The Price of Pride

4.

Richard Grayson felt thoroughly annoyed. His day had not quite gone the way he had expected. The morning had sounded promising: first, Bruce's desire for his independence had been confirmed when the man had told him to follow his instincts about the upcoming meeting. Alfred had given him a fresh roll of bread and had wished him his best. Next, he had no trouble circulating in town in spite of the late morning hour. It wasn't until he reached his office that things started to take an undesirable turn.

His meeting with Steve Trevor and Samir Taghmaoui had not quite turned out how he expected. The men had showed up late, then had acted quite obnoxiously and refused to disclose the name of the engineer of the revolutionary steam engine. They had claimed having found powerful patrons to support their research, and were only coming to him as a courtesy. Richard had begun to suspect they had stolen the project of another and merely planned to sell the complete set of drawings to the highest bidder. If that was the case, he might never put his hands on the genius who drafted this work.

The meeting had cut short, both parties left displeased and disappointed. Richard had felt his time wasted and left the office early in a bad mood. A quick stop at his favorite club did somewhat lift his spirit. He had come face-to-face with Alexander Luthor. The arrogant man had attempted provoke him into anger, which he failed to do as Richard often faced idiots like him, and then tried to best him at cribbage. While gambling was not quite in his taste, cribbage was his game. Luthor thus lost his credibility and a consequential amount of money. Watching the man leave the table red-faced did make Richard feel better.

The return of his brooding mood was due to the Wayne crest on a carriage stationed in a particular street. Richard tipped his hat down, glaring at the building where his godfather had undoubtedly decided to stay. Bruce was visiting that woman again.

Biting back the urge to spite, he turned around and walked away, determined to rein in his anger for a later date. He did not judge his godfather for keeping mistresses –a year back or so, he himself had been a fervent admirer of a beautiful actress and gifted her with an embarrassing amount of presents to earn her favors. But that particular woman had her claws deep inside his soul and held more power over Bruce that Bruce himself suspected.

I hope he marries soon, Richard thought bitterly. Alfred had reported his unusual interest for a young lady. Given his reaction when her name was mentioned; Richard thought Bruce might be intrigued enough to consider courting her. In spite of his reputation, the young man knew his father-figure would honor his vows when the time came. He briefly wondered what kind of woman would hold Bruce's attention for so long. While he enjoyed beauty, his godfather definitively had a weakness for clever ones. That woman was beautiful, clever and manipulative, yet had held a very strong influence over Bruce. Richard began to wonder if this new interest would be a good thing after all. Perhaps he should investigate this Miss Troy seriously and ensure she was not attempting to trap one of the most eligible bachelors of London.

Mind made up, he ordered his coach to drop him in a fancy part of London where ladies tended to regroup. The best start would be at Mrs. Beaumont's tea shop. Andrea Beaumont was an old acquaintance of Bruce's, perhaps one of the few women he had laid with in the past and yet with whom he still exchanged gossip. Well, he did help her start her own establishment once he had tired of her. And he did earn a small percentage from her profits. Mixing pleasure and business, Richard thought with an inner snort. Typical Bruce.

He entered the tea shop. The room immediately quieted. Mrs. Beaumont's clients were mostly, if not exclusively, composed of ladies. He immediately noted a few matchmaking mamas eying him like birds of prey and young women staring more or less openly at his figure. While Richard was not as roguishly handsome as his godfather, he knew he had a certain amount of charm. It did help that he had excellent finances to support his attraction. Still, he had not anticipated the interest of the clients, and promised himself to be extremely short during his visit. He had come to ensure Miss Troy was no fortune-hunter, not to allow a fortune-hunter catch him!

He tipped his hat in the general direction of the ladies and granted them what Bruce called the Grayson smile. Most of the ladies blushed, much to his pleasure. The cheerful conversations resumed and Richard was certain his name would be on most lips within seconds. Mrs. Beaumont herself stepped from behind the counter and smiled warmly at him.

