Damien tried to enjoy the buxom wench seated in his lap as he drained his fourth--or was it his fifth?-- tumbler of scotch. After Charlotte had fled from him, he’d gone to the Wicked Earls’ Club, determined to drink her away.

The wench squirmed, her bottom teasing his cock. The action should have caused him to take her upstairs. Bloody hell, Charlotte had gotten to him—ruined him. He’d not run about like a green lad in love. Love? No, he couldn’t be in love. He cared for her, just like in the past, and wanted to protect her. Nothing more.

“Not tonight, love,” he said to the woman on his lap.

She pouted then stood.

Damien turned to Edgemore. “What say you we go visit some other haunts and see what we might get into?”

Edgemore downed his scotch then stood. “After you.”

“I’ll come along as well.” Westcliff sat his tumbler down and rose.

Damien had not caroused with the other earls of the club, Edgemore excluded, as they all tended to avoid each other outside of the club. It was one of the rules, but what did he care? He’d never been one to follow rules anyway. He nodded at Westcliff before heading toward the door.

Damien, along with Edgemore and Westcliff, stepped out onto the street. Despite the late hour, carriages, horses, and light skirts filled the walkways and streets. Damien retrieved his flask from his inside coat pocket and took a copious drink.

“Should we hail a hackney?” Edgemore asked.

“No,” Damien answered, handing his flask to Edgemore.

“Then what do you have in mind?” Westcliff stepped around a putrid puddle.

Damien snickered. “I have yet to decide.”

“There is always White’s, or if you want something seedier we could pay a visit to The Two Sevens,” Edgemore suggested before passing the flask to Westcliff.

Westcliff held up his hand. “I’ve got my own.” He pulled the shiny metal flask from his coat.

“Something other than gambling and betting books is in order,” Damien said.

Westcliff grinned. “Very well, how about we pay a call at Madam Doeshy’s fine establishment?”

“So we might all wake with fire in our groins? I think not.” Edgemore laughed. “Though if someone is what you have in mind we could go to a private party I happen to be aware of. The type of party where women are clean, half-clothed, and willing to satisfy your every inclination.”

“I could use a warm and willing wench.” Westcliff looked to Damien.

Damien shook his head. “I am not in the mood that sort of entertainment.”

“If not gaming and women, then what?” Edgemore swayed, nearly bumping against a wall before righting himself and taking another deep swallow of liquor.

Damien grinned. “Let us retrieve mounts and go raise hell. We will just see where the night takes us.”

“Perhaps we should race?” Westcliff gave a challenging nod.

Damien quickened his pace. “Perfect.” A bit of wild and reckless sport should prove a wonderful distraction.

((scene))

Damien attempted to open his eyes despite the banging in his head. He managed small slits, squinting against the bright rays of sun flooding his bedchamber. Bloody hell his head was throbbing, and what the devil was making so much noise? When he tried to sit up the room spun around him causing him to lay back down.

After gaining some of his bearings, Damien pushed himself up in the bed and forced his eyes to focus. Edgemore lay haphazardly across his chaise, snoring like the devil. When the pounding from above started a fresh, Damien slid from his bed.

Dressed in his white shirt and breeches from last night, he followed the thudding and thumping sounds that now vibrated through him. He must have drunk half the swill in London last night. He could not recall a time he’d ever been so hungover.

Holding his head to try to drown out some of the offending noise, he made his way down the hallway. By the sound of it, whatever was causing the ruckus was in the attic. He tossed open the door and started up the stairs, one slow step at a time.

Damien paused at the top of the steps and peered across the attic. His gaze arrested on the offending noise maker. What the hell was going on? He could not be seeing what he thought he did. Blinking once, twice, Damien refocused his gaze. Still it remained.

He pivoted a touch too hastily and his head began to spin again. He was going to beat Edgemore for this. After regaining his balance, Damien returned to his bedchamber. He marched up to the chaise Edgemore slept upon and kicked at his foot. “Edgemore, get up!”

Edgemore stirred but did not rise.

“Open your damn eyes,” Damien yelled, kicking at his friend's foot once more.

