Would he stay in the army? For how long? To what end? Would he fight senseless wars until he was crippled or killed?
In a few months, he’d be married to Veronica, and he tried to picture how matrimony would alter him, but he couldn’t see what differences it would render. He didn’t plan to live with Veronica, and they’d never discussed domestic issues—they’d hardly ever spoken—so he wasn’t sure what she was expecting.
She was a spoiled, rich girl who thrived on clothes and parties, so he doubted matrimony would change her either.
He wanted to fill his nursery with a dozen boys, but only so he’d have plenty of heirs to prevent his relatives from ever inheriting. For that reason alone, he should have been anticipating his wedding night, but he couldn’t generate any enthusiasm for the event. Veronica was very beautiful, but in an icy manner that didn’t ignite his masculine passions.
Why are you marrying her? a voice shouted in his head. Why go through with it?
The question occasionally plagued him, usually on quiet evenings when he was being maudlin, but he ignored it.
“You know why you’re doing it,” he muttered to himself.
He was doing it to show the ton that he could. He was doing it to enrage the people who’d shunned his parents. There were several lofty pricks who would never get over the infamy, and the notion always made him smile.
A noise sounded out in the hall, and he braced, hoping it was Emeline, but he swiftly realized it wasn’t her. It was just the old mansion creaking, and disappointment washed over him.
What was wrong with him? He never moped, but since his arrival at the estate, he was brooding incessantly.
A decanter of brandy was set on the mantle over the hearth, and he grabbed it and poured himself a drink. He sipped it slowly, but it wasn’t the cure for what ailed him.
Not counting their brief quarrel out on the lane, he hadn’t talked to Emeline in three days. He’d assumed their flirtation was proceeding in a fine fashion, so he’d been surprised at her abruptly informing him that it was over.
After she’d enlightened him, he’d presumed he didn’t mind, but his world was incredibly empty without her in it. She’d inserted herself in a flagrant way, and he’d grown used to having her around.
Apparently, he’d developed a fondness for her, one he didn’t like and wasn’t interested in pursuing, yet he seemed intent on pursuing it anyway.
She didn’t want to continue their dalliance? Well, to hell with her! Why should her wishes be paramount? It was his damn house, and she resided in it at his pleasure.
At the moment, his pleasure was that she entertain him.
He poured another drink, downed it in a quick gulp, then exited his room and went to the stairs.
Lust and liquor were driving him. It was a deadly combination that often goaded him into trouble, but he couldn’t tamp down his need to be with her. He felt as if a magnet was dragging him to her, and he couldn’t avoid its strong pull.
He marched to her door and raised a hand to knock, then thought better of it. He wasn’t about to give her a chance to refuse him entrance, so he spun the knob and strolled in.
The sitting room was dark, the last embers of a fire glowing in the fireplace. In the bedchamber beyond, a candle burned. He could see her bed, but she wasn’t in it.
“Emeline,” he snapped, “where are you?”
Bare feet padded across the floor, and she appeared in the doorway. As she espied him, she gasped and lurched back into the bedroom. She raced around the bed, but it was an ineffective shield against him.
He advanced toward her, delighted to note that she was attired only in a robe, with nothing on underneath. Her hair was down and brushed out, the curly locks falling to her waist, and he could smell warm water and soap as if she’d been bathing.
She looked fresh-scrubbed, innocent and decadent all at once, and a flood of lust shot through him.
He desired her as he’d never desired another woman, and he couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps there was no answer. Perhaps it was simply a mystery of the universe that wasn’t meant to be solved.
“Hold it right there, you bounder.”
“No.”
“You can’t just . . . just . . . come in here in the middle of the night.”
“Why not? It’s my house, and I’m the earl. How many times must I tell you? I can do whatever I like.”
He reached for her, and she tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. He grabbed her, and together, they tumbled onto the mattress. He hugged her to his side, a leg draped over her thighs.
“Oh, you are the worst bully,” she fumed.
“I know.”
“And you’re not sorry.”
“No, I’m not.”
He grinned, but she scowled, and he was determined to wipe it away.
It was the oddest thing, but when he was with her, he felt so much better. The demons plaguing him vanished, and he wouldn’t remember why he’d been unhappy.
“Why are you up so late?” she asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you decided to harass me instead?”
“Yes.”
He leaned down and kissed her, and he was annoyed to find himself sighing with contentment.
“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” she complained as he drew away.
“I thought we weren’t either, but you’re being ridiculous.”
“I am being ridiculous? You’re a cad who is bent on ruining me and destroying my reputation. I’m trying to save myself.”
“We enjoy a potent attraction. Why ignore it?”
“Have you a single honorable intention toward me?”
“No.”
She huffed out a disgusted breath, and he was irked by her reaction.
Women adored him. From lowest doxy to highest aristocratic lady, they all assumed they could win, then tame him. They fought
