He let his imagination wander to the ecstatic pinch of her face as she’d come last night, stroking himself mercilessly as he did, and finally spent in his hand with a grunt as he dared to imagine what she would look like with his cock deep in her mouth. Any other woman would probably faint if she knew he imagined her that way, but Phin had the feeling Lenore would be titillated and rise to meet his expectations by making his fantasy a reality. She’d find a way to turn those tables on him and leave him completely at her mercy in spite of being on her knees. That thought kept a lazy smile on his face as he dozed for a few more minutes. Lenore was feisty, and he had the distinct feeling she could be just as wicked as he was.
It was the sound of Dora, his maid, cleaning up the dining room downstairs that finally shook Phin to full wakefulness. He realized with a wry grin as he rolled out of bed and went to his washstand that he and Lenore had left their meal half-devoured on the table with the candles still lit. At worst, they could have burnt the house down. At best, Dora would guess why supper had been interrupted. Not that she would mind. He’d hired the young woman for her loyalty and discretion, and he trusted her to keep herself to herself.
By the time he made it downstairs, washed, dressed, and groomed for the day, Dora had moved on to dusting the parlor and barely took notice of him as he wandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea and whatever leftovers Mrs. Wallace, his cook, had saved aside for his breakfast.
“You’re looking rather chipper this morning,” Mrs. Wallace noted with a knowing grin. “But I’m vexed with you.”
“Whatever did I do to earn such censure?” Phin asked the matronly woman, unable to hide the grin that said he knew exactly what she was on about. They’d long since set aside the formalities their difference in class warranted in favor of brutal honesty, which was, Phin was convinced, why she stayed on with him when he couldn’t pay her as much as she was worth.
Mrs. Wallace huffed a laugh and shook her head. “That was a perfectly good chicken I roasted up for you last night, and you left it like it was dog’s meat.”
“I skipped straight to dessert,” he told her with a wink, kissing her on the cheek, then taking his tea and a bun out to his study. God bless all good and loyal servants, especially the ones who were as amused by their employer’s antics as they were by any stage show to be had.
Even though Phin’s mind swarmed with a thousand ideas for new Nocturne stories based on Lenore, he found he didn’t have the patience to write more than a few notes after sitting down at his desk. His mind was made up, and the more he thought about it—the more he thought about Lenore—the less he felt like waiting to get on with things. He’d spent over a year ostensibly searching for a bride already, and now that he’d found the only woman he could ever see himself settling down and building a life with, there was no point in waiting. After all, someone had to get down to the business of creating an heir to the Mercer title and estate, such as they were. God knew Lionel wasn’t going to do it.
Phin finished his tea and bun and returned the dishes to the kitchen, then donned his coat and hat and set out into the wilds of London. It wasn’t until he was halfway down his own street that he realized he wasn’t entirely certain where Lenore lived. Good sense and propriety said she would live at her fake soon-to-be sister-in-law’s house. Freddy Herrington was known to be living with his sister, Lady O’Shea, and her husband. But Phin was certain that Freddy actually lived with Reese Howsden at his townhome. Considering that Lenore was as thick as thieves with the two men, it was as likely as not that Lenore lived there.
Which was how he found himself in the middle of Mayfair, knocking on Reese Howsden’s front door.
“By any chance is Miss Lenore Garrett home?” he asked Reese’s stone-faced butler when the man opened the door.
The butler stared thoughtfully at Phin for several, anxious seconds before stepping back and saying, “Do come in, Mr. Mercer.”
Phin arched an eyebrow and followed the man’s instructions with a certain degree of foreboding. Not many of the butlers in fine homes across Mayfair knew who he was, and even fewer would have been willing to let him in without an invitation. Particularly when he wasn’t asking to see the person who actually lived in the house.
Without a word, the butler escorted Phin down the hall to a well-appointed parlor that faced a sunny courtyard. It was decorated with the fastidious good taste of someone who knew how to blend fashion with comfort. Phin instantly thought that Lionel would approve.
“Mr. Mercer, my lord,” the butler announced to the room’s occupant, Freddy Herrington.
Phin couldn’t help but grin to himself. He’d guessed right. Freddy sat near the fire with an infant girl in his lap, reading a picture book to her, though she was far too young to appreciate more
