Clara flushed but couldn’t stop herself from laughing. He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously at Henson before charging up the stairs.
“Sam put me down.”
He stopped at the top of the foyer stairs and looked down at her with a smile. “I will when I have you exactly where you should be.”
She looked at him questioningly, and he said, “In my bed.”
~
As he dressed, Sam stared down at Clara sleeping blissfully in his bed. Just seeing her there shook him to his core. He felt like the young street urchin he once was when he swiped something he knew he shouldn’t have. The sun was just starting to set. He had been tempted to tell Clara about Dolan’s mistress but then hesitated, remembering his promise to Lila. More than anything he wanted Clara to have the society life back she had before they were discovered together in what thetonconsidered a compromising position. None of this situation was her fault.
His mouth twisted into a scowl, hating a society that would judge her so harshly but not think twice about Dolan’s actions. Many of the peers acted as if Dolan was the injured party in it all. Perhaps he couldn't blame them. Peers were conditioned to think the best of themselves and less of anyone who was common. Still, it irked him that in all this time Clara’s parents had not thought to soften the gossip about her.
His wife opened her eyes and smiled lazily at him. “Hello. Why are you dressed?”
He chuckled as she perused him with lustful interest. He was tempted to ignore his plans and rejoin her in bed but stopped himself. He needed to figure out how to make things right for her.
“I have an appointment,” he said.
She tilted her head and studied him. “Where?”
“I have business at the Den.”
Her lips pressed together in a grimace.
“I promise. I won’t be long,” he added.
She eyed him skeptically and looked as if she wanted to ask him more. “Clara, I am not running out to do anything unscrupulous.”
She sputtered and said, “I didn’t say you were.”
He lifted a brow at her. “Your face says it all.”
She turned all haughty and Sam leaned in, pulling her to him. He kissed her slowly and teasingly, wanting to leave her with thoughts of all the wicked things they would do together when he returned. He pulled away, and she was flushed. “I will return soon.”
A short time later Sam arrived at the Den. Donahue stood guard at the front door as always, staring him down as if he were some reprobate instead of one of Devons, Miller, and Derry’s closest friends. Devons was rather fond of Donahue, but Sam had no idea why. He appeared to eye all the antics that went on at the Den with barely concealed disgust.
“Are they in?” he asked.
Donahue frowned but nodded, opening the door. Sam turned and said goadingly, “You are not requiring me to wear a mask.”
Donahue looked at him with disdain and said, “You know better than anyone, Mr. Kincaide, that is only for the ball. I will escort you to the offices.”
Sam was already ahead of him and said overhis shoulder, “No need.”
He took their grand staircase in the foyer up to the second floor. The house was enormous with offices for the club set up in the west wing due to a walkway that overlooked the grand hall that was often used as a ballroom. A guard standing by opened the office door for him. All three of the men were seated drinking brandy.
They didn’t seem surprised to see him.
“Well, if it isn’t the man who threatened me over his beautiful wife,” Devons said with a chuckle looking unfazed from his previous visit.
Sam sat in the remaining empty chair. Derry poured him a brandy and handed it to him.
“Sorry about that.”
Miller laughed, and not quietly but a full loud laugh that had Devons and Derry looking at him amused.
Sam scowled.
