The woman was a vixen and had been quite delightful over the past few hours. He leaned in and kissed her. She tried to pull him down, but another pounding on the door came again.
“Sebastian, we have a meeting.”
He groaned. His brother used his first name. Malcolm never did that, which meant he wasn’t going away. “My sweet, I do think you must go. I would suggest you dress before my brother sees you bare.”
She sighed and jumped from the bed. “Brothers are no fun.”
He chuckled as he headed to the door. Cracking it, he grinned at his impeccably attired brother, who glowered at him in return.
“We have much to discuss.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I’m busy.”
Abigail giggled from within the room.
Malcolm’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Unbusy yourself.”
“And to think you finding true love would make you less stuffy.”
“Meet me in our office in ten minutes,” Malcolm said before turning on his heels and stomping down the hallway.
After shaking his head at his brother’s retreating form, Sebastian closed the door and turned to see Abigail, almost dressed in a lavender-colored frock that molded to her curves. The woman was a delight. She’d broken plenty of hearts since arriving in London. Sebastian wasn’t one of them, but he appreciated the time they spent together, no matter how infrequent. He groaned and reached for her.
She giggled. “You have been summoned, Devons.”
“Just one more kiss.”
“Very well.”
Thirty minutes later and twenty minutes late, Sebastian strolled into their office located on the second floor. Malcolm sat in a wingback chair reading one of the many London society papers.
“Anything good?”
Malcolm looked at him and frowned. “You look like hell.”
Of course, he did, Sebastian thought. He’d been up most of the night entertaining Den guests and then decided to spend time with Abigail. He hoped he would be able to rest before Den patrons started arriving for the evening. He pulled his pocket watch out and flipped open the front case. It was two in the afternoon. If Malcolm left in the next hour, he could sleep for at least three to four hours.
“When was the last time you rested? Or did something besides Den business?” Malcolm asked.
Sebastian’s fingers flicked the white dial forward and skimmed the text on the back case of the watch.The measure of a man is defined by his actions.Since receiving the pocket watch from his father at eighteen, he had a habit of opening the front and back cases and skimming the words within. He snapped the watch shut and dropped down into the other wingback chair. “Someone needs to keep our customers entertained.”
“I’m here a couple nights a week and for any big events. You could do the same and focus on other efforts or initiatives you are interested in.”
He looked at his brother skeptically. Their establishment was the most successful gentlemen’s club in all of London. Most evenings, their venue was filled with the elite men of London, who placed bets, had drinks, and enjoyed their nightly entertainment. Sebastian couldn’t remember the last slow night their club had.
Even if that ever occurred, the Who’s Who of London paid astronomical amounts of money to utilize the decadent cottages scattered throughout the Den grounds for liaisons for which the club guaranteed absolute privacy. These little buildings were used and booked by both men and women.
Often, reservations for the year were arranged during one of the two scandalous balls the Den hosted in the fall and at the end of the season. Invites to the events were highly sought-after among the peerage and the wealthy. They promised a night of freedom for all attendees. Only three rules existed: no innocents, no violence, and no forcing anyone to do anything they didn’t want to. They were currently planning the Ball of Misdeeds that would wrap up the season. Sebastian guessed at least half the cottages for the next few months would be booked by the end of the event.
Sebastian rolled his eyes at his brother’s suggestion. “Malcolm, our success is because someone is always here.”
“My point is it doesn’t always have to be you,” his brother countered.
“I’m not a lord like you and nor do I have a family. What does it matter if I spend my time here?”
His brother ran a hand through his brown hair. They were so physically different from one another. Malcolm had inherited their father’s brown hair and fair skin, while Sebastian took after his mother, with black hair, dark-brown eyes, and olive skin. Yet their large builds and mannerisms would suggest a familial connection to any observer. “I worry about you. You work and play, never leaving the grounds of the Den. Lately, it has been more so than normal. You are burying yourself in this place to avoid what happened with Lady Wesley.”
Sebastian scowled at his brother. He never wanted to speak of the lady again. She had been a liaison he thought was more until the lady picked a marquess to wed. He’d been about topropose to the widow when she’d shown up at the Den to wish him goodbye and to let him know that, perhaps after her first child, they could resume their affair.