"Welcome to my establishment Mr. Grayson," she greeted him with the ease of an old friend, even though they had barely spoken before. He took her gloved hand and politely kissed its back.

"It is good to see you, Mrs. Beaumont," he replied with the Grayson smile. "Unfortunately, I do not come for leisure."

Bruce loved his women quick of mind. Mrs. Beaumont was no exception.

"Of course," she said. "Your employer sent you I suppose?"

She led him in the back of the tea shop, away from prying ears. For propriety's sake, they stood in view of the clients, but Richard turned his back on them in case some would read his lips.

"Not exactly," he admitted. "I am here to inquire about a young lady." Mrs. Beaumont became guarded. He hastily added: "My godfather is very fond of her, unusually so, and I want to make sure she is…proper before encouraging him to pursue a courtship."

Mrs. Beaumont stared at him in shock. Bruce Wayne and courtship rarely fit in the same sentence when he stood as the pursuer.

"Would it be this Miss Troy people are speaking of?" she hazarded. Richard nodded in agreement. "Well that is somewhat unexpected. I heard she wants nothing to do with him. She has rebuffed him quite a few times in both public and private events. I am surprised you have not heard of it."

Jilted, eh? Perhaps that was the reason why Bruce seemed so inclined to pursue her.

"My godfather and I do not attend the same parties," he replied instead. "We would rather divide and conquer each our own unless a united front is necessary. That is another reason why I suspect attachment on his part; had she been another potential conquest, he would have lamented of his failures and progresses to me. I have not been made aware of the lady's existence until recently."

Mrs. Beaumont pursed her lips.

"Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you what I know about the family." She paused momentarily. "The father is a Greek Lord dabbling in trade, quite successfully at that. His first wife died from a horse accident. He remarried two years later to the second daughter of a Mr. Callaghan. Mr. Troy's family has remained in Greece, for I understand there has been an irremediable schism between him and his brothers. Mrs. Troy has a female relation further north, although I am unsure whether it is an unmarried sister left in disgrace or a close second cousin. Mr. and Mrs. Troy have four children, Miss Diana is the eldest at twenty, a very lovely young woman by all accounts. Her twin brother Mr. Jason is the heir. He has an honorable reputation, although he is known to be a little impulsive. Miss Donna, the second daughter –eighteen this year and officially coming out, often sits here with her maid when her father comes to London for business. The youngest, Miss Lyla is fragile of health and rarely leaves Themyscira."

Richard hummed as he considered the information. The family sounded respectable according to Mrs. Beaumont's account. Still, he would appreciate to meet one of them to set his opinion firmly. From experience, the middle children always relayed the most accurate description of their siblings. By luck, the very middle child he might want to interact with often came here.

"Would you terribly mind to send for me, should Miss Donna return in the next few days? I will be mostly staying at the Wayne town house."

Mrs. Beaumont narrowed her eyes, as if she could read through his soul.

"I will send a boy," she conceded eventually. "But I will not introduce you. In that matter, you will have to fend for yourself -although knowing Mr. Wayne, he must have taught you how to catch a lady's attention." She paused and smiled, somewhat amused. "The women of this family are quite unique. I am certain you will find Miss Donna delightfully diverting." Her smile fell and her expression became quite severe. "Do remember I will not tolerate indecent behavior in my establishment, Mr. Grayson. Conversation is the only amusement I will allow inside these walls."

Richard had lost his mother at a tender age, but had she been alive, he suspected she might have stared at him in the same way.

"With such a guardian, Madam, the ladies of this tea shop are quite safe from my evil ways," he promised with a little wink. Mrs. Beaumont smiled again and wished him a good day. He left the room with another tip of the hat for the ladies, and felt quite gratified at the revival of blushing cheeks, the giggling and discreet waves on his way out.

POP

"Are you still lost in your memories, Mr. Wayne?"

