Chapter 4.

Lord Carnarvon and the other wayward, or should we say deviant members of the ton, know this about him.

Just as much as he knows all their scandalous affairs, so do they know his.

Lord of Vices, that is his moniker. One of the two owners of an exclusive pleasure club. Cavendish Club.

The other owner being his younger brother, Joseph. A most notorious club, where all the fantasies of every noble gentleman or lady of the ton, who wishes to have their guilty pleasures explored, but yearns discretion patronizes.

Knowing that about him, he is definitely not a perfect candidate for the Earl’s daughter, even though Jacob is well aware of her rather loose morals.

“Nonsense. With your position and wealth, the moment father sees you, he would unarguably agree with your proposal.” She argues, desperately.

A small smile gracing her beautiful face.

A sarcastic smile climbs Jacob’s face, knowing that the Earl would rather die of gout than have a man such as the ill reputable Duke Orford, discreet owner to a pleasure club as a son in law, in spite of his vast wealth.

The only reason the Earl or any of his peers have tolerated him at all in polite society, is because of his close ties to the Prince Regent. Not to forget the fact that he is in possession of a lot of juicy, dirty secrets about each of them. Secrets, which could ruin them before the ton for a life time, if revealed.

“Sweet heart, your father is a fellow peer. And there are rules of engagement concerning these things,” Jacob offhandedly says.

Bridget frowns. “How so? There is nothing to it. You just have to meet him to ask for my hand.”

Jacob stares amusedly at her. Then for distraction, he places a kiss on her lips. She is just his distraction, nothing more. And he can’t let her pressure him into an undesired commitment.

Melting to the kiss, Bridget’s body reacts as she deepens the kiss. Pressing her bare breasts into him. Her body smooth and welcoming. Her hands already raking his hair, while her body inches for more.

Pulling away slowly as he remembers his priorities and their need for discretion, Jacob confesses.

“I have to take you home, before your household wakes and your reputation is ruined, further.”

His tone couldn’t be more sarcastic than that.

A flinch crosses Bridget’s face at the remark, her tongue holding in. The reality of her situation crossing her features, just for a second. Before it disappears again, leaving the greedy Bridget on the surface.

Shifting her back to the bed, Jacob rouses himself. He crosses the room into the washroom and cleans himself.

“You should clean up, Bridget. You wouldn’t want everyone to catch a whiff of our long night together.” Jacob calls out from the wash room, his tone teasing.

“You wouldn’t want that now, would you, Jacob.” Bridget remarks, bitterly.

Her tone betraying her. “Why would I want that?” Jacob asks, stilling in his task.

His tone, even.

“Because you wouldn’t want us to be married.” She throws at him.

Her words accusing. Unfortunately, such accusations mean nothing to him. His loss of self-preservation surmounts all trace of moral judgment that once existed within him.

Refusing to delve into the conversation, Jacob chooses silence and walks to his armoire, picking clean clothes. He hears Bridget beside him, her lithe form swallowed by one of the dress robes he left in this lodging.

“You don’t even love me! You have never said so. Not even once.” She cries, incensed. Her voice already shaky.

Jacob ignores her and pulls on a pair of buckskin breeches. His linen shirt sleeves coming on next.

“Why wouldn’t you say anything? Why wouldn’t you commit to me, Jacob? Haven’t you any love for me in you?” She presses, her voice thick with emotion.

“Love is for fools, Bridget. You know that. And I know that.” He turns to her, quietly.

His tone detached. The look on her face should have eaten him. Thawed him. Rather he watches her, wondering how long she intends to fool herself.

“Love is for fools?” She echoes, surprise etched on her face.

It is like her mind has just registered what he admitted.

He continues dressing. Slipping into a brown waist coat and topping it with an overcoat of a darker shade of brown.

A heavy silence lingers. The thickness palpable. But Jacob concludes that she must have finally come to terms with the truth, which she had blindly ignored all along.

However, her next words stun him.

“Who did this to you? Who made you this loveless, Jacob?”

Jacob turns to her tear streaked face and studies her.

Her words mimicking words that has been asked him countless times.

Thrown at him by women he has had affairs with.

And like he always answers, detached and unfazed, he replies.

“My first love.”

***

Dover, Kent.

Three days since that intense altercation with Bridget.

And the soreness still lingers.

‘My first love.'

Words that confused Bridget. But tormented him. And even after he dropped Bridget off, without a single apology, he still suffered the memories.

She expected a promise. A deeper meaning to their arrangement, but he ignored her. Proceeding with his trip.

Dawn is cresting on the horizon, indicating a new day. However, for Jacob, it reminds him of a life lost. One that could have been his, if he had been this powerful then.

Jacob Wilson, the current Duke of Orford, wasn't bestowed the Dukedom at birth. Second out of three boys born to Reginald and Vallejo Wilson; Jonathan, Jacob and Joseph, the pride of their parents.

Theirs was a reputable and enviable family, once.

Their existence filled with all that life could offer. Ample wealth, close family ties to the crown. Happiness absent.

Like it was in most families of the ton. Forged from arranged alliances.

Unfortunately, Jacob’s family wasn't formed as a result of love. Though at the time the boys hadn’t noticed it. His family was formed from an alliance for his father's reputation.