Simply Sinful (2 page)

“It is not like you to judge a man so quickly, Peter,” Helene murmured. “I know of his reputation but, in truth, he rarely entertains a woman here.”

Lord Beecham jumped down from the table and came toward them, a smile on his handsome face.

“Madame Helene, what a pleasure. And may I say that you are looking particularly beautiful tonight?”

Peter pretended to yawn behind his hand before taking out his pocket watch and studying it. Something about Lord Beecham always set his teeth on edge. Not, God forbid, that he was jealous of the man; his reaction was far more instinctive than that.

“And Mr. Howard, how are you this fine evening?”

“I’m well, my lord.” Peter pointedly took Helene’s hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry about seeing me downstairs. I can find my own way out. Why don’t you stay and see if Lord Beecham can manage to come up with something more original to say to you?”

To his surprise, Lord Beecham laughed. “I fear I have drunk too much wine to be original. I’ll stick with the tried and tested compliments in case I make an even bigger fool of myself.”

Helene smiled at them both. “Why don’t we all sit down and share a bottle of wine?”

Peter tried to catch her eye as she towed him inexorably toward a vacant couch. He sat with extremely bad grace. Did Helene expect him to act as her chaperone while she decided whether she intended to offer the insufferable Lord Beecham a space in her bed? Or was it simply some absurd feminine resolve that he and Lord Beecham should be friends? He started to rise.

“Madame, I need to go.”

He winced as she kicked him sharply in the ankle. “I’m sure you can spare me a few more minutes of your valuable time, Peter.”

He smiled, showing his teeth. “Unlike most of your guests, dear Helene, I have to be at my desk in the morning and it is already past midnight.”

“Ah, that’s right. You are Valentin Sokorvsky’s business partner, aren’t you?” Lord Beecham sat forward. Having anticipated an aristocrat’s usual distaste for the idea of a man engaging in trade, Peter found he could do nothing but nod.

“Valentin told me to come and talk to you about investing in one of your next cargoes.”

Peter faked a smile. “Unfortunately, Lord Sokorvsky is away in Southampton at the moment. I’m sure he will be delighted to attend to you on his return.” Helene kicked him again. “Of course, if you are unwilling to wait, I will be in our offices for the next few days.”

He handed over his business card. Lord Beecham studied it and then placed it carefully in his pocket.

“You might wonder why I am particularly interested in your company when there are so many other ventures to choose from.”

His sudden descent into sobriety intrigued Peter. Lord Beecham either sobered up faster than any man Peter had ever encountered or he had deliberately pretended to be drunker than he was.

“I wish to investigate trade routes to the West Indies. I am particularly interested in companies that do not engage in the traffic of human life.”

For the first time, Peter looked directly into the other man’s dark eyes. Good God, Lord Beecham seemed sincere. Peter and Valentin had vowed never to trade slaves. Their own experiences would never allow such misery to sit well on their consciences.

He replied automatically, his gaze still locked with the other man’s. “You are correct. It is our policy not to deal with the slave traders or their associates.”

Lord Beecham nodded as he offered Peter a cigarillo.

“Would it inconvenience you if I called on you tomorrow with my man of business?”

“Not at all.” Peter accepted the cigarillo and allowed Lord Beecham to light it for him from his own. “I will be available from noon onward.” As Lord Beecham bent toward him, Peter inhaled his spicy cinnamon cologne and a pleasing masculine scent. He blew out a cloud of smoke as the other man continued to watch him.

“Is there something else I can do for you, my lord?”

Lord Beecham sat back, his smile undimmed by Peter’s less-than-enthusiastic tone. “A game of cards, perhaps?”

Peter glanced over his shoulder at Lord Beecham’s companions, who were still busy fucking the enthusiastic duchess. “Won’t you miss your turn?”

He wanted to go home. He wanted to escape the noise, the raw smell of sex and the drunken laughter. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in the brothel. It was hard to remember that everyone at Madame Helene’s paid an exorbitant membership fee to be allowed to behave like this.

Lord Beecham continued to study him. “I have no desire to fuck her. In truth, I would much rather play with you.”

“Why?” Peter was beyond politeness now.

