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His brow knitted. “And how in the devil would you know anything about that?”
She fixed him with a look. “I’m a grown woman and one who has been married at that.”
“You do not mean—” His jaw tightened.
“Goodness, I have never done such a thing.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “But I knew of a man who wanted such things.”
“Your husband.”
“Late husband,” she corrected.
“I pity the man.”
“Pity?” She wasn’t sure what she anticipated. Jealousy maybe. Anger perhaps. Not pity.
“Believe me, Chastity, you are more than enough woman for one man, and he was a damned fool if he could not figure that out.”
She sighed. “Perhaps.”
But it did not matter if he was. John was long dead and there were other, bigger things to worry about than whether her husband had ruined her pride by not finding satisfaction in her.
Like helping her sister.
Whatever happened between her and Valentine, she could not let herself forget the real reason she was here. Eleanor needed her.
∞∞∞
Well, if he ever thought he was being punished for his sins, he had confirmation of it in the form of the outrageously low gown Chastity wore. In a deep purple and trimmed in dark lace that looked like elegant webs determined to draw him into her snare, it hugged every blasted curve, and she certainly had the look of a scandalous mistress inclined to enjoy the pleasures of another woman in their bed. He shook his head when she drew down the dark woolen cloak.
The sultry pull of her lips and lowered lashes finished the picture to perfection. He had to pause a moment and wonder where the devil a duke’s daughter learned such skills of disguise. First a maid, now a mistress. What was next?
Oh yes, his lover too. There was no artifice in that, though. He’d been too intimate with the falsities of human nature to know the difference between a fake and real reaction. In his arms, everything was genuine. He could not help but take some pride in that. Especially as it seemed her married life offered a grim experience—no unusual thing within the ton but he could not fathom any man being unsatisfied with Chastity. She had wit, intelligence, and a body that cried out for the touch of a man.
He did pity her late husband. The fool couldn’t see what was in front of him. He also loathed him, but he did not want to think too deeply about why. Hating a dead man was folly and he had the whole of Society to loathe. That was quite enough people for one man to despise.
“I was thinking we start at The Eight Bells,” Chastity suggested.
He glanced down the darkened alley. Lamps lit the sides of the buildings at the other end, offering a warm refuge from the late evening. Music and laughter could be heard even from their position on the more respectable Brook Street.
If he’d ever needed to slake his lust, he knew of some courtesans or the odd actress he could pay a visit to. He’d ventured into this part of London on one or two occasions in his youth before the death of his father and sister, but he could not claim to know it well.
Which begged the question, how did Chastity know which inns the whores of this area frequented? He pressed his teeth together. Something to do with the husband perhaps? Maybe the man boasted of his evenings here to her. Whatever the reason, it could not be good.
“If this Daisy Miller was by my father’s house at that time of night, she must have come from one of the inns here.”
He nodded. It made sense and when she’d related the suggestion she track down the woman to speak with her personally, it seemed a fine idea. With one exception...he should never have agreed for her to come. She might have the uncanny ability of blending in no matter what the situation—a trait learned from being so high-ranking, he imagined—but the thought of exposing her to any potential painful memories made him clench his teeth so hard, his jaw hurt.
“This was a mistake.”
Chastity looped her arm through his, ignoring his statement. “Come on, we do not have all evening.”
Right. This was getting ridiculous. Was he not the man in the situation? And he was still a bloody earl, after all. He had full command of his senses and he was not going to let himself be ordered around. “Chastity—”
She unhooked her arm from his and stepped in front of him, hands to her hips. It might have been some time since he’d been in the company of women, but he knew that look well enough—he was in trouble.
“We need to find this woman and goodness knows, even the most desperate of women would be reluctant to speak with you.” She gestured to his beard.
He touched the hair on his face before catching himself and dropping his hand. “I did not realize I was so hideous.”