The sultry, purring voice of Selina Kyle caressed his ear. Her hand ran down his bare shoulder and he could feel the curve of her breasts pressed against his back. Her arms came around his stomach as a warm embrace –or perhaps a little possessive. She always showed a little possessiveness, beforehand. He let her hold him, let her hand move up to trace the line of his pectoral, then down to his stomach and lower still.

"It's nothing," he muttered.

Bruce's day had gone as he expected. His meeting with his partners brought nothing noteworthy. His business was still flourishing for now, everyone seemed content with the situation and his most recent investments had paid off. Still, he hadn't been quite able to focus completely. Even though the meetings had confirmed the stability of his situation, the tension produced by his nightmare had yet to be evacuated. Even visiting his favorite mistress was providing little relief.

"It is not nothing," she protested. "Else you would be more open to me." Her hand touched the most sensible part of his body. "Allow me."

And so there he was, standing naked next to the bed with no prompt desire to join it. Selina wrapped her fingers around his length and he closed his eyes. Her attentions might distract him, but as he grew aroused, it wasn't her face that appeared in his mind. Instead of the lithe, brown-haired woman currently guiding him down on the mattress, it was a curvy, raven-haired woman with sharp dark eyes that was slowly easing herself onto him.

Diana was warm and soft and wet with desire. He grabbed her hips, roughly pulled her down, his eyes still closed. For the duration of their intercourse, Diana hovered over him, moving to meet his thrusts. He imagined the throaty sounds coming from her lovely mouth. His fingers dug in her thighs, while his other hand reached out blindly for the round breast and squeezed. Diana gasped and pressed her chest in response, moving faster and harder. She moaned his name as she trembled, ecstasy shaking her body as he reached his own peak.

She moved off him, and reality returned along with bitter disappointment.

"Well then," Selina spoke with the voice of a woman who had been pleasantly satisfied. "This was quite diverting."

Bruce held back the urge to snort. His body had relaxed a little but his mind remained in turmoil. He needed to leave, soon, else he would say something short and unpleasant and be shoved out the door by her burly groom.

He left the bed, grabbed his breeches, shirt and boots. Once he was presentable, he turned to bid goodbye. His mistress had turned on her side, facing him with her head resting upon her hand. She looked pensive and he wondered if she had sensed the growing disinterest. Of course she had, he thought grimly. Selina was a beautiful, elegant and highly intelligent woman. She had climbed into society using her charms and had made herself known in the highest circles as a well-courted and expensive courtesan. Reading her lovers' mood helped her survive. She would notice he was distancing himself.

"Do you have a new mistress?" she asked bluntly.

Coming from another, Bruce would have not tolerated this impertinence. But he had known Selina four years now, had been her protector for nearly twice as long. In some ways, she knew him better than himself. Very few could make that claim.

"No," he replied briefly. His eyes lingered on the curve of the white breast that peeked from under the covers. The woman sighed and rolled on her back. The covers lowered down her chest –a deliberate move. With the knowledge the body on display was not Diana's, he barely felt any reaction.

"Whatever you say Mr. Wayne," she replied. "Shall I expect you back in a few months' time?"

Whenever another lady struck his fancy, Bruce tended to abandon her, but eventually, he always returned to her. This time though, he thought it might be different. As he left without saying goodbye, he made a mental not to set up the amount of money they had agreed on, should he effectively end their contract. He was not likely to return to her again.

That would please Richard, he thought with vague amusement. That boy has never liked Selina.

His coachman hopped off his seat and opened the carriage door.

"Off to the Wayne Town House, sir?"

Bruce wasn't in the mood to return to the town house. He had no imperative for the next few days.

"Off to the Wayne country house," he ordered. "It is it time I return to Gotham."

If the coachman was startled by the new destination, he didn't let it show. Instead, he closed the door once his master was seated, returned to his seat, and hurried the horses forward.

