Rebellious Rakes: Rake Most Likely to Rebel

‘Goodnight, or should I say good morning?’ She gave him one last smile and turned to go before it became too difficult. He wanted nothing more than to haul her back to his rooms and lock the day out. Haviland caught her arm before she could slip away. There was at least one detail they could settle that would make the rest of the day tolerable. ‘I have to be at the salle this afternoon, but this evening, where can I find you?’

She gave him a coy smile. ‘I’ll send you a note.’

Haviland arched a brow. ‘It’s to be a puzzle, then?’

Alyssandra stepped away, dancing backwards with a little trill of laughter. ‘I have it on good authority you like a woman of mystery. À ce soir, Haviland.’

Haviland folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the carriage, watching her until she disappeared. Even the Leodegrance home was private in the extreme. A high stone wall set it apart from the street, making the house accessible only through the arch that led into the inner courtyard. Certain she was safely inside, Haviland climbed back into the carriage for the lonely drive home.

Only he wasn’t alone. She had not left him entirely. The carriage smelled faintly of her soap—lavender and lemongrass—as did his coat where she’d rested against him. The seat was still warm from her body, he was still warm. It was something of a novelty to realise he wanted her again, or was it that he wanted her still? After a night of rather thorough lovemaking, he would have thought he was ready for a respite, not just for a chance to recover, but to reclaim his space. He’d always been happy after a night with a woman’s charms to be back in his space, to have his privacy. He enjoyed women, but he didn’t need them clinging to him every second of the day. He liked an independent woman. But this morning he’d not been ready to let Alyssandra go.

* * *

Back at the rooms, Brennan had returned, looking entirely unkempt. Most of his clothes were draped over a chair instead of on his person, a sure sign he’d had to make a quick exit from somewhere. Apparently, he wasn’t in any great danger, though, because he’d stopped for breakfast. French rolls, cheese and a block of rich creamy butter were laid out on the dining table.

‘Just getting in?’ Brennan said around a mouthful of bread. He motioned to an empty chair. ‘I’ll have Guillaume bring coffee.’

Haviland gave a tired smile, the night catching up with him at last. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll go to bed.’

Brennan winked. ‘I’ve already been there tonight, twice in fact.’

‘You can tell me about it later.’ Haviland tried to laugh, but it came out as a yawn. He didn’t know how Brennan did it; up all night, every night, and always cheerful as if his personal life didn’t teeter on the edge of disaster.