“Because I have heard you have the luck of the devil at piquet and I would like to see if I can beat you.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you are too tired…”

Helene clapped her hands. “Peter, you must win Lord Beecham for me.” She blew a kiss at Lord Beecham. “If Peter succeeds in beating you, I’ll expect to see you in my bed tonight.”

To Peter’s surprise, Lord Beecham didn’t look as delighted as Helene might have expected. Perhaps he too had heard the rumors about what she did to her lovers. Peter thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a gold coin.

“I’ll play for you, Helene. Lord Beecham looks as if he might benefit from your erotic tuition.”

He hid a smile. Perhaps he could keep Helene happy and make it another condition of winning that Lord Beecham promised never to approach him again.

Helene beckoned to a footman, who brought over a new pack of cards. Lord Beecham broke the seal and started to sort out the pack.

“I must go and circulate, but please let me know what happens.” Helene kissed Peter’s cheek and left him facing his adversary. “I will also make certain that your friends don’t bother you again, Lord Beecham.”

Peter hoped she had seen the promise of retribution in his eyes. Her hasty departure indicated that she had. Lord Beecham glanced after her.

“She is a fascinating woman.”

“She is indeed.”

Lord Beecham shuffled the pack, his attention fixed on the play of the cards through his long fingers. “Have you bedded her?”

“I haven’t had that pleasure.”

“I hear she is a demanding bed partner.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “As I said, I wouldn’t know. But I’m sure you will soon have your answers, if you survive the night, that is.”

Lord Beecham stared at him, a challenge in his dark eyes. “You are so certain you will win then?”

“I very rarely lose.”

“But if you lose, will you take my place in Madame’s bed?”

“No. You will have to think of something else to claim as your prize.” Peter held up a sovereign and tossed the coin in the air. “Call.”

Lord Beecham called heads and won, which gave him the slight advantage and the right to deal. Peter accepted the cards he was dealt and settled back to review his hand.

By the time the first hand was played out, he discovered that Lord Beecham was an extremely capable and intelligent opponent. Not as good as he was, but certainly no amateur.

As they continued to play, their end of the salon emptied and the footman doused most of the candles, leaving them in a narrow pool of light. Brandy appeared at Peter’s elbow, and he worked his way steadily through the bottle. A clock chimed three in the hallway and he groaned. He had to be at his desk at eight sharp for an important meeting.

His remaining cards blurred in front of his eyes. What the hell was he doing? And why had it seemed so important to beat this particular man? His attention drifted to the silent, intent figure opposite him. Lord Beecham had discarded his coat and cravat and played his cards with the desperate skill and attention of a man risking his entire fortune. Was he really so anxious to avoid Helene’s bed?

“It is your turn, Mr. Howard.”

Jolted from his thoughts, Peter threw out a card at random. He couldn’t miss the flash of triumph on his opponent’s face.

“Mr. Howard, I believe I have beaten you.”

As Lord Beecham tallied the points, Peter resisted a childish desire to grab the parchment and check the numbers himself. He knew it had to be close but still couldn’t quite grasp that he had lost.

There was no sign of Madame Helene. Peter suspected she had found another willing lover and already retired to her suite. He pushed his blond hair back from his face.

“Perhaps I should’ve asked you exactly what you wanted from me before we started the game.”

For the first time since they started playing, Lord Beecham smiled. “It’s quite simple. I want more of your time.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“There is another proposition I wish to discuss with you in private. I require an hour of your time tomorrow night and your guarantee that you will hear me out.”

Peter stood up and gestured at the deserted salon. “We are alone. Tell me now and have done with it.”

Lord Beecham remained sprawled in his chair, his long muscled legs stretched out in front of him. He tilted his head back until he could see Peter’s face. His smile was slow and satisfied.

“I would prefer to talk to you tomorrow when we are both sober.”

Peter nodded abruptly. Despite his concerns he was too tired to argue. “I’ll be here at ten.”

2

“G
ood morning, Peter!”

Peter groaned as he recognized the cheerful tones of Valentin’s younger half brother, Anthony Sokorvsky. He hastened to cover his eyes as Anthony flung open the wooden shutters that covered the grimy window overlooking the street.

