Beautiful Things: Chapter 41

Burke was going to hell. That’s what happened to men who stole things, right? Men who broke faith with their friends. Men who lied and cheated and manipulated others into getting what they wanted. Men who abused generosity and would happily see debts go unpaid. It was bad enough he could admit to having of those vices. Surely, owning all of them together would earn him a place in the fiery pit.

But if Rosalie Harrow was his consolation prize here on earth, then Burke felt certain that burning in hell would be a perfectly lovely way to spend his eternity.

He shifted on the stiff bench, wedged as he was between James and the duchess in the duke’s pew box. He gazed across the church to the other set of boxes, where the young ladies all sat listening to the Sunday sermon. Directly across from him sat the woman who had slowly begun to occupy his every thought.

.

Rosalie wore her hair down, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders. A bonnet framed her face, tied with green ribbons. Her soft cheeks bloomed pink as she felt his gaze on her. She glanced up and a jolt passed through him as their eyes met. Her blush deepened and she was the first to look away, her gaze settling pointedly on old Mr. Selby as he continued to prattle on from his pulpit.

Burke cracked his knuckles in annoyance. He couldn’t go to her last night, for the men kept him occupied too late with billiards and drinking. He could think of no excuse to leave when they needed a fourth for their game. By the time he managed to slip away, it was so late that all her lights were out. Had she waited for him?

“Stop fidgeting,” James muttered.

He took a deep breath. If he looked overlong at Rosalie, his cock would get hard. He really didn’t feel like having to explain a cockstand to the duchess.

God, but Selby knew how to prattle. Burke had no patience for the church. He only went out of obligation to the duchess. He didn’t need Selby’s sidelong eyes whenever he mentioned man’s carnal lusts and appetites. Burke smirked. His appetites tend towards carnality. Not that he made a habit of indulging. That was the thing about being the bastard son of a whore: he knew the very real ramifications of losing himself too deep to those lusts and appetites. He’d only let a rare one woman in fifty ever get close enough to indulge.

His mother may have been a whore, but Burke was not.

Which was why a very small part of him was glad he hadn’t been able to go to Rosalie last night. She was his weakness. For her, he seemed ready to break all rules. The heat of her kisses, the feel of her wet sex. Did she ever pleasure herself? Would she let him watch? She admitted she wasn’t a total novice, but she was still nervous, shaking and trembling in that sweet way that made his cock ache to be inside her, eager to teach her everything he knew.

He wanted her like he’d never wanted anything in his life. It was so much more than her beauty, her responsiveness, her exquisite taste—

He took another breath, ignoring the raised brow James shot his way. No, Rosalie was…

. She was clever and caring. He loved the way she teased and liked being teased. Most of all, he loved the way she looked at him. Rosalie him. Not Burke the cocky bastard, Burke the Corbin’s charity case, nor even Burke the sometimes-gentleman who could play at respectability. She saw through all those masks. When Rosalie looked at him, their eyes connected, and he felt seen.

It was heady. It was intoxicating. And he wanted more.

He sighed, looking over at Rosalie again. Her face was in profile. He followed the line of her gaze and that monster that lay curled in the pit of his stomach rose its ugly head.

.

When Renley admitted to being alone in her room, Burke had wanted to flatten him. Renley assured him nothing happened, but he knew exactly what kind of pull Rosalie had. If he had to watch her walk into Renley’s waiting arms, he might die.

, she whispered.

“Burke,” James muttered, jabbing him in the ribs.

He blinked, pulled from his thoughts to realize the sermon was over and everyone was getting to their feet.

“Burke, Christ, get up.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong with you this morning?” James tucked his hair behind his ears as he adjusted his hat. “You’re all in a daze.”

The duchess cast him a side glance as she raised a hand and he quickly took it, ready to escort her out.

“Are you ill?” the duchess murmured.

“Not at all,” he replied. “Fit as a fiddle.”

“And did you enjoy the sermon?”

“

, quite inspiring.”

“He was speaking of tithing, Burke. It was duller than watching grass grow.”

The carriage waited just outside the doors and George stood beside it with the marchioness, ready to allow the duchess to be seated first.

“Do I want to know what distracted you so?” she said as he helped her within.

“I very much doubt it,” he replied.

“Hmm.” She arched one of her perfect brows. “And do I to know?”

“I am confident James has me well trained by now.”

Her other brow matched the height of the first before she lowered both, blue eyes narrowed. “All the same…I think I shall remind him to give your lead a tug.”

“I look forward to the course correction,” he said with a tight smile.

