Page 5 of In a Rake’s Embrace (Sins & Sensibilities #3)

CHAPTER 5

A s Thomas rode in his carriage, he couldn’t help but feel an unexpected measure of amusement mixed with a curious anticipation. Miss Woodville had certainly been ... expressive. Her wide eyes and the way her blushes crept up her cheeks gave away every thought she had. Normally, he found it tiresome when women feigned innocence or tried to hide their more wanton desires behind demure facades, but Agatha was different. She was too open, too transparent with her feelings. It made him wonder if that vulnerability would serve her well or lead to her downfall.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home. Thomas stepped down, adjusted his coat, and strolled toward his townhouse, his thoughts lingering on Miss Woodville and how he would teach her to distinguish what she liked from what she didn’t.

The hot slide of lust that swam through his veins made him scowl. This reaction was unpardonable. Still, having never done anything like this before, the idea of teaching her sparked a challenge he hadn’t anticipated. Would she learn quickly? Or would she get so skittish her plan would tumble around her?

Thomas had never taken a virgin to his bed before. Hell, he doubted he ever properly kissed one. Perhaps he should ask his good friend, the Duke of Basil, who had married last year to a young lady who had undoubtedly been innocent. As Thomas opened the door and crossed the threshold, he was greeted by a piano’s soft, haunting strains drifting from the music room.

He frowned, removing the pocket watch from his jacket, tilting to the pale moonlight to read the time. It was after midnight. Walking down the hallway, he encountered his butler, carrying a brandy decanter. The older man’s stoic expression didn’t falter as he approached.

“Master Ronald asked for something strong,” the butler explained in his usual, steady tone.

Thomas paused, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. His younger brother rarely asked for anything beyond tea or hot chocolate. Something was wrong. “I’ll take it,” Thomas said.

He took the decanter from the butler and continued down the hall. Opening the door to the music room, Thomas stepped inside to find his brother seated at the piano. Ronald’s short, stubby fingers glided over the keys with precision and grace, pouring his heart into the music. There was a deep, raw passion in how he played—an intensity that belied his simple, childlike nature.

Thomas walked over quietly, placing the decanter on the nearby table and sitting beside his brother on the piano bench. The melody slowed, then stopped altogether as Ronald sighed and looked up at him with those wide, round eyes. Without a word, he leaned his head against Thomas’s shoulder, seeking comfort.

“Does Mother know you’re here?” Thomas asked softly.

Ronald, five and twenty, was four years younger than Thomas, but his mind was that of a child. He had a kind, round face, and his eyes always carried a sweetness that endeared him to everyone who knew him. But his body had grown into that of a man, even if his mind hadn’t kept up. Years ago, a physician had explained that while Ronald’s body would continue to mature, his mind would remain at the level of a child. The family had been devastated, but their love for Ronald had never wavered.

That love sent a sharp lance of concern through Thomas now. How had Ronald gotten here on his own? Why had he left their mother’s townhouse without anyone noticing? “How did you reach here?”

“I walked,” Ronald said proudly, lifting his head. “I remembered the way the carriage took when it brought me here, so I walked from Berkeley Square to my second house.”

Thomas felt his heart tighten and once again asked, “Did Mother know you left?”

Ronald hesitated, then shook his head. “No. I did not tell her.”

“Why not?”

Ronald glided his fingers over the keys. “I was upset.”

Thomas frowned. “Why were you upset?”

His brother’s expression darkened, the usual lightness in his face dimming. “Mother was having dinner with her friends, and I asked for a glass of wine. But one of her friends said ... said only real men drink wine.” His voice cracked, and his round eyes filled with hurt. “He said I am not a real man because I do not drink or attend balls or ride a horse.”

A surge of fury, cold and fierce, welled up inside Thomas. The thought of someone belittling Ronald, of making him feel less than he was, filled him with a sharp, protective rage.

