Page 66 of The Art of Sinning
He glanced out the window. Was it? She’d make a wonderful wife. He could easily imagine her in his bed, easily imagine her joining him on every adventure.
The image of her gawking at that bare-assed fellow in the brothel leapt into his mind, and he bit back a smile. Oh yes, his curious and clever lady might be eager for any exploit. And once they headed into the logical next adventure—having children—she’d make a wonderful mother.
His smile faltered. If she survived childbirth. If she even survivedmarriageto the reckless and wild Mr. Jeremy Keane, whose very presence in her life would provoke more scandal.
Yet, God help him, he was tempted to risk it. How dangerous was that?
“We’re here,” she said in her low, melodic voice, tightening something deep in his chest.
Not his heart. He had no heart. He couldn’t risk having one, because hearts always ended up broken. And he’d spent too long protecting his to offer it to her just because he wanted to bed her.
The three of them got out, slipped through the garden gate unseen, and put their plan into action with surprisingly little trouble.
Until they reached the doors into the house and Blakeborough walked through them. “Where the devil have you been?” he barked, directing the question to Yvette.
“In the garden,” she said without missing a beat. “Why? Were you looking for me?”
“You haven’t been in the gardenallthis time. I went over the entirety of it a while ago.” Blakeborough fixed his gaze on Knightford. “Tell me the truth, Warren. Where has she been?”
Jeremy held his breath.
Then Knightford smiled. “With me and Keane, of course. They encountered me while I was fetching Clarissa her cloak. We stood a while talking. Then Keane wanted to get some air, so we moved outside.”
“I went past the coatroom as well,” Blakeborough said tersely.
“Oh, that must have been when we went to get refreshments,” Yvette said shakily.
Jeremy could tell that Blakeborough had noted her nervousness, so it was best to distract him. “Knightford and I were discussing our club,” he said boldly.
Knightford blinked. “Er... yes. Your club.”
Blakeborough’s whole manner softened. “Not just my club and Keane’s, old chap. We want you to join, too.”
“I told him,” Jeremy cut in. “I made it clear that we couldn’t do it without him. But he’s still hesitant.”
“I’m surprised,” Blakeborough told Knightford. “Given all your trouble with Clarissa and her antics, I’d think you would make good use of a club where men compared notes concerning suitors for their womenfolk.”
A stranger’s voice sounded from beyond Blakeborough. “Is there such a club?” asked a fellow Jeremy didn’t recognize, accompanied by another gentleman Jeremy didn’t know.
“Not yet,” Blakeborough said. “But we mean to start one, Mr. Keane and I. And Knightford, if he agrees.”
“The idea is growing on me,” Knightford assured him. “Keane has only given me the sketchiest of details, however. Perhaps we should have a drink and discuss it.”
“Can I join you?” said the other fellow, and his friend echoed the request.
Blakeborough frowned. “Actually, gentlemen, I was looking for my sister so we could return home. But I’ll call on both of you when next I’m in town, and we can discuss how to go about forming such a club.” He nodded to Knightford. “I’ll call on you tomorrow. We can talk about it more then, if that’s all right.”
“I look forward to it,” Knightford said. “Actually, I believe Clarissa is ready to leave, too. That’s why I was fetching her cloak.”
Jeremy had no doubt that Clarissa would support her guardian’s story, since she’d obviously been allowed into Yvette’s confidence to some extent.
“Well, then,” Blakeborough said, any suspicions he’d had about what Yvette had been up to seemingly having vanished. “Are you ready to leave, Yvette?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “Quite ready.”
Taking her arm to head into the ballroom, Blakeborough asked, “Are you coming, too, Keane?”
“Actually, no.”
