“At least keep me company for a short while.” His voice was well mannered, his gaze amicable. “Thanks to you, I seem to have missed my assignation. Surely, that’s not too much to ask.” He recognized the look of longing in a woman’s eyes. He knew as well that her taut nipples pressing through the silk of her gown had something to do with his erection and her desires-restrained as they might be. Only temporarily restrained if he had his way. “Would you like a drink? Fremont set out a nice assortment of liquor.”

The smallest of hesitations.

“Why not,” she said, thinking to humor him and better gain her ends.

“Then I’ll be right back, ma’am.” He glanced at her over his shoulder as he slipped off the bed. “Correction… miss.” He casually strolled away as if he wasn’t nude and blatantly aroused, she wasn’t a stranger, and they’d be sharing nothing more than a game of whist when he returned. “You have a choice,” he offered, standing at the liquor tray a moment later. “Sherry, cognac, brandy, or hock.”

“Cognac. Just a little.”

“How are you getting home?” he asked as he poured her drink. “Could I drive you somewhere?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, trying not to stare at his enormous erection. “I believe Malmsey is waiting for me.”

He nodded toward the door through which the surprise party had entered. “Waiting in there?” He preferred not being monitored.

She shook her head. “Downstairs.”

Good. “So does Malmsey know Fremont as well?” he queried, moving back to the bed.

“I’m not sure. He might.”

At least he does now. Fortunately, Fremont was the soul of discretion; Miss Perceval’s intrigue was safe. Not that it should matter to him one way or the other, yet she shouldn’t have to suffer the unwanted machinations of her cousin. Nor should she be required to resort to such drastic measures to retain control of her title and wealth. “Would you like me to call out Compton?” he abruptly asked, handing her a glass. “I could see that he never bothers you again.” While dueling was illegal, it was privately practiced.