Night of Pleasure (2 page)

The towering man removed his black leather gloves in smooth sweeps, searching his face with piercing blue eyes. “The name is Mr. Rupert Grey.” An American accent tinged that deep voice as the faint scent of cognac teased the air. “Are you
the
Honorable Derek Charles Holbrook?”

A frisson of unease skated down Derek’s spine. How and why did this man know his full name? “Yes, sir. I am.”

The man skimmed Derek’s appearance and tucked away his leather gloves into his coat pocket. His features softened. “Look at you. All grown. I haven’t seen you since you were a tot.” He held his gaze. “You look like your mother.”

Derek blinked. He always thought he resembled his father.

The man turned and inclined his head enthusiastically toward Andrew. “You must be Andrew. A pleasure to meet you, sir. I have heard so much from your father about your writing adventures. You had yet to be born when I last traveled through London.” Patting Derek’s shoulder, he returned his gaze to him. The teasing scent of cognac pricked the air again. “I can’t believe you’re actually shaving.” He tapped a finger against Derek’s cravat. “Tend to that cravat, will you? It’s lopsided and there is a young lady present.”

Derek scrambled to straighten it.

Mr. Grey smiled and drew back his hand. “Your father asked that I call on him the moment I got into London. I was surprised to hear he is bedridden. Is he not well?”

Who was this man? “I have yet to know anything, sir. I haven’t seen him. But I’m not overly worried. He has always been a man of good health.”

“Quite right. Your mother and her penchant for doctors has certainly seen to that.”

It was more than obvious this man knew his family.

Reaching back, Mr. Grey guided his daughter forward. “This is my daughter, Miss Clementine Grey. I would rather not impose on your father by having us both call on him as I originally intended. Might I leave her in your care for a small while, Mr. Holbrook?”

Miss Grey perused Derek’s bright blue school coat and its gilt buttons.

Derek adjusted the coat in an effort to better display his broad chest, which he knew to be twice the breadth of boys his age. “Yes, of course, sir. It would be an honor.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Mr. Grey angled a quick kiss to his daughter’s cheek beneath the wide rim of her bonnet. “I will be just beyond that door visiting with George. Mind yourself.”

She said nothing.

Striding toward the closed door, Mr. Grey opened it and edged inside, closing the door promptly behind him.

Knowing he and Miss Grey were finally alone (as his brother didn’t count), Derek peered at her. The faint scent of marzipan drifted toward him as if he had just walked into the kitchen at Christmas. It suited her and made him want to nestle her against his chest before a fireplace late at night.

Compared to his still-growing size of five feet and ten inches, she couldn’t have been more than five feet and two inches herself. The yellow ribbon at the end of her glossy black braid had been pressed, looped, and tied to perfection.

She turned her head toward him and looked up, the white satin ribbon on her oval bonnet shifting. Well-lashed eyes that were the shade of a bright summer sky just before nightfall stared up at him.

He stared down at her, his head, his heart and his body pulsing. He’d never felt anything like it, but those alluring eyes made him want to grab her and bite down. Hard. He inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Miss Grey. How are you?”

She blinked as if weighing what she was supposed to say.

It was darling that she appeared to struggle for words. He had never been one to struggle with anything. Although it
had
been a while since he’d associated with any prepossessing ladies worthy of his time. Eton, as well his parents, kept him from associating with any females to prevent what they called his ‘untamed and unnecessary, sinful lusting’ after he groped and exchanged one too many tongue-involved kisses with a certain debutante about half a year ago. He understood their concerns. But unlike fresh-faced Lady Beatrice, who had only made him sigh in mere reverence, this sultry Miss Delectable Grey made him want to bite his own knuckles in a form of indecent lust no amount of praying would change.

Stepping aside, he gestured toward the chair he vacated. He paused, realizing his collar was still sitting on it. He grabbed it and shoved it into his coat pocket with a gruff, apologetic laugh. “The Head Master makes me wear it. It’s annoying.” Clearing his throat, he gestured toward the chair again. “It isn’t by any means the most comfortable of chairs, but there is no need for you to stand. Take my seat, Miss Grey. I insist.”

