Not tonight.
Because there was an altogether different burning happening within him. One that had everything to do with the lady he had left shouting at him on the other side of his locked chamber door.
What was he going to do with the minx?
He knew what he wanted to do with her.
“Locking her in your chamber is doing her a favor?” Rafe asked, quirking a brow. “With your reputation…”
He allowed his words to trail off. But Rafe was one to talk. Jasper had gone through his share of ladybirds in his bed, but Rafe was worse. He had a different wench for each day of the week.
“My reputation ain’t as bad as yours,” he reminded his brother wryly.
“You planning to keep ‘er there all night?” Rafe asked instead of responding to Jasper’s taunt.
“I reckon I may.” Even if there would be consequences for keeping her here at The Sinner’s Palace till morning.
Rafe grinned and shook his head. “You’re dicked in the nob.”
Maybe.
There had been little sanity involved when he had taken her in his arms and carried her to his chamber. That much was certain.
“Not any more than the rest of you,” he countered, wondering if he should fortify himself with another glass before he returned to her.
He had no doubt Lady Octavia would be displeased with him. He would be returning to a hell cat. The notion sent more heat through him. This was a dangerous game he played. One false move…
“You going to get snapped in the parson’s mousetrap?” Rafe prodded.
Marriage to Lady Octavia.
The idea held a strange, foreign appeal.
But no.
He poured some more liquor into his glass. “Damian Winter ain’t going to force me to marry Lady Octavia.”
“I meant Mrs. Martin. That beautiful blonde widow Pen brought round for you earlier,” Rafe explained.
To his shame, his face went hot. And it wasn’t on account of the drops of jackey he’d just tossed down his gullet either. Nor was it on account of Mrs. Martin. Rather, it was because he’d been thinking about his raven-haired minx again. Nary a thought for the woman he had invited earlier with the intention of seeing if she would make a decent mother for Anne and Elizabeth.
“I ain’t sure if I’ll wed that one either,” he said, growing weary of their dialogue.
Octavia was in his room.
Waiting for him.
What the hell was he going to do with her until the sun rose and he returned her to the bosom of her aristocratic family? Aristocratic with the exception of Damian Winter, that was.
“Pen and Lily keeping your wild ones busy for the night?” Rafe asked, smirking.
The arrival of Jasper’s daughters had been an endless source of amusement for Rafe. And Jasper could not deny it was ironic. Rafe himself had never yet spawned a bastard that he knew of, yet being the important word.
“Our sisters are angels,” he said by way of response.
“Not what you said about them before,” Rafe reminded.
Ever helpful, his bloody brother. Their sisters were not quite the hellions his daughters were, but they were older. Which meant they could get into far more damning trouble than Anne and Elizabeth could.