Amy grinned right back at him. "Yes, you have. You've assured I'll get him--if I want him--because I've never lost a wager in my life."

Chapter 18

Amy got her wish, though she didn't know it. Warren did go to bed that night thinking only of her, as she'd hoped. A few of those thoughts might have been murderous, but considering the discomfort he was still in, that was to be expected. And he went to bed quite alone.

It still amazed him that, after he'd left her,

he'd returned to his hotel on Piccadilly instead of to The Hell and Hound and the buxom Paulette. His inattention was to blame, he supposed, and the fact that he'd been fuming about letting the little chit talk him out of what he should have done, which was apprise her family of her scandalous behavior. But after he'd arrived at the Albany and recalled what was awaiting him across town, he'd still gone up to his room, instead of hailing another hack.

Granted, the hour was late by the time he finally got back to his hotel. And he and his brothers had business to attend to early the next day. But when had that ever stopped him from finding a woman if the need was upon him? And the need was most definitely upon him, and had been ever since that morning and that first kiss. But he'd had every intention of relieving it tonight. He hadn't let the exasperating girl get to him then. He'd warned her off and thought that would be the end of it. How little he knew about English tenacity. And that had been before he'd nearly made love to Amy Malory in the middle of a country road.

He still couldn't believe he'd done that, and wished to hell he hadn't. He'd forgotten about the joys of pure lust, the heightened 193 senses, the driving force, the incredible pleasure. Too long he had been coldly methodical in his seductions, almost indifferent, merely satisfying a purely basic need.

Amy had drawn much more than that to the surface, and now Paulette just wasn't enticing enough for him to make the effort. It was that simple.

But he couldn't go through another day like today, experiencing desire that strong and not satisfying it.

All because of the whims of a seventeen-year-old. Christ! How was it possible someone that young could manipulate him like that, pulling all the right strings in each of their encounters? She was no more than a promiscuous minx. Obviously, she had discovered sex and found it too pleasurable to ignore, and, as young people would do, was gorging herself on it. He was no more than a challenge to her, probably the first man ever to turn her down. That was all it was, and for that she'd put him through hell. He should have spoken to James Malory. How had he let her talk him out of it?

"You awake, big brother?" Drew asked as he came in and closed the door with a resounding thwack.

"I am now."

Drew merely laughed at Warren's disgruntled tone. "Didn't think to find you back yet. You must have gotten your fill early in the evening."

If only he had, he could have withstood Amy's later temptations. And he had to wonder, if he hadn't been sharing a room with Drew because the hotel was temporarily filled to capacity, would he have given in and brought Amy here tonight? It was a chilling thought. Was his will that weak? Or was her lure that strong?

The girl was trouble no matter how he looked at it, and he had to put an immediate stop to it. She was his sister's niece, for Christ's sake. She was a Malory. She was barely out of the schoolroom. The fact that she was practicing the same debauchery as two of her uncles once had--hell, he might as well call a spade a spade; she was on her way to becoming a female rake--was entirely beside the point.

If she wanted to pass out her favors to the general public, that was her business, but he wasn't going to contribute to her downfall. She'd get pregnant eventually and probably wouldn't even be able to name the father. But some 195 dumb bastard who had fallen for her game was going to get stuck owning up to it, and that person wasn't going to be him.

And she didn't really want to get married and end her fun. That was probably a ruse just meant to flatter, since she was so incredibly beautiful. But she had proved tonight how opposed she was to marriage when she had done everything possible to hide herself from Lady Beecham.

He should be relieved. He was relieved. But that didn't end his problem. As enticing as the girl was, as much as he might want her, he wasn't going to be drawn into her sensual trap.

"You know," Drew continued as he wrestled off his boots on the other side of the large bed they were sharing, "despite our numerous complaints against this country, you have to say one thing for the English.

They've got one hell of an accommodating town in merry old London. Whatever excitement you're after can be found right here. Why, they've got vices I've never even heard of."

"I take it you enjoyed yourself tonight?" Warren said dryly.

"Ènjoy` doesn't half describe it.

Boyd and I met this luscious--was

"I don't want to hear it, Drew."

"But she was exceptional for the price in the way of talent, and pretty besides, with the loveliest black hair and blue eyes. Reminded me of Amy Malory, though she wasn't as pretty as our fair Amy."

"Why the devil do you mention her?"

Drew shrugged, unaware that his brother had gone stiff behind him. "Now that you mention it--was

"You mentioned it."

"Whatever--I've had that sweet thing on my mind quite a bit since seeing her again."

"So get her off your mind," Warren gritted out. "She's too young, even for you."

"The hell she is," Drew disagreed, still unaware of the dangerous currents he was stirring up. "But she's the type you'd have to marry, and that's not my type. Still"--he sighed quite regretfully-- "she makes me almost wish I were ready to settle down."

Warren had heard enough. "Go to bed! And if you snore tonight, I'm going to smother you with your pillow."

Drew cast a surprised look over his shoulder. "Well, aren't you in a swell dandy mood. Just my luck to get stuck sharing 197 a room with the family grouch."

It was the last provocation Warren could stomach for a day filled with them. He came up swinging.

Drew ended up sprawled on the floor. He lay there for a moment, fingering his cheek, then lifted his head so he could see his older brother, still sitting in the bed.

"So that's what you missed out on," Drew said, as if Warren's testy mood were perfectly understandable now. He chuckled as he pushed himself up to his feet. "Well, come on, then, I'm game."

Warren didn't need any further coaxing. Five minutes later, they'd added a few extra charges to the hotel room in the breakage of one chair and the bed frame. Clinton would not be pleased, since he frowned on Warren's propensity toward brawling. Drew didn't care one way or the other, always happy to participate in Warren's favorite form of exercise, and his black eyewouldn't hinder him, since he wasn't actively trying to seduce any of London's young lovelies.

