“Well, Lady Vexley fainted.” That much was enough of a testimonial, he supposed.
“Bloody hell.” Ewan ran a hand through his hair. “I was gone for two weeks. Two weeks, Ralph.”
“I know.” The Marquess’ expression softened slightly. “Perhaps it’s time you considered keeping a closer eye on the boy. He means well, but without proper guidance …”
“He’ll destroy what little reputation the duchy has left,” Ewan finished grimly.
“He won’t destroy anything,” The Marquess said firmly. “He’s young and foolish, nothing more. But he does need someone to rein him in.”
Ewan nodded, already dreading the conversation he’d need to have with Percy upon his return. “I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t managed to get himself killed.”
“The night is young,” Ralph said cheerfully, earning himself another glare.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two women at their table. The first, a striking brunette with painted lips and knowing eyes, smiled boldly at Ewan. Her companion, a petite blonde with an actress’s practiced grace, focused her attention on Ralph.
“Your Grace,” the brunette purred, her voice carrying the slight accent of the theatre district. “How delightful to see you again.”
Ewan recognized her immediately: Vivienne Moreau, a French actress who had warmed his bed on several occasions the previous winter. Her companion was newer to him, though her bold gaze and confident posture marked her as a dancer from one of the more notorious establishments.
“Miss Moreau.” Ewan inclined his head politely. “I trust you’re well?”
“Very well, thank you.” She moved closer, her fingers trailing along the edge of the table. “Though I confess, I’ve missed your… company.”
Ralph cleared his throat. “Ladies, perhaps you’d care to join us for a drink?”
“How generous,” the blonde said, sliding into the seat beside the Marquess with practiced ease. “I’m Celeste. And you are?”
“The Marquess of Tenwick, at your service.”
Vivienne remained standing, her attention fixed on Ewan. “I have a room upstairs,” she said quietly, her meaning unmistakable. “If you’d care to… renew our acquaintance.”
For a moment, Ewan considered it. It would be so easy to lose himself in familiar pleasures. Vivienne was uncomplicated, available, and skilled in the arts of physical pleasure. She would ask nothing of him beyond the night, demand no emotional intimacy, threaten no part of his carefully guarded heart.
But even as he opened his mouth to accept her invitation, Samantha’s face flashed in his mind. Those startling blue eyes, the way they’d darkened with desire during their dinner conversation. The soft catch in her breath when he had touched her hand. The proud tilt of her chin when she had challenged him.
“I’m afraid I must decline,” he said abruptly, rising from his chair. “I need to return home.”
Vivienne’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Home? But it’s barely past midnight.”
“Nevertheless.” He tossed coins onto the table, more than enough to cover their drinks. “Enjoy your evening.”
His friend looked up from where he was already engaged in animated conversation with Celeste, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “Of course, Your Grace. Give my regards to your duchess.”
Ewan shot him a warning look, but the Marquess merely grinned wider.
As Ewan moved toward the door, he heard Vivienne’s voice behind him: “Well, if His Grace must abandon us, perhaps you’d enjoy the company of two lovely ladies, Lord Tenwick?”
“Oh, who am I to turn that offer down?” He laughed, the sound rich with debauchery. “Let us enjoy the night together, my pretty birds!”
Ralph’s delighted laughter followed Ewan out into the night, along with the sound of agreement from both women. Under other circumstances, Ewan might have been amused by his friend’s good fortune.
Tonight, however, he could think of nothing but the journey home and the woman who awaited him there.
The house was dark when Ewan returned to Valemont Hall, save for a single light flickering in one of the parlors. He made his way through the silent corridors, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors.
As he passed the partially open door, he caught sight of a familiar figure curled in one of the armchairs, a book in her hands and the firelight dancing across her auburn hair.
“What are you reading?”
