Chapter 12: An Ungentlemanly Wager
Summary: Kylo tries to apologize for his reckless behavior.
[excerpt]:
"Mr. Daniels appeared in the doorway, a silver salver in his hands.
"Lord Thanisson, the Viscount of Coruscant is here. Shall I let him know that you are in?"
Rey picked up Thanisson's calling card from the tray, its engraved lettering bold and masculine yet simple, without the need for any additional flourish. There was something comforting in its honesty, and she remembered the kind and handsome young man with whom she had shared a dance at Almack's several nights ago."
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
Look in the face of the person to whom you are speaking if you wish to know his real sentiments, for he can command his words more easily than his countenance
-Philip Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield
Daylight streamed in through the windows of The Grenier's Hotel, the paned glass and glazing bars doing little to diffuse the sun's brightness as it flooded the room.
While its warmth may have been a welcome blessing, its brilliance was not. Kylo winced as he opened a bleary eye. Even his beloved city was somehow conspiring against him, refusing to favor him with its typically gray March skies when he awoke so cropsick after a night spent in his altitudes.
The pounding in his temples increased as the clattering from the streets grew. He felt his stomach contents roil in protest as he attempted to sit, threatening to relocate to his throat. There was a horrible, residual taste in his mouth, a taste which he was not sure was entirely due to the lingering effects of his last cups of rum-nantz.
The memories came rushing back, breaking through the haze of a restless sleep and the side effects of too much drink to tug at his guilt. His gut clenched at the recollection of his jealousy and anger as he watched helplessly while Rey was passed from one man to another, her smile and her words directed towards their eyes and ears and not his own. He swallowed uncomfortably as he remembered the look of disappointment on Phasma's face as he held Rey tightly in his arms, whispering her name in a manner that no respectable guardian ever should.
He had come perilously close to damaging Rey's reputation irreparably with his reckless behavior. Her prospects for a respectable marriage and éclat, the results of months of her hard work, would be lost should she be branded a barque of frailty, and through no fault of her own.
Kylo stood, his legs wobbling unsteadily like those of a first-time swimmer on a guard-ship. He stumbled towards the pitcher which sat atop a nearby table, the water spilling over his cracked lips as he drank, soothing his parched throat.
He glanced at his pocket watch. The time was nearing eleven, and he would have preferred a strong cup of coffee or tea instead, but he was in no shape to head down for breakfast. He briefly toyed with the idea of a shower bath to rinse away the grime, but the thought of being doused by buckets of cold, recycled water when he could barely stand quickly cut short such contemplation.
An argument outside brought him to the window. The streets were more crowded than ever, the city teeming with displaced soldiers and unemployed farm workers who sought to make a living in London's growing number of factories. With the influx of disgruntled citizens and poverty came the increase in crime, and it was not unusual to see public executions in front of droves of the hoi polloi, their appetite for the morbid satiated by the spectacle even as their stomachs were filled with drink and refreshment.
He drew the curtains closed, muffling the din and welcoming the relative darkness, sighing deeply. He would set things right; he would pay a call to Rey this afternoon and apologize for his behavior. As he headed towards his wardrobe however, he teetered, the nausea and spinning sensation nearly knocking him to the ground.
Kylo stumbled back into bed, placing a pillow over his head to shut out the light and the rest of the world.
His apology would have to wait until tomorrow.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
By the time Kylo and Hux stepped through the doors of White's that evening, the esteemed club was already filled with plenty of men who were deemed gentle by birth, although not necessarily by nature.
"Lord Ren!"
Kylo turned, nodding a greeting to William Arden, second Baron of Alvanley. The baron was seated next to Beau Brummell in front of the bowed widow overlooking 37 James Street. Although Kylo could do without Brummell's foppish nature and the arbiter elegantiarum's excessive attention to aesthetics, he was amused by Alvanley, who was not only a bruising rider to hounds, but famed for his biting wit.
"Alvanley," Kylo drawled. "Still keeping your valet busy with putting out your fires?" It was not a mere rumor that the young baron had taken to snuffing out his candles by throwing them across the room.
Alvanley laughed. "The only fires I set nowadays are the ones left under my horses' feet. Will I see you at Newmarket in a fortnight?"
