Page 6 of Loving My Wicked Rogue

Violet tilted her head to the side. “I believe I do. It’s…Matthew. My mother is acquainted with his and once I overheard her complaining about her son and his unwedded state. I believe her words were something to the affect ‘Matthew refuses to marry and provide the dukedom with an heir. There has to be a way to make that rotten boy see reason.’”

“Why do you want to know about the duke?” Iris asked. “I do hope you haven’t set your cap for him. He’s completely against marriage.” There was concern etched through her voice.

She held her hand over her stomach and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Well, I’m going to have to change his mind.” Then she proceeded to explain to them her dilemma. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done; however, she fully expected telling Matthew, followed by her parents, would be inherently worse. After she was done explaining it to her friends it had helped her to devise a plan. It would be best to contact the duke in private first and hope he would do the honorable thing. If he refused…they’d rethink how he should be approached. With an idea of what she should do Francesca felt truly better for the first time that day. She had to believe it would all be settled soon.

Matthew satin the study at the London townhouse. It was inherently more peaceful without his mother constantly harping on him. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the peace surrounding him. This was the best part of being the Duke of Lindsey. He owned so many properties it was easy enough to find one his mother didn’t reside in if necessary. He opened his eyes and smiled. His friend the Marquess of Merrifield leaned against the door frame with an amused grin on his face. His dark hair was quite mussed, and his blue eyes nearly twinkled with mischief. His clothing was disheveled as if he didn’t have a valet skilled in keeping his clothing tidy.

“A little birdie informed me you were in town,” Merrifield said from the entrance to the study.

He chuckled lightly. “That explains your ragged appearance.” Matthew quirked a brow and drawled, “Am I acquainted with this birdie?”

“It’s a possibility,” Merrifield answered. “She is the more…risqué sort. From what I understood she saw your carriage roll into town while she paid a call on one of her more exclusive clients.”

“Would that client happen to be a marquess that resembles you?” Matthew held back a smile. He had a feeling he knew exactly what birdie he referred to.

“I admit nothing.” He held up his hand. “Except I do enjoy the more carnal pleasures in life.”

“As do I,” Matthew agreed. This time he did smile. “How is the fair Esmée?” She was one of London’s notorious courtesans. She didn’t have many clients, but the ones she did were the amongst the wealthiest, and more elite titles. Matthew used to be amongst them until he had decided she bored him. After that he didn’t bed the same woman twice and had become more selective in the ones he did enjoy. He was actually in a bit of a dry spell. Matthew hadn’t found a woman that appealed to him since Christmas. He was having a lot of trouble shaking his need for his red haired Cesca.

“Esmée is doing quite well. She said to tell you she misses you.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “I bet she does.” She probably missed his money and extravagant gifts. He certainly didn’t miss her. Once he decided to dismiss a lady, he didn’t give them a second chance, and Esmée was no lady. “I however want something a little less used.” That was perhaps a bit crude, but the truth. He was done with whores. Perhaps he could find a nice widow to seduce. That might help him forget Cesca.

“Suit yourself,” Merrifield said. “You usually do.”

“You speak the truth.” Matthew went to the bar near his desk. “Would you care for a brandy?”

“I could drink a glass or two,” Merrifield replied.

Matthew poured them each two fingers of brandy. He handed a snifter to Merrifield and then settled down on one of the mahogany chairs in the study. He sipped on his brandy and enjoyed the burn as it traveled down his throat. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

“I cannot visit a friend without having a reason?”

“No,” Matthew said in a clipped tone. “You have an agenda of some sort. Tell me.”

“It’s nothing.” He sighed. “I’m feeling a bit of ennui.” He settled into the other chair. “Hampstead and Goodland are still at their country seats. I don’t expect they’ll be in town soon and I was relieved to hear you’d returned earlier than expected.” He blew out a breath. “Please tell me that you have some entertainments scheduled.”

He didn’t. “My return was rather spontaneous. I have no specific plans.” He took another drink of brandy. “I expect if we can discern a spot of fun if we think about it. But not tonight. I want to relax after the journey to town. Come back tomorrow and we will combine our considerable resources toward debauchery and scandal.”

Merrifield grinned, then swallowed his brandy in one gulp. “I knew I could count on you.” He set his empty glass down. “I’ll let you recuperate from your journey. Until tomorrow…” He got up to leave.

When he reached the door. “Merrifield,” he called out.

The marquess glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Next time don’t dishonor the brandy. It is meant to be savored. Like you would pleasure a lady. It’s best enjoyed in slow succulent measures.”

Merrifield laughed. “Not all ladies need that kind of loving. Sometimes a good hard round brings more pleasure than soft kisses and promises that will be broken in the end.”

“True enough,” he said then grinned. “However, my brandy isn’t a whore like you’ve become accustomed to.”

Merrifield’s laughter echoed back at him as he walked down the hall and left Matthew on his own. Now that he was alone again, he’d find that peace he desperately needed.

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