Page 89 of How to Tempt an Earl

“If it was anyone else, I’d be tempted to shoot,” Ian said.

“Anyone else would have knocked.” Brooks’s gaze went to the decanter on the desk. “You plan on drinking yourself into a stupor?”

Ian raised his glass in salute. “Precisely.”

“You don’t want to box me in the ring this time?”

“Why bother? I still carry the bruises from our last bout.”

“I can only assume you are having wifely troubles again.”

“She wants me to pick. The Raven or her.”

“I see. I thought you said she’d changed her mind after she accompanied you to the Raven. She didn’t leave the place screaming and yelling, did she?”

“No, she didn’t.” His mind burned with the memory of their lovemaking. She’d been sweet and wild, and he’d never forget the taste and feel of her. Men would die to possess that kind of pleasure.

He’d thought she’d come to terms with it. True, they’d never discussed it. He’d always sensed an awkwardness around the topic, and he’d kept himself distant from her in the day. He’d feared his strong attachment to her. He still did. Vulnerability was not something he had ever experienced before. It frustrated him, made him uncomfortable.

“It’s because of her father. Things were progressing until you carried the baron to our home battered and bruised,” Ian said tersely.

“Should I have left him in the alley to die?”

Ian downed his glass. “No. But she blames the club, blames me. We are back to the beginning.”

“What will you do?”

“I don’t know, dammit.”

“Have you told her what you do with the profits?”

“She discovered that on her own by going through my ledgers. She’s quite intelligent.” He recalled the night he’d found her in his study asleep in his chair, the ledgers spread all around her. It had led to another bout of passionate lovemaking. He screwed his eyes shut and still the image of her would not leave him.

Damn.

“She sounds perfect for you.”

“Not perfect enough. I won’t get rid of the Raven.”

“Then it’s going to be a long night. I’ll fetch more whisky.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Grace cried herself to sleep that night. Ian had never returned home, and she assumed he slept at the club. Had he been with another woman?

She recalled the masked women who frequented the club, many of whom she suspected would eagerly invite him to their bed. Would he accept?

She felt a nauseating sinking of despair. She could not allow her thoughts to turn in that direction. Still, though she may not be wise in the ways of men, it was imperative that she face the truth. He didn’t want her as much as he wanted the Raven Club. He wanted her gone.

She got up, summoned Rose, and dressed. Checking on her father, she was relieved to find him still asleep and breathing peacefully this time. She ate a quick breakfast in the breakfast room—alone—then called for her maid once again.

“Rose, please help me pack my trunks. We are going on a trip.”

“A trip? To where?”

“Home.”

“But isn’t this our home now?”