(new)Lord of Scoundrels by Loretta Chase

Author:Loretta Chase
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-07-23T04:31:36+00:00

Chapter 11

Jessica’s dinner appeared about twenty minutes after the mill. Her husband did not. He was in thee bar parlor with some companions, according to the innkeeper, and had requested Her Ladyship not to wait for him.

Jessica was not surprised. In her experience, after trying desperately to knock each other’s brains from their skulls, men promptly became the very dearest of friends and celebrated their intimacy by becoming cockeyed drunk.

She ate her dinner, washed, and dressed for bed. She didn’t bother to don the red and black nightgown. She doubted His Lordship would arrive in a suitable condition to appreciate it. Instead she put on a less interesting cream-colored one and a pastel brocade dressing gown over it, and settled down in a comfortable chair by the fire with Byron’s Don Juan.

It was long past midnight when she heard a trio of clumsy footsteps in the hall outside and a trio of drunken voices slurring over a bawdy song. She rose and opened the door.

Dain, who’d been leaning upon his two comrades, pushed himself off and lurched toward her. “Behold, the bridegroom cometh,” he announced thickly. He flung his arm over Jessica’s shoulder. “Go away,” he told his friends.

They staggered away. He kicked the door shut. ‘Told you not to wait,“ he said.

“I thought you might want help,” she said. “I sent Andrews to bed. He was asleep on his feet. And I was awake, reading, anyhow.”

His coat and previously pristine shirt were rumpled, and he’d lost his neckcloth. His blood-spattered trousers were damp, his boots caked with dried mud.

He released her, and swaying, stared at his boots for a long moment. Then he swore under his breath.

“Why don’t you sit down on the bed?” she suggested. “I can help you get your boots off.”

He moved unsteadily toward the bed. Clutching the bedpost, he carefully lowered himself onto the mattress. ‘Jess.“

She approached, and knelt at his feet. “Yes, my lord.”

“Yes, my lord,” he echoed with a laugh. ‘Jess, m’lady, I believe I’m castaway. Lucky you.“

She began tugging at his left boot. “We’ll see about my luck. We’ve only the one bed, and if drink makes you snore the way it does Uncle Arthur, I’m in for a ghastly night—or what’s left of the night.”

“Snoring,” he said. “Worried about snoring. Henwit.”

She got the boot off and started on the other.

“Jess,” he said.

“At least you recognize me.”

The right boot proved more stubborn. Yet she dared not yank too hard, lest he topple forward and crash down on her. “You’d better lie down,” she said.

He grinned stupidly at her.

“Down,” she said firmly.

“Down,” he repeated, giving the room the same vacant grin. “Where’s that?”

She rose and set her hands on his chest and gave him a hard shove.

He fell back, setting the mattress bouncing. He chuckled.

Jessica bent and renewed her struggle with the boot.

“Dainty,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling. “Dainty Lady Dain. She tastes like rain. She is a great pain. In the arse. Ma com‘ e bella. Molto bella. Very beautiful… pain… in the arse.

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