Damien Archer, the Earl of Grayson, reclined on a leather armchair with a glass of brandy firmly in hand. The Wicked Earls’ Club bustled with patrons this afternoon, and Damien was pleased to be among them. During the years, the club had become a second home to him. He spent numerous hours within the safety of its walls gambling and partaking of women and booze. He did not want to imagine what life would be like without his club.

“I cannot believe another of us has willingly handed over his key.” Damien shook his head. It seemed that one earl after another had disappeared from within these walls over the last few months.

Benton, who sat opposite Damien, swirled the liquor in his tumbler. “Who do you suppose will be next?”

“So long as it’s not me, I don’t bloody care.” Davenport took a swig of his whiskey and stretched his legs out in front of him as he reclined in the chair across from Damien.

Far too many of their fellow earls had left the club as of late, Sussex, Westcliff, and Basingstoke among them. Each had become love-bitten and then chose to marry. The consequence being that they had to turn in their pins and keys and leave the club—forever.

Damien would never make such a choice. “I second, Davenport,” Damien said. “In fact, if I should ever be so stupid as to consider it, please take me out in the woods and shoot me at once.”

Benton’s eyes rounded for a moment before he began to chuckle. “You would not want us to carry out that wish if you actually fell in love.”

“The hell I wouldn’t!” Damien drained his tumbler, then signaled for a refill.

“What do you know of love?” Davenport appraised Benton.

“Only that it makes a man lose all sense.” Benton glanced at the large floor-to-ceiling window. “It is hard to believe that any skirt could wreak such havoc, and yet we’ve seen it time and again.”

Damien shook his head and stood. “Far too often for my comfort.”

“Where are you off to?” Davenport asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Damien walked away, leaving them to wonder. He could have told them he was heading for home, but why disappoint them? Surely they expected something far different, like a house of ill repute, a mistress, or a gaming hell. Truth was, he would rather be off to engage in something wild and reckless.

He stifled a yawn as he exited the Wicked Earls’ Club. He’d spent the previous evening carousing about his usual haunts with Edgemore. Then, after a few hours of sleep, he’d ventured to the club. Now he found himself in need of more rest. Perhaps once he’d had a nap, he would find some more fun to partake in.

After giving his driver orders, Damien settled against the plush seat of his carriage and allowed his eyes to close. Before long the carriage jostled and turned into the long drive of his Mayfair mansion. He sat up straight and adjusted his coat as the conveyance came to a stop.

He wasted no time stepping down from the carriage intent on reaching his front door, and more importantly, his bed. Halfway across the drive, the pounding of hoofs drew his attention. Damien glanced up the gravel drive, releasing a heavy sigh. Two women raced toward him mounted on white horses.

Who the devil were they, and what did they want?

Damien peered at the riders, attempting to make out their features. He focused on the one in front. When she came into view, all the air left his lungs as if someone had punched him in the gut. He forgot all about her companion as disbelief and shock gripped him.

Lady Charlotte Lawson—of all the woman who could have been racing up his drive, it was her.

Charlotte pulled up on the reins, slowing her mount before bringing the horse to a stop. “I had so hoped to find you here.” She gave a charming smile. “Don’t just stand there, Damien. Do come help me down.”

He hazarded a glance at the other rider. Charlotte’s sister Lady Elizabeth, or rather, Lady Oxford since she’d wed, had pulled rein several yards behind Charlotte.

“Well,” Charlotte said, her voice laced with impatience.

Damien drew in a breath as he stepped closer. “Why are you here?”

“Help me out of this saddle, and then I will be glad to enlighten you.” She impatiently dropped the reins, allowing them to hang across the horse’s shoulder. “Or am I to jump down on my own?”

How many years had passed since he’d last spoken with her? Ten? Twelve? He had seen her about the ton; at balls, musicals, and other events on occasion too, but he had not spoken with her—not one word since the day he’d set her free.

It had been for the best back then—it still was. “I have no need to hear you out.” Damien pivoted and began strolling toward the shelter of his home.

“Wait. This is important,” Charlotte called after him.

A moment later the sound of her half boots racing across his drive assaulted his ears. Bloody hell. Why would she not go away? Before he could react, she reached out and grabbed his arm.

“I will not allow you to walk away from me. Not this time, Damien.”

He met her angry gaze, all fire and fury, making the icy-blue of her eyes burn. “It is a tad late for anger now. Wouldn’t you say?” He pulled his arm free from her grasp. “Go home, Charlotte.”

“I cannot. Leastwise not until after you have granted me an audience.”

As she spoke, desperation seeped into her gaze. Perhaps he had her all wrong. Maybe this had nothing to do with their past. Could she be in some sort of trouble? Damien crossed his arms over his chest and released a huff of breath. “Very well. Start talking.”

