8. 7 September, 1826

Derek Welkirk leaned against the back of his specially designed desk chair which was bolted to the deck of the owner"s cabin on his flagship, The Aphrodite. He"d received a lot of good-natured teasing over giving his newest ship such a name since he seemed to worship at the feet of beauty, what with not one, but five mistresses. However, he"d let his detractors scoff, because what few people knew is that the goddess Aphrodite is actually a protector of seafarers and maritime trade as well as a ferocious beauty and proponent of love.

His old nemesis at cricket when they were students at Eton, Col, sat across from him. Both men sipped at fine French brandy his servant had just brought them in fine crystal glasses.

"I never knew a ship owner and builder lived like a nabob aboard his vessels." Col gave him a mocking salute with his own glass.

"What"s the point of owning beautiful things if you can"t occasionally enjoy them?"

"I suppose that explains why you maintain five mistresses."

Derek tightened his grip on his glass and glared at one of Bow Street"s most sought-after runners. "My relationship with those women isn"t like that."

"Like what?" Col set his drink down on the glossy mahogany desk, similarly bolted to the cabin deck. He leaned forward, his gaze intense.

"They stay under my protection of their own free will. I"m not some monster who keeps them caged for his own selfish purposes."

Col relaxed and leaned back, crossing his booted feet at his ankles. He held out his hands, palms up. "So how does this "saintly" arrangement of yours work in practice?"

Derek bristled at the insinuation in spite of his determination to remain calm. "Why is this any business of yours?"

"You"ve asked for my help. Remember? You came to me. I can"t get to the bottom of who might be blackmailing you and why if I don"t know what the hell goes on behind closed doors in this Grosvenor Street, um, harem of yours."

Derek decided to let the "harem" comment slide. "I divide my time equally and fairly amongst my mistresses."

"You did say you take two days off per week. Which ones would that be?"

"Sunday and Monday." Derek downed his remaining brandy with a single gulp.

Col pulled out a piece of paper and a well-worn stub of a pencil. He whetted the lead with his tongue and gazed expectantly back at Derek.

"And then...Tuesday belongs to Margo and Gabrielle, I spend Wednesday with Saida, Thursday with Lily, Friday with Adrienne, and Saturday with Sophia."

"Wait--. Margot and Gabrielle?" Col"s mouth dropped open for a few seconds. "I thought you had only five mistresses?"

Derek hung his head and murmured a few words in a near whisper.

"I"m sorry. I didn"t hear your explanation for having two women at one time whilst four other women patiently await your ministrations. Framlingwood, your domestic set-up beggars belief."

"All right. Margot and Gabrielle hate to be separated...for any reason."

Col shook his head hard. "Are they twins? Or is Gabrielle afraid you"re going to harm Margot if she"s not there?"

Derek turned and peered out of one of the cabin portholes for several long seconds before turning back. "Les amoureaux," he said simply.

"Lovers?"

"Yes, the two women are devoted lovers." Derek flushed from his neck to his ears.

Col sat back and steepled his hands beneath his chin. "This case has become so convoluted, I may have to call in an expert adviser."

"No--." Derek nearly jumped across the desk in anger. "No one else can know any of this. That"s why we"re meeting on my ship. No blasted gossiping servants around."

"Charlotte," Col said, extending a calming hand toward Derek, "is my fiancé and an expert on Margot and Gabrielle."

Derek"s eyes widened. "What could she possibly know about these women?

"Margot and Gabrielle were Charlotte"s close confidantes and shared a house with her in St. John"s Wood for a number of years."

Derek jerked to standing and strode from behind his desk. He closed in on Col, who stood as well. "What are you playing at?"

"I just wanted to find out if you"d tell me the whole truth."

"Did I pass your idiotic test?"

Col gave him an assessing look. "Mostly."

"As long as we"re being honest, I should tell you something important..."

This time Col seemed truly surprised. "Go on."

"I don"t always have, um, relations with all of the women on our days together."

"Then what the hell do you do?"

"We talk?"

"Is that all?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"Whether or not they want to beat me at cards."

When Col gave him a quizzical look, he hastened to add, "They all cheat."

Friday,8 September

Townhouse Number One, Grosvenor Street

Obadiah had decided the next time the earl deigned to visit Adrienne he"d keep well out of the man"s way because, frankly, he had no idea what he"d do. He knew her job now was to cater to the whims of the man. He sort of understood why she"d left his protection, but that didn"t mean he had to like the idea of another man bedding the woman he loved while he was paid to lurk around the house where the bedding was occurring.

The irony and pain festering within him all rolled together into a hard ball of jealousy and rancor lodged in his gut. His normal ferocious appetite had faded to nearly nothing. The earl"s cook was so concerned, she sent him a message inquiring if he was taking his meals elsewhere. Until he read the note he had no idea he was missing meals. He hadn"t sat down to a meal with the rest of the servants in the top floor dining hall for at least an entire day.

What he felt wasn"t so much hunger as emptiness, a great, gaping emptiness at the thought of Adrienne in the arms of Framlingwood.

Before being called in to serve as Adrienne"s bodyguard, he"d been well aware that she"d left him. However, he"d been unable to ascertain where she"d fled. His employer, Captain El, had finally forced him to stop demanding to know Adrienne"s whereabouts. She"d assured him his former lover was "safe" and "happy."