His great grandfather had bought Gotham Manor, this large propriety an hour away from London, to attempt to become a landowner. His investment had turned out precarious at best: working the land needed more focus than he had anticipated, and he had enough responsibilities in the city. The estate had been neglected for decades before Thomas Wayne decided to endorse his responsibility towards the tenants and focus on the land.

Bruce had grown in between two worlds, amongst the traditional farmers and the growing industry. His personal talent tipped closer to trade, but he would not neglect his childhood home. The trustworthy steward who had been hired by his father, Mr. Fox, directed his staff in his absence and took care of the most urgent business. While the Wayne town house was occupied most of the time, Gotham was his home.

Alfred would likely be irritated at his impulse. He would need to send word to warn Richard of his absence too. But he desperately longed for solitude, away from society and its stiffness. And most importantly, he needed time away from Miss Troy too. He could think less and less clearly whenever she stood in the same room. His eyes sought her every move, his ear strained to hear her laugh and humiliating enough, he tended to follow her like a wolf on an appetizing trail…or a puppy yearning for her attentions.

Pathetic, he thought soberly.

Lovesick, chanted a small voice, this time eerily similar to Richard's.

"That is enough," he muttered out loud and made himself comfortable. He had a long ride ahead of him, and soon enough, he drifted to sleep.

There were no dreams this time, and he was roused from sleep by his coachman yelling curses. Given his employee's usually moderate temper, Bruce hit the roof to catch the man's attention.

"What happened?" he asked loudly.

"Two reckless young riders, sir," was the reply. "Frightened the horses with their speed; that they did!"

"Oh," he said. "Well then, carry on."

He sat back on his chair and watched the scenery outside. Once they were out of the woods, his manor would be half an hour away. He couldn't wait to reach the place and settle himself for a well-deserved rest.

No annoying partner knocking at his door for a conversation, no tradesman seeking for patronage, no party or ball and no Miss T-

The carriage came to a brutal halt. This time, Bruce did not wait to ask for the reason of this stop and reached the door before his coach could even order to move forward.

"What is-"

Whatever he intended to say was soon forgotten. In the middle of the road, two horses were grinding grass while a young woman was standing in the way of the coach. Her dark hair was not covered by a bonnet and her usually impeccable dress seemed far too ruffled. He did not need more than a second to recognize her.

"Miss Troy?" he blurted in shock.

Miss Troy –damn it, it was her – stared at him with wide eyes.

"Mr. Wayne?" she uttered in turn, clearly stunned. She looked distressed and at loss. He immediately stepped closer, reminding himself not to stand too close. Then he eyed her dress –little scratches, mud on the helm and her gloves –was that blood?

"Miss Troy, are you hurt?" he asked, immediately took her hand for a closer look. It was indeed blood. The thought of anyone laying his hand on her made his blood boil.

"I –" she started, still staring at him in bewilderment. "I –my brother." She seemed to regain her senses. "My brother –he's hurt. There was –we were racing you see, it has been so long since we were just together and –and whatever happened our horses –our horses were frightened and he was thrown off the saddle and hit his head and-"

Bruce sincerely hoped she would not burst into tears. He was not unfamiliar with crying women per say, but something told him watching this particular lady crying would make him incredibly uncomfortable. Thankfully, she breathed in deeply and got ahold of herself. She met his gaze straightforwardly, and he was viciously reminded why she attracted him. She was scared but her eyes met his without hesitation and her voice sounded clear when she spoke next:

"My brother is injured. Please Mr. Wayne, I need your help."

POP

Diana stared at the flames burning in the chimney. Half an hour ago, Mr. Wayne had brought her and Jason to the Gotham manor. The surgeon had been called quickly and Jason brought to a chamber to be tended in peace. Diana had been led by a kind but firm housekeeper to a comfortable dining room where a cup of tea was shoved into her hands and cakes were promised. She could care less for the food, but had been reminded that her presence would hinder more than help the surgeon's work. Diana had only relented once she was assured she would be called for once her brother's treatment was over.

