“Arthur.” David tapped his shoulder, bringing his attention back to the game. “You’ve hardly paid any attention to your cards all night. Whatever has you so preoccupied?”
“Nothing much. My mother has been... demanding of late.” Arthur studied his cards, then laid them down.
“Still on about getting a wife and an heir?” Ralph snorted as he finished his drink and poured another with hands that were slightly unsteady. “You’d think she’d have wit enough to realize you’re a red-blooded man and a lord, and cease making foolish demands.”
“Here now. I’ll thank you to be respectful of my mother, however much I dislike her constant lectures on propriety.” His mother was exasperating, to be sure, but he was far from inebriated enough or irritable enough to let an insult to her slide.
“Quite right.” David nodded. “And in any case, it isn’t entirely unexpected, all her talk of an heir and whatnot.”
Ralph sneered. “And I suppose you’ll be saying you’ve your eye on a lady and a marriage license for yourself next.”
“Nothing of the sort.” David shook his head and leaned back in his chair, eyes slightly unfocused as he tried to put words to thoughts blurred by wine. “But it’s a fact that Arthur’s in a situation that none of the rest of us are. He’s a title to consider, after all. Whereas myself... well, I’ll not inherit the title of Earl Camden unless my older brother meets some misfortune, and God spare him if you please. And you, Huxley... you’ve little to worry about in any case, being the second son of a second son and all that. And Samuel…”
“My father’s well, and will remain so for some time, God willing. I’ve no eye on the family title any time soon.”
“Exactly my point, man. Arthur’s the only one with a title on the line and no direct family to inherit after. Is it any wonder his mother is after an heir to secure the line? And a legitimate babe is far better than a bastard when all’s said and done.” David took a swallow of wine and gestured vaguely with his free hand. “That’s all I am saying. Being the Duke of Bedford... it’s no wonder there should be questions of inheritance. It’s all one to me whether Arthur enjoys himself freely or not, but I’ll not pretend I don’t understand the other considerations in play here.”
“Fair enough. But there’s some time yet.” Arthur dipped his head to acknowledge the point and finished his own glass before pouring himself another. The cards were forgotten on the table, and he eyed them in idle contemplation, wondering if he cared enough to resume the game. They’d not yet engaged in any betting for this hand, and it was no loss to him if the game were to cease for the night.
A warm presence at his side made him look up, eyes taking in the thinly clad figure next to his elbow. “Ah... Caroline, was it?”
The woman blinked at him through doe-like eyes, a seductive smile curving her painted lips as she perched on the arm of his chair. “I am flattered you remember me, Your Grace.” Her hand stroked enticingly over his arm.
He couldn’t say he remembered her especially, only that she was a well-known figure in the club, one of the working girls—ladies of the night, in polite company—that were permitted to enter for the purpose of providing companionship to the members and more, if the men were so inclined.
She was pretty enough; he could admit that. Long, lustrous hair, a fetching shade of auburn, porcelain skin and large, dark eyes. Rosebud mouth, accented with color to draw a man’s attention and beckon him in for kisses. Slim figure and generous curves, and a well-formed bosom, accented by the form-fitting dress she wore, of fabric so thin and light it scarce left anything to one’s imagination.
And yet….
She was precisely the type of woman he’d typically welcome a tumble or a tryst with, at the club or even at his estate, but he could not find within himself the slightest bit of interest. Not even as she leaned in to show off her assets to their best advantage and breathed in his ear. “Is there anything I can do for you, Your Grace? I have many skills.” The inflections of her voice and the way her hands caressed his shoulders left no doubt of her true intentions and the ‘skills’ she was offering to demonstrate for him.
And yet, even that could not arouse his interest. Indeed, he’d felt far more attraction and desire watching his mother’s little maid than he did now.
His mother’s little maid... meek little Nora, who wasn’t so meek after all.
He mustered up a charming smile and shook his head. “Not tonight, my dear. Not tonight. I’ve other matters to consider, I fear.”
She was professional enough not to press the matter, though there was clear regret in her eyes as she moved away. “A pity, Your Grace. Perhaps another time, then.”
“Perhaps.” He gave her another polite smile, and she moved away.
“Good god, man... what on earth’s got into you, to turn down…” Ralph waved at Caroline’s retreating figure. “You can’t be considering settling down after all, can you?”
“No. There’s no lady I’ve my eye on. It is only…” He paused, trying to articulate his motivation.
It wasn’t looks. Nora was beautiful enough, certainly, but Caroline was better endowed in several aspects. And far more willing a companion besides.
And that was the heart of the matter. She was—it was hard to credit the thought, but it was true enough—Caroline was too willing.
What point was there in a bit of bed sport when the conquest was so simple it hardly could be considered such? A willing partner was all right every now and again, but with no challenge to stir a man’s blood and arouse his interest, where was the fun of it all?
He might not want a harpy or a harridan in his chambers, but a bit of spirit, someone who could match him with passion and fire... now that would be a fine thing. But not something he’d get from a lass like Caroline, for all her charms.
His thoughts drifted back to Nora. Little Nora. It was true that he’d taken little notice of her since his mother hired her and less interest, but now…
Well, she’d wit enough to see Annabelle off the property without being seen, despite being unused to such requests. And fire enough to scold him over his inattention to the affairs of his estate, as she perceived them. And independence enough if she had been both willing and able to convince his lady mother to permit her to take lodging off the estate grounds.
She might be a quiet little maid and demure and polite enough, but he would wager a bottle of his best brandy that there was a spitfire under that modest behavior. A lass like that would be no meek bed partner.