off each piece of boy’s clothing, revealing warm, soft skin that would taste sweet like sugar. His damned cock thickened with the idea.
“That is not a word a lady should use,” he reminded her.
“Why not? And I’m not a lady. I’m a man.”
“Of course you are. And ladies don’t say it because it’s vulgar.” What was taking so long? They should have arrived by now. He wouldn’t be able to handle much more of being stuck in a carriage alone with her. If he did kiss her, she probably wouldn’t even remember it in the morning.
Bloody hell, he couldn’t do that. Not with her.
“I think I wanna be vulgar,” she commented as her head swayed with the carriage.
“No, you do not want to be vulgar.” Thankfully, the carriage slowed to a stop. “You can only be vulgar with your husband, if he allows it.”
“That’s not fair. Men are always vulgar, and I’m a man.”
Dear God, save him from drunken ladies. “Let your husband decide.”
“Where are we? Your home?”
“No, I lived at Hell.”
“That’s rather sad,” she said as he opened the door. “I suppose you cannot afford to live elsewhere.”
He shook his head. “Can you walk up the steps?”
“Of course, I can. I’m not drunk.”
He laughed as he gave her a hand to help her down. She took two steps forward, but he caught her before she stumbled. “Of course, you’re not drunk,” he said, swinging her up into his arms.
“See,” she whispered near his ear. “I knew you wanted to kiss me.”
“I’m not kissing you, Miss Drake.”
“I’m not Miss Drake. I’m Edmond Ta—Ta...something.”
“All right, Edmond, we are here.” He adjusted her in his arms and rapped loudly on his brother’s door until a footman opened the door a crack. “Open the bloody door, John. It’s Kingsley.”
John moved quickly, getting out of Simon’s way. “Sir, why have you brought a man here at this hour?”
“Go get the duchess.”
“Is he hurt?” John asked with concern.
Emma giggled.
“Go,” Simon demanded as he dropped her on the sofa.
“Wee! That was fun. I was flying.”
He needed a drink. He walked to the small table in the corner and poured a snifter of brandy.
“I want some too,” Emma said as she attempted to sit up. “Where are we? I think I’ve been here before. Is this where you live?”
“I already told you I don’t live here.”
“Simon, what the bloody hell is going on?” Harry demanded as he and Louisa entered the room.
“Damn you, Kingsley. Why did you bring me here? I don’t wanna be here. I want you to kiss me.” Emma struggled to stand, but Louisa helped her back down.
“Simon, why is Emma dressed as a drunk boy?” Louisa asked, concern lining her voice.
“I am a boy,” Emma said with a giggle before adding in a low voice, “Edmond something or other.”
Harry called for tea before pouring a brandy for him and his wife. “You want to kiss her?”
“No, she is drunk.” Simon took a seat and sipped his brandy. “She entered Hell this evening and started drinking and playing roulette.”
“Roulette?” Louisa said, shaking her head. “That game has terrible odds.”
“Yes, except for your sister, who won over thirty pounds tonight,” Simon replied.
“I’m Edmond,” Emma said with a giggle again. “Call me Eddie.”
“Very well, Eddie,” Louisa said as she tried to help Emma to stand. “Let’s find you a nice bed to sleep this off.” She looked over at Simon. “How much did she drink?”
“Four glasses of whisky.” Simon almost felt sorry for her. Tomorrow she would repent with a dreadful headache.
“Thank you for bringing her here, Simon,” Louisa added, leading Emma across the room. “Harry, send word to my mother that Emma has a headache and is staying the night.”
“Of course, darling.”
Once the ladies had left the room, Harry sat down in quiet contemplation. After a few moments, he asked, “What is wrong with her lately?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Simon sipped his brandy.
“Do you know that there is a rumor on the gossips' tongues that she introduced herself to Simpson?” Harry drank his brandy down in a gulp.
Simon finished his drink and then walked over to the table and snagged the bottle. After refilling their snifters, he said, “I saw her do it, Harry.”
“Damnation,” he muttered.
Simon wondered if he should mention the attempt at pilfering Lady Huntley’s silver. But that might call attention to his involvement, and he wanted no reminders of that episode.
“She’s starting to remind me of my wife.”
“Well, that can’t be good.” Simon chuckled. “I can’t imagine