Page 67 of An Inconvenient Duke

“No.” Marcus eyed him carefully over the cigar as he took a puff. “I meant the other offer.” He lowered his voice. “About making arrangements for me.”

Hartsham stiffened, his gaze narrowing on Marcus critically for a beat. Then he smiled brightly. “After Miss Williams’s hysterics, I don’t blame you for wanting an evening with a woman who knows how to behave around a man.”

The earl had no idea of the irony behind that comment. Or how much Marcus wanted to pulp him for it. “You understand me perfectly.” He smiled slyly as he toyed with the cigar in his fingers. “You said less tame pursuits. Did you truly mean it?”

“Of course.” Hartsham took a sip of port. “If we wanted boring, we’d stay home and bed our wives.”

Pretending to be unconvinced, Marcus shook his head. “If what you’re suggesting is that I venture to a brothel, you’re mistaken. I’m too well-known now, too recognizable. I wouldn’t feel at all free to do the things I’d truly enjoy doing, knowing that someone might be watching through a peephole or listening at the door.” He lifted a brow and glanced around to make certain no one was eavesdropping even now. “It’s one thing to tie a naked woman to a bedpost and whip her when you’re a soldier in Spain or France. It’s altogether different when you’re a duke in London.”

Despite the bile that rose in his throat at having to say that, Marcus kept his face carefully even and watched closely for Hartsham’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed when the earl slapped him on the back.

“No need to worry.” Hartsham grinned. “Arrangements can be made to bring the girl right to your bedroom.” When Marcus couldn’t keep his expression from hardening at that idea, Hartsham added hastily, “Or to wherever you’d like.”

“No girl. I want a woman. Someone very much experienced and not at all hesitant to carry out whatever I suggest, understand?” Someone who might have participated in blackmailing other peers and high-ranking officials. “And no pox-ridden wench in worsted wool either. I’ve come up in the world. I want a creature who’s at home in silk and lace, educated, well-spoken…” A woman other gentlemen would have requested. “Not a common moll but a true courtesan.”

Hartsham’s eyes gleamed, reminding Marcus of a crocodile that was watching his prey draw nearer the water’s edge. “Where should I have this special woman delivered?”

Marcus thought a moment. “The Earl of Sandhurst’s town house on St James’s Square. Pearce still owes me for his last promotion.” He flicked more ash onto the floor and smiled, apparently delighted at the idea of doing anything he pleased, wherever he pleased. Even something debauched in his best friend’s town house. Good God, if English peers truly behaved like this with one another, he was ready to run back to France. “I’m sure he won’t mind giving the place up to me for the night.”

“Women can be sent to entertain him as well, if he’s interested.”

He feigned sudden suspicion. “How are you gaining access to all these women, exactly?”

“I have connections in Covent Garden, at a little place called Venus’s Folly.”

“With whom?”

“The right men.” Hartsham finished off his port in one swallow, set the empty glass aside on a nearby table, and picked up his cue to return to the game. “England’s changed since you’ve been gone, in all kinds of new and interesting ways.” He arched a brow in subtle warning. “When it comes to these kinds of arrangements, Duke, it’s best not to ask too many questions.”

No…all the way to the gallows. “Then contact me when arrangements have been made. And, Hartsham, I expect absolute silence and confidentiality about this.”

“Of course.” Hartsham smiled. “You have my word as a gentleman.”

Worthless.Marcus tossed what was left of the cigar into the fireplace and turned on his heel. He stalked through the club and straight out the door, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.

Outside, his carriage waited in front of the club. Aware of the view from the bay window for those men watching from the dining room, he kept his face inscrutable as the tiger opened the door for him and he stepped up into the dark compartment.

“Go!” he ordered the driver.

He closed the door and sat back against the squabs, staring out the window at the dark city as the carriage lurched to a start and rolled down St James’s Street. He felt filthy and wanted nothing more than a hot bath to wash Hartsham away.

“It’s done, then?”

Marcus swung his gaze to Clayton Elliott sitting on the opposite bench. “He’s going to contact me when final arrangements have been made. He’s working with the women at Venus’s Folly. We were right about that.”

And about the blackmail. Hartsham had snatched up the opportunity to compromise Marcus far too quickly otherwise.

“You think he believes you about Vauxhall?”

“I think he doesn’t care as long as he has the chance to blackmail me and bring me under his control.” He turned back toward the window and muttered, “A live duke under his power and doing his bidding is better than a dead one in the churchyard.”

And one who still had no undisputable proof that Hartsham had murdered his sister.

“And Scepter?” Clayton asked.

“He didn’t mention it, but I couldn’t press for answers as hard as I would have liked.” Not without giving everything away. He had to make the man trust him enough to deliver the woman. “We have to assume that he’s involved with Scepter. We just don’t know why or how.”

Even Clayton hadn’t been able to turn up much more information about them except that they were a ruthless organization haunting London’s underworld. Like an octopus, their tentacles stretched into all kinds of illegal activity, including brothels, but their criminal activity had been unlike any the Home Office had ever seen. As if they weren’t concerned with money but in stretching their net as far as possible and not at all fearing the authorities.