"When have I ever given up the chance to win a purse of guineas from you, Alvanley?" Kylo grinned as he continued to work his way through the room.
Hux nudged Kylo as they passed Lord Barrington, who was busy perusing the latest copy of Harris's List of Convent Garden Ladies. The annual pocket guide provided a much sought-after service for those without the ready convenience of a mistress, its listings cataloguing London's prostitutes by age, physical countenance, proclivities, and even their disease status. Yet despite however and from whomever Barrington chose to receive his pleasures tonight, it was a given that he would be right back in Almack's the next Wednesday, on the hunt for a chaste and respectable bride-to-be.
Kylo's eyes danced wickedly as he needled Hux.
"Something capturing your interest?"
Hux had the decency to look affronted, his fair skin pinkening several shades as he coughed out a denial.
Kylo laughed. "Don't worry, I know your moral code prevents you from stooping to such levels. One would think you took a vow of celibacy."
Hux glared at his friend. "I'm hardly a stranger to the pleasures of a woman's body, Ren, but it doesn't mean I need to place my plug tail in every available mummer and madge that I see."
Kylo looked thoughtful. "Why deny yourself the pleasures in life when they are so readily available? Speaking of which, now that Rey has been successfully presented in Court, I believe that I have won our little wager? An entertainment in London, of my own choosing?"
Hux's face relaxed as he chuckled at Kylo's eagerness.
"I did not forget about our bet, Ren, nor did I forget the terms. You know I always pay my debts with honor." He winced at the recollection. "Unlike you, however, I do care about my reputation. So what exactly did you have in mind?"
"Oh, let's just say it's been something that I've been looking forward to doing for quite some time," Kylo answered cryptically. "Meet me at the Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden at 8 o'clock tomorrow evening."
Hux spared Kylo a quizzical glance. "A surprisingly sedate choice, Ren, although I can't say I'm disagreeable to the idea. Surprised, perhaps, but not disagreeable in the least."
Kylo just grinned. "Perhaps you should hold your opinion on the evening until after it is complete."
No sooner had Hux opened his mouth with a half-formed retort when a shout and an excited flurry of activity erupted from the opposite side of the room. The betting book lay open on the table, the ledger recording wagers from the day before, including the identity of Lady Newton's next lover; the outcome of Wellesley's next battle against Joseph Bonaparte in Spain; and the time at which Sir Spencer would walk through the club's doors.
Kylo laughed as they approached the growing crowd. "I haven't seen this much excitement since Alvanley bet £3,000 on the faster of two raindrops. It must be some poor young woman's virginity that they are wagering over, to draw such interest."
Hux leaned over, reading as the wager and the bets were being avidly recorded.
His green eyes widened frantically as he spun around.
"Ren. Come, I've grown tired of such fodder," he said, placing his arm on Kylo's in an attempt to steer him in the opposite direction. "Why don't we head to the cardroom, for a game of faro?"
Kylo grinned. "Perhaps I'd like to place a wager myself, first." He made his way to the table, his golden eyes rapidly changing from a brimming warmth to a cold fury as he read the words which were written below.
"Sir Tyran!" he shouted, heading over towards the smirking man, a roar in between his ears.
The atmosphere crackled with a dangerous tension as Kylo stared at the younger male. Physically, they could almost pass as brothers, if not for the scar on Kylo's cheek, his more angular nose, and paler skin. Although Tyran was shorter than Kylo by less than half an inch, his shoulders were nearly as broad, tapering down to a similarly narrowed waist and powerfully long legs. Even their faces shared a resemblance: Kylo's long and ebony locks flowing like Tyran's chestnut mane; both sets of lips easily transitioning between a hard, cruel line and a wide, sensual smile; and two pairs of golden eyes, fluidly expressive of every thought and emotion.
"Ahh, Lord Ren. Have you come to place a bet on your ward as well? I must say, she looked absolutely delectable dancing in your arms last night, I do hope you will give the rest of us a chance."
Kylo felt his fists clenching uncontrollably at his side, longing to wipe the smug look off of Tyran's face.
"You dare to impugn Miss Kenobi's virtue?" he seethed.
Tyran molded his face into one of mild shock.
"Oh, you have it wrong, Ren. This is not a question of her virtue, as it currently stands. It is only one of how long it will last."
