“As always, Brandon, I am no match for you,” Tom said drily.
His friend winked, then returned his cue to the rack as well. “I am glad you finally admit it. No more time for another round?”
“I am afraid not.” He and Hyacinth were meeting for an earlier dinner this evening. Tom could scarcely wait. “I have an important engagement awaiting me shortly.”
Brandon raised a brow. “Would this important engagement have anything to do with the reason you requested the use of my bachelor’s residence for the next fortnight?”
A guilty flush crept over his cheekbones, deuce take it. “You promised you would not ask any questions, Brandon.”
When Tom had secured the use of Brandon’s house in St. John’s Wood, he had been deliberately vague about his reasons. He had hoped Brandon would suppose he was taking his advice and burying himself in quim. Strangely, Tom wanted to keep Hyacinth all to himself. Even the knowledge she was his lover—it was intimate, private. He was reluctant to make any revelations.
“I promised I would not appear uninvited or try to watch through the viewing holes.” Brandon grinned. “But I did not say I would not attempt to wrest the truth from you. Admit it—you are at fault for my curiosity. If you were not suddenly sneaking about in St. John’s Wood and mooning like a lovesick swain in the midst of a game of billiards, I would hardly be suspicious.”
Tom distinctly had no recollection of the bit about the viewing holes.
He frowned. “Please tell me there are not viewing holes, Brandon.”
“There are not viewing holes,” his friend said easily. “There. Does that assuage your maidenly sense of honor?”
He had the distinct impression Brandon was lying and that there were indeed viewing holes secreted somewhere in the bedchamber for lewd and nefarious purposes. Although Tom was no stranger to debauchery, he had never engaged in the seedier elements of society. Brandon, however, had seemed to embrace them.
“You are an utter libertine, Brandon,” he said. “I shall hold you to that promise. If I have the slightest inkling you are lurking about in the shadows, watching, I will thrash you.”
Brandon laughed. “You need not be so protective of your delectable widow. You have won her fairly. It was plain to see neither of you have eyes for anyone else.”
Tom gritted his teeth. Was he that obvious?
Yes, he had to admit. He was. He had never been the sort of man who enjoyed the games of romance. He wore his heart upon his sleeve. Likely, he always would, more fool he.
“She is hardly my widow,” he grumbled. “She is a friend, and that is all.”
“A friend you are bedding,” Brandon elaborated. “Oh, ho. Do not glare at me like a nettled governess, old chap. I approve wholeheartedly. I am the one, if you will recall, who implored you to shake yourself free of your lovesick doldrums and bury yourself in quim. There is nothing better than a lady friend with certain, shall we say, benefits?”
A lady friend with certain benefits.
Like bedding her senseless.
Like stripping her bare and kissing every speck of silken skin his lips could find.
Like licking her sweet cunny until she trembled beneath him and came on his tongue.
Like filling her with his cock until they were breathless, mindless, and boneless.
Tom swallowed hard. “I am sure I know nothing of the benefits you refer to, Brandon.”
His friend only chuckled. “Naturally not. But if you are bedding the hell out of your beautiful neighbor, promise me one thing?”
“A gentleman does not bandy about the details of his intimate life, Brandon.” Tom frowned at his friend, rather vexed that he was so transparent. “What promise would you have me make?”
The duke’s dark brows raised, his expression turning solemn. “No falling in love again, old chap. The last time was an unmitigated disaster.”
It had been.
He stiffened, nonetheless. “It was hardly a disaster.”
“It was a carriage wreck,” Brandon told him matter-of-factly.
He clenched his fists. “It was not.”
Brandon shook his head, his countenance taking on a mournful air. “Like a ship dashed open on the rocks, all the sailors drowning at sea.”
“Sod off, Brandon,” he growled.
“Or the Great Fire of London, destroying everything in its path.”
“Is that all?” he asked. “If you have ceased amusing yourself at my expense, I truly must go.”
“I suppose it must be.” Brandon was laughing again, unrepentant as ever. “But do call again if you find yourself in the mood to have your arse whipped at billiards.”