A Tale of Two Lovers Read Free Page A

refer to it as a reminder of what he had done the previous week, should he forget.
    “At least you have a decent excuse for reading this rubbish,” Roxbury muttered. Brandon had married one of The Weekly ’s notorious Writing Girls—then known as Miss Harlow—of the column “Miss Harlow’s Marriage in High Life.”
    Roxbury flipped straight to “Fashionable Intelligence” by A Lady of Distinction on page six.
    Roxbury took a sip of his drink, thoughtful. He’d wager that if this Lady of Distinction were forced to print her real name, she wouldn’t write half the things she did. Frankly, he was surprised her identity was still a secret. Speculation was rampant, of course, with most of the ton focusing on Lady something or other. That was the sort of drivel he didn’t follow.
    He possessed a sinking feeling that would soon change.
    Roxbury began to read.
    Has London’s legendary rake, Lord R—, so thoroughly exhausted the women of the ton that he must now move on to the stronger sex?
    Roxbury downed his drink in one long gulp, feeling the burn of the brandy and keeping his eyes focused on the page, not daring to look up. Inchbald stood over Roxbury’s shoulder with the bottle and promptly refilled his glass.
    Indeed, dear readers, you would not believe what this author has seen!  Lord R— might have been embracing the lovely J— K—, fresh from the stage in her breeches role in She Would and She Would Not. Yet for a man whose sensual appetites are notoriously insatiable, one knows not what to think.
    Inchbald poured a much-needed second brandy.
    Indeed, it was clear what everyone did think. In fact, it explained all those uneasy glances from the other gents in the club and all those women who were not at home to him this morning.
    He shuddered, actually shuddered, to think of the conversations currently raging in drawing rooms all over town. Roxbury took another long swallow, and damn if that didn’t burn like nothing else.
    Having just consumed two or three brandies within the space of five or six minutes, Roxbury could not see straight or focus on the ramifications of this salacious, malicious lie. That ultimatum . . . marriage or poverty . . . with a man? Or a woman?
    One thing was certain: these things were not compatible, and they were not favorable.
    How was he supposed to marry when no one was at home to him? How was he supposed to maintain his livelihood if his funds were cut off?
    Even with all that alcohol muddling his mind and burning his gut, Roxbury knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was bad. This was the sort of scandal one never quite recovered from.
    The stench of it would stay with him. Years from now—decades, even—whispers of this would follow in his wake, from club to ballroom and everywhere in between. He would not care so much, were it not for that ultimatum and a lifetime of poverty staring him in the face.
    Roxbury set down the paper and Inchbald left the bottle beside it.
    “I know it was a woman,” Brandon said.
    “But you do not doubt that it was me,” Roxbury replied.
    “I know you,” his friend said. They’d been friends since Eton, where Roxbury’s elder brother, Edward, had introduced them both to drinking, women, and wagering. At Eton, Roxbury had seduced every eligible female within a ten-mile radius. At university, he was notorious. There was no stopping him when he hit the ton.
    Brandon had a point. Simon was well known for his romantic exploits, so it was believable that he would be caught in a compromising position. In fact, Roxbury was a legendary rake who was famously known to carry on affairs and intrigues with half of the women of the ton and they thought he was dallying with a man ?
    It was laughable. So Roxbury laughed.
    He laughed long, hard, and doubled over in his seat, attracting even more uncomfortable and irritable looks. Brandon lifted his brow curiously and had a sip of his brandy.
    “What, exactly, is so humorous about this