said, “You can go now. After years of sleeping with a man I loathed, it’s the height of luxury to sleep alone.”
He hadn’t even asked to sleep in her bed…although if she’d asked him to, he would have. How was it that he could feel so close to her while they were having sex, but the moment it was over, he was dismissed like a servant? Probably, he admitted to himself, because to her, he was a servant and nothing else. And, as she’d said, he’d have to get used to it.
When he was done snooping, he knew more facts about Regan, but the truth of her still eluded him.
The doorbell rang. Arthur went to the door and there was Zoot again in her red coat and boots, holding out another notecard to him.
“We meet again,” Arthur said. “I promise to mind my Ps and Qs today.”
“Just read the note,” she said, glaring. “I can’t go until you’ve read it and given me your answer.”
He opened the card, expecting to find another note from Regan summoning him to her bedroom.
Instead he found an invitation.
“The Fox and Hen Hunting Club Ball,” Arthur read aloud. “A hunt ball? Brilliant. My favorite.” Of course he was being sarcastic. Hunt balls were an old English tradition, hunting clubs celebrating the end of their season. He didn’t hunt, and he tried to avoid balls. Regan really was a sadist.
“The boss wants to know if you’ve got a tux or something formal to wear,” Zoot said. “She needs a date to the ball. Geezer friends of her crap dead husband are throwing it, and she wants them to see she’s getting fresh young cock these days.”
That statement was a lot to take in.
“Her crap dead husband,” Arthur repeated. “Do I want to know what you call me behind my back?”
“Lord Dogshit. Viscount Manwhore. The Rude Baron.”
“Am I a baron?” he asked solely to make Regan’s underling roll her eyes. It worked. “I’ll have to ask Dad. I can’t remember my own titles, much less his. Anyway, I do like ‘Viscount Manwhore.’ I’ll put that on my stationery. What should be on the crest? One big cock or three smaller cocks in a triangular formation?”
“You’re not funny.”
“Why are you laughing then?”
“Pity for the madman.”
“I’ll take all the sympathy I can get. Please tell ‘the boss’ that I do have formal attire, and my fresh young cock will gleefully—” his sarcasm was out of control by this point “—escort her to the hunt ball being thrown by the geezer friends of her crap dead husband.” He shoved the invitation back into the envelope. “And you have my answer, so you may go unless you’d like to come in and call me more names over tea.”
She raised her eyebrows, and he noted that her blue eyes were even bluer when they were glowing with pure venom.
“No need for airs, my lord,” she said. “We’re both on her payroll, remember?”
Laughing, she turned away and half-walked, half-skipped down the path to the iron gate. Someone—not him, but definitely someone—needed to turn her over their knee. Immediately.
Upon returning to his bedroom, Arthur checked the mantel clock. 6:30. The hunt ball began at eight. Plenty of time for a shower and shave and stealing a splash of his father’s Le Labo cologne.
Arthur arrived at The Pearl Hotel a few minutes before eight. On his way to the lift, he heard the strains of music from the ballroom and saw well-heeled guests streaming through the doors.
At the penthouse door he knocked and waited. He expected Regan’s redcoat to answer it, but Regan herself opened the door.
She stood there in her robe, hair tied back, make-up understated but for her full burgundy lips. Pearl drops dangled from her ears.
“Am I late?” he asked.
“You’re in uniform,” she said.
He glanced down as if just now noticing his own clothing.
“Mess dress,” he said. “Pretty standard attire for a hunt ball. Did you want a tux instead? I can run home.”
Mess dress was military party dress—in his case, a scarlet cutaway jacket with gold trim, dark waistcoat, and navy trousers with braid down the outseam.
“No, no,” she said softly. “You’d said you were joining your regiment in January. I suppose I’d forgotten. I’d been picturing you in a tuxedo, that’s all.”
“Really, I can run home and—”
“Absolutely not. You look…very nice.” She let him into the sitting room. “Have a drink if you like. I’ll run up and finish dressing.”
In her silk kimono, she didn’t so much run up the