At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

before I chase you down and bury your bodies where no one will ever find you.”

“But—”

“One!”

The men exchanged terrified glances, shuffled two paces to the left and then one to the right.

“Two!”

They turned and scurried down the drive, tripping when they looked back to check the devil wasn’t nipping at their heels. Miles grinned. There was nothing more satisfying than wiping the smirk off the faces of those men who thought they had the measure of him.

“Three!”

The men picked up their feet and ran, arms flailing.

Drake chuckled. “There’s nothing like a fight to heat the blood.”

“Neither of us would call that a fight.” Miles preferred being the underdog, liked the thrill of winning against the odds.

“Granted.” Drake cracked his neck. “Still, it felt good to throw the rabble out.”

Miles glanced up at the warm glow emanating from the window of the master bedchamber. Others took advantage of his hospitality. Others took from him without consent. “We’re not done yet. I need to get rid of the doxies warming my bed.”

“Now this should be entertaining.”

Drake mounted the stairs two at a time, eager to be the first to reach the upstairs landing. They followed the sound of feminine laughter. The giggles and playful shrieks had long since lost all notes of innocence and now sang of immorality.

The double doors to his chamber were open. Two women lay sprawled on the majestic poster bed, naked above the waist as they fondled each other on top of the burgundy coverlet.

That bed had cradled every Greystone for two centuries. That bed had supported brave men who’d fought and spilt blood for their country. That bed marked Miles as unworthy when compared to his ancestors, although his father was the first to hold the title of wastrel.

“I know what you’re thinking, Drake, and the answer is no.”

“What, not even a little light relief?”

“No.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep them? For a short while at least.”

“I’m certain.”

Like a scene from an exotic brothel in the far reaches of the Orient, the women continued their sensual teasing. Sinful moans filled the air. Amber flames in the hearth danced to the devil’s tune. The soft glow of candlelight licked the red walls. Like Satan’s finger, the potent scent of lust beckoned them into the lair.

The woman with blond hair looked up. A grin formed on her lips. “Well, well. What ’ave we ’ere?” She left her friend and prowled to the end of the bed, her saggy breasts brushing the coverlet. “Hmm, I expect Dugan’s told ya the price?” Dark eyes devoured Miles before moving to Drake. “Though for two such ’andsome gentlemen, I’m sure we can strike a bargain. What d’ya say, Jenny?”

The raven-haired strumpet mewled as she eyed Drake.

Ladies with loose morals liked a brute. They craved power, liked to drink and suck the lifeblood from a man who commanded fear and respect. Miles smiled to himself. He preferred to keep his strength hidden, preferred to catch his enemy unawares.

“I doubt you’ve got what it takes to satisfy me.” Miles lusted after innocent eyes and a courageous smile. He strode into the room. “Besides, you need to conserve your strength for what lies ahead.”

The blond one came up on her knees. “And why is that? D’ya like a lady to do all the work?”

“No, not always, but it’s a three-mile walk back to Cuckfield.”

“Cuckfield? We’ve no need to go there.”

“Oh, but you do, because as master of this house I do not take kindly to theft and trespass.” He reached for the shawl on the chair and threw it onto the bed. “You’ve five minutes to gather your belongings before Drake here kindly escorts you to the gate.”