Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(5)

“You don’t even care that I’m calling this—whatever it is—off, do you?”

He slid over the bed to wrap his arms around her. “I care that you are happy. It looks as though I’m making you unhappy and I care deeply about that. Life is too short to spend it on regrets.”

She sat studying him before finally reaching out and cupping his cheek. “You helped me experience passion, something I never had in my marriage. It means I know what I want in a husband and I’ll not settle for less.”

“You are too beautiful, kind, and”—he could barely say the word—“perfect to settle for anything less than what your heart desires.”

“I’ll never regret my time with you.”

“Nor me, sweeting.”

His hand fell away, and a part of him he tried to keep locked behind a fortress in his chest kicked a thumping beat.

Jumping out of bed he reached for a robe and walked to the door of the bedchamber. He never took his paramours to his room. This room was a guest room, set up because of the discreet access to the servants’ back stairs, which led to the back of the house and his coaching stable. Ladies could come and go unobserved in his unmarked carriage.

“I shall send up my servant Juliette to help you dress. Feel free to stay and bathe if you wish. However, I’m due at the explorers club this evening.” It was more a gathering of like-minded friends than a club. They met to discuss their travels, especially when any one of them had been far afield.

As his hand found the door latch he hesitated. “Thank you, Dianne. In my own way I will miss you.”

“I find you, or should I say men in general, puzzling. Men will fight wars, participate in duels, pummel each other in the boxing ring, all dangerous activities, yet they seem to be petrified of true emotion. You are scared to love.”

A trigger exploded in his brain as memories came crashing in. “That may be true for most men, but not of me. Some of us have nothing left inside to love with.” He was breathing heavily from his outburst and he could not stand the look of pitiful understanding on Dianne’s face.

He merely turned and left the room refusing to ever look back.

His inner voice had warned him to stay away from Lady Dianne; she was too perfect, too unworldly. Normally he shared his amusements with women who were slightly more ravaged by life.

She reminded him of Hestia.

Another reason he should have left Dianne well alone.

—

An hour later he was bathed and changed, sitting in his library brooding over his breakup with Dianne. Now he’d have to find a new lover for the season, and for once the idea did not titillate him as it should.

He lifted his glass and was about to take a sip when he noticed a smear of soot on the runner. God damn it. Sweat broke on his brow and his hands shook. He was about to bellow for Tompkins when his butler knocked and entered.

“Tompkins, I pay you well, do I not?” At his butler’s nod he said, “Have I not stressed how my homes are to be kept spotless?” Another nod. “Get someone to clean up this mess immediately.”

“Mess, Your Grace?”

He pointed. “This soot.”

He watched Tompkins peer through his spectacles at the tiny smudge of black.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

He hated how Tompkins silently judged him. Yes, it was a little spot, but when he’d been in captivity he was kept for so many months in filth that now he could not abide any trace of dirt.

“There is an urgent missive. Shall I see to this first or shall I wait for a reply, Your Grace?”

Alex lifted the perfumed note off the silver platter and instantly knew whom it was from. He remembered her scent. It smelled of goodness and innocence.

He stared at the note in his hand, and the deep clenching in his gut told him what he should do with it.

Ignore it.

Burn it.

His fingers ran over the paper. The handwriting flourishes displayed her personality: the larger-than-normal slash for the T, the longer hanging loops of the G…bold, courageous, and vivacious. He would have known who had sent the letter before he read her name. The scent that clung to the paper was faint, but his body reacted to it just the same. A deep yearning sent pain ricocheting through his chest and he ruthlessly pushed it away.

Lady Hestia Cary, the Earl of Pembroke’s daughter. Over the years she’d grown into a lovely young woman, the scandal of his rescue of her from Turkish pirates mostly forgotten.

He had to force his hand not to crumple the note in his fist. Only then did he remember his butler, Tompkins, was waiting for a reply. How much had the old bugger seen and understood? He opened the note and read.

“You may inform the messenger that I shall call on Lady Hestia within the hour.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The tone of Tompkins’s words indicated his approval. “Shall I inform your valet?”

Alex looked down his body as he sat in his favorite chair by the fire, the book on African sea currents sitting in his lap forgotten. He’d been about to head to Lord Foxhurst’s residence, where the explorers club was gathering, and he considered himself respectably dressed for the occasion. Lord Panton had just returned from an expedition to North Africa and he’d longed to hear the news.

“I don’t believe Hessians are appropriate for a house call at this late hour, Your Grace,” Tompkins admonished.