Page 72 of One Night with an Earl

The trio’s coarse laughter grated on Oliver’s nerves. How long before they gave up and left?

Moore scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, we never did see that fine piece you ended up with when we returned a week later. I asked the madame for her, but she said she was no longer there. What happened? Didn’t satisfy her and she quit the brothel for good?”

A muscle ticked at Oliver’s jaw. Moore had asked for Lady Scarlet? He recalled the way the blackguard had grasped her arm that first night. Oliver had felt an unexpected possessiveness for the lady dressed in red, and he’d itched to punch the arrogant dandy in the face. He shouldn’t allow their adolescent jokes to irk him now, but the urge to put Moore in his place was back with a vengeance, and his fingers tensed on his glass. The trio didn’t notice, but Warwick must have. His gaze darted to Oliver’s hands before rising to his face.

“Oh, don’t feel too badly for Drake. He may have a few years on you, but he can take care of himself, in and out of a boxing ring,” Warwick said.

Moore turned his attention to the duke. “Your Grace, I didn’t think you left your home.”

Warwick’s eyes gleamed as though he was playing a game. “Only for good company.”

“Come out with us tonight,” Elton urged Oliver, then turned to Warwick. “The duke is welcome as well.”

“Didn’t you recently wed?” Warwick asked.

Sutherland rose and smacked Elton on his back. “The lady knows her place.”

“What do you say, Drake?” Elton asked again. “How about you leave your duties behind before you are bored to tears?”

Oliver shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Suit yourself.”

The trio departed the club just as they’d entered—loudly and foxed—like a trio of drunken fools.

“Good God. There isn’t a collective full-size brain between them,” Warwick said.

“I agree, but I do owe them my gratitude.”

“How so?”

“If I hadn’t accompanied them to the Silver Chalice that night, I would never have met Ana.”

“Your lady friend?”

“I’m sending a coach for her tonight.” Even as he said the words, anticipation was keen in his gut.

“So soon?”

“Soon? I’ve been waylaid for long enough. Ana has been on my mind the entire time.”

Warwick studied him. “Hmm. This is no simple liaison, is it? Careful, my friend, before you become completely besotted.”

…

The note came later that afternoon and was delivered by a young boy who’d knocked on the servant’s back door and asked for Ana.

Look for a coach in the alley at midnight tonight.

—D

Ana’s fingers shook as she folded the letter and put it in her skirt pocket. Glancing both ways down the corridor, she slipped inside Lord Malvern’s private study and shut the door. She knew his lordship was out at one of his clubs and the room would be vacant.

She wanted to see the earl. Badly. To lose herself in the comfort of his arms, the pleasure of his kiss. To forget her problems, even if they only shared a few blissful hours together.

But the stakes were higher than before. Even beneath the cloak of darkness, there was risk of discovery. If only the marchioness had not learned that she’d met the earl alone at Rosedown, not once, but twice. Her tense conversation with Lady Malvern was hard to forget, and panic squeezed her chest.

She opened the top door of the desk, removed a piece of foolscap, and reached for a quill to write her own note. Her hand hesitated above the inkwell. She returned the paper and quill. Delivering a note was dangerous. She needed to see him.