What a Devilish Duke Desires by Vicky Dreiling

rummaged in his purse and produced the guinea.
    “I do hope Your Grace will return when you’re recovered,” Mrs. Fleur said. “I’m sure one of my other girls could take care of your needs. Here is a list of services,” she said.
    Out of curiosity, he perused the offerings and barely managed to keep a straight face. The “services” included Mama’s boy, the Thrashing, and the Bath.
    “We’ve recently added the Vicar,” Mrs. Fleur said.
    His mouth twitched. “The Vicar?”
    “Some gentlemen prefer a sermon…afterward.”
    The devil! “How…interesting.”
    “You are always welcome, Your Grace. If none of these meet your needs, I’m sure we can accommodate your preferences…”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. Good Lord.
    Harry barely made it out of Mrs. Fleur’s salon before guffawing.
      
    After his carriage rolled into the yard at the Albany, Harry stepped out. The cold breeze lifted the capes on his greatcoat. He climbed the stairs and rummaged in his inner coat pocket for his key since he didn’t wish to wake Barlow, who served as butler, valet, and dog walker.
    Harry unlocked the door, and naturally Bandit started barking. Fortunately, Barlow had left a candle branch burning so he could see to hang his hat and greatcoat. Then he squatted to pet the puppy. “Hush now. The neighbors will complain if you keep up this racket.” Then he carried the candle branch to his desk. Bandit followed, his nails clicking on the floor until he reached the carpet. Harry frowned at the stacks of papers. Someone had straightened the piles, but that wasn’t part of Barlow’s duties. Then Harry remembered that he’d added maid services to his bill, which was probably for the best, considering the amount of dog hair everywhere.
    Bandit followed him to his bedchamber. He set the candle branch aside, took off his coat, and sniffed it. It smelled of cheap perfume and cheroots. Harry wasn’t altogether certain Barlow could get the stench out. No doubt Barlow would take a disgust of Harry’s stinky coat.
    He stripped off his clothes, turned to the bed, and blinked. The book of erotic engravings stood like the letter A in the middle of the turned down bed. Obviously, the maid had put the book exactly where he’d left it. “Good Lord,” he muttered, and laughed at the thought of what the maid must have seen.
    Harry picked it up and saw the engraving of a couple engaged in soixante-neuf. Last night, he’d pleasured himself while looking at the engravings. Tonight, he set the book aside as a different image floated in his mind. He imagined a petite and saucy young woman sweeping her long red locks over his naked body. He definitely did not need the book to pleasure himself tonight.
      
    The next morning
    Buckley collected a purse from Old Bess on Grub Street after delivering a fresh-faced farm girl named Nelly to the well-known bawd. Bess promised Nelly a job in service.
    Buckley chortled, thinking of her horror when she found out what kind of service she’d be providing—on her back.
    He limped along the pavement, cursing his aching ankle. It still hadn’t healed, and he blamed that backstabbing bitch Lucy Longmore. He hated her more than ever, but he’d yet to catch her off guard. It was just a matter of time before he nabbed her.
    Buckley broke out in a cold sweat. He needed laudanum badly. Now that he was in funds again, he could buy a bottle from the apothecary. He scratched his itchy face and licked his lips. His mouth was bone dry, and he was feeling anxious.
    He limped to the apothecary’s shop. The bell rang as he entered, and the apothecary scowled at him. “Your credit’s no good here.”
    Buckley pushed his coins across the counter. “I assume my money is.”
    When the apothecary set the bottle on the counter, Buckley took a swig right away.
    The apothecary rubbed his chin. “What pocket did you pick?”
    “Not a one. I sold a girl to Old Bess.”
    The apothecary licked his fat lips.