“Yes?” he prodded when she hesitated.

“You need a mistress,” she blurted.

He blinked, and then dropped back into his chair, holding his breath to avoid smelling her. One whiff of her perfume, and he would be hard, no doubt. “A mistress?”

She nodded, and bit her luscious bottom lip. “I doubt you will have any difficulty acquiring one.”

“No,” he said slowly. Good God. “With the proper attire, and a reintroduction to Society, I could manage the task, I’m sure.” Gerard stood again. He could not talk about this with her. “Shall we go, then?”

“Eager, are we?” She laughed, and he grit his teeth at the lusty sound. The wariness that had stiffened her frame when she first entered was gone, leaving behind the Pel of old. A Pel who expected him to contract a mistress, and leave her alone.

“You ate upstairs, did you not?” He backed up a step, and breathed through his mouth. How in hell would he make it through the afternoon? Or the next week, or month? Or-bloody hell-years, as she often invested in her affairs.

“Yes.” She stood. “Let’s be off then, Lothario. Far be it for me to delay the discovery of your next amour.”

Gerard followed at a safe distance, but doing so was not effective in quelling his lust due to the lamentable fact that he now had an excellent view of Isabel’s gently swaying hips and lush derriere.

The landau ride was a bit better, as the open top helped to dissipate the scent of exotic flowers. And the walk on Bond Street was better than that, since he could no longer think about his errant cock while being gaped and pointed at. Pel walked beside him, chatting merrily, her lovely face shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “You would think I had risen from the dead.”

“In a way, you have. You left without a word, and kept in touch with no one. But I think they are just as interested in the changes to your appearance.”

“My skin is sun-darkened.”