wasn't the prettiest young man in society— Montague held that particular office. Nor the wealthiest, and he was a mere viscount, not a duke or even a marquess, though that would come once his father died. And as the honorable Miss Spenser could attest, he was far from the most charming. He had a nasty tongue and was never known to suffer fools gladly.
And yet still she watched him when he danced with the newest beauty, when he laughed with his friends, when he snubbed upstarts and drank too much and occasionally made an ass of himself.
And he wondered why.
One possibility, and by far his favorite, was that she was planning his murder. The poor relation, snubbed once too often, was out for revenge, and he might very well find his next glass of negus poisoned, or a knife between his shoulder blades.
It was nothing more than he deserved, but he doubted she had that in mind. In truth, he knew exactly why she watched him, and it was for the same reason half the women in society, young and old, married and single, plain and beautiful, watched him. She fancied herself in love with him.
If she ever allowed herself to hold a civil conversation with him he would have been more than happy to explain that it was no such thing. Society would have it that women were pure and romantical and men filthy, lusting beasts. To his immense pleasure, he knew otherwise.
Miss Spenser wanted him. Oh, she wanted it wrapped up in posies and flattery and the marriage bed, but she wanted his hands on her starched-up body, stripping those ugly clothes away from her.
And he'd be more than happy to oblige, except that he never touched well-bred virgins. The very thought of finding himself leg-shackled to a scowling, disapproving creature like Miss Spenser was horrifying. And his hypocritical father would see to it that he did the right thing, entirely ignoring his own degenerate past.
Miss Spenser would just have to watch him covertly and sigh. And he'd have to resist the impulse to see if he could make those stern lips soften, and where he could make her place them. He'd be willing to wager that he could have her putting them anywhere he wanted, and he could think of several friends who'd be willing to take up that wager.
Bui he had a mistress for that sort of thing, or would have, as soon as he found someone to replace the divine Maria, who'd decided she'd rather have a fat old man with an even fatter pocket.
At least there was the gathering of the Heavenly Host. He was looking forward to seeing Montague again, looking forward to indulging his more base appetites. Perhaps he could persuade one of the ladies present to dress in something unflattering and lecture him like Miss Spenser. And then he could proceed to give her exactly what he wasn't allowed to give Charlotte.
The perfect name for her. Charlotte—such a prim, disapproving word. He couldn't imagine why he was interested, apart from the novelty of it all.
He heard Lady Whitmore's trill of laughter from across the room, and he smiled wickedly. Perhaps he would have to make do with Miss Spenser's exquisite cousin. A noble compromise on his part, one he'd make quite easily. And by the time he returned to London he'd probably forget all about Miss Spenser and her longing eyes.
Because he couldn't just play with the virgin, not if he valued his freedom. But he could have her cousin, and that would more than suffice.
“My dear boy, I have been looking for you everywhere." His cousin's heavily accented voice greeted him as he finished the dance and relinquished Miss Leonard and her impressive bosom to her next partner.
Adrian glanced at Etienne de Giverney. Actually his father's cousin, and closer in age to the old man than to Adrian, Etienne had a kindness for his young cousin, and Adrian found he quite enjoyed the man's company. For one thing, his parents disapproved of him, which was always a boon. For another, Etienne had a taste for things that bordered on the shocking. And while Adrian had sponsored his cousin's entrance into English society, it was Etienne who'd ensured he'd be admitted to the exalted ranks of the Heavenly Host, despite the fact that his father, who had once presided over their revels, now held the group in contempt.
But that was his father. The only man he knew more capable of administering