Why would a man want to learn how to pleasure a woman?
John rolled his eyes.
Charles tempered the flare of irritation. What the bloody hell did he pay the man for if not to show respect?
“The art of pleasuring a woman is considered an accomplishment among men, sir.”
Only insofar as the man wishes to boast about it in the clubroom at White’s.
John shrugged. “Perhaps, but I hear that a well-satisfied woman can be a boon. And you’ll want to be ready for your bride, will you not? A well-pleasured bride is supposed to be more fruitful.”
This time John had gone too far.
Charles slapped his fist into his palm, then gesticulated in sharp, angry motions.
A bride has one use. To give me a dowry.
“And an heir.”
Do you wish to be dismissed?
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting an heir,” John said. “Mrs. Brougham said Penham Park needs light and laughter, and to be treasured as a family home. I agree with her.”
Are you also turning into a weak-bellied woman?
John eyed Charles’s hands, then sighed. “If you fear that you’ll turn out to be like your father just because…”
He stopped, flinching as Charles rammed his fist into the door then pointed to the discarded bedsheets.
Get rid of those. They reek of her stench. This whole chamber reeks of her stench. Have another chamber made ready.
“There’s no other bedchambers in the apartment, sir, unless you want my room. I didn’t see the need for unnecessary expenditure on rent, seeing as you’re only in London for a few—”
Charles cut him short with a dismissive gesture.Then I’ll sleep on the sofa in the drawing room.
John stooped to gather the bedsheets. “I’ll see to these, sir. If you’d care to wait in the drawing room, I’ll bring you a brandy while I see to your bedchamber.”
I said I was content to sleep in the drawing room.
“It’s not the done thing, sir. Besides, you’ll need a proper night’s sleep to ensure that your usual good sprits have returned in time for the ball tomorrow night.”
Charles raised his hands to respond while the valet eyed him with not a trace of irony in his gaze, then he lowered them and nodded.
That bloody ball.
Already it had cost him enough—precious funds in lieu of parting with his beloved horse—to purchase that bloody jacket. The tailor had simpered all over him while making the measurements, complimenting his good taste in fashion and praising the Devereaux name.
But, apparently, the right sort of bride could not be acquired by placing an advertisement in the newspaper or brokering a deal via Mr. Stockton. She was to be gained by Charles’s parading himself about a ballroom in a jacket that cost more than the footman’s wages.
Of course, in this context, theright sort of bridewas one with a dowry large enough to fund his father’s debts.
Very well,Charles signed.Bring me the brandy when you’re done here.He paused.Don’t bother with a glass. Just bring the bottle.
The valet frowned. “I’d advise against too much brandy, sir. It’s not the best quality, and you wouldn’t want to attend Lady Fairchild’s ball with a sore head, would you, sir?”
And you wouldn’t want to spend the rest of our stay in London with a sore head, would you?
John’s mouth twisted in a smile, then he nodded. “Of course not, sir. I’ll bring the bottle as soon as I’ve finished here.”