“I see.” Now it made sense why Ronald had asked for the liquor. It wasn’t about the drink but about proving something to himself, about the pain of feeling inadequate. Thomas’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm for his brother’s sake.

“You’re more incredible than any of those people,” Thomas said quietly, his voice firm but gentle. “Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Ronald nodded, leaning on Thomas’s shoulder, his frame relaxing as the tension ebbed away.

“Next time,” Thomas said, “inform a servant to call a carriage for you. Do not walk alone. Don’t leave without telling someone.”

Ronald nodded again, his voice small when he said, “I will, I promise.”

Thomas offered a reassuring smile. “Now, shall we drink?”

His brother brightened immediately. “Mama said no when I asked.”

Of course, there was more to the matter, but Ronald often revealed things in stages. If Thomas asked too many questions at once, his brother might become overwhelmed and retreat into himself. Best to let him share at his own pace.

“We will only have a small amount,” Thomas said, rising from the piano bench. “That way, if our mother asks, we can tell the truth, and she won’t worry.”

Ronald nodded enthusiastically, and Thomas went to the side table, picking up the decanter of brandy. He poured a small amount into a glass and raised it to his lips, deliberately coughing after taking a sip to show Ronald that such a reaction was normal.

He handed the glass to his brother and said, “Just a small sip.”

Ronald took the glass eagerly, but as soon as the liquid touched his tongue, he spluttered, his eyes watering. “It’s ghastly!” he cried, wiping his mouth. “I much prefer hot chocolate.”

Thomas smiled. “Then hot chocolate we shall have.”

Together, they made their way down to the kitchen. Ronald hummed happily the entire way, clearly content now that he had gotten what he had come for—and even more so at the promise of his favorite drink. Once in the kitchen, Thomas waved off a couple of servants awake and set to work himself. He fired up the old earthen stove, placed a saucepan over the flame, and headed to the cold storage room for fresh milk. Next, he retrieved hard chocolate from the pantry and some sugar for sweetness.

As the milk began to heat, Thomas stirred the ingredients together, watching the mixture come to a simmer. Ronald continued to hum, rocking back and forth on his heels, content to be in Thomas’s presence. Once the hot chocolate was ready, Thomas poured it into three cups and set them on the wooden table the servants usually used. Ronald, always curious, leaned forward.

“Who’s the third cup for?” he asked, eyes wide with interest.

Thomas smiled. “You’ll see soon enough.”

As if summoned by his words, footsteps echoed on the stairs, and their mother appeared in the doorway, worry etched into her features. But the moment her gaze landed on Ronald, her expression softened with relief. His brother immediately rushed over, hugging her tightly as if the upset from earlier had been forgotten.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she murmured, kissing his forehead. “You had me worried.”

“We’re fine, Mama,” Ronald said, beaming up at her. “Thomas made hot chocolate!”

She glanced at Thomas, gratitude and affection clear in her eyes, before making her way to the table. They sat down together, the warmth of the kitchen and the sweet scent of hot chocolate enveloping them. They enjoyed their hot chocolate in silence. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Thomas sipped from his cup slowly, shifting his gaze between his brother and their mother, feeling an odd sense of peace settle over him. The only person missing from their gathering was his sister.

“Is Victoria well, Mother?” Thomas asked, noticing a brief sheen of tears in her eyes. He didn’t need to ask the reason—he already knew it was because of the thoughtless, cruel remarks that had upset Ronald earlier.

“Yes,” she replied with a small smile. “I received a letter from her today. She’s asking to extend her stay in Bath with Aunt Esther.”

“Bath is safe, and Aunt Esther would never allow any trouble to come to Victoria,” Thomas said reassuringly. “It’ll be good for her to experience all the frivolities there. She will hardly have time for it when she debuts next year.”

His mother sighed, her gaze softening as she looked fondly at Ronald. “Would you like to visit Bath with me for a time?”

Ronald swallowed the last of his hot chocolate, considering her offer. “Will your friend be there?”

