Page 44 of An Affair with a Notorious Heiress
Gina gave him a sympathetic smile before rushing to catch up with her sister who was marching up the steps. Rexton took them two at a time.
“I truly meant no harm.” They both swung around to face him, one smiling, one glowering. “It was my intent to help Miss Hammersley find the most compatible suitor available for her. I’d not have shackled her with some miscreant.”
“We can do without that sort of help,” Lady Landsdowne said tartly before turning sharply for the door.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out, my lord,” Gina said softly.
“You will find someone worthy of you.”
“I wish the same for you.”
“To be honest, Miss Hammersley, I am not searching.”
“Pity.”
“Gina!” Lady Landsdowne called from the doorway. “We must abed.”
Damnation, the last thing he wanted in his head was an image of her preparing for bed, crawling between the sheets. Still, he waited until Gina was safely inside and the door slammed shut.
He dashed down the steps. When he reached his carriage, he shouted up to the driver, “To Whitechapel!”
He wasn’t in the mood for civilization this night. He wanted hard drink, debauchery, and decadence.
He bounded into the carriage and found himself surrounded by lavender and orchids. He cursed soundly. Why hadn’t he been honest with Lady Landsdowne from the beginning, when his first glimpse of her knocked the breath out of him?
He awoke with his skull threatening to split in two and his body aching. Never before had he slept on such an uncomfortable bed. He smelled coffee. Nectar of the gods. He needed some. Then perhaps the sledgehammers pounding his brain would still.
Forcing open one eye, he found himself staring at a pair of black boots, well worn, but polished to a sheen. What were they doing standing upright on the bed?
As he opened his other eye, his view expanded and he realized they weren’t on the bed. They were on the floor.
And so was he.
Bloody damned hell.
With a groan, he slowly pushed himself up. His head protested, his stomach roiled.
“It awakes,” the wearer of the boots, sitting in a nearby chair, called out.
Rexton held up a hand. “Don’t yell.”
Jamie had the audacity to laugh, which only made matters worse. “I didn’t. Shall I whisper?” he asked in a lower voice.
“Please,” Rexton croaked. Then he curled and uncurled his fingers over and over. “Coffee.”
Jamie handed over the mug. Rexton put the clay to his lips, grimaced, and gingerly touched his fingers to the swollen and tender corner of his mouth. Lovely. He drank slowly, cautiously. He’d never felt so ill in his life. He would pray for instant death except if delivered, it meant he’d never again set eyes on Lady Landsdowne. Why was he worried about that? He was never going to see her again, and if he did, she would turn her back on him. Give him a well-deserved cut direct.
“How did I get here?” he asked through a mouth that felt like it was filled with sawdust.
“You don’t remember?”
He squinted at Jamie who looked far too happy for whatever god-awful time of day it was. “I went to a couple of pubs.”
“Our paths crossed at The Ten Bells. You were three sheets to the wind by then, searching for someone to fight. I pretended to accommodate—did have to jab you in the mouth when you started to announce I was a copper.”
Rexton touched his lip with his tongue. “They don’t know?”
Jamie shook his head. “Long story, don’t ask. Anyway, once I got you outside, I dragged you here.”
