“Seasonal weather I’m afraid, sir. Would you like a servant to run you a hot bath or bring up a hot toddy?”

“Perhaps later. Which room?”

“Thirteen, sir.”

Nell had chosen Blackwood’s Hotel in Soho Square for its seclusion, and they’d been coming here with great frequency the past fortnight. Taking the stairs at a run, he considered his apology. He couldn’t say the game was too exciting to leave; he’d have to think of another excuse.

He strode down the hallway, glancing at the passing brass number plates until he arrived at the requisite room. He opened the door and walked in.

“You’re late.”

A soft, breathy tone, with a touch of impatience. Knowing well what stoked Nell’s impatience-the randy tart liked it morning, noon, and night-he answered in a suitably apologetic tone. “Forgive me, darling, but one of my ship captains arrived just as I was leaving the house.” Christ, it was dark. Why was just a single wall sconce in the far corner lit? Was Nell in a romantic frame of mind? But then he saw her toss back the covers and pat the bed beside her, and rather than question the degree of darkness, he quickly shed his wet coat, his two rings, and stripped off his clothes.

“I like your new perfume,” he murmured as he climbed into bed. Dropping back against the pillows, he pulled her close. “Are you cold, darling?” She was wearing a nightgown.

“No.”

“In that case, we can dispense with this.” Pushing the silk fabric up over her hips with a sweep of his hand, he rolled over her, settled smoothly between her legs, and set out to apologize to Nell in the way she liked best.

A door to the left of the bed suddenly burst open, a gaggle of people trooped in, the bedchamber was suddenly flooded with light, and a portly man in the lead pointed at the bed. “There!” he cried. “You are all witnesses to the countess’s base and lewd moral turpitude!”

Lennox stared at the woman beneath him. Not red-haired Nell. A blonde. “What the hell is going on?” he growled.