Chapter Five
Club Damnation
Mayfair, London
When Evan woke the next morning to a carriage-style clock at his bedside softly chiming the eleventh hour, he wondered why his body was sore yet relaxed.
Seconds later, memories came flooding in of being in a strange room and then of Hannah sucking off his shaft in the pursuit of her own carnal pleasure.
The second she’d joined him on the bed and straddled him, he’d come fully awake, and what was more, he’d been quite aroused, both from her play and seeing her confident and abandoned on top of him.
And those curves! Dear God in heaven, a man could lose himself in them.
Ten years ago, when he’d met her, she’d been pleasantly plump, but now those curves were a bit more pronounced, and they’d made his mouth water.
Even now, he wanted nothing more than to play with those breasts, weigh them in his hands, caress her rounded hips and buttocks.
Fuck!
If he wasn’t careful, he’d need to take himself in hand, and that was something he did not have time for just now. Already, time was of the essence, for after that fight last night with his half-brother, James would be more apt to accelerate claiming the title for his own.
With a groan, he rolled off the bed and then staggered over to the privacy screen on one side of the room.
After doing the necessary, he splashed cold water from the basin onto his face and chest. A peek in the round mirror hanging over the washstand revealed how rough he looked with the bruising on his cheek and jaw.
He frowned. What the hell was that? Redness on one shoulder, and were those… teeth marks?
Belatedly, he recalled that Hannah had bit him one of the times she’d hit release.
Chuckling, he brushed his fingertips over the mark.
Never had a woman bit him. Dug her fingernails into his skin a few times, but not that.
That whole session had been surprising as hell, and he’d been impressed with her daring.
Being with a woman who knew exactly what she wanted in bed was a refreshing change, and it had enhanced his own desire, yet there had been a deep sadness in her eyes at times, a sense of hopelessness she’d pulled about herself like a cloak that hadn’t been there the last time he’d been with her.
Why? For that matter, why the devil did he want to know? He wasn’t looking for an attachment, and discovering someone’s secrets meant a connection he wasn’t ready to build.
In silence, Evan let his mind wander while he dressed himself.
There was a list of things he would like to accomplish before month’s end, but they all seemed a ridiculous waste of time unless he could secure his title.
And if he couldn’t? Well, he would think about that when—or if—things came to that.
By the time he went into the common room to seek out luncheon, growls issued from his stomach and his thoughts had turned a bit tortured.
Damn, but he’d used Hannah last night. To be fair, she’d done the same to him, and that had started without him being conscious, so who was at greater fault?
For that matter, was he simply one of a long line now?
Would she write his name in a book she hid, rate him against the others?
Eventually sell that information to the highest bidder to a blackmailer?
I don’t care for that one bit. And I sure as hell didn’t survive my stint in the Navy only to be buried by scandal in London society.
Or killed by his half-brother.
If there was only the choice between him or James, Evan knew he’d shoot first every time.
When his thoughts circled back to Hannah, a part of him wished he were with her right now.
Oddly, he craved conversation with her, wished to know how she’d been during their years apart, how she spent her time when not entertaining men in the bedroom.
She had been the only person to help him make sense of everything vile in his life, and he’d thought they’d had a connection beyond the physical.
But then he’d received his orders to ship out, and there was naught else he could do but leave London.
And her.
Had he been a coward not to write? Obviously, she couldn’t have done the same, for the post couldn’t exactly have been delivered on a ship in the middle of the ocean.
Possibly, but he wasn’t good with words, and neither was he a poet.
Would she understand the lapse in word, or was she angry about the silence?
It was impossible to say.
When his gaze encountered that of another friend, he nodded then joined the Duke of Averly. He slipped into a leather chair at a small, round table, ordered luncheon from an eager, attending footman. “It’s been an age, Averly.”
The red-haired man nodded. After wiping his lips with a linen napkin, he grinned. “It has, indeed. A few days ago, I’d heard you were Town. Must be difficult to acclimate to being back on dry land.”
“It’s been a challenge, but I’m nearly through it.” He shrugged then sipped at the brandy he was brought. “It’s odd being here in London, for much has changed since I was last here.”
“I’d imagine it has, both in Town and for you personally, hmm?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “And considering I’m the real fucking heir to Bettington’s title, I need to come up with a plan, or at the very least, a schedule.”