She lowered her chin. “Thank you, but please don’t insist,” she replied in a refined American accent, her lips rounding as if every word mattered. “I was confined to a carriage for much too long. I would rather stand, thank you.”

Damn. He’d heard Americans speak before, but not with such dazzling sophistication and purpose. It was enchanting.
She
was enchanting. His mouth quirked. “I completely understand.” He shifted toward her. God was she beautiful. He wanted to grab that face and tongue her until neither of them had the ability to breathe for weeks. “Traveling can be quite tedious. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, it can be,” she offered.

He smoothed his cravat. “I actually know a thing or two about traveling.”

She held his gaze. “Do you?”

He grinned. “I most certainly do. I was the only heir in the history of our family to have ever been born abroad and on a ship. I’ve been to countless places. Almost too many to name.” He decided to name them anyway. “Spain. Italy. France. Germany. We even went as far as Africa, although I wasn’t old enough to remember. My parents love to travel and take us everywhere. Sadly, my brother and I haven’t traveled in some time. He and I study over at Eton throughout the year, which doesn’t allow for it. But I’ll be graduating in a few months. In fact, I’ll be eighteen by the end of this year. Which means in three years, I’ll be legally available for marriage. How about you?”

She stared disapprovingly. “Please don’t talk to me anymore, Mr. Holbrook. I have no interest in entertaining your incredibly poor sense of humor.” She then gave him the shoulder and stood squarely facing the closed door.

His grin faded. Him mentioning his availability for marriage was probably pushing a bit too hard given they just met. “Right. I’ll uh…take the seat then. Given you won’t be…using it.” Pushing back his coat tails with the back of his hand, Derek sat and refrained from hitting his head against the wall behind him. He was usually popular with the females and could easily charm the stockings off their toes by tossing out a smile.

Eton had apparently bankrupted him of all appeal.

Black leather ankle boots and gangly legs dressed in black breeches nudged in closer from beside him, scooting over the chair. Andrew’s dark eyes darted over to Miss Grey as his ink-stained finger came up and tugged on the oversized collar fastened around his own throat. He angled in. “You overdid it,” he whispered so she wouldn’t hear. “It was like watching Father try to dance with his cravat tied over his eyes. Entertaining but not in the least bit practical.”

Being practical had never made anyone smile. Derek glanced at Miss Grey before quickly leaning toward his brother and whispering, “Go for a walk or something. So she and I can be alone.”

Andrew’s eyes widened. “Don’t you
dare
get us into trouble. Knowing what you and Lady Beatrice did in that alcove at Mother’s own party, the poor girl needs a chaperone.” Theatrically clearing his throat, his brother tilted toward Miss Grey, with an elbow on his knee and offered in a manly tone, “Forgive my brother. He imagines himself to be quite the
bon homme
.”

Damn his brother for not leaving.

Miss Grey smoothed her skirts and said to her toes, “If only he imagined himself to be a gentleman.”

Andrew laughed and pointed. “If only! He knows nothing about control. Absolutely
nothing
. Ask Lady Beatrice.” He shoved an elbow into Derek’s side.

Derek shifted his jaw and elbowed his brother back, reminding him they were related.

Andrew stood and rakishly adjusted his school coat. Rounding their chairs, he snapped out an ink-stained hand toward her in greeting. “Allow me to introduce the real gentleman in this family. I am Mr. Andrew Mark Holbrook, youngest son to the Honorable Viscount Banfield, who is also known amongst his peers as ‘The Laughing Viscount’ due to his inability to control his jolly nature in public. It’s a Banfield trait. We all have our own control issues, or so I’ve been told more than once.” He grinned at her. “I wish to genuinely welcome you into London and into our grand home.”

“Uh…thank you. That was certainly quite the introduction.” She paused and glanced at his ink-stained hand but didn’t take it.

Andrew still held it out.

