“We have to stop meeting like this, Your Grace,” she purred, sauntering closer.
Blaise’s mouth curved in return; the flirtation came to him naturally. “Perhaps. You look like the kind of trouble a man could enjoy without regret.”
She laughed, low and throaty, trailing a finger along the edge of his table. “I can be very accommodating, especially for a duke with such a… commanding presence.”
“You seem capable enough to take on my commands.” He allowed his gaze to drift over her body appreciatively, but even as the words left his mouth, dissatisfaction gnawed at him.
“Would you like to go somewhere more private, Your Grace?” The easy promise in her eyes felt hollow.
His mind kept drifting back to Iris’s soft, damp skin and the way she had looked lying on her bed, allowing him to immortalize her.
He regretted giving her that sketch. He should have kept it. The image of her half-draped in that robe, vulnerable and aroused, belonged in his collection. No nameless courtesan could satisfy what Iris had awakened.
“Perhaps another time.”
The woman looked disappointed as Blaise finished his drink in one swallow and rose, offering her a polite but final nod before heading deeper into the club.
The familiar scent of cigar smoke and aged leather wrapped around him as he claimed a quieter table. Another brandy arrived promptly. He looked around and saw Mr. Reynolds at the bar, waving and smiling at him. Blaise smiled back at him. He was proud of the old man. He had heard him talk about opening a gentlemen’s club for years, and Blaise understood the pleasure of enjoying the fruits of your own labor.
He had barely taken two sips when a familiar, unwelcome voice cut through the murmur of conversation.
“Well, well. I am not surprised to find the new Duke of Knoxford in such a place as this.”
Blaise’s grip tightened on his glass. His cousin, Daniel Vale, slid into the seat across from him, all false charm and snake-like eyes. The man had always been an ambitious, resentful, and lying little?—
“Blaise, it is good to see family after so long.” Daniel placed a hand over his shoulder, and Blaise looked at it in disgust.
“Daniel,” Blaise said flatly. “What do you want?”
Daniel smirked, signaling for his own drink. “Can a man not greet his cousin? I heard you have taken up residence in that crumbling Hentley House. And how is that bastard nephew you are trying to polish up for society?”
The word ‘bastard’ landed like a slap. Blaise’s fists clenched at his sides. He barely controlled the surge of fury that roared through him.
“Marcus is none of your concern. No matter what schemes you are hatching, you will never come near the title. Give it up. You have no claim, and you never will as long as I am alive.”
Daniel leaned back, utterly unfazed. “Oh, I do not need the title to win. I will enjoy dragging everyone down with me. The great Blaise Vale, a murderer of his own brother, and his precious littlebastard. What a charming family portrait that will make.”
A murderer and a bastard.
Blaise shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly against the floor. He loomed over the table. The noise around them slowly dimmed as everyone’s attention turned toward them.
Daniel’s smile only widened. “Oh, come now, cousin. It was just playful banter. Please sit down?”
“I will take my leave.” Blaise turned his back on the sly man.
But Daniel was not finished. “And how is that little widow you are housing these days? Iris, is it not? Quite the resilient creature. I might even pay her a visit since she seems not to mind taking in strays and distant relations. Perhaps she will be equally welcoming to me?—”
Blaise lunged forward and drove his fist squarely into Daniel’s jaw. The satisfying crack of knuckles meeting flesh echoed through the room. Daniel staggered back, his chair toppled and crashed to the ground as blood trickled from his split lip.
“You will stay the hell away from her!” Blaise snarled like an animal. “Do not play games you cannot win, cousin. If you so much as breathe in her direction, I will destroy you.”
Shouts erupted around them. Strong hands grabbed Blaise’s arms as club members and staff rushed in, surrounding the two men. Daniel wiped blood from his mouth, laughing bitterly even as he was pulled back.
“Gentlemen, please!” Mr. Reynolds called urgently. “This is no place for such behavior. You must both leave at once.”
Blaise shook off the restraining hands with a sharp jerk, chest heaving. His knuckles throbbed, but the pain was nothing compared to the protective fury still burning in his veins. He shot Daniel one final, menacing glare.
“Remember my warning,” he growled.