“What?” Shock lined Averly’s face, but he didn’t say anything further until the footman who delivered Evan’s luncheon had departed. Then he lowered his voice. “Truly? I’d heard rumors there was a son… who wasn’t you…”
“Oh, yes, my half-brother, James. The Earl of Sunderingham.” He shook his head. “The blackguard has positioned himself as the earl, and if you want the truth of the matter, I’m fairly certain he’s tried to have me killed a few times while I was away from England.”
“The devil you say.” Disbelief reflected in Averly’s eyes. “What will you do?”
Evan sliced through a thick piece of beefsteak then speared it with his fork. “I don’t know. Claiming my birthright is proving more complicated than I’d thought.” Briefly, he told his friend about the fight he’d had last night with James. “I’d imagine he’ll be more wary going forward.”
“Of course he will. Men who lie will do anything to protect that lie… even killing those who tell the truth.” For long moments, Averly rested his gaze on Evan. “If you want to be the next Bettington, you’ll fight. It’s in your blood.”
“I’m not so sure.” He continued to eat his meal.
The roasted root vegetables were particularly delicious, or perhaps he was merely hungry.
“I was perfectly suited to life on my ship; I always knew what was expected of me and when. Everything having to do with the duke’s title has been a challenge and steeped in problems.”
“That is exactly how the beau monde is. Welcome home, my friend.” Averly shrugged. “You’ll find your way.”
“Let us hope.” After he’d swallowed another mouthful of food, he asked, “How have you been keeping yourself?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose. My son is seven months old, and already he’s charming his way through the household, but I miss the relationship I had with my wife before the child’s birth.”
Evan frowned. “Did she fall out of love with you?” He’d heard stories of the rocky start to Averly’s union, but he also knew how fiercely the duke loved his wife.
“Of course not, but she’s born a child. That changes everything, and her attention is split now. I miss the easy access.”
A snort escaped him. “You miss fucking her whenever the urge demands.”
“There is that.” The duke chuckled then raised his glass in salute to Evan. “Perhaps I should do something special for her during the Christmastide season. Even if it’s to tie her wrists to the damned bedposts.”
“Intriguing idea,” Evan said with a nod. In silence, he finished his luncheon then washed it all down by draining his brandy glass. “Do you often play like that with your wife?”
“Upon occasion but not nearly as much since the boy was born.” Averly winked but didn’t seem all that ruffled or embarrassed. “There is no harm in it, and sometimes, when there is dubious consent, it’s even better.”
“Even more intriguing.” And it made him quite curious.
“Thinking of giving it a go?” Curiosity brewed in the duke’s eyes.
“Perhaps.”
“Fair enough.” Averly nodded. “What now? How do you plan to claim your birthright?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Eggleton suggested a council of war with the members here, but as of yet, that hasn’t happened.”
Averly gestured to a footman to refill both of their brandy glasses. Once he left, the other man asked, “What did you do last night? I have heard snatches of rumors, but I’m afraid I didn’t pay them much mind.”
After a deep sip from his brandy, Evan winced at the burn in his throat.
“There was a bit of contretemps between me and my brother. We came to blows before Thornton escorted me from the rout.” He peered into the contents of his glass.
“Then he dumped me on the doorstep, literally, of my former mistress’ home. I spent the night there.”
“The devil you say!” Averly’s eyes rounded. “In her bed?”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh?”
Heat crept up the back of Evan’s neck. “Apparently, her staff brought me in and put me into a room upstairs. When I woke, I was half-naked, and she was doing her best to deep throat my prick.”
“Shit.” Interest lay stamped over the duke’s face. “Did you come?”
“Not down her throat.” He couldn’t help his self-satisfied chuckle. “I took control of the situation, got her off, and then fucked her.”
“Why waste the opportunity, right?”
“Exactly, and she was very, very willing.” Just speaking about it sent ripples of awareness sailing over his skin. “She exited the room after that, and I fell asleep. Left early this morning, then woke here later.”
A cheeky grin slid across Averly’s face. “Will you take up with her again?”
“I don’t know. She’s a high-class courtesan, and frankly, I don’t wish to share her time or attention.” The admission surprised him.