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Fenton paused, a shirt still held between his hands. “His owner?”

“Miss Maubry.”

Surprise crossed the valet’s face. “Mr. Walker said he turned the lady away twice. I confess I am surprised she returned once more.”

“She did considerably more than return.”

George allowed the silence to stretch for a beat, enjoying himself. “She stole into the house to retrieve her cat.”

“How...unexpected.”

“Very.” The word left him with rather more satisfaction than it ought to have.

Fenton gave him a brief, considering look, but years of service had taught the man when not to inquire further. He merely stepped forward to help George out of his coat. He submitted to Fenton’s familiar dressing ritual, though his thoughts remained in the music room.

Do not mock me.

How wonderfully defiant she had sounded. And that fleeting smile she had tried so valiantly to conceal.

I should like to see what you look like when you forget you are so determined not to enjoy me, Miss Cori.

She possessed a bold sense of humor, one that years of instruction in ladylike decorum had clearly failed to suppress. There was something refreshingly unpretentious about a woman who could climb through a gentleman’s window armed with a sword cane, then indignantly defend her trespassing as perfectly reasonable.

George liked that. He also liked that she had not fawned over him, though her indifference undoubtedly owed something to her ignorance of his identity. As heir to the Earl of Bloomfield, he was accustomed to the change in a lady’s manner upon learning his title. Smiles warmed, laughter flowed more freely, and ambitious mothers maneuvered their daughters into his path. Even women who knew his rakish reputation occasionally considered his future earldom sufficient compensation for his sins.

Miss Maubry, however, had called him arrogant, questioned his character, threatened him, and stubbornly addressed him as Mr. George despite his invitation to call him simply George. Either she was unfamiliar with the ton and had no notion he was heir to an earldom, or she moved in social circles so far removed from his own that their paths had never crossed. He certainly had never noticed her before, though she had made such an impression tonight that he could scarcely imagine forgetting her.

Or perhaps not.

Had she not entered his life so unconventionally, he might easily have overlooked her, without ever wondering what lay beneath the quiet exterior. George shook his head faintly, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping him.

“Something amuses you, sir?”

“Apparently.”

Fenton wisely left it there. George allowed his valet to finish dressing him for the evening, fastening his cuffs and arranging his cravat before helping him into his coat. He would visit Aphrodite tonight. There he could indulge in familiar pleasures and soothe the ache in his body that one very lush mouth had unintentionally provoked. The thought should have been sufficient to turn his mind toward the illicit pleasures awaiting him. Instead, as he reached for his gloves, he wondered whether Miss Maubry would trespass again when Wellington visited or simply await his return, knowing where he spent his evenings.

George tugged on his gloves as he descended the stairs and called for his carriage rather than his stallion. Beyond the windows, heavy clouds obscured the stars and promised more rain. A pity. Few pleasures rivaled the freedom and exhilaration he found in the saddle, and he would much rather have ridden, but even his love of horses could not make a relentless downpour appealing.

Minutes later, he stepped into the damp night air, exchanged a brief word with his coachman, and climbed into the waiting carriage. Settling against the upholstered squabs, he rapped upon the roof to signal their departure. As the carriage rolled away, he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, turning his thoughts to the investment accounts he had examined earlier.

As heir to the Earl of Bloomfield, George had never needed to earn his own fortune. His father’s estates provided a generous allowance, and his eventual inheritance promised considerable wealth. Unfortunately, the earl also possessed firm opinions about how his son ought to live, from managing the family properties and pursuing a political career to choosing a suitable wife.

Several years ago, after a particularly unpleasant disagreement, his father had threatened to withdraw his allowance unless George abandoned certain pursuits he considered frivolous. Rather than submit, George had resolved that no man, not even his father, would possess the means to dictate his life. He had consequently studied commerce, banking, government securities, and trade, seeking the advice of experienced merchants and businessmen before risking his money. Some investments had proved remarkably profitable, while others had taught him valuable lessons. Over time, his ventures had yielded a private fortune substantial enough to make his father’s allowance unnecessary.

George valued that independence far more than the wealth itself. He loved his father despite their differences, but he would never again permit the earl to threaten his livelihood to secure his obedience.

Unfortunately, his latest investment in a merchant partnership trading with the West Indies was proving troublesome. Rising expenses, shipping delays, and diminishing returns were concerning enough, but discrepancies between projected profits and actual receipts suggested something more troubling than unfavorable trading conditions.

George frowned. He understood that commerce carried risks and had no objection to a venture yielding less than anticipated. What he would not tolerate was the possibility of dishonesty. He would examine the ledgers again and arrange a private meeting with the managing partner. If the answers failed to satisfy him, he would withdraw his capital as soon as their agreement permitted.

The thought had scarcely settled when the carriage began to slow. He glanced through the carriage window as they halted before the discreet entrance to the Hall of Aphrodite. He stepped onto the pavement just as rain began to fall and made his way inside, where the familiar doorman admitted him without delay.

Warmth greeted George as he entered Aphrodite, along with the strains of music, murmured conversation, and the mingled scents of flowers and exotic perfumes. After surrendering his hat, coat, and gloves to an attendant, he strolled deeper into the pleasure palace, savoring its familiar atmosphere. Golden light spilled from chandeliers and wall sconces, illuminating polished wood and gilt embellishments. Ladies moved through the rooms in gowns far more daring than those permitted in respectable ballrooms, while gentlemen ordinarily constrained by rank, duty, and reputation seemed equally determined to abandon all three.

Masks concealed some faces. Others required no disguise.

Privacy was respected here. Discretion expected.