Page 57 of Seducing Sophia (Scholars of Seduction)

“I’m only telling it like it is,” Peterton said. “It’s not a pretty act, all that grunting, moaning, and slapping of sweaty flesh.”

“That’s because you’ve never been in love,” Oxton said. “One day it’ll strike you unawares. Then you’ll be doomed, like the rest of us.”

“Not me,” Peterton said. He waved his glass at Adrian. “I’m no fool, and FitzRoy here isn’t one either. Isn’t that right?”

The footman appeared, brandishing a tray with a glass half filled with brown liquid.

“Your drink, sir.”

Adrian picked it up, and took a sip. The liquid burst on his tongue with the deep flavor of centuries of French tradition, before warming his throat with a rich glow. He spluttered, then sipped it again.

“That’s not water,” Peterton said. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally come to your senses and decided to become a man again?”

Ignoring the sneering tone, Adrian tipped the glass up and took another mouthful. “Don’t you have anything more interesting to discuss, Dominic?”

Peterton leaned forward, his eyes bright with curiosity. “I think the most interesting topic of conversation is sitting opposite me,” he said. “For someone who avowed never to touch the stuff again, there must be a pretty good reason why you’ve broken your vow.”

Adrian sighed and set his glass aside. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to come to White’s. But, given that he’d been turned away from Summerton Hall every day for the past week, he had nothing else to do. If drink numbed the ache in his heart for a little while, then it was worth the sore head he’d inevitably have tomorrow morning. He’d woken with a beauty of a headache at Roseborough, the morning after he’d finished off the wine—the morning he’d evicted Sophia from his home.

The morning he’d thrown away his one chance at true happiness.

“Ah, I see,” Peterton said. “I’m right! Now, let me think. Why is Colonel Adrian FitzRoy—committed abstainer—steeping himself in brandy? You can’t be sulking about your position in society—you’ve always enjoyed being the second son, free from the responsibilities an heir must shoulder. And I know it can’t be money, for you’ve always been shrewd with your funds to the point of being miserly.”

He leaned back in his chair and drained his glass, a smile of self-satisfaction on his face.

“Which leaves only one thing.”

“Which is what?” Oxton asked.

“A woman.”

Adrian clenched his teeth, reached for his glass, and gripped it, his knuckles whitening.

Peterton’s smile broadened. “Ah! I see I’m right. And it doesn’t take the best of scholars to deduce which woman it is.” He licked his lips. “I take it the delectable Mrs. Black has been leading you a merry dance?”

Adrian tightened the grip on his glass in an attempt to control the anger simmering inside him.

“Have you fucked her yet?”

The glass shattered in his hand.

“Shit!”

Adrian shook his hand but he couldn’t stem the tide of pain—a sharp sting radiating through his flesh, which now stank of brandy.

The footman appeared at his side with a cloth and Adrian took it and wiped his hand. A small cut ran across his palm. Not deep, but it stung like hell.

Stoic to the last, the footman picked up the shards of glass and placed them on his tray.

“Would you like another brandy, sir?”

“No,” Adrian said. “Fetch me some water.”

Peterton lifted his glass, eyed the footman, and tapped the rim.

“Very good, Your Grace.” The footman bowed, then exited the clubroom, tray in hand.

Peterton opened his mouth to speak, but Oxton interrupted.

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