She still didn’t take it.

He edged it closer to her. “It’s a hand.”

She quirked a brow. “I know what it is.”

“No. You clearly don’t. You’re supposed to take it when it’s offered. It’s a form of greeting here in England. What? Do they not shake
hands
in America?”

She gave him a hard pointed stare and countered, “It’s a dirty hand. What? Do they not have
soap
in England?”

Derek snorted. Now
that
was good.

“It’s ink,” Andrew drawled in agitation, wagging his hand closer toward hers. “I write novels. As the Lower Master always says, ink stains are the sign of an intellectual and no amount of soap can erase true brilliance.”

She tsked. “You’re being incredibly rude by insisting I touch a hand that clearly hasn’t been washed in days.”

Andrew flopped his hand to his side and trudged back to the chair and sat, rolling his eyes at Derek. “You can have her.” He shoved his dark hair out of his eyes, huffed out a breath, and glanced toward the closed paneled door. “When are we going to see Father?”

“When the doctor or Mother says we can.”

“And when will that be? It’s been over an hour. How is it this Mr. Grey was able to prance right in and we’re left out in the corridor with his
daughter
?”

Derek sighed. “I don’t know. But if it were serious, we would have been told by now. You know how Mother is. She
invents
diseases.”

At a sound from within, they both straightened, casting hopeful glances at the closed suite leading to their father’s rooms. Derek could hear the faint bass of Doctor Shire’s voice, two other voices, his father’s gruff laugh and the chink of china. The voices were indistinct and the heavy mahogany door remained shut.

Derek bit back a smile, knowing his father was most likely telling the doctor to prescribe him a bottle of champagne and three slices of almond cake. As always.

Miss Grey stared disapprovingly. “Your father is ill and you’re smiling?”

Derek broadened his smile into a grin knowing she had been watching him. That only meant one thing. She liked him. “Don’t think the worst of me. My mother does this to us every year. The man gets a cough or a fever and the whole world has to know about it. She once kept him in bed for two weeks after he nicked his left arm with the edge of his fencing sword because she was incredibly worried an infection would end up leading to the amputation of his entire left arm. She called in
eight
different doctors for an opinion I could have very well given her myself. She is very much like that. The complete opposite of my father. He worries about nothing and she worries about everything.”

“How curious.” Her brows drew together. “So whose opinion do you share, Mr. Holbrook? Are you more like your mother in that you worry about everything? Or are you more like your father in that you worry about nothing?”

It would seem this treasure was trying to get to know him. “Actually, Miss Grey, I fall in between. The only thing I ever take too seriously is the impression I make on a lady.” Oh, yes. It was time to let her know just how interested he really was. For although he might have been earlier blindsided by her glorious presence, he’d never been one to remain blindsided when he genuinely wanted something. And he most certainly wanted something: her and him against the wall around the corner.

He stood, dug out his tin of amber mints, and flicked it open. He held it out to her. “Keep it to one. They’re very strong but well worth the unexpected bite.” It was the ultimate test. If she could handle the heat of his candy, she could handle him.

She peered down at the small tin that hosted the remaining amber hard candies. “What are they?”

“If ginger and licorice ever fell madly in love and married, their children would look exactly like this. It’s an acquired taste.” And yes, he was also referring to himself.

She leaned in and lifted her gloved finger above the tin as if to take one, but edged her fingers back and quickly lowered her hand. “I really don’t care for spiced candies. They usually overwhelm me. I prefer simple candies. Plain sweets. Do you have any honey sticks?”

Honey sticks? This one desperately needed some excitement in her life. And he was more than willing to give it. “I’m sorry, love, but I don’t do honey sticks. Plain sweets do nothing for me. In my opinion, being
overwhelmed
is far better than being
underwhelmed
.” He edged in closer until their faces were only two hands apart and her skirts brushed his trouser-clad thighs. The fullness of those lips taunted him as he rattled the candies in the tin. “I can assure you, it’s worth trying.” He held her gaze. “I promise you’ll never be the same.”