Warren, however, couldn't have been more pleased with the

outcome. He'd deliberately put his mouth in the way of Drew's fist, and the split lip he'd counted on, and got, would keep him from doing any kissing for the next few days. On the off chance he lost his head again and succumbed to Amy's so-tempting seductions, the pain from his sore mouth would bring him to his senses.

The exertion had also tamed his temper for the moment, enough that as he settled down next to Drew on

the mattress they'd moved out of the wreckage of the bed frame to the floor, he finally recalled that Lady Amy owed him a promise for giving in to her plea not to take on those thieves. Anything he asked for, had been the deal. Somehow she'd made him forget about that afterward, but he wouldn't forget again.

That would be, after all, the end to his problem.

Chapter 19

The business that the Andersons had to attend to the next morning took less time than anticipated, the office Thomas had found yesterday afternoon approved of unanimously by all, the lease agreed upon and signed within the hour. The three-room space needed work, however, but only minor repairs that a carpenter and a 199 painter could accomplish in a matter of days. Clinton and Thomas went off to acquire the furnishings, Boyd to find the laborers.

That left Drew and Warren with time on their hands, and Warren with unwelcome company. He wanted to go by Berkeley Square and have words with Amy, but couldn't do that with Drew tagging along. He considered picking another fight with his brother just to get rid of him, but now that he had the means to solve his little problem, his mood was too pleasant for him to feign unpleasantness.

Drew, however, saved him from simply suggesting he disappear, which, knowing Drew, would have had the younger man sticking to his heels the rest of the day instead. Drew, apparently, had other plans himself.

"I'm going 'round to a tailor Derek recommended. This fellow can turn out formal togs in a matter of days for the right price."

"And what do you need with formal wear here in London?" Warren asked.

"Boyd and I have been invited to a ball at the end of the week. Actually, the invitation included us all, but I didn't think you'd be interested."

"I'm not. And you'll be sailing by the end of the

week," Warren reminded him.

"What does that matter? I'm still game for a few hours of romancing."

"Ah, I forgot. You're famous for kissing and running, so what, indeed, does it matter?"

"A sailor's bad luck." Drew grinned unrepentantly. "And you don't?"

"I don't make promises to women that I don't intend to keep."

"No, they're too frightened of your damn temper to try and extract any."

Warren didn't take the bait, and even put his arm around his brother's shoulders to confide, "I'll give you matching shiners if you insist, but I'd just as soon not."

Drew laughed. "Got it all out of your system last night, eh?"

"For the time being."

"Glad to hear it, but of course it won't last. Your mellow moods never do."

Warren frowned as Drew left him. Was he that hard to get along with? His crew didn't think so, or he wouldn't have kept so many regulars for so many years. He did, of course, have a temper, and there were certain things that easily provoked it.

Drew's constant cheer, for one. His younger 201 brother's carefree nature simply rubbed him wrong, possibly because he could remember a time, so long ago, when he'd been much the same--before Marianne.

He put it from his mind as he headed for Berkeley Square and an end to another, more pressing irritation. His mood was still good, however, and even improved the closer he got. No more days like yesterday. An end to temptation. He could get back to enjoying this visit with his sister. He could concentrate on opening the newest Skylark office for business. He might even consider acquiring a temporary mistress for the duration of his stay.

Maybe he ought to attend that ball with his brothers after all, just to see what the ton had available in the way of easy virtue.

The French ex-pirate, Henri, was the butler for the day, and it took only a few moments after he answered the door for Warren to learn that he'd come at the wrong time. Georgie was napping. So was Jacqueline. And the other three Malorys in residence had gone out.

Warren's disappointment was crushing, the good mood

he'd finally attained shot down to the lowest dregs. He'd been prepared to have an end to frustration, and here he was beset with it again. He could have waited, of course, but his impatience would only make his mood worse, and if Georgie got up, he'd end up taking it out on her. So he left, but how to kill time in a town he didn't know?

Well, there was one other thing he'd been meaning to do. An hour later, he'd found the sporting hall he was looking for, made arrangements with the owner at considerable cost for personal instruction, and was discovering, rather quickly, that he knew next to nothing about serious fisticuffs. A brawler was what he'd always been and it had served him nicely --until James Malory.

"Not like that, Yank," the instructor complained. "That'll knock the average man on his arse, but if you want him to stay down, do it like this."

Warren didn't exactly have the temperament for this kind of criticism, but he was going to put up with it if it killed him. The reward would be the ability to smash his brother-in-law in the face and not get demolished for it.

"You've got the body to do considerable damage,

but you need to use it properly. Keep 203 'em up, now, and make use of the power behind your right."

"Well, fancy this," uttered a voice Warren recognized all too well. "Any particular reason you've gone into training, Yank?"

Warren turned to face James Malory and his brother Anthony, who had come up to the ring, the last two people he cared to see just then. "One," he said with clear meaning.

James grinned. "D'you hear that, Tony? I do believe the chap is still after my blood."

"Well, he's come to the right place to figure out how to go about it, hasn't he?" Anthony replied. To Warren, he said, "Did you know Knighton trained us both? 'Course, that was quite a few years back and we've learned a thing or two since then. Perhaps I'll give you some instruction myself."

"Don't trouble yourself, Sir Anthony. I don't need that kind of help."

Anthony merely laughed as he turned to his brother and said cryptically, "He doesn't understand. Why don't you explain it to him while I

go and collect my bet from Horace Billings over there."

"What'd you wager on this time?" James asked.