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“Never. What better way to conclude a liaison than with three nights of unforgettable passion? Why wait until I tire of her or she of me? Why tempt what would no doubt be an awkward or painful end?”
“What a pragmatist you are, Cadwell.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“Love knows no pragmatism.”
“My dear,” Sebastian said, eying her with care, “have you partaken of tainted waters?”
Lady Follet pursed her lips. “It is only…well, your lady…never mind. I will not keep you.”
With a gracious bow and kiss to her hand, he took his leave and headed up the stairs to see Miss Josephine. He resolved that he would make it worth her while. He certainly would not have her echoing Anne Wesley’s sentiments, fabricated or otherwise. The halls would ring with the cries of joy he would wrest from his lovely guest. And then he would bid Miss Josephine adieu, as he had to the dozens of others who had preceded her, and send he on her way to a better future.
As he headed down the hall, he felt a renewed sense of spirit. The desire he had lacked moments ago returned with new vigor. He would take Miss Josephine, awake or not, into his arms and have her swooning like never before.
* * * * *
Heloise clasped and unclasped her hands several times as she stood looking out the window at the descending moon. To her surprise, she had fallen asleep for an hour or two on the luxurious feather mattress. She was hungry and considering ringing the maid for something to eat when she heard footsteps approaching. It was him. Somehow she knew it was him. The long strides, the swift and confident tread could belong to none other than the Earl of Blythe.
A knock, and then the door opened. Heloise continued to stare out the window, telling herself that she would not be intimidated by this man.
“Good evening, my dear…”
Letting out a breath, Heloise turned to face him. He stood on the threshold, his form filling much of the doorframe. His tailored cutaway coat with brass buttons, fitted buff pantaloons, perfectly tied cravat and gleaming Hessians made her aware of how mussed her own appearance must be, her gown rumpled from having fallen asleep on the bed and her hair flying in wisps about her face. His eyes narrowed at her. Feeling herself falter beneath his imposing gaze, she lifted her chin.
“Where is Miss Josephine?” he asked.
The coldness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. Bracing herself, she replied, “Safe from harm. Safe from you.”
“Harm? What harm did you imagine she would come to?”
That he should ask that question amazed and riled her. Did he think her a simpleton?
“Surely you could not be so dull of wit, Your Lordship?” she returned, pleased that she managed a rejoinder. “You may be devoid of morals but I thought at least you did not lack in perception.”
Little flames lit his eyes.
“You would take her innocence and ruin her,” Heloise accused.
“Innocence?” he echoed. “Miss Merrill, how well do you know your cousin?”
She took a sharp breath. The man was insufferable.
“Better than you,” Heloise said. “She is far too respectable a person to merit your attentions.”
Is that a smirk floating on his lips? she wondered.
“She is indeed,” he allowed, “and as such will not suffer the injury you fear.”
“It is quite well known what manner of depravity occurs here, sir!”
“No one save Lady Follet would have known she was here—lest you spoke of it.”
Heloise felt her cheeks burning at the suggestion that she would have exposed her cousin.
“I spoke of this to no one when I intercepted your note to her,” she said. “And how could you protect her identity here? You will forgive me if I do not profess great confidence in the likes of Lady Follet!”
“Miss Merrill, you are free to believe what you will. As for Lady Follet, you speak too hastily of a lady you know not,” he said with an edge to his voice.
