Sylvia Day - [Georgian 04] by Don't Tempt Me

great deal for me. I will not have him concerned that I cuckold him with a former lover.”
    “I understand. That is why I suggested the baroness’s gathering, which, I assure you, is no more shocking than this boudoir. I doubt there will be many of your former acquaintances in attendance. You can assume another name and wear a mask as added protection.”
    “That still does not address the impropriety of taking my innocent daughter to a gathering of licentious revelry!” Marguerite returned Solange’s goblet to her, then set her hands on her hips.
    “She is numb with grief and has been for two years. Do you imagine jaunts to museums will wake her?” Solange held up a jewel-encrusted hand to halt any further protest. “Why don’t you ask her if she would like to attend?”
    “Ridiculous!”
    “Is it? If she says no, then nothing is lost. If she says yes, does that not imply that some of the Lynette of old still dwells in her? Would that not be worth one night of impropriety?”
    Marguerite shook her head.
    “Sleep on it,” Solange suggested. “You may feel differently when rested.”
    “Saner, perhaps.”
    “Sanity, as defined by Society, is overrated, non ?”
    For a moment, Marguerite contemplated arguing further, then she turned about and poured herself a drink instead.

Chapter 5
    “M r. Quinn.”
    A cool, tentative hand touched Simon’s shoulder. Years of living under duress had made his valet’s stealthy approach into the bedchamber impossible to overlook, but exhaustion kept Simon prone on the bed and unmoving.
    He opened one eye and met the frown-capped gaze of the servant. The man was blushing. Most likely because of the woman lying beside Simon. With his head turned away, Simon could not be certain, but he would not be surprised if the lovely brunette was baring more of her lush body in slumber than she ever would while awake.
    “You have a caller, Mr. Quinn.”
    “What time is it?”
    “Seven.”
    “Bloody hell.” He closed his eye, but he was fully aware now. He was not a man people visited to discuss inanities. “Unless they are ablaze or otherwise mortally wounded, tell whoever it is to return at a decent hour.”
    “I attempted to. He responded by moving a large quantity of trunks into one of the guest bedrooms.”
    Simon’s eyelids lifted, as did his head. “Beg your pardon?”
    “The Earl of Eddington has taken up residence here. He claims you would have it no other way.”
    “ Eddington? What in hell is he doing in Paris?”
    Careful not to wake his companion, Simon extricated himself from the mass of tangled bedclothes. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and waited for the spinning room to settle. A night of hard drinking and harder sex had left him with only an hour or two of sleep.
    The valet shook his head, his gaze darting over Simon’s shoulder.
    Twisting at the waist, Simon glanced at his companion and found her sprawled lewdly in the very position she had been in when he last dismounted from her—legs spread wide with her fingers curled into the linens.
    Apparently, he was not the only one exhausted.
    He stood and caught up the counterpane, which had slipped off the end of the bed to puddle atop the carved wooden chest at the foot.
    “I need a bath,” he said as he covered the woman.
    “I will see to it.” The valet bowed and asked, “What should I tell his lordship?”
    Simon straightened. “Tell him it’s damned early and my mood suits my lack of sleep. He has been forewarned.”
    The servant choked and scurried from the room.
     
    An hour later, bathed and dressed in a sapphire silk robe, Simon left his suite of rooms and descended the staircase to the foyer.
    The early morning light streamed in through the decorative window above the front door, glimmering through the crystal chandelier to cast rainbow light upon the parquet floor. His hair was damp and his bare feet chilled despite the Aubusson runner that lined the stairs. The minor discomfiture kept him