“Order Jane a new cap,” she told her butler by way of greeting. “I’m to bed.”
Within an hour, Rose lay atop the counterpane in her chamber, her hair safely plaited, her night rail secured to the neck. But sleep alluded her.
Her hand was hot from where Whitmore had held it. Her ankle imprinted with his heat. Her lips still tingled from that devastating kiss. There was a warmth between her legs, and her nipples tightened with a sudden need to feel his mouth there.
She rolled over, groaning at the incongruousness of it all. Maintaining her focus was critical if they were to carry out his reckless schemes. She certainly couldn’t beseenwith him. That shouldn’t be an issue. He would be sneaking into the homes, not attending the actual events.
Rose turned her thoughts to the new Earl of Hallandale. He was rumored to be young. Was he light or dark like his cousin?
Erg… This had to stop.
Immediately.
Five
Emerson did not leave the ball as he’d instructed Lady Stanford to do. A duke’s sister! Could the night have gone any worse? Well, that was to be determined, he decided, after watching Ben trailing Stockton, Gorman, and Lambert, even Collier the rest of the evening. A difficult feat because he’d kept watch on his charming cohort too, who hadn’t departed until near two in the morning.
Charming? No, more like…bothersome, annoying,provoking. Yes, his provoking cohort. Emerson was not a libertine. Nor a philanderer. In fact, he’d not been with a woman in… Good God, just thinking how long it had been had his breeches growing tighter. All that hair hanging loose. It was scandalous. Andalluring.
A shift in the atmosphere tugged at his peripheral vision. He cut his gaze in the direction of Ben, but he was gone. His brother and the “gaming four” were striding through the terrace doors. Just what the devil was their game? Ben had no funds to speak of. Thank God, he hadn’t seen his half brother’s name on any of those vowels. Still, that didn’t mean his so-called friends wouldn’t stake Ben only to set him up for a fall.
Not if they believed Emerson would bail him out.
Emerson would be as big a fool as Ben if he believed differently.
The music and glitter of Shufflebottom’s masquerade had scarcely been left behind Emerson before Ben slipped into the night with his companions. The four nabbed a hackney and made their way through Covent Garden to a hell labeled “The Devil’s Ledger’—and wasn’t that encouraging?
Emerson followed them inside and through a crush that allowed Emerson to hide among the “sheep.” The low cigar smoke didn’t hurt, but it was thick enough to choke a man.
Almost immediately after entering, Ben followed Stockton, Gorman, and Collier to the back of the house—they’d lost Lambert somewhere along the way—something that never boded well.
Brilliant. That was all Emerson needed—to burst in on his resentful half brother’s tête-à-tête with some Cyprian.
Despite the den of noise inundating him, all he kept hearing was his late father’s pleas on looking after his younger brother. With an expressive curse under his breath, Emerson made his way through the crowd to the back staircase and continued on the path set forth by their father on his deathbed.
Two flights up, Emerson found the hallway devoid of people—especially younger half brothers.
He made his way down a long corridor on a threadbare rug that ran the length of the hall. It helped in muting his steps. At each door he put his ear against the panel, before twisting tarnished brass knobs, some that creaked ominously. Most of the chambers were empty.
One, however, seared his vision. An aging gentleman, breeches pooled around his ankles and a young woman on her knees, moaning so theatrically it couldn’t have been real.
She glanced over with widened eyes, then winked at him, the old man never the wiser.
With a shudder, Emerson quietly pulled the door closed. He was down to the last chamber. The group occupied it or they’d stolen down another set of servant stairs.
Again, he put his ear to the wood, and relief rushed through him. The murmurs were low, as was the laughter. He definitely detected Ben’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. Emerson dared not chance opening the door. But chairs scraped againstwood floors, and Emerson slipped inside the empty chamber across the hall but left the door cracked.
The upstarts entered the hall and did not trouble to lower their voices. Foolish of them—but very much to Emerson’s advantage.
“Buthowdo you know?” Ben demanded.
“We just do,” Stockton slurred with a jovial, inebriated laugh. “Don’t worry so. We’ve got your back, don’t we, fellows?”
Gorman and Collier quickly agreed. The hair on Emerson’s neck raised.
They didn’t linger and clomped down the servants’ stairs without a care.
Emerson’s instincts were sound, and he did not have a good feeling regarding the short exchange. Perhaps he should take a house in a better neighborhood. Just to keep an eye on Ben, follow through on his promise to their father. It certainly had nothing to do with a green-eyed, sharp-witted widow.
