Ten Ways to Ruin

Simon glanced between the two men. What could they possibly want from him? He nodded. “As you wish.”

They moved away from the two other men and grabbed a small table. Stanton motioned for the serving girl to bring more ale.

“What is this about?” Simon asked with a bit of trepidation.

Ainsley cleared his throat. “We, that is Stanton and I, are considering going into business together.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well, we were thinking, you have made quite a success with Hell.” Ainsley’s face relaxed as the girl brought three tankards of ale to them. Once she departed, his face tightened again. “Stanton...and I believe it might be time for you to sell.”

Simon sipped his ale and stared at Ainsley. Wa

s this Harry’s idea? He’d mentioned something about being able to find a buyer. But it still didn’t answer one burning question. “Ainsley, just how might you be able to fund this? I thought your purpose in being back in London was to find a wealthy wife to gain your inheritance.”

Ainsley’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I have the means.”

“Very limited from what I’ve heard.”

Stanton cleared his throat. “What he means is that while I might be the financial aspect of this partnership, Ainsley brings connections I don’t have. Our thought is to make this an even more exclusive club than it already is.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Stanton’s plan wasn’t terrible. Simon had always wanted to make the club more exclusive but didn’t have the acquaintance of some of the more powerful men. While his brother might have helped, Simon had wanted to make his own way.

“Think on it, Kingsley,” Stanton said, lowering his voice. “If you are about to do what I believe you are, she deserves better than a purveyor of amusements.”

“Have a care, Stanton.” Simon shot him a glare. “I shall think about it. I will let you know in a week.” He picked up his glass and finished his ale. “But now, I would prefer to get into some warm clothes.”

Simon scraped back the old wooden chair and then fished out some coins. “Drink up. This is on me. After all, I was the loser of this race.”

Stanton grinned. “I am not so certain about that.”

He only shrugged before leaving the men to their drink. As he climbed the stairs, he had no idea what awaited him. At least the ale had lessened his anger over what she’d done this morning. It was, without a doubt, the most foolish thing she had attempted so far. And he was done with it. When they returned, her mother would get a full accounting of Emma’s actions over the past month. It was time someone took that woman in hand before she completely ruined her reputation. Now that people had seen her racing a carriage and staying overnight at an inn with him, her reputation would be destroyed.

And as long as she’d completely damaged her name, what was stopping him from getting what they both wanted. Even if he did nothing tonight, everyone would assume he had. Shouldn’t he at least get a little pleasure out of the situation?

He was a cad. He should turn around and go back to the public rooms and drink with the men.

Reaching room seven, he knocked on the door before entering. “Emma, it’s me.”

Slowly the door opened, and she peered through the crack with a questioning look in her blue eyes. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked hesitantly.

A part of him wanted to force his way past her, but he sensed her wariness. “Only slightly,” he admitted.

“Perhaps you should return downstairs and drink more ale.”

He smiled to calm her nerves. “I would rather get these damp clothes off me.”

Her eyes blue widened. “Of course, I apologize. I had forgotten that you were as wet as I had been.” She opened the door wider to let him in.

Just the mention of being wet set his damned cock thickening. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Then he glanced over at her. She wore a white cotton dressing gown and nothing else. He closed his eyes, imaging her naked on the bed, and desire coursed through his veins.

“Did you eat yet?” he asked.

“No. Mrs. Houser said supper wouldn’t be ready until six. Someone will bring it up to us when it’s ready.” She walked to the fireplace as if to warm herself. “You should get out of those wet things. Mrs. Houser left a dressing gown for you, too.”

The firelight outlined her slender limbs and flared hips. It was only half four. “Or you could take them off me,” he whispered.

She spun around with her mouth agape. “I...I...”