Darius: Lord of Pleasures Read Online Free PDF Page A

rankled.
    “The title was…” Trent frowned, sipped his drink, then shook his head. “I can’t recall, but the fellow died, the title and means went to some cousin, and the countess remarried one of those grasping younger sons who enjoys flaunting his titled wife. He had plans for the daughters, and actually matched the first one up with some… a printer, I think, or publisher. I forget which.”
    Darius set his drink aside rather than consume inferior spirits simply for their ability to dull his senses. “Teething makes a man forgetful. And the other daughter?”
    “She upped and went into service when she was eighteen.” Trent closed his eyes. “That’s how Lord Longstreet met her. Damned lot of work, if you ask me, taking on a wife young enough to be one’s granddaughter.”
    “She’d be done teething.”
    “Not if she were my granddaughter.” Trent settled a little more heavily against Darius’s side. “So why were you keeping such august company, Dare? You thinking of running for a seat?”
    “Assuredly not. It’s all I can do to manage my one little farm and keep up with Leah’s social schedule. I have no coin to campaign on.”
    “I’m out of mourning now,” Trent said sleepily. “I can help with squiring Leah about and so forth.”
    “You’ll need new evening finery. You must have lost two stone, Trent.”
    “Teething.” Trent nodded, not opening his eyes. “What are you doing for the holidays, little brother? Will you join us here?”
    A pang lanced Darius’s chest. He adored Trent’s children, though he ought not to be permitted around them.
    “I’ll bide in Kent. I can use the peace and quiet, and you’ve reminded me you’ll be free to escort Leah about, should she need it, for a few weeks.”
    Trent opened his eyes and frowned. “Why doesn’t Wilton take his own daughter about?”
    “You’d wish him on Leah? The only time she gets out from under his eye is when she has an invitation to some ball or musicale.”
    “She’s received, then?”
    “She’s received. Not exactly welcomed.”
    “Society has a damned long memory,” Trent groused. “The poor thing has been back from Italy for several years now.”
    “But a duel was allegedly fought in her honor, and the only thing that allows her admittance at all is our father’s title. She’s also too old and too self-effacing to threaten anybody’s darling daughter.”
    “Makes one want to fight a duel in truth and blow the ears off Polite Society.”
    “You’re teething,” Darius said charitably. “We’ll make allowance for that remark.”
    “See that you do.” Trent was soon snoring gently on Darius’s shoulder, a comforting, warm weight on a cold, confusing night. Darius rose without disturbing his brother, covered him up with an afghan, and departed for his final stop of the night. This one would take some time, unfortunately, but it provided the coin he needed to go on. So… despite the cold, the dark, and the bitter resistance in his soul, he let himself into the back gate of Blanche Cowell’s townhouse, used his key, and silently slipped up to her room. As he divested himself of his coat, hat, gloves, and scarf, he heard her stirring behind her bed curtains.
    “You are late.”
    “Be glad I fit you into my schedule, Blanche.” He sat to remove his boots and stockings, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and went on with the routine of undressing in a woman’s bedroom while she watched.
    “Stop.” Blanche emerged from the bed, a flannel night robe belted tightly around her waist, her red hair cascading about her in disarray. “Light more candles first.”
    He obeyed. He was paid to obey—up to a point. Blanche delighted in defining that point as unpleasantly as she could.
    “Shirt next.” Blanche walked around him, considering the merchandise as she did. “Breeches last.”
    Her bedroom wasn’t cold, thank God, because Blanche Cowell— Lady Blanche Cowell—wasn’t about to be uncomfortable while