow his temper or passions to be compromised to recklessness. He had done nothing to warrant the unease Arabella showed. He strolled over to her and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I shall see you when I am next in town.”
“And when will that be, Tobias? I’ve hardly seen you since the opening of Parliament and you avoid the social whirl. I am sure I shan’t see you for the rest of the year.”
“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally, retrieving his topcoat and cane, which housed a hidden foil. Whenever he visited his friend, the Marquess of Westfall, as Tobias planned to do this evening, he walked with a weapon. The marquess favored the seedier and more dangerous parts of the city and seemed to be more comfortable among the depraved and villainous.
After spending a few more minutes reassuring Arabella that he would visit soon, Tobias departed the town house. He jumped into his waiting carriage and tapped the roof. His driver knew his next destination and they rumbled into swift motion. He had been funding several ventures with Westfall, all aimed at helping the poor and unfortunate who dwelled in the slums of London. They were building homes, a school, and even a hospital to ensure affordable care to those less fortunate. The land was on the edge of town, out toward the countryside where the air was fresher but where they could still reach their employment.
The carriage slowed and then halted. Tobias stepped down into a dirty, narrow, and very smelly alley only a few minutes from Smithfield, where the meat market was. He glanced at his driver. “My company will see me home, you may go.” It made no sense to leave the man out for pickpockets and other nefarious elements to fall upon him.
“Very well, my lord,” the driver said and tipped his hat.
Tobias waited until he was gone before strolling inside the tavern. It was mostly empty, and at a glance, he saw Westfall in the far corner, nursing a mug. Westfall had made no concessions to his surroundings and had dressed as fashionably as ever. Tobias was flabbergasted that his fastidious friend would consume anything from this place. He made his way over and sank into the chair opposite the marquess. “You are aware we could have met at White’s or Brooks? Or better, in your town house?”
“I am aware,” the marquess said blandly, flicking a fly away with his long, tapered fingers.
“Then why in damnation are we here?” Tobias growled.
Westfall smiled, the scars roping the left side of his face twisting. “I’m a bit partial to Jenny’s Inn. The people here are more trustworthy than those at White’s. Here, I know they all want to fleece me, stick a knife between my ribs, and take my boots, watch, and anything else of value. I am comfortable because I know what to expect. There is no hypocrisy in the slums.”
Hell.
“I heard tell that you are soon to be engaged.”
“For a man disinclined to scandal and gossip, you are well-informed.”
Tobias smiled. “My mother delights in gossiping, especially when the subjects concerned are my friends.”
Westfall grunted.
“Are you intending to marry a society miss?”
“Perhaps.”