Two, that I would fuck someone tonight at the Baron’s party, and fuck them hard enough to forget the awful mess my carefully ordered life had become.
And three, number three, that today was the day I would finally fall out of love with Silas Cecil-Coke. Silas, the callous, unforgivable prick who’d cozened me into caring about him.
Fucking jackass.
But today, like every other day since Silas had fled the country, number three wasn’t going to happen. And number one wasn’t going to happen.
So I’d be damned if I was going to give up on number two. The night was still young.
The Baron—properly known as Castor, Lord Gravendon—had thrown a large party tonight for no particular reason that I could discern, other than that he enjoyed throwing them and that he was bored. And even though I had more or less avoided the Baron’s house since the fateful evening I’d discovered Silas buried to the hilt in Mercy Atworth, tonight I’d decided to make an appearance. After months of tense negotiating with the board, and weeks of would-be suitors flooding my parlor, all I wanted was a night of music and dancing and orgasms.
Was that so much for a girl to ask?
“You are pensive tonight,” Hugh remarked, placing a flute of champagne in my gloved hand. “Is anything the matter?”
Other than the fact that I must either lose my company or be sold into a loveless marriage?
It wasn’t my habit to lie, but Hugh had been one of my closest companions recently, and it was his polite attentions and willingness to listen to me rail against the board that had gotten me through these last few months. So I didn’t want to ruin his night with my bitterness.
“Only the usual,” I said, a bit dismissively, and took a short drink to hide my face.
A gloved finger came up and stroked my upper arm—bare in the sleeveless silk dress I wore. “We could go upstairs. I could help you relax.”
I turned to look at him—handsome, blond, and healthy in the sort of way that rich men look healthy, which is to say suntanned and muscular from travel and hunting. He’d come to London a few weeks before the board had laid down their edict and had been with me the entire time since. He was good-looking and loyal, and I came every time we had sex—what better traits could a man possess?
So why didn’t I want him tonight?
“Maybe later,” I evaded. “I’d like to dance some more.”
He hid his disappointment well. “Of course.”
I didn’t actually want to dance. I wanted to hold a man down and use his cock to drive away all the fears and worries of the day. I just didn’t know if I wanted Hugh to be that man, for whatever reason.
But once the band began playing a lively waltz, I felt like I needed to shore up my excuse. I set my glass down and put my hand on Hugh’s arm. “Shall we?”
He bowed and we drifted onto the floor, where he placed his hands awkwardly on my waist and shoulders. Though he was sure on a horse, he was not a very practiced dancer, and I could tell the activity bored him.
“Molly,” he said as we began turning in unison with the other dancers. “Have you given any thought to our conversation yesterday?”
Ah.
Yes.
I remember now.
This is the reason I don’t want to take him to bed tonight.
“I have,” I said carefully, keeping my eyes on the other dancers. The Baron was across the room, surveying the crowd, and I wished more than anything that I was next to him and not here talking with Hugh about the one thing I hated talking about.
“And?” Hugh prompted.
“And,” I sighed, “I’m still thinking about it.”
“What is there to think about?” His voice was friendly, but the words chafed me nonetheless.
“There’s a lot to think about,” I snapped. “This is my company, Hugh, and the rest of my life. Just because the board is forcing me to marry doesn’t mean that I will wed just anyone.”
We spun and stopped in time with the music, now side by side, and Hugh’s mouth was at my ear. “But I am hardly just anyone, am I?”