She"d neglected to add the part about where she was also the mistress of a wealthy aristocrat. He sucked in a deep breath, told himself whatever had been between the two of them was over. He had a job to do, and he"d damned well better stop sniveling about broken promises and dreams. After another deep breath he"d convinced himself he was over Adrienne. She was no longer his concern.

And then he turned to look at the front door of the No. 1 Grosvenor Street townhouse just in time to see Lord Framlingwood turn a key in the lock and let himself in.

Obadiah clenched his teeth until he was afraid they"d break. He couldn"t shout out a primal scream in the middle of the day in Mayfair dressed like a footman, so he did the next best thing. He slammed a fist into the solid stone pot housing an innocent arbor vitae bush next to the entrance of townhouse No. Five where he was standing watch. The bush shook wildly whilst he hid an oath decrying the pain with a meaty hand across his mouth.

Adrienne scoopedup all the shillings from the Earl of Framlingwood"s side of the table that afternoon and hugged them to the bodice of her ivory muslin dress dotted with saucy, tiny red birds. "I won," she crowed, and dumped the lot into her reticule.

"I suppose you"ll want to race to Bond Street before the shops close?" he asked, lazily eyeing her from beneath lidded eyes.

She had the good manners to at least try to look sorry while she tied shut the strings of her reticule before placing it back at the side of her feet. "Of course not. This is your day. What would you like to do?"

"Actually, if you don"t mind of course, I have to catch up on some servant records with Mrs. Collins." He favored her with the vacant smile she"d come to know very well. He was trying to convince her that an earl of the realm had no choice but to spend untold hours going over trivial servant problems with his housekeeper when in fact Mrs. Collins was the very servant whose job it customarily was to oversee the vagaries of behavior of the servants who all reported to her.

In Mrs. Collins"s case, though, she couldn"t rely on the over-butler for help because she also had to keep an eye on him. Toplofty was as apt to steal the silver as polish it. They"d all remarked on the man"s odd comings and goings at their weekly tea and salon, but they trusted implicitly in Captain El"s judgment. And she was the one who"d placed Toplofty Rutherford there, as well as all of the mistresses.

His various sons served as under butlers at each of the mistresses" townhouses - Tall, Short, Quick, Slow, and Young - Rutherfords one and all. Young Rutherford tended to Adrienne"s household, and fortunately, he was a true sweetheart of a young man. Otherwise, she"d have boxed his ears and sent him on his way long ago. The devastatingly handsome Young Rutherford wielded his innocent face and charm like a cudgel. He made it clear he believed the duties of a servant were beneath him.

Once she"d seen the earl off for the day with languid kisses and caresses in her front parlor, she raced up the stairs to her own bedchamber changing room where she set about the most important matter of the day: choosing which of her elegant lace-trimmed dressing gowns she"d use for what she had planned next. She always gave the lady"s maid the afternoon and evening off on the earl"s day to visit.

But first, she moved to the bell pulls on the wall. She was sorely in need of some bracing tea as well as a serious discussion with Young Rutherford.

Obadiah could wait no longer.He"d exhausted all the tasks he"d set himself for Adrienne"s day with the earl. He"d inspected all the back gates, mews, and kitchen gardens of all five different townhouses to ensure there were no weak places in fences or gates that would be their undoing in case of another attempt on one of the mistresses" lives.

He had nowhere else to go. He couldn"t stand outdoors all evening. The nightwatchman patrolling the streets surrounding Grosvenor Square would become suspicious if he saw him hanging about after dark.

He trudged slowly back to the door of No. 1 Grosvenor Street...and gritted his teeth as Young Rutherford opened the door for him.

"Where are they?" He growled low at Adrienne"s butler.

Young Rutherford remained silent, but raised he eyes slowly to the floor above where Adrienne"s bedchamber was located. He raised an index finger quickly in the direction of her boudoir and then lowered it before disappearing toward the pantry at the rear of the townhouse.

Since there was nothing in the entry hallway that could survive a fierce blow from his fists, he set about checking all window and door locks on the ground floor before trudging slowly up the back servant staircase toward his own bed in the chamber designed for the master of the house. Who obviously did not need the room, because Lord Framlingwood spent all of his time in Adrienne"s bedchamber.

He was careful to enter the master chamber by way of the servant"s entrance farthest away from the joint dressing room door shared with the mistress"s chamber. Once inside, he shucked off his uniform jacket and sighed. He carefully brushed off the coat and matching breeches before laying them out over a chair until morning.

He was so weary from a day spent in hard labor trying to forget what was going on behind the door of No. 1 Grosvenor Street, he was grateful he"d probably be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow in the gargantuan master"s bed.

He crawled under the counterpane and lay there for a few minutes contemplating the lush, moss green draped fabric inside the canopy covering the bed. He forced himself not to imagine images of what was going on over in the mistress"s chamber and rolled to his side, punching the pillow a few times, pretending the feather-filled concoction was the earl"s head. And then he heard something so loud, it had penetrated both doors at either end of the dressing room connecting the bedchambers.

The sound was one he knew well: the hiccuping sighs and moans of Adrienne in the throes of being thoroughly fucked. But why, in the name of all that was holy, did she have to be so loud? Had she been that loud when his cock was thrusting inside her? He sat straight up in the earl"s bed, the thought of sleep flying out of his head. Hell, he might never sleep again.