Spare

" T his don't feel right," Hatty whispered as Ash Halstead took her hand and led her up the stairs to his bedchamber.

"Stop worrying," Ash replied, irritated by the necessity to whisper in his own home. He might be the middle son of three but he had rights, damn it. "I told you my older brother has gone off to Wales on his honeymoon."

"Why'd they choose Wales?" she asked when they reached the landing.

"Keep your voice down," he urged. "If you must know, they were invited to stay with the Marquess of Anglesey."

"Sounds posh."

Ash rolled his eyes, though it was hardly Hatty's fault she wasn't educated. What did he expect of a girl who plied her trade on the streets? Still, it perhaps wouldn't hurt to find a better class of mistress. It wasn't as though he was attached to Hatty.

"Why do I need to keep my voice down if there's nobody here?" she asked petulantly as he opened the door to his chamber.

"My father has gone to convalesce at Rochevaux Abbey in Berkshire, but my sister and her husband occupy a suite here on an upper floor."

"Convalesce? Wot's wrong wiv him?"

Ash wasn't certain how to answer. "He had pneumonia."

"Cripes!" she exclaimed.

While it was true the Duke of Withenshawe had suffered from pneumonia, that was months ago, and he'd rallied from the illness once his precious heir had decided to get on with life instead of moping about his amputated leg. The pompous Rowan insisted it was Ash's wastrel behavior that had brought about a relapse, but then Rowan always knew better.

"What else is the spare supposed to do beside carouse and womanize?" he asked, cupping Hatty's copious breasts.

"?" she asked, licking her lips.

Tired of always having to explain his nonessential role as the second son, he tore the bodice of her cheap gown. She giggled like the whore she was when he proceeded to sample the wares for which he was paying handsomely.

"What is that awful smell on the stairs this morn?" Niven asked Willow as he joined her at the breakfast table .

"Cheap perfume," his wife replied. "Applied liberally to an unwashed body."

Niven rolled his eyes. "Ash?"

"Yes, but I get the feeling it's not just his clothes this time. I think he brought a ladybird home late last night."

"While the cat's away," he replied.

Willow grimaced. "It isn't just Rowan who'd be livid if he knew. My father has already threatened many times to cut off Ash's allowance. This would be the last straw."

Niven nodded. "He's certainly changed since the war."

"With Thorne still missing, and Rowan and I married, I suppose Ash feels like the odd one out."

"I think there's more to it than that," her husband said. "When Rowan was close to death in the hospital after his amputation, Ash claimed he dreaded inheriting the dukedom."

"With good reason," she replied. "He knew he'd be an incompetent duke, even before he went off the rails."

"Aye, but it must be grating when everyone else voices the opinion he doesna have what it takes to be a duke. Yer father, Rowan, even ye on occasion, ye all let him know he didna measure up."

Willow gasped. "You're right. It's no wonder he feels he has no role to play in this family. Rowan will inherit the title, you're making Withenshawe Shipping more profitable than ever. We might never see Thorne again."

"Aye. And I worry things will only get worse when yer father passes. Rowan isna as patient as yer sire."

A pounding headache woke Ash. He had no idea what time it was, nor did he care. Weak sunlight filtered in through the window. Did he have to keep reminding the housemaids to close the curtains every night? He turned onto his side, resolved to fall back to sleep, groaning when he realized he wasn't alone in the bed. The love bites covering the snoring Hatty's naked breasts served as a sorry reminder of his savage possession of her the previous night. In the throes of his drive for sexual release, he hadn't paid much mind to her overpowering perfume. Now, its failure to mask the unpleasant odor of her body only made his headache worse.

Tempting as it was to throw her out of his bed and go back to sleep, he reluctantly realized he could do no such thing. It would be difficult enough for him to get her out of the house without anyone seeing her. Letting her wander off on her own would likely end in disaster. "Get up," he urged, prodding her leg with his toe. The irony struck him full force. Last night, he couldn't keep his hands off her. In the light of day, he didn't even want to touch her.

Snorting a final snore, she blinked open her eyes and smiled. How had he not noticed the missing teeth? "Mornin', ducks," she rasped, reaching for his cock. "Want anover go afore I leave?"

"No," he declared, disgusted with his treacherous member for responding to her grip on his vitals.

"Why not?" she demanded. "Gents always wake up wiv a stiff cock of a mornin'."

Afraid he might puke if he didn't soon get rid of her, he clenched his jaw and manhandled her out of the bed. Suggesting she bathe would necessitate summoning servants to his quarters. That truth underlined how pathetically useless he was. Couldn't even draw his own bath.

"Put my mark on ye, I did," she crowed, staring at him. "Means ye belong to me now."

Suddenly conscious of his nakedness, he followed her gaze to the teeth marks on his thighs and chest. A lusty man ought to be thrilled by the prospect of bedding a more than willing wench, but Ash's belly rebelled. "Get dressed," he commanded, regretting he'd ever brought her home. It might prove expensive to get rid of her now she knew who he was and where he lived.