Page 16 of Wicked Rivals
Sometimes he stayed at the bachelor residence of his younger brother, Rafe, or the estate of his older sister, Thomasina, who was married to Lord Reddington. Reddington was a good man, and Thomasina was utterly in love with him. They already had three children who were quite delightful whenever they visited.
Ashton hadn’t ever given much thought to having a child, but if they were anything like Thomasina’s brood, he’d be a proud father someday.
Ashton stepped into the hot water and sank into it chest deep, sighing. His head dropped back to rest on the lip of the tub, and he tried not to think of the future, marriage or babies. If he never married, the estate would pass on to Rafe, but Rafe had no head for business. He preferred living life to excess and was not particularly gifted at learning how to earn what he lost at the gambling hells. Their mother had no delusions about Rafe or his behavior, which put all the more pressure on Ashton to be the one to settle down and have the required heir and a spare.
Lord… Godric, Lucien and Cedric had found it easy enough to manage their wives. But Ashton couldn’t imagine being leg-shackled to a woman he couldn’t completely trust to do as he told her. It wasn’t that he wanted a woman he could control, but more that he needed someone who would trust him without question in difficult times.
And he wanted someone sweet to take to bed each night, a woman who would purr and sigh as he made love to her, even if they were a bit rough at times. He wanted a strong but gentle woman who enjoyed passion. He’d slept with plenty of women, sometimes in the conquest of his business affairs, but none had satisfied him. There had always been something lacking.
He raised one hand out of the hot water, letting the drops splash back into the tub, rippling outward as he thought about what he truly desired. He wanted a certain fire in a kiss that burned him like an all-consuming blaze. Ashton wanted to be with a woman and completely lose himself inside her. Truth be told, there had only been one woman who had affected him in that way, and she was the last woman on earth he could ever trust.
The Scottish hellion he couldn’t seem to stay away from, not since the moment he realized she was to be his competition.
Rosalind Melbourne was too cunning, too untrustworthy, far too much his equal in ruthless business tactics for him to ever trust her, in his bed or out. Yet when he had kissed her, he’d nearly lost his mind and his control. Something about her, the mutual struggle for power and pleasure, drove him insane with lust. If he ever bedded her, neither of them would be able to walk for days afterward. They’d most likely break a bed in the process, the thought of which he enjoyed immensely.
A slow smile twisted his lips as he thought of what it would be like to call that wild lass his.
She’d likely smother me after I fell asleep and flee to Scotland by dawn.
But not before he bedded Rosalind properly…many times and in many ways.
Yes, that would be a bloody good night.
*****
Sir Hugo Waverly reclined in a seat at the back of the card room in Boodle’s Club, watching the evening unfold with little real interest. His mind was on more important matters. A cloud of cigar smoke hung at the base of the chandeliers like dark clouds, casting shifting shadows among the lights from the candles. Men threw cards upon the tables, gathering and losing fortunes over hasty gambles. But Hugo was not a betting man.
If I cannot secure my odds, I will not play.
The door to the card room opened, and a man Hugo knew entered. It was one of his most trusted men, Daniel Sheffield. With Daniel’s help, Hugo ran the most efficient and effective spy ring in the country, which, sadly, was not saying much. Spycraft as a whole in England was woefully amateurish, and it left his country vulnerable. It also made those who took the game seriously, such as Sheffield and himself, indispensible. They’d saved the Crown from more than one foreign war, and yet they would never be given credit for their actions.
But there was more to life than accolades. He was well compensated, both financially and through the power and influence his position afforded. He could blackmail just about anyone to do anything he required. If a man couldn’t be bought, he could be threatened, and that was enough for Hugo.
One step below the Crown. It was the closest a non-royal such as himself could ever be to ruling England.
Hugo made no sign that he noticed Daniel’s entrance. Daniel toyed with his pocket watch, lingered by a table where men were playing faro, and with a discreet glance, waited for Hugo to nod slightly before he approached.
Daniel took a full minute to make his way through the room. He paused to collect a drink from a passing waiter, then meandered over to Hugo’s table and chose a chair not close but not too far either. Tucked under one arm was theQuizzing Glass Gazette, and he slowly lifted it up to peruse the articles.
Lady Society’s gossip column was clearly visible from where Hugo sat, and he scowled at the name. What drivel! If he could be bothered to find out who the woman was, she would have an accident that rendered her incapable of writing ever again. He was tired of her endless parade of articles that painted the League of Rogues as heroes. They weren’t men to be admired or feared; they were fools. Dangerous fools. Fools he would destroy in good time.
The creak of wood told him that Sheffield had shifted his chair an inch closer. When Hugo ever so discreetly peeled his own paper aside, he saw Sheffield’s hand gently rolling a glass of brandy.
“Fair weather today, but I saw a chance of clouds,” Sheffield observed.
Hugo stiffened. That meant a situation he was having monitored was not going according to plan.
“What sort of clouds?” he asked.
Sheffield set his glass down on the table, and beneath it was a carefully folded note. “Black.” Hugo laid his paper down and let it cover the surface by Sheffield’s glass. Then he carefully nudged Sheffield’s drink aside and covered the note.
“The lady I’ve recently become interested in,” Sheffield added quietly, “has decided to visit friends in the country.”
That would be Rosalind Melbourne. So, the Scottish raven had taken flight to the country? That was worrisome. She preferred to stay in town, and he preferred that as well. It made it easier for him to keep an eye on her affairs. So far he’d been fortunate enough to manipulate her into taking him on as a business partner, then coaxing her into disrupting Ashton Lennox’s shipping companies.
“Which friends is the lady visiting?”
“The baron’s.” Sheffield took his half-empty glass from the table and drank.