Kylo propelled himself forward, his fury uncontrolled and only slightly abated as he felt the satisfying impact of his fist against Tyran's jaw. The other man fought back, and they were soon pummeling one another, fists bared, their faces quickly becoming bloody and bruised. Kylo tasted the blood as it trickled from his nose into the corner of his mouth, its tangy, coppery taste giving him a primal satisfaction even as he split Tyran's upper lip.
Tyran looked Kylo furiously, his face purpling and swelling, marring his handsome features as he spit out his next words.
"You know I love a challenge, Ren," he threatened, his words wet with his blood and saliva. "And I take this very much as one."
Kylo felt a multitude of hands pulling him away amidst several drunken shouts of encouragement as he landed one last good punch to Tyran's ribs. As his vision cleared, he noted the disdain on some of his peer's faces at the outwardly display of aggression in such a forum.
"This isn't Gentleman Jackson's Boxing Saloon," said Beau Brummel condescendingly. "Save your fisticuffs for Bond Street."
Kylo was thrown unceremoniously out the door along with Tyran, Hux and Tyran's friends close at their heels.
Hux sighed. "If you're going to do me in with whatever activities you have planned for tomorrow night, perhaps it would be best to head home early. Let's get something cold on that face, shall we?"
Kylo grunted his agreement, his mood dark once more.
He had foolishly let his emotions overrule his logic. It was never really a matter of his raffish behavior. The problem was always with his flagrant disregard for the unspoken rules of discretion, as was demonstrated in his injudicious choice of venue or his indelicate and ill-considered dalliances. At this point, he would be lucky if he weren't thrown out of White's altogether and blackballed from obtaining membership in any other club.
Still, he thought, he couldn't say that he wouldn't do it all over again, if he were required to defend Rey's honor once more.
~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~
For the first time since arriving in London, Rey felt a growing restlessness and dissatisfaction. The last several days had made her feel as if she were a blood horse on display, groomed and selected for the sole purpose of some heretofore unknown nobleman's competition and pleasure.
She was cosseted to the point where she had become dependent on another for everything from her dress and her style of hair to her manner of speech. And while she was grateful for her change in fortune, she couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that she was slowly losing sight of not only who she was, but what she wanted.
Rey knew that she longed for those things which any person would: warmth and protection from the elements, security and a full belly. She knew that Kylo and his family had generously provided her with an escape from the terrible uncertainty of whether she would make it through her days physically unscathed, a fear with which she had lived for so long. But she also yearned for love-for a sense of belonging, for a mutual understanding and a reciprocated passion mired in respect.
She had felt hints of the last-at least of the passion, when she was with Kylo. But for the last several months, he had seemed progressively withdrawn, and once they had reached London, the physical separation made their emotional distance that much greater. In the meantime, she continued to meet suitor after suitor, all the while despairing that love loomed nowhere near her future.
The rain began to fall steadily, its needle-sharp pattering quickly turning dull as the heavens opened up, the fattening droplets falling heavily against the paned glass. Any possibility of a walk that afternoon to clear her head was now extinguished, and she headed to the library to lose herself in a good book.
The library in the townhouse was not as expansive as the one in Caserta, but its windowed walls and comfortable seating were just as soothing and inviting. Rey scanned the shelves, noting the more recent additions of some celebrated female authors such as Edgeworth's Leonora, Dacre's Libertine, and Austen's Sense and Sensibility. Fearing that the subject matter would be too close to her current situation to provide her with a much needed escape, she continued to browse until she spied a small book tucked into one of the corners, its well-worn cover suggesting something which had been frequently read and enjoyed.
The book slid out quietly, its weight comfortable against her hands and its cover smooth against her palms. She gasped as she read the title, and if that weren't enough cause for her face to flame, its tonal prints most certainly were, their richness and depth portraying a young woman and man in various states of dishabille while engaging in acts of a most intimate nature. She moved closer to the natural light of the window, her eyes widening as her fingers traced over the erotic scenes.
Rey startled as a noise in the entranceway pulled her out of her trance. She quickly tucked the book beneath the curtain panel as the sound of footsteps grew closer. She stepped in front of the drapery for good measure, hoping to hide any residual evidence of her recent activity under the volume of her skirt.
"Miss Kenobi?"
Mr. Daniels appeared in the doorway, a silver salver in his hands.
