Seduction in Mind

Chapter Three

"You're boring the hell out of me," Eddie grumbled, reaching for the brandy bottle at his elbow.

Sam looked up from his putt. "Go to the Marlborough Club yourself."

"I might." Refilling his glass, the earl lifted it in salute. "As soon as I finish this bottle."

"After you finish that bottle, you'll be passed out on my couch," the viscount said, watching the ball roll into the cup on the putting green he'd had installed in his conservatory.

"You don't miss a night out as a rule," Eddie remonstrated. "Did the merry widow's refusal incapacitate you?"

"Au contraire," Ranelagh replied, positioning another ball with his golf club. "I'm feeling first rate. And I expect she's in high mettle as well."

"She turned you down, Sam."

"But she didn't want to." He softly swung his club, striking the ball with exquisite restraint.

"And you can tell."

The viscount half smiled. "I could feel it."

"So sure…"

"Yes."

"And you're saving yourself for her now?"

"Dammit, Eddie, if you want to go, go. I don't feel like fucking anyone right now, and I drank enough last night to last me a week."

"Since when haven't you felt like fucking someone?" his friend asked, his gaze measured.

"What the hell are you insinuating?"

"That you fancy the voluptuous Miss Ionides with more than your usual casual disregard."

"After meeting her for ten minutes?" Ranelagh snorted. "You're drunk."

"And you're putting golf balls at seven o'clock when you're never even home at seven."

Sam tossed his club aside. "Let's go."

"Are you going out like that?"

The viscount offered his friend a narrowed glance. "None of the girls at Hattie's will care."

"True," Eddie muttered, heaving himself up from the leather-covered couch. "But don't do that to me again. It scares the hell out of me."

Sam was shrugging into his jacket. "Do what?"

"Change the pattern of our dissolute lives. If you can be touched by cupid's arrow, then no man's safe. And that's bloody frightening."

"Rest assured that after Penelope, I'm forever immune to cupid's arrow," Sam drawled. "Marriage doesn't suit me. As for love-I haven't a clue."

"I'll drink to that," Eddie toasted, snatching up the brandy bottle as Sam moved toward the door.

But by chance, their route took them past the studio of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, an artist as celebrated as Leighton, and a small carriage parked at the curb caught Sam's eye. He recognized it from Leighton's. Knocking for his driver to stop, he turned to Eddie. "I'll meet you at Hattie's in a few minutes."

"Why are you getting out here?"

"I need some air."

"Why?"

Sam was already swinging down from his carriage. "No special reason," he said, pushing the door shut. "I'll see you in ten minutes." Glancing up, he gave instructions to his driver.

"You're sure now?" Eddie looked perplexed.

"You'll be entertained at Hattie's with or without me, but I should be there shortly."

"You're acting very strangely tonight."

"You're drunk," Sam replied pleasantly, and nodded to his driver.

The carriage pulled away.