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 partaking of woman and booze, as well as gambling. He did not want to imagine what life would be like without his club.

Damien shook his head. “I cannot believe another of us has willingly handed over his key.”

“Who do you suppose will fall next?” Benton asked.

“So long as it’s not me, I don’t bloody care.” Davenport took a swig of his whiskey.

Far too many of their fellow earls had left the club of late. Sussex, Westcliff, and Basingstoke among them. Each becoming love bitten then choosing to marry. The consequence being that they had to turn in their pins, keys, and leave the club—forever. Damien would never make such a choice. “I second, Davenport,” Damian 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!” Damian drained his tumbler, then signaled for a refill.

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

“Only that it makes a man lose all sense.” Benton swirled the liquor in his glass. “It is hard to believe that any skirt could cause such havoc, and yet we’ve seen it time and again.”

Damian shook his head and stood. “Far too often.”

“Where are you off to?” Davenport asked, leaning back against his leather chair.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Damian chuckled as he walked away. 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 is, 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 fun to partake in.

After giving his driver orders, Damian 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.

A footman opened the door for Damian to exit the carriage, and he wasted no time stepping down then heading for his front door. Halfway across the drive, the pounding of hoofs drew his attention. Damian glanced up the drive, releasing a heavy sigh. Two women raced toward him mounted on white horses.

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

Damian drew in a breath as he stepped closer to her. “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 horses 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 and at balls, musicals, and other events on occasion too, but he had not spoken with her—not one word since the day he’d tossed her aside. It had been for the best back then—it still was. “I have no need to hear you out.” Damian 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 gravel drive assaulted him. 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, Damian.”

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, Damian.”

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? Damian 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, his servant now held open. “It is a delicate matter.”

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. Without another word, Damian 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?” She drew her brows together.

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

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

Damian 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 a lady—a true, pure lady in need of a husband. He would never marry, and therefore, he would never be good enough for her.

Reaching the fireplace, he turned back to her. “Then why the devil have you come to me?”

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.

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

“You cannot be serious, Charlotte.”

“I assure you I am.”

Damian 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 large floor to ceiling 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. “That is why you have brought a chaperone along?”

“She is here to make sure you do not take your lessons to far. A safety measure of sorts.” Charlotte glanced back at 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 ones interest and affection 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 debutant.”

“I will not apologize.” 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 debutant I have stayed. Now I am nearing nine and twenty with no prospects.” Her shoulders slumped, her lower lip protruding.

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 he did owe her. “Stop pouting, you win. I will help you.”

A bright smile lit up her face. “Thank you, Damian, thank you, thank you, thank you. When shall we begin?”

“Tonight, at the Brighton ball. I had not planned to attend, but know that you are among the guests. I will come and observe your interactions so that I can determine how best to aide 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.”

Damian 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.

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