She pursed her lips and waved him away.

Two more carriages were lined up behind the first. Lady Gorgon and the Oswalds were settled in the middle carriage. The last carriage was saved for the Swindons, Lady Madeline, and Rosalie.

His eyes narrowed as he saw Rosalie standing off to the side of the carriage, hand draped casually on Renley’s arm. They spoke quietly together, her face concealed by her bonnet. Damn, but he hated that about bonnets. Was she blushing again? He could see Renley’s face clear enough. He had his brows knit together, his face all seriousness.

, why did he look even more handsome when he was serious? It wasn’t fair. Damn Burke’s rotten luck that he had to compete with a bloody Adonis.

Burke was already moving, his feet crunching on the fine gravel, determined to step between them and know what new secrets they shared.

, she had whispered with love in her eyes.

.

By the time he wove through the crowd, Renley was helping Rosalie inside the carriage. He stepped back with a nod to the other ladies as the footman shut the door and flipped up the step. Burke stopped at Renley’s side, noting the way Rosalie’s eyes went wide at seeing them standing together. The carriage rattled into motion and her bonnet quickly blocked her face from view. He watched for a moment, waiting, but she didn’t turn around.

“What was that about?” he muttered.

“Hmm?” Renley put on his dashing naval officer’s hat.

“With Miss Harrow,” he said, trying his best not to sound petulant.

He failed.

Renley’s frown deepened. “I need to go to Town. I had planned to take luncheon at my brother’s and leave from there. Will you tell James for me?”

Burke blinked, still distracted. “Town? That’s rather sudden.”

“I have some business to attend to,” Renley replied. “I’ll check in with the officer’s club and have dinner with my captain.”

Burke raised a dark brow. “But you’ll be back in time for the ball?”

“Undoubtedly,” Tom replied.

The truth hit Burke like a punch to the gut. Tom’s agitation since returning from his brother’s house, his serious looks, his quiet moods. “Oh, fuck’s sake, Tom. She wrote to you, didn’t she?”

Renley sighed. “Burke—”

“Christ man, why didn’t you say anything? When did she write? What did she say?”

Renley’s jaw clenched. “She requested a renewal of our friendship. She asked to see me. I feel…I feel I should go.”

Burke was suddenly at war with himself. Should he protect his friend, or sabotage him? Provide measured counsel that may lead Renley to stay and continue to pursue Rosalie, or gleefully throw him to the wolves?

Well, wolf. A cunning actress of a she-wolf named Marianne Young.

“What will you tell her?” Burke asked.

“I hadn’t…I’m not sure I’ve quite formed the words. I think I need to see her before I know for certain. But Rosalie said I ought to forgive her—”

“

said?” Burke’s monster snarled. First, he hated hearing her name on Renley’s lips almost as much as he hated hearing Renley’s name on hers. Second, what did Rosalie say? His mind was spinning even as the monster began to purr. Rosalie wanted Renley to forgive Marianne. Would she dare do such a thing if she had designs on Renley for herself?

. For she was the soul of heroism—salting the tea of gorgons, befriending frightened maidens, saving runaway horses, and seeing people for who they were instead of what society wanted them to be. She would shove Renley right into the arms of another woman if she thought it was what he wanted.

“Tom…have you brought Miss Harrow into your confidence about all this?”

Renley nodded. “Aye, she had many useful things to say on the matter.” He chuckled dryly. “But damn if her tongue doesn’t smart like the crack of a whip.”

Burke hated Renley making any mention of Rosalie’s tongue. Christ, he wanted to taste it again, wanted it tracing along his collarbone, wrapped around his cock.

.

“I think I may have been an arse all these years,” Renley admitted. “She said something that’s had me mindful the last two days. I can’t let it go…”

Burke readied himself for the worst. “And what did she say?”

Renley met his eye. “It was about choices. About choosing to be happy.”

“And…are you ready to choose to be happy?”

Renley gave him a half smile. “Not yet…but god I hope soon.” He clapped Burke on the shoulder. “You’ll tell James I’m away?”

Burke nodded. “When shall you return?”

“A few days at the most. I’ll see you when I see you.” He gave Burke’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Sure,” Burke muttered. “See you when I see you.”

He watched Renley walk off towards the far side of the church yard where Colin waited. Renley was leaving and Rosalie knew before Burke. She him to go. What had they said to each other? What was Renley planning to do? Would he return from London heart-healed with Marianne Young on his arm…or perhaps heartsick for someone new? Perhaps a young lady with dark lashes, the softest curls, and the sweetest rosy blush…