His Wicked Heart by Darcy Burke Page A

youth, women never failed to seek his
attention. Furthermore, he rarely failed—surreptitiously, of
course—to grant it. Holborn was nothing if not the master of
discretion. Jasper wouldn’t be surprised if the duchess had little
knowledge of Holborn’s liaisons, but rather thought the truth was
she didn’t care. Such a cold marriage.
    The duke stopped near the table, but didn’t
breach the intimate circle surrounding it. His position clearly
indicated he expected Jasper to come to him, and Jasper had
expected such a summons given his absences the past few days.
    “Please excuse me,” he said to his companions
as he stood.
    Holborn led the way to the private chamber he
kept for his personal use. The room was small but lavishly
appointed. A painting from the duke’s collection hung over the
fireplace, proclaiming this small space as belonging to him. Even
the chairs were the color of the Holborn livery: dark blue with
gold-tasseled pillows.
    Holborn ground his teeth, a sound that always
served to put Jasper’s nerves on edge. “You kept me waiting long
enough. Unwise, since I’m only more annoyed with you now.”
    Typically, Jasper found the fortitude to
ignore the duke’s subtle irritations, but tonight Holborn’s very
presence had him tight as a new saddle. “Is that truly
possible?”
    The duke went to the sideboard and poured a
glass of aged whiskey. He didn’t offer any to Jasper, not that he’d
expected such courtesy.
    “You were sitting with that blackguard
Sevrin. You can’t associate with the likes of him.”
    If only the duke knew Jasper associated with
worse at the fighting club. He’d hate Fitch the dockhand or Gifford
the tailor’s apprentice, which only made Jasper like them more.
Jasper crossed to the sideboard and helped himself to some of
Holborn’s private stock. His whiskey really was superior. “Surely
you didn’t come here to bother me about who I drink with?”
    Holborn ignored the question to fire his own.
“What must I do to make you take your duty seriously?”
    It wasn’t as if Jasper had been a towering
failure. He didn’t gamble. He didn’t drink excessively. He kept his
proclivity for visiting tucked-away brothels, well, tucked
away.
    “With the exception of that incident ten
years ago—which you’ll never let me forget—I’ve been the model
heir. I realize I’m not James, but seeing he’s been gone these past
two decades...”
    The duke’s eyes hardened to near silver.
“Don’t compare yourself to your brother.”
    Invoking James’ name had been a foolish
indulgence spurred by Jasper’s irritation. He tried never to
mention him because, though James was long dead, to the duke he
would always be the heir. That Jasper had inherited the courtesy
title, that it was his right to be Saxton and some day
Holborn, mattered not. His father’s preference for his brother was
a wound that never healed.
    “If there’s nothing else, there are a hundred
places I’d prefer to be.”
    “Tell me whom you plan to court, and you may
go.”
    “Really, and how would you endeavor to keep
me here? It’s been ages since you tried physical coercion, and I
don’t recommend you try it now.”
    The duke’s nostrils flared, and his hands
fisted. Jasper enjoyed the man’s frustration. Holborn knew he
couldn’t follow through on his threats so easily. But in the end,
Jasper was ready to reveal her name. While he hadn’t been at the
usual Society events the past few nights, he’d been working
diligently to ascertain the lady’s availability and inclinations.
She was beautiful, intelligent, and absolutely above reproach. Also
in the marriage hunt, she sought a title and an impeccable
reputation—no rogues, no drunkards, no gamblers or spendthrifts.
They would suit each other’s requirements perfectly.
    “Lady Philippa Latham.” He quashed a
gratifying smirk at the duke’s surprise.
    Holborn situated himself in one of the
massive chairs. “She’s amenable to the