And so she remained seated in the most expensive couch she had ever seen, careful not to accidentally tip her cup and stain the fabric with a drop of tea. Mr. Wayne had not shown yet, but she felt certain that he would eventually come in due time.

Tired of waiting, she decided to take a turn about the room. As the daughter of a foreign aristocrat, she had received invitations from many families in the neighborhood. There had been various status of wealth amongst them, and yet even the richest did not come close to the elegance of Gotham manor. The furniture was expensive but not flaunting, the few paintings on the walls seemed to belong. The large ticking grandfather clock stood proudly next to the window. In the background, she could see the lands expanding behind the propriety. A clear path disappeared into the forest bordering the manor's yard.

Diana admired the design of it all. The inside, or the little she had seen, showed excellent taste. The outside was well cared for. She wondered if Mr. Wayne had a hand in the decoration of the house, or if the former owners had set the tone.

"Miss Troy?"

Diana startled a little upon hearing her name. Said Mr. Wayne had entered the room without her noticing. She immediately hurried by his side.

"Any news?" she breathed, hoping for anything.

"My surgeon is done tending him. Your brother has a swell under his head and is still unconscious. Mr. Tompkins believes the next few days will be important for his recovery. He will either wake, or not at all. I dispatched a servant to your father's house with a note. Lord Troy will know his eldest children are under my protection for a fortnight."

"A fortnight?" she echoed, stunned.

Mr. Wayne held her stare without blinking.

"Your brother's health will not permit him to be moved easily or anytime soon. He will stay here. I assumed you would want to remain by his side."

The tension left her shoulders and Diana breathed a little easier.

"You assumed correctly," she whispered. "Forgive my rudeness."

"I understand." He paused. "I shall show you your room."

"I would rather remain with my brother; I wish to be there if anything happens. A small cot will do, I just want…I want to be there."

Upon their first meeting, Diana remembered thinking this man had beautiful, expressive eyes. Those same eyes settled upon her. She felt rooted to the ground, incapable of looking away. The irresistible charm was drawing her in again. Why couldn't she think of anything else but his presence whenever she stood alone with him?

"If that is your desire," he replied, and had his voice ever sounded so husky before? She felt a shiver run down her spine. Her mouth suddenly tinkled in memory of how his lips had felt against her own. Her eyes drifted to his mouth before returning to his face. That same mouth twisted into a smug grin, as if he knew what had been crossing her mind. She forced herself to breathe, to remember that she was not in a small office but in that man's very home. Now was not the time, she chided herself. Jason was fighting for his life and there she stood, pondering over Mr. Wayne's attractiveness like a fresh debutante.

And then he stepped forward, and Diana reflexively took a step back. The smug smile remained.

"This situation is familiar, is it not?" he remarked. At his next step, she did not move and determinedly stared back. Once again, he stood far too close for comfort. Diana could almost feel the heat of his body so close to hers.

"And you claimed you would not seduce me?" she said breathlessly. Mr. Wayne blinked slowly, the same languorous, heated gaze firmly set on her. It did not escape her notice that his eyes flickered to her mouth in turn.

"And I am the last man you would share your life with?"

Her heart pounded in her chest. She was a tall woman for common standards, few men towered her, aside from her father. Mr. Wayne though, was taller in a way she found most infuriating and attractive.

"My mind has not changed," she whispered, and hated that her voice trembled. He leant forward, his face stopped inches away from hers. Should he move a little, he would kiss her.

"Nor has mine," he whispered in turn, his breath a caress on her skin.

And then he pulled back so unexpectedly, she nearly gasped for air.

"I will ask for a bed to be installed in your brother's room," he said. Had she not been so distracted, she might have noted the tremor in his voice. "Come with me, I will lead you there."

Jason, she thought guiltily. She cleared her mind and took the arm he offered. Her brother needed her support; she ought to give him her full attention. Mr. Wayne and his attentions would have to wait. Diana prayed she would be strong enough to hold onto that.