How to Steal a Scoundrel's Heart (The Mating Habits of Scoundrels #4)(14)
Of course, he would have a woman with him. He likely never went a day without female companionship. The only woman who could matter to a man like him was the next one. And she had known that all along. So it was foolish for her to linger.
Turning on her heel, she walked away without looking back.
She had a new plan to forge, after all. And it wouldn’t have anything to do with Lord Savage or his offer.
*
Later that evening, Leo withdrew his pocket watch and turned the face toward the carriage lanterns. Then he closed it with a firm click, without having paid attention to the time.
“You never said a word about my new gown,” Lady Sutton said from beside him as she primped her dark coiffure, then smoothed her gloved hands down over the plump swells rising above the bejeweled edge of her low-cut crimson bodice.
Knowing he would be charged for this gown in the near future, he allowed his gaze to linger in admiration. It didn’t matter that she’d been so assured of his choice that she’d ordered the frock more than a month ago. She wasn’t the first to have done so. She wouldn’t be the last.
He smiled. “You look ravishing, my dear.”
“And I hope to be ravished very soon,” she tittered and laid her hand on his thigh.
When he merely arched his brow, she inched closer and pressed her lips to his, enveloping him in a cloying cloud of gardenia perfume and dusting powder. His hands went to her waist as he angled her, delving deeper, and felt the silken slide of her hand rise higher.
She murmured hungrily as she skillfully massaged his cock into semi-arousal. “Mmm . . . yes, indeed. I’d hoped this rumor was true, but I wasn’t certain until now. Oh, Savage, you must take me—take all of me in this wicked, black velvet coach of yours. I know you want to. You cannot pretend with me.”
Her statement had the opposite intended effect. Because the instant she spoke, he heard the memory of another voice saying, I do not believe that either of us is good at pretending. And just like that, a vision splashed across his mind of a pair of stormy blue eyes beneath a wealth of buttermilk hair . . . and Miss Thorogood sitting primly across from him in this very carriage. The same eyes he’d seen earlier this evening, beneath the ruffled edge of a housemaid’s cap.
Though he’d tried to put the near encounter out of his mind at dinner and cards, it had lingered, festered like a thorn beneath his skin all evening.
Had she actually chosen a life in service rather than consider his offer? Perhaps he hadn’t made himself clear. He could have given her everything, not just her inheritance but gowns and jewels and—
Damn it all! Why was he wasting a single moment wondering about it? He didn’t care a whit about the choices made by some random woman he’d known for a few hours of his time. Not a single whit.
But now his mood turned sour.
Stilling Lady Sutton’s hand, he gently pried her away. “As enticing as your invitation is, I would prefer to build our anticipation.”
“And I think anticipation is highly overrated.” She licked her red lips, her breasts heaving as she draped herself over him and nibbled on his chin.
“Nevertheless, I’m certain we both desire far more than a quick swive in my carriage.”
She huffed in annoyance and moved apart from him, arranging her skirts in jerky movements. “You’ve left me waiting so long, I’d almost think you were keeping company with another woman.”
At this, he went still. “Have you heard rumor of another woman?”
“Well, no. However, it has been a month since you broke with Lady Chastaine, after all,” she said petulantly. “Surely, your renowned appetite requires a little sustenance.”
Ah. So jealousy and vanity were the reasons behind her remark.
She had no idea the relief she’d given him.
For the past month, he’d been wondering if his carriage had been recognized as the one to deliver Miss Thorogood to her friend. And if he’d been linked to her, she would have been labeled as his mistress regardless of her refusal. Then, he would have had no choice but to renew his offer.
He’d waited four long weeks for any gossip to reach him. Though, apparently, he needn’t have worried for her sake. Not that he’d spent much time doing so. In fact, he’d nearly put her out of his mind altogether . . . until this evening in the rain when he saw her looking at him as if . . . as if she hadn’t quite put him out of her mind completely either.
He shifted, plagued by the damnable sense of restlessness that had been gnawing at him of late. “As I have mentioned to you before, the reason for my delay was due to matters of business I had to attend. Let us wait until the contracts are signed and then I will take you again and again until you’re so exhausted from pleasure that you’ll beg me to stop.”
Mollified, she tittered and coyly said, “What if I’m the one who makes you beg?”
He did not answer, but lifted her hand to press a kiss to her wrist. Then he eased back against the squabs and stared at the vacant bench across from him.
Chapter 4
The following afternoon, Prue sat at the writing desk in the parlor at Upper Wimpole Street, a square of gilded light falling on her paltry list of houses to pilfer.
Through rumors and discreet inquiries, she’d managed to discover only three names thus far. The first two—Lady Mumphrey and her dead goldfish, Lady Entwistle and her yapping Pekingese—had been utter failures. Which left only one name on her list—Viscount Holladay.