"I'm hearing nothing yet."

"The first thing is to know what she likes. What she wants."

Quince poured some more wine for himself. "Yes, you're being so helpful."

Gideon raised a brow but continued, slouching down more comfortably in his seat with the brandy bottle propped on one knee and his glass on the other. "Your first encounter tells me she's adventurous. The type who would probably enjoy a change in location. In a field on a summer day, some closeted room at a ball. And her personality tells me that she might enjoy dominance games."

"Beg pardon?"

"Oh, you know, hold her down. Tie her up."

Quince shuddered. "No, I don't believe I'll be doing that."

"You didn't ask me advice on how to seduce you, now did you? But let her tie you up, then. See how she likes it."

The duke raised his own brow in return but didn't say anything, content to sip his wine and let Gideon continue.

"As you are a complete novice I will assume you need some instruction on a woman's body. You are already familiar with the appeal of lips and breasts. After all, who could miss them? But there are any number of places that both you and she may find erotic. The nape of the neck. The back of the knee. The important thing is to explore and see what she responds to. And know that it's not just where you touch her, but how you touch her. She may enjoy a feather light caress, or she may want a masterful grip. She might like both at different times or in different places."

"You approach women as you do billiards. All strategy and finesse."

Gideon looked contemplative. "Interesting analogy." He sipped his brandy. "Most likely accurate. At least until now."

"It's different now?"

"I lose my head with Jack. I don't focus on it as... as an event." He smiled a bit blearily, the brandy taking effect. "But I have a sufficient amount of practice that I can do that without losing sight of her satisfaction. I assume that you, my friend, do not have that luxury."

"How do you know when she's satisfied?"

"You know, I have a book to share with you, but you must promise to return it or Jack will be heartbroken."

"Of course."

"It usually takes longer for a woman to reach her peak, but when she does it is a beautiful sight to behold. Especially when it's the woman you love. God, I hope I don't remember this conversation in the morning."

Quince chuckled. "Have sympathy for me, then. It's in my best interest if I do."

"Tell me, how did you make it to this age without taking a woman to bed at least once?"

"That's a story for another time. I don't want to interrupt you now that it's getting interesting."

"What was I saying?"

"What a woman looks like when she reaches her peak."

Gideon smiled, his words beginning to slur lightly. "Oh, yes. Well. Different things bring them to completion and they express it differently. Some moan or scream. Others are quiet. Some scratch." He frowned. "That can get bothersome at times. But the best part is when they look at you as though you've discovered something about their body that they never suspected."

"Bloody hell, you are full of yourself, aren't you? How does Jack stand you?"

"She likes me quite well, thank you."

"If you're just going to sit there looking self-satisfied then I'm taking you home."

"I thought you wanted the advantage of my gathered wisdom."

Rather than reply, Quince stood and put out a hand to haul the earl to his feet.

Gideon finished the brandy straight from the bottle before standing. "I may be sufficiently drunk enough now to tell you what I would do were I to find myself in your position."

After steadying Gideon on his feet Quince said, "Then I suggest you use small words. The larger ones seem something of a challenge." He set the empty brandy decanter aside before the heavy crystal could get broken.

As Quince helped Gideon up the steps of the earl's townhome he had to admit that some of the insights shared on the carriage ride could prove useful. Provided that he had the opportunity to try them.

"But we are brothers, aren't we?" the earl asked again.

"Of course, Giddy. You can be sure that if Charlie had the ability to disavow Robert as his older brother, at times he would."

Dibbs opened the door before they gained the last step. "Good evening, your grace."

"Just like old times, eh Dibbs?"

"Indeed, your grace."

"Give my apologies to the countess for returning the earl in such a state."

"As you wish, your grace." The butler bowed deferentially to the duke as two footmen materialized to help Gideon into the house.

Quince decided that, as he was already out and about, there was no time like the present to pay a visit to Blaise Bittlesworth.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

"Dammit, Sabrina, you need to eat." Robert was prowling around her room as though he expected to find some source of worry hidden in the corners.

"I'm not hungry."

"The staff said you sent everything back today untouched. When was the last time you ate?"

She thought about the tray she had nibbled from the night before. "I had supper last night." She sighed. "It's late. I just want to go to sleep."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "It's only eight o'clock and you've slept a good portion of the day."

"Robert, you're being tiresome."

"And you're not acting like the sister I know. It's well within my purview to be concerned about you."

There was a polite knock at the open door and Sabre turned to see one of Robert's footmen hovering impatiently. Robert went to talk to the man in hushed tones. When he turned back to her his face was an impassive mask but his eyes burned with a dark fire. "Get some rest. I have to go out."

She nodded and rubbed her forehead. All the men in her life were tiresome.

Quince had never set foot in Blaise Bittlesworth's house before but somehow the staff seemed to be very much aware of who he was. Even though he had walked up the street alone, looking easily the most disreputable he ever had in his life, the butler had bowed him in with murmurs of "your grace" and he had been installed in what was a really quite lovely parlor on the second floor.

