Page 6 of Pride: The Rogue
Latimer sat up straighter. Argyll’s stepmother, near in age to her stepson. Latimer hadn’t bothered to learn the details of the late duke’s remarriage to a young beauty, or end of all mention of the young duchess, after Argyll’s father passed.
“I see I have your attention now.” Dynevor tossed back his whiskey in a quick swallow. Impressively, the young man didn’t even flinch while it went down.
“I’m listening,” Latimer grudgingly conceded.
“The lady’s stepchildren were less than welcoming, or for that matter, kind to the new wife. After her husband’s death, Argyll forbade her from the main ducal grounds and estates. He offered a cottage in Cotswolds she could retire to, and the lady built herself up enough in various ventures to end all reliance on Argyll. Now tell me, Latimer, if you were building a gaming hell to not only rise above Forbidden Pleasures but one powerful and successful enough to drive Argyll and DuMond’s into the ground, what better way to do so and have some revenge than to wed the stepmama he banished?”
Dyvenor had him.
The cocksure ladknewit, too.
But Latimer would be goddamned if he gave this man—or for that matter, any person—that kind of satisfaction. As such, Latimer made the cocksure lad wait and pretended to contemplate theproposal.
Latimer, unlike his partners, wasn’t so plebian or weak as to suffer from highemotions: not irrepressible rage, not sorrow, not jealousy. None of it.
He was a master of his self-control. Although he loathed pampered peeresses, he could see past his disdain—as long as he stood to benefit. The unions couples of all stations entered into—his former partners included—were nothing more than business arrangements.
Most just deluded themselves into thinking it was something more.
No, Latimer wasn’t a man to let his restraint slip because of some woman. He’d been born without family and lived an even colder existence to know the sentiment known aslovewas pure shite. Those pathetic fools plucked it from the clouds like spun sugar.
Now, power? Strength? Wealth? All that, however, he did crave.
Latimer nudged his chin. “Depending on the terms, I’m in.” He opened his mouth to suggest they discuss the details somewhere else, and sometime later.
“Tsk. Tsk,” Dynevor interrupted. “There’ll be time enough later to negotiate the details.”
“What elsewouldthere be to discuss?” he asked coolly.
“Not discuss, per se.” The younger man looked around his fading empire. “At least not with me.”
Latimer stared at him. What was he on about?
“Please, let me invite you to try one of the Cyprians here at The Devil’s Den.”
He snorted. “I’m not a lad who needs to have his lust slaked, Dynevor.”
“Neither am I,” the other proprietor replied. “I’m a master of restraint.”
In some areas, Latimer believed. Despite the earl’s younger years, Dyvenor possessed a cold, jaded, emotionless façade that couldn’t be pierced by baser urgings orfeelings.
“I took you for a more thorough man,” Dynevor remarked. “Before we enter into an official arrangement, I’d expect you to do a thorough evaluation of all the club. Don’t you wish to experience for yourself what The Devil’s Den has tooffer.”
On clear cue, that pretty beauty, Ariel with auburn tresses and curves in all the right places, and a tall slender woman with chestnut hair, sidled up to Dyvenor. The exquisite beauties flanked him on either side, giving him the look of a barbarian emperor, who’d invited a guest to feast on his offering.
“You found the number of Cyprians here wanting and took that as a sign of weakness, the women here,” he explained, draping an arm around each siren and lazily stroking their breasts. “The women at The Devil’s Den aren’t desperate souls like the ones employed at your previous club. I’ve visited and poached the ones who crave sex. These are experienced, lustful women who don’t see sex as a chore or necessity but who crave it the same way they would food and water. Maybe more so.”
The earl slapped them each on nearly identical curved arses.
After they’d gone, he spoke. “If there’s a woman for every man…or woman, well, where’s the fun in that,” he drawled. “Or demand?”
Latimer took the Cyprians flitting about in a new light; them and the solitary, inebriated, fellows longingly eying those tempting and touching the other patrons. “Supply and demand,” he mused.
Dynevor inclined his head.
It was a surprisingly clever way to come at the offerings available to the Devil’s Den clients, and also what set the hell apart from the rest that catered to the debauched.
“As I said, I didn’t send my finest before,” the earl said, as Latimer took in the lustful sights around them.
