Page 71 of One Night with an Earl

“She decided on her own. I needed only to convince her of the benefits.”

Warwick laughed. “You never lacked for arrogance.” He raised his drink and sipped. They were sitting in a private corner of White’s, enjoying the club’s finest whisky.

Oliver was finally back in London after being held up at Rosedown for two long weeks.

Two torturous weeks away from Ana.

He’d told her he’d be away for a few days, but assorted events had conspired against him. First, a country gentleman was interested in buying a pair of the estate’s matching bays but was delayed by a heavy rainstorm. Then, Rosedown’s butler fell ill and needed to be replaced. Oliver couldn’t leave until such a vital position in the household was filled. Who knew finding a proper English butler in the country would be so difficult? Even with the housekeeper, Mrs. Hannings’ help, it had taken far too long to fill the position. By the time he’d returned to London he was frustrated, irritable, and eager to see Ana.

He’d first stopped by his grandmother’s house to check on her, but she was not an early riser and had still been asleep, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. He’d left a message with her staff that he would visit later that day. He’d been further delayed upon his first day home by meetings with his secretary, his stewards, and the vast amount of correspondence that had demanded his attention while he was away. Now it was midday, and he couldn’t see Ana until after midnight. Meeting with his friend, the duke, for whisky followed by a bout at the boxing salon would be a good way to ease his tension until tonight.

Oliver watched his friend for any sign of censure. Warwick was difficult to read, and his flat, unspeaking eyes prolonged the moment.

“Well?” Oliver inquired. “I told you she agreed to a liaison. Aren’t you going to say something? I know how opinionated you can be.”

“Does my opinion matter?”

“You’ve never held back before.”

Warwick set down his glass, a shaft of light from the overhead chandelier catching on the cut crystal. “My work on the steel pistons is a damnable distraction.”

Oliver lowered his own glass and glared. “What on earth does that have to do with my situation?”

“I should be working on another invention, but this one keeps pulling me away, much like your lady is preoccupying your time.”

Oliver tried to follow. “So…you are insinuating Miss Gardner is like your high-pressure engine, a distraction from my duties.”

“Precisely. I must solve the problem with the engine before I can focus on my other designs. There is no other solution.”

“You think once I bed her again, I’ll be able to move on.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you will spend years on the problem, such as one of my colleagues who has been working on a fossil excavation site in Africa for fifteen years.”

Oliver’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Now you are comparing her to a fossil?”

Warwick shrugged a big shoulder. “In theory only.”

Oliver glared. “For my closest friend, you are no help at all.”

“I speak the truth, unlike the fools that just strode into this club.”

A burst of laughter drew Oliver’s attention to the entrance of the club and the three men who stood there.

“Bloody hell,” Oliver muttered as he spotted Moore, Sutherland, and Elton.

“Ah, your new friends.” Warwick’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

“No. My brother’s friends.”

The private corner wasn’t private enough. The men spotted Oliver too soon and approached.

“See who it is! Hello there, Drake.” Lord Moore led the pack who approached their table, his eyes already red rimmed from excessive drink. “Your Grace.”

Moore’s starched shirt points were so high Oliver wondered if they chafed his chin. Sutherland and Elton came up behind Moore like two lackeys.

“We never did learn what happened after that night at the Silver Chalice,” said Sutherland.

“Of course, we didn’t think you’d want us to wait for you to find out, either, Drake,” Elton chimed in.