The Trouble With Sin (Devilish Vignettes (the Devil DeVere) #2)(14)

"Ah, Ned. I was just wondering at your absence, though I doubt this bed could contain yet another."

"Where are my clothes, Sin?" Ned demanded, his gaze a mere slit.

"Clothes?" Simon repeated blankly.

"Yes. Clothes." He crossed his arms crossed over his broad chest. "I seem to be devoid of any."

Simon smirked. "However did you lose them?"

"I'm not in a humor for humor," Ned replied. "Don't make me drag your arse from the bed."

"It would be a wasted effort, for you'll find I have no clothes either." Simon chuckled. He raised the sheet that only partially covered the four bodies. "Indeed, none of us seem to have any clothes."

"Pox on you and DeVere both!"

Ned took hold of the sheet and gave a great tug that sent DeVere and Bronaugh—or was it Brigid?—tumbling to the floor with a respective thump, groan, and shriek.

Ned replied with a murderous look, "I need my clothes. I must be off to Yorkshire at once!"

DeVere sat up. "Still about that business, eh? Have you truly taken leave of all good sense?"

"My good sense tells me to take my leave of you!" Ned growled. "I will not humiliate Annalee by failing to appear for our betrothal announcement. For the last time, send for my clothes or you will both suffer the consequences."

DeVere's stony gaze flickered to Simon and then to the fists balled at Ned's side. "I'm sorry, Ned. We just can't do that."

One of the twins cried out as Ned's fist smashed into DeVere's jaw, crumpling him to the floor. "I gave you fair warning, DeVere. I won't say I'm sorry." Ned massaged his fist and then turned his attention to Simon, who raised his hands in surrender. Ned, however, ignored him, proceeding to snatch up the bed sheet and wrap it about himself toga-style. "I'm going to leave now, Sin. There is nothing more you can do to stop me."

"Think of what you do, man!" Simon cried.

"I know precisely what I do. I'm abiding by the code of a gentleman and upholding the honor of a lady."

"Codes? Honor?" Simon repeated. "I don't follow you."

"Damn it all, Sin! If you two misguided miscreants must bloody well know everything, I wed because Annalee could be carrying my child."

Simon broke into a chuckle. "Damn me, DeVere, mayhap we've misjudged him. It appears Ned's not such a dull dog after all!"

DeVere sat up, massaging his jaw. "Mayhap not, but he's a damnably careless one! How could you let it happen, Chambers? Surely you have been long enough in my sphere to understand there are ways and means to prevent such mishaps."

"It just happened!" Ned replied with an impatient noise.

"So you lost your head in a moment of passion," DeVere interjected, "and will now pay dearly for the rest of your natural life."

"It's not like that! I love her. Have neither of you worthless sods, any notion of deeper feeling?" Ned asked. "Any concept of tender devotion?"

Simon chuckled. "I fear our Ned has truly been struck by cupid's dart."

A clamor outside their chamber followed by a pounding on the door interrupted the exchange. Simon groaned, clutching his aching head. "Tell them to go away! Very. Far. Away!"

Ned strode to the door, jerked it open, and then slammed it shut again. He turned to his comrades, grim-faced, and braced his large body against it. "It seems we have some uninvited guests."

The pounding grew more insistent. A voice boomed, "Open up in the name of the Westminster Magistrate!"

"Bloody hell!" Simon cried. "Can it get any worse?"

"Open or we'll remove the door," another voice echoed the first.

Ned stepped aside with a shrug of defeat and the door burst open.

DeVere responded with a stream of colorful epithets, while with twin cries, Brigid and Bronaugh scrambled to hide behind the bed.

"Repent of thy iniquity and be saved!" proclaimed a horrifyingly familiar voice.

His sins had finally caught up with him. Simon groaned as the tiny woman marched into the center of the room in a militant manner. He made no effort to hide his nakedness when her gaze froze on him.

He smiled. "Good morning, Mama."

"Simon?" Lady Singleton gasped and then fell directly into a swoon.

***

"Drunken debauchery and cavorting with prostitutes? The atrocity of your conduct beggars all description! Simon's father continued the harangue. "Where is your sense of decency? Of discretion?"

"Technically speaking," Simon said, "one cannot call them prostitutes as there was no coin exchanged."

Lord Singleton silenced his son with a cold stare. "You have publicly humiliated your family."

"But it was only a harmless lark." Simon groaned.

"Enough, Simon! Your entire life has been naught but a lark—a circumstance that ends here and now."

"You're cutting me off?"

His father glowered. "Oh no, my boy. That tack seems to have proven singularly ineffectual in curbing your debauchery. It's time for far more drastic measures."

"What do you mean?" Simon felt a growing sense of alarm. With all the pranks he'd pulled over the years, he'd never seen this particular look in his father's eyes.