Evan shook his head, resting it against the back of the chair. How did he explain to his friend, a second son, that he was bored. Poor little rich earl, one of the wealthiest men in the country at the tender age of eight and twenty, could not muster even a modicum of interest in his own party or any of his guests.
He had hosted most of these Lords and Ladies already, had seen them naked, and fucked more than half of them. Even sex became routine after a while, and he had grown weary of searching for a new, different thrill. Many of them would continue to make overtures. Last year, he’d had not one but two titled ladies throw themselves at him only weeks after they’d pushed their daughters to snare his hand in marriage during the Season. And a few of the men had new mistresses, which in his experience meant they’d offer a threesome to show their mistress how liberal thinking they were and how close to his greatness they stood. His friends joked, but being one of the most sought-after men in society was exhausting.
“What, then?” Ford asked.
“Honestly? I am not entirely sure that I can fly the flag of interest.” He waved vaguely at his lap. “It all seems tedious. Debauchery for the sake of titillation. Sex for scandal. Not because individuals attracted to one another desire to strum each other like a harpsichord for pleasure.”
“You don’t expect me to replace you? ’Tis you they all come to play with, man.” Robert raised his brows at Evan and settled back. With his hands behind his neck and his blond hair flopping over his forehead, he was the picture of relaxation. “I’m here to watch and be inspired for new toys and apparel. Even if that crowd was interested in a substitute, it would not be me.”
“I am not at all certain the herd would notice.” Evan’s lips flattened in annoyance at the thought of the raucous group.
“What’s gotten into you, Bags?” Robert reverted to Evan’s nickname since university, chosen for his investment acumen that had earned them all scads of money. “You’ve always reveled in all this. Hell, you started hosting these because the London scene was too tame for you.”
“I’m not sure, to be honest. Mayhap ’tis Michael’s betrothal. Mayhap—” Evan paused dramatically. “—I’m growing up.”
They both broke down in laughter, Robert shaking his head. “’Tis definitely not that.”
“Right, then. I shall make do. ’Tis a little embarrassing—the poor, wealthy earl, bored by the orgy.”
“If the issue is Michael, are you looking to find a wife?” Ford’s eyebrows rose. Evan’s abhorrence of marriage was well-known to his friends.
“Godsakes, no. You know I’d never foist my family’s health history on anyone. Besides, all any of them—men or women—want is my bank account. Why would I limit myself to a single one when I can have variety?”
“Well, then?”
“If I knew, I could solve it, Ford.” Evan flipped a hand in frustration. “But like it or not, I have at least thirty visitors arriving tomorrow for a week of vice, so I shall evaluate after that.”
“Tell me about some of the games, then. I want to think about what tools to have downstairs at hand and what sketches to create for custom orders.”
****
Althea plucked at her skirt for the tenth time that day, glancing out the carriage window. She’d worked herself into a state on the first day of the trip, and on this final leg, she was inconsolable. “I cannot believe you talked me into this.”
After the demi-monde party, Beth’s behavior had remained decorous, or at least covert. When Althea lamented a few months ago that her plan to open a second shop in Bath required more capital than she had, Beth put her vast network of associates to work. She had a knack for matching people whose needs coincided, and between her experience at the School of Enlightenment and her volunteer work at a charity school in London, she’d accumulated quite a large group of connections.
A few weeks ago, Beth had skipped into Althea’s office holding a note and grinning. “You need to take a fortnight away from the store, cuz. We have a house party to go to.”
Althea stared at her ward with an arched brow. “I assume this is the next phase of your plan and not simply you desiring to go play in the country?”
“Can it not be both?” Beth chuckled. “I assure you ’tis the first. That is the only reason I would dare ask you to step away from the shop for a week. But there will certainly be opportunities for the second.” She wiggled her eyebrows back at Althea.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. What is it, then?”
Beth bounced on her toes twice. “Cheltie is having a party. A rout, really.”
“Cheltie?” Althea’s heart skipped a beat, and she told herself it was alarm rather than anticipation.
“The Earl of Cheltenham.”
“I know.” Althea gave her a dry look.
She knew he did not take on new investments easily. He was extremely selective and generally wanted a strong stake in the business if he provided the capital. She did not want that, nor did she think he’d be interested in her venture, so it did not make sense to risk her reputation by attending such an infamous party with such low odds of getting what she needed.
She conjured up his image as easily as if the Cyprian ball had been last week rather than last year. Tall, lanky, startlingly handsome with mannerisms and expression that projected ennui with the mere mortals who surrounded him.Another reason not to attend. I have no desire to watch him cavort with other women.
She shook her head, even as she hated to squash her cousin’s enthusiasm.
“According to Penelope— You remember her from Sarah Potter’s party, and I attended her wedding to Lord Michael Slade. Michael is one of Cheltie’s close friends. Apparently, Cheltie has quietly started to focus more on investing in women-owned businesses.”
