'That would be for Alex to say.'
'Your wife doesn't mind?'
'I'd say ask her, but you probably would. And I'm not obliged to suffer rudeness in my own home.'
Sam sighed. 'My apologies. Miss Ionides has put me out of countenance.'
'You and a good many other men. You're not alone, if that's any consolation.'
'It's not,' Sam replied curtly.
Sir Lawrence smiled for the first time. 'My condolences.'
'Amusing, I'm sure.' Sam bowed stiffly. 'I'll bid you good night. My compliments on your talent. The painting of Miss Ionides is superb.'
And he intended to own it just as soon as he found Cassels.
But much later, as the first light of day fringed the horizon, Lord Ranelagh walked away from Hattie Martin's luxurious brothel pervaded with a deep sense of dissatisfaction. What had previously passed for pleasure seemed wearisome now, a jaded sense of sameness enervated his soul, and sullen and moody, even the glorious sunrise failed to please him.
Walking home through the quiet streets, he was plagued with thoughts of the bewitching Miss Ionides, wondering where she'd slept or, like he, not slept-which rankling thought further lowered his spirits. And by the time he'd reached his town house, he'd run through a mental list of any number of men who might be her lovers, the image of her delectable body in the arms of another man inexplicably disagreeable.
It shouldn't be. He should be immune to the nature of her liaisons. He hadn't even met the damned woman a day ago and there was no earthly reason he should care who the hell she slept with.
He snapped at the hall porter when he entered his house, immediately apologized at the man's stricken expression, and after making some banal excuse, pressed ten guineas into the servant's hand. When he walked into his bedroom a few moments later, he waved a restraining hand at his valet, who came awake with a start and jumped to his feet. 'Go back to sleep, Rory. I can undress myself. In fact, take the day off. I won't be needing you.'
His young manservant immediately evinced concern. The viscount was accustomed to being waited on, his family's fortune having insulated him from the mundane details of living.
Recognizing his valet's hesitation, Sam said, 'I'll be fine.'
'You're sure?'
'Why not take Molly for a walk in the park,' the viscount suggested, knowing of Rory's affection for the downstairs maid. 'She may have the day off as well.'
'Thank you, sir!'
'Go, now.' Sam waved him off. 'All I want to do is sleep.'
In a more perfect world he might have slept, considering he'd been up for twenty-four hours; but Miss Ionides was putting period to the perfection of his world
Half a bottle of cognac later, he'd decided he'd simply have to fuck her and put an end to his lust and her damnable allure. He further decided his powerful craving was just the result of his not having what he wanted-her. And once he made love to the delectable Miss Ionides, that craving would be assuaged. Familiarity breeding contempt, as they say, had been the common pattern of his sexual amusements. In his experience, one woman was very much like another once the game was over.
But this particular game of seduction was just beginning, and glancing out the window, he took note of the position of the sun in the sky. The races would be starting soon at Ascot, the entire week scheduled with prestigious races, the Season bringing all of society to the track.
Including Miss Ionides, if he didn't miss his guess.
Rising from his chair, he walked to the bellpull and rang for a servant. He needed a bath.
His butler walked into his bedroom a second later, not in response to his summons-with a message instead.
'There's someone to see you, sir.'
Owens's tone was such that Sam's gaze turned wary. 'Who?'
'Your mother, my lord.'
'At this damned hour?' Already bad-tempered and moody after his dissatisfying night, the last person Sam cared to see was his mother. 'Does she know I'm home?'
'She saw your hat and gloves on the console table.'
The viscount swore. 'I don't suppose you could tell her I was sleeping?'
'She ordered me to wake you, sir.'
The viscount swore again. 'Don't send her up.' His voice was brusque. 'I'll come down.'
'She's in the breakfast room, sir, having her breakfast.'
'While she's ruined mine,' Sam said.
The butler glanced at the glass of cognac the viscount held in his hand, his expression bland. 'A shame, sir, but she wouldn't be deterred.'
'Is she ever?'
It wasn't a question that required an answer, or certainly not one by a servant.
'Tell her I'll be down in ten minutes,' Sam said curtly.
When the viscount entered the breakfast room a half hour later, bathed, dressed, and more tranquil for the three additional drinks he had imbibed, he was able to say 'Good morning, Mother' with a modicum of courtesy.
'Your chef burned my toast,' his mother noted irritably.
'I'll have him fired on the spot.'
'I see your caustic sense of humor is undiminished.'
'You're up early,' he replied, not about to trade insults. He and his parents agreed on very little; they saw each other less. And if his mother was calling on him at what was for her the crack of dawn, she brought trouble for certain. He remained standing.
'I came to remind you of our dinner party tonight.'
'I'm sorry. Did my secretary send an acceptance?'
'Of course he didn't, and that's why I'm here. Clarissa Thornton will be there with her parents, and I wish you to attend. The earl and countess always ask for you, and their land borders our Yorkshire estates.'
'And their daughter is angling for a husband.'
'You needn't be so crass, Samuel. Is it a crime for a beautiful young woman to wish to marry well?'
'Just so long as it's not to me.'
'The Thornton family goes back well before the Norman invasion. Their bloodlines are as pure as ours. No taint of industry stains their heritage, nor does the stench of new money-'
'You may stop, Mother. I've heard the lecture a thousand times more than I wish, and the taint of industry or new money doesn't concern me. Nor does Clarissa Thornton.' His smile was tight in spite of the fact that he was well sedated with cognac. 'Is that clear enough?'
The Countess of Milburn sat up straighter, her blue gaze cool. 'I told your father you would be obstinate as usual.'
'You should have listened to him and saved yourself a trip to Park Lane so early in the morning.'
'Your marriage to Penelope has left you bitter.'
'Your persistent efforts to marry me off then and now have left me bitter, Mother. Kindly stop interfering in my life. Penelope was a disastrous mistake I have no intention of repeating.'
'You shouldn't have been so cruel to her, and she would have been perfectly content.'
A tick appeared high on his cheekbone and he restrained his temper with difficulty. 'In the interests of peace in the family-however strained-let's not discuss Penelope. You know nothing about the matter.'
