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“We’ll miss you.” Clarabelle pouted, dropping the coverlet to reveal her nakedness.
Blake watched as she slowly slid her hand over one full breast and down her belly to the patch of dark curls at the apex of her thighs. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and glided her hand up and down to pleasure herself while her sister watched.
Stirring, but not stirring enough. Blake stepped into his trousers, which he had left folded neatly over a Louis XIV chair. He had to admit that the courtesans had good taste in both clothing and decor. They were wealthy, indeed, thanks to the frequency with which they were apparently summoned to the king.
After slipping into his white shirt, Blake sat down on the chair to pull on his stockings. It was after one in the morning and he was tired. He’d had too much to drink, too much rich food. He’d scheduled an appointment in the morning with a steam-packet agent and he needed a clear head by then. He had decided that whether his business was completed here in London or not, he was ready to go home. He would simply give Stowe permission to sign whatever needed to be signed and sell whatever needed to be sold. His life was in Boston and it was time he returned to his business.
“I can’t believe you would leave us alone in this big bed,” Clarissa simpered, looking at him with her large blue eyes.
He leaned over to slip one foot and then the other into his boots. Standing, he grabbed his waistcoat and coat and walked toward the door. “I left money beside the bed,” he told the sisters.
Clarabelle was on the stack of bills in an instant. “Will you come back tomorrow night?” she purred when she realized how large a sum he had left.
He didn’t care. It was only money and he had more than enough to last him a lifetime. “Good night.” He lifted his hand in farewell and let himself out.
Twenty minutes later, Blake entered his town house in the West End of London. The butler, asleep on a chair in the front hall, leaped to his feet as Blake walked in the door.
“Lord Wessex,” Preston greeted, trying to appear as if he had not nodded off.
“Go to bed, Preston. I’ve no need of your services. In fact, you may always go to bed if I have not returned by eleven at night.” He tossed his hat and coat to the butler.
“My lord?” Preston said as Blake walked past him.
Blake rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on that would last well through noon tomorrow. “Yes?” he asked, not bothering to turn back.
“Lady Wessex, my lord.” He sounded uncertain. “She waits for you in the parlor.”
Frowning in confusion, he turned around to look at the butler. “At this time of night?” he asked incredulously. “It’s nearly two.”
“Yes, my lord.” Preston bobbed his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the polished floor.
With a groan, Blake walked away. He had half a mind to just go to bed and let the old biddy sit up all night waiting for him, but he walked down the hall toward the parlor where he had first met Sapphire. He didn’t know what made him think of her as he turned the doorknob. “You needed to speak with me, Lady Wessex?” he asked, trying not to sound more interested than he was, which presently was not at all.
Unlike Preston, she had not been dozing while she kept vigil. She flew up out of her seat, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “My lord, thank heavens you’ve returned. I received the most disturbing news today and I knew you would want to know at once.”
He stared at her for a moment and rested a hand on the back of a horsehair couch as he let her words sink in through the fog brought on by the scotch he’d consumed. He couldn’t imagine the dowager had any news of importance, but he asked the expected question anyway. “And what is that?”
“Well,” she began, “you know that young woman who was staying with the Lord and Lady Carlisle but had to be put out because of her inappropriate behavior.”
He felt his forehead wrinkle. “No, I have no idea who you speak of.”
She drew closer to him, lowering her lashes. “The young woman who was seen alone with you, my lord.”
“When?” he asked impatiently.
“Sapphire Fabergine is her name.”
Suddenly Lady Wessex had his attention and he looked up, the fog clearing.
“Pardon me first for even having to bring up such a delicate subject,” she went on.
He motioned impatiently to her to get on with her story.
“Two weeks past, perhaps three, she made it known that she was setting herself up in keeping.” Lady Wessex didn’t look at him. “Looking for a protector to care for her.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose I heard that—but what does it have to do with me?” He didn’t bother to hide his irritation.
“My lord.” Her eyes filled with tears. “She is spreading a nasty rumor that she is my late husband’s legitimate daughter,” she said, suddenly looking faint.
