Seven Years to Sin(28)
Whether consciously or no, a part of Jess recognized the feeling of being hunted. She sensed the turbulence of his desire and was frightened by it. Perhaps not so much because of his appetite, but because of her own.
Alistair rounded her, so that he stood before her and took up the whole of her vision. “The more you hold yourself aloof, the more determined I become to draw you out. Yes, you know something of me that exists only between us. We should be more accessible to one another because of that, not more distant.”
“As accessible as I am now, engaging is such candid conversation?”
“As accessible as you were last night, without the excessive drinking. Although it was not our intention to cross the threshold we did seven years ago, it has been crossed and there is no turning back. I asked you to stay and you did not run. We shared a moment uniquely separate from our lives before or since. You clutch social mores, propriety, and rules of conduct around you as you do the shawls you wear, but we are beyond such barriers. Fate has conspired to bring us together at this time, and I, for one, am weary of fighting against it.”
The possibility that they were fated to be lovers was somehow comforting, as if taking the decision from her hands freed her from responsibility for the inevitable consequences. It was cowardly to view it that way, yet the thought also gave her courage.
She inhaled and spoke in a rush. “I am sorry for what I said to you last night before you left. I-I wanted you to stay—”
“I whored for money,” he interrupted harshly. “I need you to know why.”
Once the words were out, Alistair felt a profound relief, swiftly followed by a high tension. Baring himself was something he avoided at all costs.
Jessica’s head tilted to the side, causing one thick pale curl to glide over her shoulder. She fisted the lapels of his coat, and fine lines bracketed her lush lips. She’d recently lost a husband she’d cared for deeply, yet Alistair had pushed her to ignore that for his own selfish need of her. Even now, her pale gray gown spoke of lingering mourning. He deeply resented the reminder of a man whose pristine conduct and fine morals were aspects of character he could never compete with.
“Tell me,” she coaxed. “Explain so I may understand.”
He spoke before he dissuaded himself from doing so. “At the urgings of my mother, Masterson granted me a parcel of land in Jamaica. The property was notable only for its insubstantial size and dearth of viable crop. It came with no slaves, no buildings, and no machinery. My mother also saw to it that his lordship provided a ship, and he was able to find the least seaworthy vessel I have ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on. I was faced with the possibility of being a man of means, but with no funds with which to purchase any of what was required to make a success of it.”
She exhaled audibly. “I cannot imagine facing such a daunting endeavor while knowing your livelihood rested on the outcome.”
“You will never face it, thank God. But perhaps you can see how I was motivated to sell what skills I had at my disposal to earn the coin necessary to prosper.”
“That is how you came to be known as one who would accept any wager.”
Alistair nodded. “Any race, any odds. Anything pitting my talents against another’s for gain. I am also fortunate enough to be attractive to women.”
“Impossibly handsome,” she agreed. “But you were so young then …”
“Yet old enough to know I couldn’t afford to have ideals,” he finished tightly. It was not a decision he lingered over. If ruthlessness was required to survive, he had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary. “And in some respects, my youth was an advantage. I was randy, energetic, and far from discerning.”
The last was said with more defiance than he would have chosen to share, but he was on edge, his stomach knotted with the concern that she might find his past insurmountable. “I enjoyed it in the beginning. All the sex I could manage, which was considerable, with women who were worldly and confident in their pleasures. The first time I was offered an expensive gift, it was a surprise. I realize now that for some it was a way to assuage their guilt over f*cking a man less than half their age, but at the time I saw it as a game; what could I wheedle out of them in return for doing something I was enjoying immensely? I was also learning astonishing secrets about women’s bodies—how to read them and listen to them, how to drive them wild. There is an art to bestowing pleasure, and I realized I could master it, similar to any other skill.”
“You were clearly an adept pupil,” she whispered.
“Women talk a lot,” he pressed on grimly, unable to determine how she was responding to his brutally frank revelations. “Especially about things they enjoy. As with anything, the more demand there is for an object, the higher the price that can be set for it. I realized how I could profit and recognized that I’d be foolish to turn away any avenue of income, considering what my circumstances were. And after a while, it ceases to matter how you feel about the business. You learn to master your body regardless.”
“Well.” It took Jessica an interminably long time to say more. Finally, she said, “I’m an idiot. It never occurred to me that you might not … appreciate the act. After all, Lady Trent is quite lovely—”
“Some of them were; some weren’t. Some were lovely only on the outside. Regardless, when you sell something, it no longer belongs to you. You lose any right to refuse or deny anything, and if you want referrals and repeat business you dare not be too difficult or unaccommodating. Once I understood that I’d become a commodity to be used as required, whatever enjoyment I’d found previously was lost to me. It became a chore like any other, albeit a lucrative one.”