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Chapter Two
“Your Grace,” a musical voice called.
Michael groaned.
“Your Grace!” the voice called again, drawing out each syllable.
He opened his eyes only to shut them again quickly, the daylight streaming through the window blinding him. He covered his eyes with his hands.
“Your Grace,” the voice continued, even closer to him than before. He lifted his hand to peek at the voice. A woman was kneeling on her hands and knees on the bed in front of him.
“What do you want?” he snapped, closing his eyes again.
He felt her straddle him, silk brushing his thighs. She traced her fingers down his chest, tickling him in the process. The throbbing in his head made him impatient for such advances.
“What the bloody hell do you want?” he asked in annoyance.
“The morning is late, Your Grace,” she told him. She flicked the sash from her robe across his skin.
With a sweep of his arm, he pushed the woman off him. “I don’t care how late it is,” he said. “If I wish to lay here the rest of the day, I will.”
Finally daring to open his eyes, he peered at the woman, who was now pouting on the side of the bed. Her painted cheeks and disheveled hair spoke of an evening of debauchery. He groaned again, prompting her to crawl forward on the bed again.
“Your Grace, perhaps I could pour you a glass of wine, some breakfast, even, to help your head?”
He fell back into the bed, rubbing his temples. She took over, her light fingers making short work of the pain in his head. Feeling less irritable, he took one of her hands and kissed it.
“Thank you, for your tenderness. I believe a glass of wine would help,” he said, at last.
With a smile, the woman left, allowing him some respite. He closed his eyes, tempted to fall back to sleep. Then the door banged open unceremoniously, causing him to groan again.
“Michael, we really must be going,” Joseph said.
Michael squinted, finding his cousin fully dressed and bright eyed. He had the poor manners to not even look tired as he took a seat next to the bed. As always though, Joseph was the responsible one, trying to keep Michael in line.
“If I might remind you, you were supposed to call on the Duchess of Beaufort today. You also said that you’d go down to train at the boxing club.”
“Why did I schedule anything on my calendar today?” Michael said lamented.
“At least have the decency to get dressed.”
“You are the one to barge into my room, knowing full well that I haven’t dressed,” Michael argued. He threw back the covers and tried to stand, but his head spun.
“Too much liquor, again, I see. I do hope you did not disappoint the lovely Miss Penelope,” Joseph teased.
The woman in question returned to the room, carrying a tray. She cast a disappointed glance at Joseph before carrying the tray over to the bed for Michael.
“Your Grace,” she said, offering the tray. Michael picked up a pastry to take a bite, then quickly took the glass of wine the woman offered. Downing a long gulp, he rose, finding clothing strewn throughout the room. The woman pouted at him again, which had no effect on him.
“What?” he asked, growing annoyed by his cousin’s presence.
“You promised this morning-”
He cut her off, “I never promise anything. If I did, I was drunk.”
“I do think you have disappointed Miss Penelope,” Joseph laughed, drawing a withering look from the woman.
“I never promise anything,” Michael reiterated as he buttoned his breeches. “Hence, why I will never marry and will never have children. I had a terrible dream last night, Joseph.”
