Page 23 of Debating with the Duke (Second Sons of London 2)

That room only had a few men within it, all buried with noses in newspapers, no conversation evident.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Mr. Orr led him to the room and an area where there was seating for four members. He placed the betting book on the table.

“I’d like a brandy, as well,” Everett informed him.

“At once, Your Grace.”

The man left and Everett settled into a chair upholstered in rich, brown leather. He leaned forward and opened the book, which was much too large to hold comfortably in his lap. He began skimming, turning the pages, disgusted by the inappropriate nature of most of the bets. If this was indicative of the gentlemen who held membership at White’s, he wanted nothing to do with the place.

Turning another page, he spied Lady Adalyn’s name at the top and froze. Skimming it, anger simmered within him. The page had been created several years ago, with numerous wagers placed regarding when she would wed. He thought it outrageous for men to have placed bets regarding her unwed status and tamped down the bile that rose in his throat.

Everett closed the book and leaned back in his chair as a servant arrived with a brandy.

“Your Grace,” the man said deferentially.

He took the snifter and thanked the servant. Bringing it to his lips, he took a sip. The brandy caused his lips to tingle and then burned as it went down his throat and settled in his belly. Closing his eyes, Adalyn’s image shone clear in his mind.

What was he going to do about her?

Kissing her had been a terrible mistake. Worse than leading men into battle with no prior intelligence reports and seeing them sacrificed left and right. In this instance, Everett felt he had been sacrificed on an altar of his own making, gutted by Lady Adalyn. He could still taste her. Still sense the subtle scent of vanilla on his clothes from her. Feel those soft breasts pushing against his chest. He wanted to kiss her again. Do more than kiss her pretty pout. He wanted to kiss her breasts. Suck on them. Run his tongue along their curves.

He blinked several times, trying to dispel the erotic image of her, bare to the waist, his hands kneading her breasts, his mouth on them.

Taking another sip of brandy, he wondered how he could stop thinking about her when all he wished to do was rush back to her side and kiss her all over again.

She had been inexperienced in kissing. He figured she had most likely been kissed a few times but not to the extent he had imposed. His hand trembled as he thought of her response. How she had matched him. How everything had seemed so right.

She was reckless, though. Far too outgoing and bold for his tastes. He didn’t know if the kiss had even affected her as much as it had him. She hadn’t fawned over him afterward or showed any partiality to him. In fact, she had once more offered her matchmaking services to him to help him find a bride, which he construed meant she would not offer herself. Not that he wanted to marry her.

If only he could bed her. Once. Get her out of his head.

Laughter caused him to look up and he saw three men coming his way, drinks already in hand. Two looked to be in their late twenties, while the third seemed slightly older.

“Ah, it looks as though we have a new member, my friends,” the oldest said, taking a seat without asking.

His companions did the same, irritating Everett. He took another sip of the brandy to fortify himself so that he might ask them to leave.

“I’m Lord Rosewell,” the leader told him. “These two new viscounts are Bayless and Pierce.”

“We have both recently come into our titles,” Lord Bayless explained. “And who might we have the pleasure of addressing, my lord? You are new to town, I believe.”

“It is Your Grace,” he said stiffly. “I am the Duke of Camden.”

The two viscounts looked suitably impressed. The earl chortled.

“I was friends with your brother,” the earl said. “Camden was hilarious. Always in good spirits and eager for pleasure. Might you be the same, Your Grace?”

“I have come from the battlefields where men are dying every day.”

Both viscounts swallowed uncomfortably and drained their glasses. The earl merely gave him a sly smile and signaled for a servant.

“Bring a bottle,” he ordered.

Lord Pierce glanced down. “Is that the betting book?”

“It is,” Everett replied.

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