“To whom do you owe money?” he asked, again believing she must be in debt to someone if she attempted to steal and gamble.
“I don’t owe anyone...and what happened to my winnings?” She looked around the carriage. “Did you steal my money?”
“No. I will see that your winnings are returned to you.”
She giggled. “You don’t even know who I am, so how will you return them?”
Simon shook his head, trying not to find the sight of the perfect Miss Emma Drake, well and completely foxed, so damned amusing. “I will figure it out.”
“Are you going to seduce me?” she asked in a hopeful voice. “I’ll bet you are. It’s what you do. I still remember the day you were making love to that wench in the gaming hell.”
Wench? If Meg had heard that statement, Emma would never have made it out of Hell. “I wasn’t making love to her.”
“Looked like it to me.” She put her hands out as if to steady herself and blinked hard. “What were you doing then?”
“Fucking,” he said to shock her.
“Fucking?” she repeated slowly with a tilt of her head. “That doesn’t sound at all nice. Making love sounds nice.”
And now all he could think of was making love to Emma Drake. Taking off each piece of boy’s clothing, revealing warm, soft skin that would taste sweet like sugar. His damned cock thickened with the idea.
“That is not a word a lady should use,” he reminded her.
“Why not? And I’m not a lady. I’m a man.”
“Of course you are. And ladies don’t say it because it’s vulgar.” What was taking so long? They should have arrived by now. He wouldn’t be able to handle much more of being stuck in a carriage alone with her. If he did kiss her, she probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.
Bloody hell, he couldn’t do that. Not with her.
“I think I wanna be vulgar,” she commented as her head swayed with the carriage.
“No, you do not want to be vulgar.” Thankfully, the carriage slowed to a stop. “You can only be vulgar with your husband, if he allows it.”
“That’s not fair. Men are always vulgar, and I’m a man.”
Dear God, save him from drunken ladies. “Let your husband decide.”
“Where are we? Your home?”
“No, I lived at Hell.”
“That’s rather sad,” she said as he opened the door. “I suppose you cannot afford to live elsewhere.”
He shook his head. “Can you walk up the steps?”
“Of course, I can. I’m not drunk.”
He laughed as he gave her a hand to help her down. She took two steps forward, but he caught her before she stumbled. “Of course, you’re not drunk,” he said, swinging her up into his arms.
“See,” she whispered near his ear. “I knew you wanted to kiss me.”
“I’m not kissing you, Miss Drake.”
“I’m not Miss Drake. I’m Edmond Ta—Ta...something.”
“All right, Edmond, we are here.” He adjusted her in his arms and rapped loudly on his brother’s door until a footman opened the door a crack. “Open the bloody door, John. It’s Kingsley.”
John moved quickly, getting out of Simon’s way. “Sir, why have you brought a man here at this hour?”