Sinful. Charlotte Featherstone

and the sterile odor of Dr. Inglebright flowed around them. “Jane, the carriage is here. I ordered it ’round early. You’ve had a long night.”

      Hatred fused his thoughts. Was Jane the doctor’s lover? Wife? Bloody hell, he had not thought of her as anyone but his.

      “How very kind of you, Dr. Inglebright, but I will stay to finish my shift.”

      There was no feminine welcome in that tone. No gratitude, either.

      “I insist, Jane. There will be no argument.”

      “Very well,” she muttered, and Matthew heard the clicking of her heels on the floor once more. This time they belied her true thoughts. She was not happy to be ordered about by the good doctor.

      “Jane,” he called. “Sleep well. And you might do me the favor of reflecting on my offer.”

      The door swung shut, and Matthew sensed the doctor staring him down where he stood at the foot of the bed.

      “Lord Wallingford,” Inglebright growled, “you’ll be leaving us now, returning to your side of the city.”

      “Why didn’t you tell her?” he asked, feeling his heart sink back into the black depths of his chest.

      “Tell her what, that you’re a licentious rake who feeds off women and discards them when your amusement fades? Amusement, I have been told, that is rather dark, and decidedly not the sort of entertainment that Jane would find amusing.”

      Matthew growled, “Yes, why didn’t you tell her I’m a soulless bastard?”

      “Because it would have made you all the more attractive. Now then, my lord, your father has sent a carriage around to fetch you. The night men will make a litter for you—”

      “The hell they will. I will walk out of here on my own two feet if it’s the last damn thing I do. And the last thing you’re going to do, Dr. Inglebright, is give me Jane’s direction.”