Suite 606 by J. D. Robb Page A

winced. Add cursing to her growing list of bad habits. Soon she would be right at home on the streets.
    The knocker thumped loudly again. She pulled the door open even as it registered that this did not sound like Reggie’s knock. His was impatient though rarely demanding. This authoritative, arrogant rap was completely different.
    The sound matched the man standing in the doorway.
    Lord Stephen Bradley. Damnation did not do her feelings justice. He looked not a day older than the last time she had seen him five years ago.
    Tall, handsome with the exotic coloring of his Spanish mother and those dark blue eyes. The fact he was the third son of a duke had nothing to do with his appeal. He exuded a charisma she had not been the first nor last to find so compelling.
    How was it that the mind could think a dozen thoughts—present, past, even future—all in an instant? What did he want? Did he see how quickly she had aged? Did those shared weeks at Linton House five years ago haunt his dreams, too?
    She pushed the door closed, doing her best to banish the unwanted memories. Lord Stephen spoke before she could shut him out. “Wait, Summer. Reggie has been hurt. You must let me in.”
    She did not have to do anything he told her. One man as her lord and master was quite enough. But his words “Reggie has been hurt” conquered her pride. Summer pulled the door to her, looking around the edge of the frame, trying to hide her dishabille.
    “Hurt? How badly?” A bump on the head, a broken arm? Let him be abed for the rest of the Season. She could hope.
    “Badly, Summer.” He stepped into the house, filling the small entry hall. He took up too much space.
    His blue, blue eyes were still commanding. Before, she had completely misunderstood what he wanted from her. She’d thought it was Love. Passion. Forever.
    All he had really wanted was her surrender.
    Now he was demanding cooperation. He closed the door and moved to the salon that Reggie used as his private sanctuary. He took over as though this were his home, not hers.
    “I need more details.” Summer folded her arms across her thin robe. This was her house even if it was only rented.
    “He was set upon by thieves.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. “He had just left . . .”
    Lord Stephen paused. Was he searching for words or just reluctant to continue?
    “He was coming from a brothel or a gaming hell.” She finished his sentence. “Please do not try to spare my feelings.”
    He rubbed the back of his neck again. Had he taken some injury, too?
    “Reggie was alone and drunk.” Stephen did not hesitate at that, drink being her husband’s most faithful companion.
    “He was set upon by thieves. Reggie decided to fight them and lost.” The last word came with the smallest shrug, disbelief in his voice. “I think his neck is broken.”
    Summer Cassidy stood quite still, remembering Reggie that evening, twirling Kitty in the air, insisting it would bring him “the best luck.”
    “Reggie cannot die.” She met Lord Stephen’s worried eyes, then squeezed hers shut to stop the spinning. “Even he cannot be that selfish.”
    “Summer?” Stephen took her by the shoulders, his fingers strong, his touch a bruising caress. “For God’s sake. Do not faint.” He grabbed her chin. “Open your eyes.”
    She did and saw his demanding strength, resolution.
    All those virtues have been used up, she thought. I am so tired. I cannot do this.
    He nodded. Surely she had not spoken aloud.
    “Put some clothes on. The others will be here with Reggie in five minutes. Where is your footman?”
    “Off for the night.” They had not been able to afford a night footman for more than a year.
    “Then Reggie’s valet.”
    “Fired last week and not yet replaced.” Reggie had never realized that you have to pay a valet to keep one.
    “Your housekeeper. Where is she?”
    “Mrs. Rawley is a fine housekeeper with only one drawback. She is as deaf as a post. She will sleep