"Lord Thanisson, the Viscount of Coruscant is here. Shall I let him know that you are in?"
Rey picked up Thanisson's calling card from the tray, its engraved lettering bold and masculine yet simple, without the need for any additional flourish. There was something comforting in its honesty, and she remembered the kind and handsome young man with whom she had shared a dance at Almack's several nights ago.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Daniels."
Mr. Daniels left, and returned several minutes later with Jessika, who quietly situated herself in a chair in the opposite corner of the room. Thanisson entered soon after, his slim and boyish figure well-turned in a blue tailcoat and tan trousers, the ruffles of his muslin shirt sitting high on his neck, accentuating its length. His eyes lit up with delight upon seeing Rey, with a look of awe which she found surprisingly endearing.
He bowed. "I am honored that you received my call, Miss Kenobi. Your presence is a spot of sunshine on an otherwise dreary day."
She felt the blush extend from her neck into her cheeks as Thanisson watched her, his light brown hair damp against his neck and his long lashes wet from the rain.
"The truth is, that in London it is always a sickly season," Rey teased.
"Ahh but When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford." Thanisson smiled. "I am glad to see that your tongue has recovered quite nicely since we last met," he added.
Rey laughed softly; the young viscount's words had the unnerving effect of stealing her breath.
Thanisson smiled gently.
"I am sorry to have missed you at the Argyll Rooms yesterday."
"I am sorry to have missed the performance," she answered wistfully. "I would have loved to see Beethoven's work performed live."
"If you are interested, there is another chance to do so. There will be a performance of Fidelio in the Theatre at Drury Lane next week. It is the newest rendition, and the mastery of the singers in performing such a difficult work is really something to behold."
A throat cleared in the background and Thanisson visibly startled as Kylo strode in. He inclined his head towards Jessika, who rose up from her seat upon his unspoken request and exited the room.
Kylo sat down and folded one long leg over the other as he watched Rey and the young lord intently.
The thought of listening to an operatic masterpiece in the place of another night of forced pleasantries and insubstantial conversation was almost too much to hope for. Rey glanced at Kylo, feeling a bit daring as she let her desire to attend be known.
"I've never been to the opera before," she admitted, "but I can only imagine what a magnificent experience for the senses it must be."
The look of Rey's open longing at Thanisson's invitation twisted something in Kylo's gut. He swallowed down his own feelings; Thanisson had not shown anything but the most proper respect, and there was no logical reason for Kylo to deny her this wish.
"Fidelio is a great work by an even greater artist," he said gruffly. "I have no objections if Miss Kenobi would like to attend with you. Since I myself had planned to go, I shall be accompanying my ward as her chaperone for the evening."
The lie fell smoothly from his lips. He had no desire to sit through a work centered around the themes of love and revenge while his emotions were in such a fragile state, yet the thought of leaving Rey under his mother's matchmaking tendencies and with a guest so unobjectionable as Thanisson was too much for him to bear.
"Thank you, My Lord," Rey said delightedly, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. "I would love to attend."
Thanisson looked thrilled, his face unable to hide his happiness. The young man's grin soon faltered, however, under Kylo's unwavering stare.
"I will be counting down the days until the performance, then," Thanisson said as Kylo coughed from his chair, something suddenly lodged in his throat.
Thanisson stood, bidding Rey and Kylo goodbye.
"Good day, Miss Kenobi. Lord Ren."
Kylo watched Thanisson's back as Mr. Daniels led the noble out, turning to Rey once the front door was closed.
"What are your feelings towards Thanisson?" Kylo asked, his tone deceptively casual.
"He is kind and has treated me well," Rey answered slowly. "He is one of the few who seems to be interested in what I have to say."
Kylo tried not to stare at the way she was worrying her lower lip.
"Yes. He seems very-pleasant," Kylo added.
Rey looked down at him, daring him to state that being pleasant was a bad thing.
"Lord Thanisson seems to have made his intentions known rather quickly," Kylo drawled. "You must have made quite the impression on him at the Assembly Rooms."
Rey's anger flared at Kylo's innuendo. She looked up sharply, the expression on his face remaining passive and infuriatingly cool.
She began to feel piqued as he continued to watch, until a weariness suddenly washed over her, the strain of their interactions leaving her exhausted and uncertain.