“Might we go inside first?” Charlotte glanced at the large oak door Damien's servant now held open. “It is a delicate matter.”

“A delicate matter?” He arched one brow as he studied her.

“Indeed.” Her cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

Good God, had she gone and gotten herself with child? He swept his gaze over the familiar curves of her body. He’d kill the bastard, see him quartered and dragged through the streets. Damien took hold of Charlotte’s elbow and led her into the house, down the hall, and into his receiving room.

He shut the door behind them before turning to her. “Who did this to you?”

“Wha…what?” Her eyes rounded.

“Who is the bloody libertine that took advantage of you? I will see him punished.” Damien leaned closer, his tone deadly. “He will suffer, I promise you.”

Charlotte notched her chin. “The only man who has ever taken advantage of me…is you.”

Damien released her elbow and strolled across the room. Thank goodness, he’d been wrong. The very thought of anyone ruining her set his blood to boiling. It was for that very reason he’d turned away from her all those years ago. Charlotte was no tart—she was a true, pure lady in need of a husband. He would never marry, so he would never be good enough for her.

“Tell me, Damien, have you suffered?” Her voice drifted across the space.

He ignored the stab of guilt and the way his heartbeat seemed to skip at her words. “Dispense with the games, Charlotte.” Reaching the fireplace, he turned back to her. “Tell me, why the devil have you come?”

Charlotte pinned him beneath her stare. “I want you to teach me how to seduce a man.”

“Come again?” She could not possibly have asked him what he thought she did. It was unconscionable. Certainly not a proper request for a lady to make. He narrowed his gaze on her as he rolled the words around his mind.

She smiled coyly. “I can think of no one better suited to the task than you. After all, you are a renowned rakehell.” She took a few slow strides toward him. “Furthermore, I know how persuasive your skills can be.”

This must be some sort of ploy. “You cannot be serious, Charlotte.”

“I assure you I am.”

Damien came to stand in front of her, his gaze burning into hers. “Why?”

“I wish to charm gentlemen, of course.” She averted her gaze to the window and sighed.

“You are not the type.”

Her attention returned to him. “I most certainly am.”

No, she was not—never had been. Not that she was a prude. He could have easily taken her virtue all those years ago. She’d offered herself to him, been willing to give him every part of her. Still. He shook his head. “That is why you have brought a chaperone along?”

“She is here to make sure you do not take your lessons too far. A safety measure of sorts.” Charlotte glanced back out the window to where her sister remained in the drive, still on her mount.

“Should I agree, what do you hope to accomplish with your new knowledge?

Charlotte smiled at him. “Marriage.”

He laughed. “I am not the sort.”

“You are not my mark. The ton is full of well suited gentlemen. I hope to gain the interest and affection of one of them before I become a spinster. And besides, you owe me.”

“Do I?”

“Indeed, you do. I gave you my heart all those years ago. I spent my most marriageable years pining for you and waiting for you to come back to me. Do you know what they called me?” She did not wait for him to answer before continuing on. “The unattainable debutante.”

“I will not apologize,” Damien said. He had loved her enough to leave her chaste. She would not make him feel bad for his decision, for he knew that he’d done what was best.

“By the time I accepted that you would not be coming back to me, I’d earned a reputation for turning suitors away, and the unattainable debutante I have stayed. Now I am nearing nine and twenty with no prospects.” Her shoulders slumped, her lower lip protruding. “It is not my wish to spend my life alone.”

How he wished to take her in his arms and kiss that pout away. The image of her soft, creamy skin bared for him flashed to the front of his mind and he stepped closer, stopping himself just short of taking her in his arms.

Bloody hell, spending time with her would damn near kill him, but how could he refuse? He did owe her. “Stop pouting, you win.”

A bright smile lit up her face. “Thank you, Damien, thank you, thank you, thank you.” She embraced him, pressing her breasts against his chest. “When shall we begin?”

Damien took her arms from around him and stepped back. “Tonight, at the Brighton Ball. I had not planned to attend, but since you will be among the guests, I will come and observe your interactions. Then I can determine how best to aid you in your endeavor.”

“I already told you how to help. I need to learn how to seduce a man.” She angled her head a notch.

Good lord, he wished she would stop saying that. Every time her sweet mouth formed the words, he wanted to plunder her. Shaking his head, he said, “Seduction would only lead you to ruin. What you need to do is charm the tons’ gentlemen, capture their interest and make it known that you are available for marriage.”

She darted her tongue out, wetting her lips. “Very well. I will see you this evening.”

Damien did his best to ignore the discomfort of his swollen manhood pressing against his trousers as she turned to take her leave of the room. How could she not already know the effect she had on a man? The sooner he got her safely wed, the better.