R obert walked out of the tavern, tripped, and nearly fell flat on his face.
He looked down to see what he had fallen over, and found a child looking dazed and frightened. Her mouth was set in an ‘o’ shape but no sound came out.
“Devil take it child, look where you are going,” he snapped, as he straightened the hat that had nearly fallen off his head.
“I am terribly sorry, My Lord. Eleanor would not have heard the door of the tavern opening. She is deaf. But I should appreciate it if, for the sake of the other children, you would moderate your language. I do not want them to speak in such a manner because they have heard Lord Whitsnow of Aelton Manor use such vulgarities.”
He looked at the owner of the voice. A pretty thing with bright red hair, neatly tucked inside her bonnet, freckles adorning her face and a mouth that was a tad too wide. His mind immediately turned to thoughts of things she could do with that mouth and it wasn’t giving him the scolding she was currently relaying to him.
He recognised her from his infrequent visits to church. She was the sister of Baron Melvin Butterworth. Their father had received a baronetcy from the king, probably before Miss Butterworth was born, but Robert could not remember the reason why. Her father had died just a few years ago and her brother had succeeded to the title. A modest estate and country house which had been lying empty for years before her father had been elevated to the peerage had been entailed with the title. Robert did not like the incumbent Baron Butterworth. For a fellow with a mere baronetcy, he was rather full of his own importance. The sister, on the other hand, was a different matter.
“Miss Butterworth. Do you always scold your betters in the middle of the street? Perhaps it would serve you better to ensure that the child is well.”
“We all come into the world naked, My Lord. No one is better than anyone else. However, it is fortuitous that Eleanor bumped into you. I wanted to discuss the orphans in my care with you.”
“You did? Miss Butterworth, I give to charitable causes. I head to London in a couple of days, so am afraid I cannot host any balls or other events to raise funds for your charges. I have no wife to help with such an endeavour. Perhaps when Lady Rose-Reid is visiting with young Lord Rutherford you could bother… I mean, approach her. Good day to you.”
Hurrying over to his coach, he made sure not to trip over any more ridiculously small people, before the young lady could gather her wits. He was not in the mood for another lecture on his responsibilities, even if it was from a luscious, ample-bosomed young woman who, by her mere presence, had made him so hard he could use his prick as a carriage axel should the damned thing fall off.
Getting to London was becoming imperative so that he could procure himself a mistress. He had been in the country for well over a year now and it was becoming obvious. His body was making its needs known. He adjusted himself in his breeches but found no relief to the ache. Perhaps when he got home, he may just take himself into his study, lock the door, close the curtains, drop his breeches and imagine Miss Butterworth and her very nice mouth.
Damn, there was a very good chance he had become depraved.