“Go away, brat. Can’t you see I’m working?”

The chair in front of Peter’s oak desk creaked as Anthony sat down.

“You don’t look like you are working to me.”

Peter inhaled the aromatic scent of coffee and blindly reached out his hand. Anthony slid the thick earthenware mug across the desktop. Peter grasped it gratefully.

“Looks to me like you shot the cat last night,” Anthony said.

Peter opened one eye. “If by that you mean I overindulged, then you are correct.”

He tried to remember exactly why it had been necessary to drink all that brandy and play cards with a man he disliked when he’d intended to have an early night. An image of Lord Beecham’s confident face formed in his brain. So much for his plan to teach the insolent braggart a lesson. Instead he’d ended up owing Lord Beecham a favor, which honor demanded he repay.

He finished off the coffee and shuddered as the bitter dregs slid down his throat. His first meeting had passed in a blur. God knows what the bank must have thought. At least they hadn’t denied him the opportunity to restructure their loans. Valentin would not have been amused if he had come back to find the company finances in disarray.

“Mr. Taggart said I should come and ask you if you had any commissions for me today.”

Peter sat back and considered Anthony Sokorvsky. Earlier in the year, the twenty-one-year-old had been sent down from Oxford. His father, the Marquis of Stratham, had sent him to work for Valentin in the hopes that having to earn his allowance would make him miss his studies and his life of leisure.

It hadn’t quite worked out the way the marquis intended. Anthony loved working at the shipping company and had so far refused to return to university. Privately, Peter found it highly amusing that two of the Sokorvskys preferred to work for their money rather than enjoy a life of privilege. Apparently, the marquis was not amused at all.

“What time is it?”

Anthony took out his pocket watch. “It is almost noon. Do you intend to go to the dockside and check the inventory for that last load of goods bound for Jamaica?”

“Why? Do you want to go?”

Anthony nodded. His enthusiasm for the most mundane of tasks still surprised Peter.

“Perhaps I’ll come with you.” Peter struggled to sit up. “A breath of fresh air might clear my head.”

Anthony grinned. “And if you feel faint, I’ll be there to catch you.”

“I’m not quite that decrepit.” Peter sighed at Anthony’s dubious expression. He could only suppose that thirty-five seemed positively ancient to a boy in his early twenties. He turned to find his hat and coat while Anthony waited impatiently by the open door.

The bell attached to the outer door clanged twice as someone entered the general office. Outside his window, the light was swallowed up by a stationary carriage drawn by thorough-bred horses. Anthony leaned back to look at the new arrivals.

“Are you expecting someone, Peter?”

Peter froze, his fingers on the clasp of his cloak. There, talking to his clerk, was Lord Beecham. He was accompanied by another man dressed in sober brown. Peter hadn’t expected Beau Beecham to pursue his sudden curiosity about their business affairs.

Before Peter could retreat, Lord Beecham swung around and met his gaze, a delighted smile on his lips. He didn’t look like a man who had sat up all night playing cards and drinking brandy. Perhaps that was what the glow of victory did to you, Peter thought sourly.

Anthony straightened and went to move out of the way as Lord Beecham strode toward him.

“You must be Sokorvsky’s brother. You have a look of him.” Lord Beecham held out his hand and Anthony shook it. “I didn’t realize this had become a family business.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Mr. Sokorvsky is only here on a temporary basis whilst he is down from Oxford.”

Lord Beecham grinned at Anthony. “Rusticated, were you? What did you do?”

Anthony had the grace to blush. “It involved the dean’s wife’s petticoats and a flagpole, sir. More than that I am not at liberty to reveal.”

Peter frowned as the two men laughed together. Sometimes the upper classes and their childish antics failed to amuse him. On their return from Turkey, when Val’s father had tried to force him to attend Oxford, Val had rebelled and started the business with Peter instead. As far as Peter knew, Val had never regretted his decision not to attend university and neither had he.

Lord Beecham’s gaze settled on Peter’s cloak and he frowned. “Are you on your way out? I believe we had an appointment.”

Peter put his hat on. “Unfortunately, one of our ships is ready to leave port tomorrow and we need to go and check the last of the cargo manifest. You are welcome to join us if you wish.”