When he heard the door open he considered rudely remaining in his seat but what he saw made him shoot to his feet with alacrity. For a brief moment he thought it was Sabrina and his heart started pounding painfully in his chest. The petite, dark-haired woman glided toward him and curtsied.

"Your grace," she said with a slight accent he couldn't place. She was even smaller than Sabrina, like a lovely little doll.

He bowed over her hand. "Lady Bittlesworth."

She settled onto a silk loveseat and he sat in the chair opposite her. He couldn't stop staring. She looked so much like Sabrina that it hurt. So much that he thought he might already love her, too.

She smiled at him as though the hour and his appearance didn't make the situation awkward. "We are pleased to receive you, your grace. I have asked for tea to be brought in and hope that is acceptable to you?"

Surely tea would help to clear the fogginess of his brain after the four glasses of wine he had drunk with Gideon. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Bittlesworth."

Just then the staff brought in the tea tray and arranged it on the low table in front of the viscountess.

"How do you take your tea, your grace?"

"Two lumps, please."

She prepared his tea with a delicacy and grace he couldn't imagine Sabrina using. He wondered at the relationship between mother and daughter. Sabre had never mentioned anything about her. Once he had tea and two lemon biscuits he realized the evening wasn't at all going in the direction that he had imagined it would.

"I was hoping to speak to the viscount."

She almost arched a brow, but didn't quite. As though she were controlling her reaction. "I'm afraid he is at his club for supper. As usual."

"Ah."

With another smile she said, "Are you here to ask him for Sabrina's hand?"

The shock of the question made him swallow his tea the wrong way and he started a coughing fit. The viscountess fluttered over him. "Your grace, are you all right?"

He held a hand up to ward her off and nodded as he worked to control his breathing.

"My apologies, your grace. I just thought... I mean a young man such as yourself..."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Lady Bittlesworth."

She resumed her seat again, taking her teacup in hand. Her hair was as dark as Sabrina's but her eyes were a lighter blue, like aquamarines. He realized he was staring again and struggled to find something to say. "Your husband was a friend of my father's and I found some documents that he should find interesting." Might as well plant the seed however he could.

The door opened again and the butler announced. "Mr. Bittlesworth."

Robert strolled into the room as though it were an appointed visit. Lady Bittlesworth rose to greet him and Quince rose as well to accommodate the lady.

"Robert!" she said happily, holding out her hands to him.

"Maman," he said, kissing her hand and escorting her back to her seat. Nodding briefly at Quince he said, "Telford."

There it was again, that familiarity that might be insult. "Robert," he responded coolly. Two could certainly play this game.

Robert took the chair next to Quince, which had him sitting so close the two were almost touching. Lady Bittlesworth set to making her stepson a cup of tea, obviously acquainted with his tastes. Settled with his refreshments Robert asked, "So what brings you to visit our maman?"

There was an edge to his voice. Subtle, but clear. Quince was trespassing in an area that Robert called his own.

The lady replied for him. "I'm delighted to receive a visit from his grace."

"Had I known of your beauty and charm," Quince said to her, "I would have visited far earlier."

She smiled prettily at him but Quince was fairly sure that Robert would have growled if he had thought it socially acceptable. They passed a half hour in somewhat convivial company. It was to Lady Bittlesworth's credit that she kept the conversation lively. At last Quince surrendered on the point of waiting for the viscount to appear and made his farewells to the lady.

"I'll walk you out," Robert offered. Quince knew it was more threat than hospitality. His assumption was borne out in the first shadowed length of hallway when Robert pushed him against the wall. "What are you thinking, coming here?" the younger man hissed.

"Let go of me or we shall come to blows."

Robert obviously didn't believe him because he continued to push the duke against the wall. And didn't protect himself against the first undercut punch. The two fell to brawling as though they were in a tavern instead of a Mayfair townhome.

"Robert!" Lady Bittlesworth's outraged voice split them apart faster than a douse of cold water. She walked up to her stepson. "That is outside of enough." She surveyed him in the dim light. "You may go home now. Tell Sabrina that I shall see her tomorrow."

"She may not receive you."

Now Lady Bittlesworth did arch a graceful brow. "Tell her I shall see her tomorrow." Although covered over with a great deal more grace and charm in Lady Bittlesworth, it was clear that a good portion of Sabre's steel in fact came from her mother.

"Yes, maman." He slid his gaze to Quince. "I must give the duke a ride home as he arrived without a carriage."

"Then wait outside."

"Yes, maman."

Once Robert proceeded down the steps Lady Bittlesworth said, "I must apologize for my son, your grace."

"Think nothing of it. That fight has been brewing for six years at least. My only regret is that you had to see it."

"Why did you come here today, your grace?"

"I hoped your husband could help me."

She smiled sadly. "Then I can assure you it was a wasted trip."

"You will tell him that I was here, though?"

"If you wish."