“What the devil is wrong with you?” Edgemore peered up at Damien, making no move to sit upright. He lay a hand across his forehead, allowing his eyes to drift closed. “Can’t you make that bloody noise stop?”

Damien cleared his throat. “That bloody noise happens to be your fault.”

“The devil it is.” Edgemore opened his eyes.

“Come along, I will show you.” Damien marched to the door before turning back to find Edgemore still reclining on the chaise. “Get your sorry ass up and follow me.”

“Can we not do this later? Send a servant to deal with the racket.” Edgemore dropped his arm over his eyes. “My head feels as though it will split in two.”

“Edgemore,” Damien drew out the end syllable, his voice low and menacing.

Edgemore pushed to his feet. “Very well.”

Damien stopped out into the hallway and led Edgemore up to the attic. He stopped at the top of the stairs, his gaze moving from the creature to Edgemore. “Care to explain?”

The horse reared up, bringing its hoofs down hard.

Damien scowled at Edgemore as his head began pounding afresh.

“I am quite certain this is not of my doing.” Edgemore turned, starting back down the stairs.

Damien caught him by the shirt collar. “Be that as it may, the horse belongs to you.”

“What happened to Westcliff?” Edgemore turned then glanced around the attic.

“I cannot claim to remember,” Damien said.

Edgemore took a few steps toward his horse. “Perhaps he could tell us how Crusader got up here.”

Damien huffed a breath. It would be a wonder if any of them could recall the events of last night. Raising hell and suffering for it come morning was nothing new for them; however, Damien could not remember the last time he forgot an entire evening. The last thing he could recall was racing, neck or nothing, about London's outskirts with Westcliff and Edgemore.

Why the devil had he allowed himself to get so foxed? His argument with Lady Charlotte seeped to the forefront of his mind. Indeed, she had driven him to self-destruction exactly as she had when they were younger.

Well, not quite the same. Back then, he had chosen to embrace the wilder side of life rather than offering for her. Now, he wished to save her from herself, but she’d not allow him to. How ironic.

“I’ve got him,” Edgemore victoriously called across the attic.

Damien turned his attention toward the far corner, where Edgemore held Crusader by the bridle. “Wonderful. Now see him to the stables so that I might regain a modicum of peace.”

“Who wants that when life is exceedingly more fun without it?” Edgemore led the horse toward the stairs. “I aspire never to have peace.”

Damien rolled the sentiment around his throbbing brain. He’d spent all of his adult life avoiding settling down. Each day brought chaos: gambling, booze, women… Perhaps he’d grown weary of living so reckless. Maybe the time had come to settle down.

He stepped aside so that Edgemore could lead Crusader down the stairs, then followed once he had a large enough berth to ensure he would not get kicked. As he absorbed the scene unfolding before him, he imagined what an alternate life would be like.

Had he offered for Charlotte all those years ago, he would not be removing a horse from his attic now. He’d likely have an heir and a spare in the nursery as well. Each night, instead of raising hell, he would snuggle into bed with the same woman-Charlotte. A fortnight ago the very thought would have repulsed him. But in light of recent events, domesticity did not now seem so bad.

Damien strolled around Edgemore and Crusader as they neared the main staircase. He sought the butler, meeting the man's rounded eyes. “Fredrickson, open the door.”

The aging butler turned, pulled the door open, then gazed back at them with disbelief in his eyes. Over the years Fredrickson had seen many odd things as a result of Damien’s shenanigans, but never anything like this. Damien gave the man credit for maintaining his stately composure as they marched past.

A footman rushed over when Edgemore led Crusader onto the porch. “Allow me,” the livery-clad man said, taking the bridle.

“Please see the horse stabled and fed.” Damien found a grin. The poor footman looked as though he’d seen a ghost. All color had drained from his face as he’d rushed toward them. Even now, he appeared at a loss. Damien could hardly imagine what tales would circulate below stairs this afternoon.

“Right away, sir.” The footman gave a bow then led the horse away.

Damien clapped a hand on Edgemore’s shoulder. “You are welcome to take a guest room until you are ready to travel home. I have something I must attend to.”

If Charlotte would not heed his warnings about Jostling, then he would have to take drastic measures to save her from certain misery.