Snorting derisively, Edward corrected him, “You should know me better than that.”
“So, no wife in the future?” Felton asked, his head cocked to the left. “Paramour? Plaything?”
Brow cocked, Edward said, “Neither. Do you have recommendations?”
“Now, you should know me better than that,” Felton laughed, then gestured for a passing footman to bring him a cup of brandy. “So, have you been around lately? The Season is becoming a hot one.”
“No desire to even try,” he exhaled. “The Season is a farce and I refuse to be a puppet. Meet a lady, take her on chaperoned strolls in the park at the Fashionable Hour so you can feed gossips and cynics.
At balls you must dance no more than twice, or your intention is already made. Suffer through polite conversation with her family over afternoon tea, forcing down tiny triangle sandwiches dryer than sand. All this to marry a woman and have scheduled intimacy on Wednesday nights at nine o’clock, on the hour, so she can bear you heirs.”
Accepting the glass brought to him, Felton added, “You didn’t get to the riveting part, making small talk over coddled eggs and lukewarm tea.”
“Perish the thought,” Edward scoffed. “It is why I prefer my women carnal, experienced, and well-paid.”
Swirling his drink, Felton crossed a leg. “There are whispers, you know. Whispers about yourpredilection.”
“I like control,” Edward shrugged, while his mind strayed to the lady in the silk mask; and a fantasy played in his head. He could imagine the thick rope crisscrossing Madame Mysterious’ creamy skin.
The positions he could restrain her in keeping her open and wanting… but a part of him knew he would have to fight to get her there—she was a stubborn one, that was evident—and damn if his length didn’t thicken and press on his buff trousers.
If he should cross paths with the lady in the lace mask again, he knew he would have his work cut out for him. Regretfully, he knew he should focus on the task at hand and replace the fantasy of her with the reality of a willing woman.
A hand waving with a glass of brandy drew Edward's attention from his misguided dreams and woe-begotten fantasy.
“Ah, there you are,” Felton’s grin was crooked. “Are you sure that is all you are after?”
“I’ve already made sure my brother is prepared to carry on the bloodline while I try to squeeze every drop of pleasure I can from this dull existence,” Edward finished his drink and set the glass to the side.
“For argument's sake, if you were to marry—”
“I will not.”
“—what would your wife be like?” Felton asked. “What temperament would you prefer? Do you prefer blondes to brunettes? I hear the ones with manes of fire have a temper just like their hair.”
“Stop fishing,” Edward replied.
Felton let out a breath. “I suppose the rumors of you being the Sphinx reincarnated are true. You do not let anyone in, do you?”
“Me?” Edward pressed a hand to his heart, his tone hyperbolic. “Me? I am an open book, every passage readable, and very plain in my policies. I am only here to manage the Dukedom until my brother can take over and I will be back to traveling the mainland. There are some parts of Spain I have not touched yet.”
“The country of the women?” Felton grinned.
“There is no separation,” Edward replied, feeling the urge to return home and find that pencil and paper digging into his skin. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think it is time I take my leave.”
Lifting his glass in a mock salute, Felton nodded, “Before I forget, there is a hunting party at Baron Newcastle’s home. You know how it is with him and his scathing satirical take on the Ton’s season and making fun of the men who have chosen to get leg shackled.”
Tucking a finger into the knot of his cravat, Edward nodded, “I’ve been to a few of those, and it slipped my mind this month.”
“So you will be there.”
“I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER 5
The unceasing knocks on Alice’s door had her turning in her bed, irked a bit about the disturbance. She had not had much sleep the night before; half the night she had tossed and turned not sure if she had really met the Marquess or if it were a fever dream.
Now, in the cold light of day, she was riddled with insecurity and guilt; canoodling with the Marquess was the very thing she did not need right then. She had to find Rutledge and get him to do the honorable thing by Penelope.
