Chapter Eighteen

Viscount Trenchert stepped down from his town coach and brushed past the footman holding the door for him.

"Welcome back, your lordship."

He scowled in answer, storming past his butler and the servants lined up waiting to greet him. Without sparing the senior servant a glance, he tossed his top hat, gloves, and cane at him, grumbling when he heard his cane hit the marble floor. His servants were there to serve, be where he expected them to be. Didn't he pay them a fair wage to do just that? Each step he took rang out in the silence that surrounded him. Striding toward his study, and the full decanter of brandy that awaited him, he glared at the footman standing at attention by the double doors.

Fuming when the man did not move fast enough opening the doors to suit him, he did not allow the servant to close the door quietly. Trenchert grabbed hold of the edge of the door and slammed it shut, mumbling to himself about inefficient servants and lack of respect. Lifting the stopper from the crystal decanter, he poured a glass and downed half of it in one great gulp. "Time to hire a new staff…scullery maid to butler."

As he drained the glass, his anger did not lessen—it doubled. He poured a second glass and rang the bellpull. His summons was answered immediately, which did not please him—he should not have had to ring for a servant in the first place. They should know his preferences by now and appear before he had to ring for them.

The butler's face was pale and drawn, though his voice was steady. "Yes, your lordship?"

"Send word to Earl Lippincott that I will call on him in an hour."

"At once, your lordship."

Satisfied that his order would be carried out, he sipped the rest of his brandy. Feeling a bit more in control of the situation that had rapidly unraveled from the moment he won the hand of cards—and everything Eggerton prized—he strode from his study, calling for his valet as he approached the main staircase.

When the man appeared, he demanded, "Is the copper tub filled yet?"

His valet answered immediately, "Yes, your lordship."

"I will be leaving in forty-five minutes."

"Y…yes, your lordship."

He scowled at the way the man rushed around him to open the door to his bedchamber, frowned at the rough way his latest valet tugged on his arm when removing his frockcoat. "You can be replaced," he warned the man.

His words must have put the fear of God in the man, because he was far more careful removing the viscount's waistcoat. "Shall I assist you into the tub?"

Trenchert snorted with derision. "I do not have time for a full bath. You may shave me."

"But the footmen…the bath—"

"Is there a problem?" the viscount demanded. The sound of his valet sucking in a deep breath annoyed the bloody hell out of him. "Well?"

His valet answered, "No, your lordship. Please have a seat, while I place this heated towel on your face."

"Do not burn me, or you will be dismissed as your predecessor was," the viscount warned.

"I won't."

Trenchert's voice was silky smooth as he asked, "You won't what?"

"Place a too-hot towel on your face, your lordship."

Trenchert settled in the chair and leaned back, letting his valet soften his beard in preparation to shave him.

Forty-five minutes later, he was shaved, dressed, and headed down the sweeping staircase. As expected, his carriage was waiting. He ignored the effusive way his staff treated him as he entered the coach and settled against the leather squabs. He was planning what he would say to the irritating earl who, his sources informed him, sheltered his bride-to-be.

He slowly smiled. If all went as planned, he would take what he'd won over the hand of cards…her virginity. Anticipating her resistance had him growing hard as stone. He could not wait to get his hands on Georgiana Eggerton, plunge through her maidenhead, taking what was rightfully his. Shifting on the seat, he rubbed a hand against his groin. It wouldn't be long now. If all went as planned, he would take what he wanted in the carriage on the ride back to his estate.