Page 65 of How to Tempt an Earl

“It’s nothing,” he said in a hoarse tone.

She glared at him. “I was told you were not to return tonight.”

Her voice was laced with censure. He couldn’t blame her. He was truly a blackguard for ruining her wedding day. If he could take back the conversation with the dowager at the wedding breakfast he would do so in an instant. He’d never intended to hurt her in such a fashion.

Not entirely true.

He’d had no intention of selling his casino. He just didn’t want her to learn of his plans so soon or in such a cruel fashion.

He was uncomfortable with his strong attraction to her. It made him feel powerless, and he hadn’t felt that emotion in a long, long time. “It seems my intrusion has interrupted your clandestine activities.”

She leaned forward in the chair. The sleeve of her garment slid a tantalizing inch down her shoulder to reveal a sliver of creamy skin, more tempting to him than a courtesan’s artfully displayed décolletage.

“I won’t apologize. I came here to read but discovered these,” she said, motioning to the club’s books spread across the oak surface. “The ledgers weren’t hidden or locked in your desk.”

“I shall have to remember to protect my privacy in the future.” He was sounding surly. It was difficult to keep his focus when all he had to do was reach out and give a slight tug to her sleeve to reveal her breast to his hungry gaze.

“You are a wealthy man.”

Her comment was unexpected, and his gaze snapped to her face. “You knew that.”

“Ah, yes. But not the extent of your fortune.”

A corner of his mouth twisted upward. “Are you pleased then to be my wife?”

She ignored his question and responded with one of her own. “Do you have a bookkeeper?”

Once again, she’d surprised him and he marveled at her ability to switch topics. “No.”

“I didn’t think so. You need one.”

“I do it myself.”

She regarded him from where she sat in his chair. “Why? I would think you would like the help of a bookkeeper or a secretary. Accounting takes an incredible amount of time.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“What about Brooks?” she asked.

“Only him. But he does not have a head for figures.”

“You should reconsider retaining a bookkeeper. You’ve made mistakes.”

That got his attention. “Mistakes? Where?”

“Here.” She pointed to the open ledger that had rested on her hips when he’d first walked into the room. It now sat on the desk before her.

He leaned down and the top of her hair tickled his nose. He inhaled the scent of her soap, lavender. The fragrance was one of the first things he’d noticed about her when she’d first come to him at his club. His gaze dropped to the luscious swell of her breasts above her gown. The top of one pink nipple was barely visible. He grew stiffer in his trousers, a feat he didn’t think was possible.

Christ. He needed to gain control. He wasn’t a randy boy of seventeen. He was in his thirties, the owner of the Raven Club where all kinds of vices could be found.

“I don’t see a mistake,” he said.

She tapped her finger at one of the tiny figures. “Right here. Column C, Row G. You printed four thousand, three hundred, twenty-two pounds. It should be four thousand, two hundred, twenty-two pounds. You lost a hundred pounds.”

He stared, his mind struggling to focus on the figures and not the desirable woman seated before him, distracting him effortlessly.

“I’ll be damned.” She was right. He often worked late at night after working at the club, or very early in the morning. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in a state of fatigue.