Page 40 of Charlotte's Kisses

“Do you know what troubles him?” Hugh asked since the knowledge might help him relate to Ravenforde.

“The girls say when he finally falls asleep, he calls out for someone he calls Pipsqueak.”

Since Ravenforde had been debauched and entitled even in their school days, Hugh doubted this Pipsqueak was the sole reason for his ails.

Clara crooked her finger. “He is upstairs. Come.”

Hugh followed her swinging hips up the steep stairwell. With each step he took, the moans and groans of amorous congress grew louder until they echoed, bouncing between the walls and the high ceiling. By the time he reached the landing, blocking out the sinful sounds was impossible.

Clara led him to the last door in the long hallway. “He is in here. Please be careful. His temper is like an out-of-control fire.”

The cacophony emanating from the room would disturb the most wanton of blokes.

“How many people are in there?” Hugh asked.

“Counting Theodore, six.”

Bloody hell. “How many blokes?”

“Counting Theodore, one.”

Thank hell since a half dozen men in the throes of passion might add another layer of difficulty to his task. However, how many wenches could one man tup at once? Hugh was quite proud of his record, which included two. Perhaps three. He’d been rather drunk on the occasion. Come to think of it, maybe he’d been too intoxicated to finish with any of them. What a crying shame.

Oh well. There were far worse things than realizing memories of your one and only orgy might be inflated.

Hugh chuckled at himself before schooling his expression and slowly opening the chamber door.

Hugh’s entrance did nothing to halt the scene in front of him. Two naked women on the bed lay between a third woman’s thighs, feasting on her quim. He stared at the titillating fantasy a bit longer than he cared to admit, but it was far more appealing than the threesome on the chair.

A massive bull of a man, his eyes closed and his head thrown back in abandon, hummed as two women sat between his thighs, taking turns sucking his cock.

Hugh huffed loudly, then cleared his throat.

The women pleasuring each other in the bed giggled as the two at Ravenforde’s feet looked up from their task.

Ravenforde opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus his gaze. His huge palms landed possessively on the women’s heads. “Out, mate. They are mine. I paid for them for the entire night.”

Hugh retrieved Ravenforde’s trousers from the floor and tossed them to him. “Get dressed.” His gaze slid to each of the women. “All of you. Put on your clothing. You can return once we talk.”

The pair at Ravenforde’s feet stood.

“Stay,” the hedonistic aristocrat grumbled.

They halted, their gazes traveling back and forth between Hugh and Ravenforde.

Ravenforde growled. “Mate, if I were you, I would turn around and walk out.”

“You can return to your entertainment as soon as we talk,” Hugh said.

Ravenforde scoffed as he reached his hand beneath the chair. He withdrew it quickly, aiming a pistol at Hugh.

Screaming whores ran amok before fleeing the room.

Hugh held out his hands to show he was unarmed. “Put the pistol away, Ravenforde. I just want to talk.”

“Wait a bloody minute.” Ravenforde carelessly waved the pistol about. “Is that you, Fletcher?”

“Yes. Would you put the blasted weapon away before you kill us both? And could you put on some friggin pants so that I do not have to stare at that?” Cringing, Hugh pointed at Ravenforde’s crotch.