“Lord Powell is no longer my friend,” she said gently. “I’ve told him as much. He won’t be visiting our home again.”

Ronald’s face brightened with visible relief. “Good. He is mean. I do not like mean people.”

“Nor do I,” his mother murmured, brushing the back of her fingers tenderly along his cheek.

Thomas turned his thoughts to the man responsible for his brother’s distress. Lord Powell ... yes, the viscount with the tall, lanky frame and the unfortunate mustache that had long since fallen out of fashion. Thomas mentally placed him in the category of adversary, for he was unforgiving of anyone who treated his brother with disdain or mockery. Powell had just ensured himself a permanent spot on that list.

“What about you?” his mother asked, her tone arch. “Is this the season you finally find your countess?”

Ronald nodded eagerly, grinning. “Mama says I’ll have a new sister when you marry. You are taking too long. Aunt Ester says she will help Mama find you a wife soon.”

Thomas turned a cool gaze on her. “Did she now?”

“Of course,” she replied, her eyes gleaming with a familiar, determined fervor. “I long for another daughter to shop with and share in our gossip, especially since you’ve filled Victoria’s head with this notion that she doesn’t have to marry—that she can lead a merry life as a bluestocking, traveling London and Scotland, drawing butterflies of all things!”

Thomas raised a brow. “And if my wife happens to be just as unconventional?”

“Oh dear,” she murmured, mock horror on her face. “Another one?”

“Precisely,” he drawled.

Her expression softened. “Unconventional or not, Thomas ... I hope you’ll come to see the value in marriage. So, does this mean you’re finally open to finding your countess this season?”

A sharp, almost exasperated smile tugged at his lips. “No, Mother, you know where I stand.”

She sighed, and her eyes showed a hint of disappointment. “Thomas, life can be terribly lonely.”

He chuckled. “I have you, Mother. And Ronald, Victoria, my aunts, cousins … I could hardly feel lonely with so many.”

She shook her head, a wry smile forming on her lips. “That is not the kind of companionship I mean, Thomas. A man needs a wife for his heart, body, and mind.”

“Ah, that delightful companionship,” he said lightly, “I can find in many places, and I assure you, it is quite sufficient.”

His mother’s cheeks tinged pink, and she scowled, muttering, “ Scoundrel . I sometimes despair for you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “As long as you still love this scoundrel, all is well.”

“You’re utterly unrepentant,” she said, taking a measured sip of her hot chocolate. “You’ve always had this maddening certainty that you’re immune to loneliness—or love. Not everyone is untrustworthy, Thomas. One day, what you consider ‘sufficient’ may fall short. But I can see by your cold expression that my words are wasted, so I’ll leave it be for now.”

“I would prefer the matter remain closed for the rest of the year,” he replied dryly.

She shot him a glare, and he answered it with a smile.

As they finished their drinks, his mother asked, “Ronald, would you like to go home with me or stay here with your brother?”

“Home,” Ronald said without hesitation.

Thomas wasn’t surprised. His brother found comfort in familiarity, preferring to stay with their mother and sister, even though he had his own chambers at Thomas’s residence. Ronald had only stayed with Thomas a few times in London, always returning to the safety and routine of his mother’s care.

Once the last sip of hot chocolate had been taken, Thomas rose and called for his horse to be prepared. Despite the short distance from Grosvenor Square to their mother’s home, he would ride alongside the carriage, ensuring they arrived safely.

Several minutes later, he watched his mother and brother enter their townhouse. Ronald gaily waved, and Thomas lifted his hand and returned it. Once the front door closed, he wheeled his horse around and started to trot home. A wicked dart of anticipation thrummed through him. Tomorrow, the lessons with Miss Woodville will begin. He had no plan and would go as the moment, and instinct, guided him. Thomas wondered what he might learn about Miss Woodville.

Bloody hell . Again, there was a pulse of desire and curiosity about what drove her to this decision. He ruthlessly closed his mental fist and banished it from his thoughts.