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whether or not I like him.”
    â€œWas he a pleasant fellow?”
    â€œHe was intense. Most intense. He didn’t visit much with ­people, although it was obvious a good many knew him. I think he was there for one purpose: to indulge in whatever sort of misbehavior became most convenient.”
    â€œAnd he thought to indulge with you.” Sally moved around, draping Rose’s plaited hair over her shoulder. “But you held him at bay.”
    The words were not a question but a declaration, and Rose knew Sally would be disappointed if anything untoward had happened—­such as a kiss in the shadows. “It would not suit my purpose to give in to temptation.”
    â€œWere you tempted?”
    Rose twisted on the bench, which put her on eye level with Sally. “No.”
    The lie should not have come so easily. It was slightly disconcerting that it did. If she could lie so easily to her dear friend, could she lie as easily to herself?
    â€œThank you, Sally. I’ll see you in the morning.” Rising, she walked to a corner table and poured herself a splash of brandy, as was her nightly ritual.
    â€œYou’re troubled,” Sally said.
    â€œTired, as I stated earlier.” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. “I’m well. Good night.”
    She waited until Sally left, then walked over to the sitting area and curled up on the corner of the sofa. She inhaled the intoxicating aroma first. Taking a slow sip, she savored the flavor more than she ever had before. It reminded her of him. She imagined again his lips on hers.
    And she tried not to regret that she had not left with him.
    A vendale strode into his residence and staggered to a stop as a ­couple weaving toward the stairs nearly stumbled into him.
    â€œYour Grace,” the young swell slurred with an awkward salute before tumbling into a heap on the floor, dragging the woman at his side with him.
    Avendale thought there was little worse than a man who could not hold his liquor.
    With a delighted laugh, Aphrodite untangled herself from the drunkard and pushed herself to her feet. She swayed toward him. “Avendale, I seem to have lost my partner. I’d prefer to have you anyway.”
    Her gossamer gown revealed all her curvaceous attributes. Her blue eyes glinting with desire, she slowly ran a hand up his chest, over his shoulder. “I’m yours,” she said with a sultry voice.
    Yes, because he paid her—­not in coin, but in excess. Clothes, jewelry, baubles, perfumes.
    â€œNot tonight, Aphrodite.” What he desired tonight, he’d been unable to obtain, which only served to make him want Rosalind Sharpe all the more. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been denied anything, the last time his thoughts had been so occupied with one woman.
    Without guilt or remorse, he edged politely past Aphrodite—­she’d find a new partner easily enough—­and strode down the hallway to his library. A footman—­not only standing at attention, but also standing guard as no one except servants was allowed in this room—­opened the door. Avendale stepped inside. As the door was pulled closed behind him, he walked to a glass case that housed his spirits. A marble table rested beside it with glasses and decanters. After filling a tumbler with scotch, he took a chair near the fireplace and downed half the glass’s contents, before sighing and dropping his head back.
    How had his life come to this debauched existence? Beauties of questionable character were always on hand. Young swells were continually dropping by for a taste of women, drink, or cards. He didn’t know the names of half of them, but they all knew orgies were carried on within the confines of his residence.
    It had all begun when he was much younger, when he spent more time lost in women and wine. But of late, he’d begun to grow bored with it. He seldom accepted the ladies’