A Rakes Guide to Pleasure (Somerhart 2)

What the hell had he allowed to happen? What the hell had he done!

Hart's body responded to that question by swelling with a renewed arousal that only further infuriated him. How quickly he'd been pulled back into the depths of his unnat­ural lusts. How easy to transform from the self-controlled duke into the debased rake. For God's sake, if she started spreading tales of his little show . . .

Hart sat up and reached over to jerk the bellpull, but he'd only brushed it with his fingers when his valet tapped at the door.

"Enter!" Hart shouted. His blood was rolling too quickly through his veins and pushing heat into his face. He wanted to take back the night or at least turn it into something else. Something he controlled, despite his challenge to Emma. Somehow this seemed so much worse than being caught ravishing a woman in the card room. To be snickered at. To be turned into a freak . . .

His head spun as Wellford brought tea and toast into the room. "I'll need hot water for washing," Hart barked.

Wellford murmured, "Immediately, sir," as he bowed back out the door. He did not say, "Of course, sir. I bring you hot water every single morning, even when you haven't debased yourself for a woman."

Hart gulped the scalding tea. As the liquid burned down his throat, his brain slowly began to right itself. He wasn't a foolish young man anymore. He may have indulged his baser needs last night, but there was no evidence, no proof in his own handwriting to titillate his peers. At worst, a story might circulate and then he'd make that woman pay.

He finished his cold toast, and Wellford returned with a steaming ewer of water. Wellford set out towels and soap next to the basin, then shaving powder and a razor. "Shall I return in a moment to shave you, sir?"

"Yes," he answered, but he was thinking of the woman across the hall, wondering if she were still abed. It didn't matter. He'd track her down and make himself clear. She had more to lose in this affair than he did. Risking exposure was one thing, and he could decide what he'd risk. But to let her have control—that had been a mistake.

A half hour later he was feeling more himself and almost entirely unashamed as he shot his crisp white cuffs and rolled the tension from his neck. "Would you send a message to Lady Denmore's room, Wellford? Inquire if she requires an escort to breakfast."

Wellford disappeared with his usual grace. Hart's brain began to buzz again, but this wasn't anxiety, it was anticipation.

Of seeing her again and what the day would bring. Would she be cool this morning, or still trembling with need? Would she make him laugh or yell? And tonight . . . How would their game play out? Whose room would be invaded? How far would it go?

He was in control again. He could handle this situation. He could handle her.

"Sir?"

"Mm."

"It seems Lady Denmore has departed, sir."

"All right." She'd damn well better be in the breakfast room this morning. If he caught her in . . .

Wellford's throat had caught a particularly large and un­manageable frog.

"Yes, Wellford?"

"According to the chambermaid, Lady Denmore left this morning around eight. Lord Moulter was kind enough to lend his coach."

Hart froze in the act of tucking an extra handkerchief into his coat pocket. "Pardon?"

"I believe she has returned to London, Your Grace."

Hart's fantasy of control vanished with a little pop that stung more than just his pride. Oh, yes, he would make that woman pay.

Hart looked away from the distant sight of Emma's front steps and glared down at Stimp. "Her home was broken into almost two days ago. Why the hell didn't you send word?"

"I'm not exactly part of the household, guv. The house­keeper didn't tell me 'til last night. Then I had to find a man to write the note for me and a rider to carry it. I must've missed you."

"You are supposed to be watching the house."

"Well, it's a big house, isn't it? And a long night as well."

"Do you know who it was, this supposed thief?"

The boy broke into a smile wide enough to reveal one missing tooth. "I don't know his name, but I know where he's sleeping."

Hart's mood immediately improved and he responded with a predatory smile. "Even better. Lead the way."