"I believe I have the beginnings of a headache, My Lord. If you don't mind, I will be retiring to my room now," she stated, heading for the door.
Kylo stood, a guilty expression on his face.
"Rey, I'm sorry. It was not my attention to wrong-foot you. I came here to ask your forgiveness, to apologize…"
Kylo stopped suddenly. She saw his eyes dart towards the flash of orange which had become exposed from behind the curtain, no longer hidden by her gown. Her mouth dropped open and she let out a cry of mortification as she reached out shakily to retrieve it, only to find Kylo bridging the distance between them in two powerful strides.
"What is this?" Kylo asked furiously, knowing full well what she held in her hands.
Rey's eyes widened at his anger, at the way he gripped her wrist. She glanced down at his kuckles, their tops bruised and scratched, still swollen and painful.
"Is this how you have been spending your time in London?" Kylo asked, seething. He was assaulted with images of Rey, her curves fully on display in her Parisian gowns, blushing and flirting with Thanisson while inspiring the desires of men like Tyran. His anger twisted through his face and flashed in his eyes, memories of his own sexual awakening and promiscuity after reading the book which she now held in her hands overwhelming him and tainting any rational thought.
Kylo pushed against her, his leg nudging against the folds of her dress and between her own, crowding her against the wall.
"Perhaps Tyran was right," Kylo ground out, his breath hot against her face, "Perhaps your virtue is overrated."
Rey flinched, Kylo's verbal assault hurting her as much as Plutt's hand ever did. Her shock quickly turned to fury at his presumption even as her traitorous body reacted to his nearness, arcing up against him so the slide of their bodies were separated only by the thin fabric of their clothing.
Her voice shook. "How dare you presume anything? What do you know of me, of all that I have done in my life to keep my virtue and integrity intact? When you uprooted me from everything I knew, a human pawn in your foolish bet, you, my lord, have shown yourself to be no different from the rest of them. You only see a female form, costumed in a dress. Never a person, only a means to an end."
Kylo was duly chastised. She was trembling with emotion, her voice breaking and her eyes shining as she fought back her tears. He glanced at the door upon hearing her outburst, wondering if they should move to somewhere more private, but if any of the staff heard, they remained noticeably silent.
Rey continued, five months of frustration welling up and breaking through her like the floodwaters. A sharpness and twang became more prominent in her speech, the mix of cadences and dialects rising up once again in her anger.
"And now you accuse me of being nothing more than a light-skirt, a loose-piece. I have known more than my share of buricks, my lord, and they possess more decency and principle than the majority of those who call themselves gentlemen!"
Kylo watched as the gamut of emotions flit through her face until her body suddenly went pliant against his, exhausted. The truth of her accusations tore at him as she pushed back her sobs, and he was filled with a desire to take her in his arms and soothe away her sorrows.
He removed his leg, filled with a sudden emptiness as he moved away.
He looked at her, his thumb trailing gently down the side of her jaw hesitantly, as if wary of a skittish colt. His voice was so soft, she would not have heard it if not for his breath against her cheek.
"What do you want, Rey?"
"I want to be loved. Truly loved."
Kylo looked at her sadly. "Love like that only exists in myth and fairy tales."
Rey shook her head stubbornly. "It's my fairy tale. My parents had it. I want it, too."
Kylo felt an ache in his heart, a remnant from his past in which he had also believed in the truth of such sentiments. His anger at what had become of his life quickly slid into feelings of pity and worthlessness, until he looked at her face.
Rey was staring at him fiercely, her eyes and lips slightly parted as if begging him to remember, to believe.
He took her in his arms, unable to crush her fairy tale dreams. He stroked her hair, murmuring his apologies even as her skin burned underneath his fingers, soft and yielding. She looked beautiful and glorious in her conviction, as she leaned forward on her toes, her eyes falling over the curve of his lips, his name a sigh on her breath, sad yet hopeful. And even though part of him wanted nothing more than to devour her and to run his hands over every curve as he tasted every inch of her, there was another part, long thought dead, which desired something even more.
True love.
His heart hammering, Kylo leaned in, his mouth slanting breathlessly over her own. And as he felt the softness of her lips give way and he tasted her for the first time, it was almost enough to make him believe.