“Under no circumstances should a gentleman involve himself with a woman who has entanglements of a sort that might diminish his enjoyment of her.”

~ A Gentleman’s Guide to Keeping a Mistress

“Fernand,” Arabella said aghast. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You were told to look for a man wearing a top hat, a red carnation in his lapel, and bearing a dozen roses, non?” He made a sweeping bow and dropped the flowers on the floor. “Now where is the envelope?”

Panic coiled her belly. “Why didn’t Jean-Louis simply tell me that you were the one who would meet me?”

So I could arrange to be where you wouldn’t find me!

“Because, ma petite, you don’t need to know everything.”

     Fernand swept her into an embrace with the assurance common to handsome men. She’d found his pale eyes beneath blond brows enchantingly boyish once. Now they seemed reptilian. She tried the firmness of his grip and decided a struggle would be pointless for now.

“As much as I would love to stay and renew our oh-so-pleasant acquaintance, I have some rather pressing matters to attend.” His voice was a silky bass, but there was an underlying menace she hadn’t recognized in his tone when she first met him years ago. Now it was all she could hear. “I’ll take what I’ve come for and be gone.”

For a moment, she considered telling him that the Duke of Winterhaven was in possession of the blasted envelope and that he could be found at The Peacock’s Tail.

But that would put an innocent bystander in Fernand DeLisle’s path.

Not that Winterhaven was innocent. No man who kissed as he did could be considered such. But Arabella knew what Fernand was capable of.

Winterhaven didn’t.

She forced a musical laugh as she extricated herself from his arms. “Honestly, Fernand, you don’t think I keep it here, do you? Anyone could come into my dressing room.”

“And no doubt anyone has. You have no secrets from me, remember. I know you like men.”

"I still do." She made herself smile at him. “The point is I don’t have it with me at present.”

“Then let’s go collect it.”  

A rap sounded on the door. “Everything all right, Bella?” the stage manager called out.

Fernand’s eyes flashed a warning.

“Fine. Just a little clumsiness.” William was a nice man. He had a family. The last thing she wanted was to put him into danger. “You’ll have to send in the dustman after I leave.”

“Right-o.” Will’s footsteps retreated.

“You know the difference between you and me, Bella?” Fernand popped his top hat back on his head. “You give a damn what happens to others. That, my dear, is a weakness you can ill afford.”

“I mean it. Leave my family alone.”

“Certainly. So long as you and I deal well with each other, there’s no reason to involve them. I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t disappoint me.” He paused at the door. “I found the child once. Do not imagine I can’t find her again.”

~~~

“You’re enjoying yourself far too much at my expense.”

“Not at all, Winterhaven,” Neville said with a laugh. “Once I claim that case of port, then I’ll be enjoying myself at your expense. But seriously, I wish you'd reconsider this seasonal schedule of yours.”

"Why?"

"Because if you devoted half the energy and money it takes to secure four women a year for your amusement and instead found one you could love for the rest of your life, you'd be a much happier man."

"Neville, I’m delighted you’ve found your Evangeline, but just because you've decided to marry, it doesn't signify that all men should." Sebastian sipped his brandy and fought to keep the irritation from his voice. Neville meant well, but Sebastian's father had devoted himself to one woman. He died a disappointed wretch. "Besides, what makes you think I'm not happy?"

“You haven’t got an heir.”

“There’s time for that.” Acquiring a duchess was on his horizon. He was obligated to continue the Winterhaven line, but his future wife was a shadowy figure far in the distance. A woman might be trusted to bear a man’s heir with careful watching, but he knew better than to trust one with his heart. “And even once I marry, there’s nothing to prevent me from continuing to order my personal life to suit me. A wife should have no cause for complaint so long as a man is discreet.”

Heaven knew his mother hadn't been.

There was a rap on the door. Neville hopped up to open it and Arabella St. George stepped into the elegant suite as if she were making a stage entrance. The same alluring presence emanated from her.  She was a diva to her bones. Sebastian looked forward to having her on his arm at the best clubs in town. And in his arms all night.

“Good evening, Lord Granger,” she said, offering her hand to Neville. “How lovely to see you again. Are you joining His Grace and me for supper?”

“May I take your wrap?” Not waiting for her answer, he stepped behind her and slid the velvet cloak down her silken arms. A few tendrils escaped the chignon at her nape and a whiff of violets tickled his nostrils. She was exquisite. Anticipation made his gut clench.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Call me Winterhaven.” He crossed to the sideboard and poured two glasses of the best French vintage The Peacock Tail’s cellar boasted.

“Is that your name?” she asked as she swept across the room with the grace of a dancer.

“For all normal purposes.”

“Dining with me is not normal for you,” she said as she accepted a glass. “My friends call me Bella. What do you think? Shall you and I be friends?”

“I sincerely hope so.” Sebastian felt himself tumbling into her dark eyes.

“Then what is your name?”

Against his better judgment, he gave her the name that only his mother had ever used for him.

“I like it. It suits you.” She touched the rim of her glass to his. “To a lovely supper, Sebastian.”

He smiled down at her. “And to dessert, Bella.”