Any irritation he might have felt toward the girl’s folly had now fled. If Tynan understood her correctly, her brother was an addict. Bollocks, that was trouble. He and his fellow earls had become increasingly concerned by the fashionable artists salon next door that had lately turned into something more sinister. The place was frequented by romantic poets, many of whom were darlings of the ton. Someone in very high authority shielded them, perhaps not realizing this house was more of an opium den than a salon for patrons of enlightened literature. “I’m truly sorry, Lady Abigail. How long has this been going on with your brother?”
“Ever since he returned home from the war. He was recalled from his regiment when he came into the title last year. But his condition has gotten especially bad these past few months. Perhaps he’s been like this for years and I hadn’t noticed until now. He was wounded years ago in Spain fighting Napoleon’s forces, you see.”
Tynan regarded her with concern. “He was a soldier?”
She clasped her hands together, wringing them as she nodded. “The youngest of four sons, so it was either fighting or the clergy for him. He chose fighting.” She cast Tynan a wincing smile. “I love him, but Peter was never the pious sort. My parents knew it, too. As for me, I was the accidental fifth child, the girl they had hoped for and finally got. Being the only girl among all those boys, and the youngest as well, I was either picked on mercilessly or worshiped. There was never a middle ground.”
If she had four older brothers, then where were the other three? Why was she left the task of bringing Peter home? It made no sense.
She cleared her throat. “My lord, have you lost your shirt?”
“What?” He glanced down, noting he was clad only in his trousers and boots, and only now recalling he’d run out in this state of undress. He kept a wardrobe at his club, but he’d been too distracted by the girl to bother making himself respectable. Was it necessary? She was in his chamber. Alone with him. They were strangers to each other. There was nothing respectable about their situation. “Give me a moment.”
He fetched a clean shirt and slipped it on, buttoning it only part way up and rolling up his shirt sleeves since he wasn’t going to fumble with cufflinks or don a bloody cravat, vest, or jacket for her sake. In truth, there was a sensual innocence about the girl that made him think of shedding clothes - mainly hers - rather than tediously putting his on.
Her gown was seductively prim, he noticed. A dark blue woolen weave with a white lace collar that buttoned to her throat. A man would have to work for hours to slip that gown off her slender shoulders. He ran his gaze up and down her body once more. Ah, but she’d be worth every bit of the effort it would take to peel those layers off her. “I’m afraid I cannot leave my club yet, Lady Abigail. If you promise not to run off the moment my back is turned, I’ll have my carriage brought around to take you home.”
She nodded. “I give you my word. Thank you. This was my driver’s night off and I foolishly thought... well, clearly I wasn’t thinking. I’d hired a hack and paid the driver to wait for me, but the horrid man disappeared the moment I handed over the money. I was stranded and didn’t know what to do.”
As though fully realizing just how incredibly idiotic and dangerous her actions had been, she blushed and glanced away.
Her innocent eyes lit up the moment she noticed what was sitting upon his bureau top. “Are those strawberries? And cream?”
Tynan realized she was hungry and not thinking of the games one played in bed with... never mind. “Yes, please have them. I’ll ring for some more food to be brought up for you while you await your ride home.”
“Oh, no. It isn’t necessary. The strawberries are perfect. Thank you.” She dipped one in cream, closed her eyes, and tipped her head back to take it into her mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick at a spot of cream that had landed at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, my. This is heavenly.”
Holy hell.
Her eyes were still closed while she slowly savored each lush, juicy bite. “Would you care for one, my lord?”
“No, Lady Abigail.” His throat was suddenly as tight as the rest of his body. “Have them all. I wouldn’t deny you the obvious pleasure.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at him in appreciation, a genuinely sincere and warm smile that upended his heart once again.
“Oh, and what a lovely feather.”
Bollocks.
“It’s a peacock feather, isn’t it?”
He wished the girl would keep her hands off those things. In truth, they weren’t his. The viscountess had brought the peacock feather and silk bindings along in anticipation of a night of erotic fantasy. Her fantasies. Not his. He was merely her chosen stud bull.
Since he was single, unattached, and feeling particularly restless lately, he’d accepted her proposition. Meaningless sex with a beautiful woman who wanted no commitment.
So why was he relieved that it had not taken place?
Worse, why was he enjoying his night of celibacy with one of the most clueless young women ever to cross his path?
“Oh, what lovely silk ribbons. They’re a rich, lustrous black. What are you–”
“Give me those.” He grabbed them from her fingers and stuck them in the top drawer of his desk. “I gave you permission to eat my strawberries, not dig through my belongings.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “The ribbons are yours?”
He cleared his throat that was still so tight, it was a miracle he didn’t sound like a bullfrog. “They belong to a friend. None of your business who she is.”
“I suppose the peacock feather is hers, too.” She held it up against her hair, no doubt believing it was a hair adornment and not... never mind.