Free Invitation to Ruin by Bronwen Evans

tongue stroked her; her eyes glazed over and her head fell back. Soon she was riding his face, his mouth sucking and licking until she exploded in ecstasy above him, dreaming of letting the Earl of Wickham do this to her until she fainted from the pleasure.

Chapter 5
     
    T he next morning, Anthony, having let his mother extract a promise to escort Melissa riding in the park later that afternoon, badly needed some good news to lift his foul temper. He arrived at Craven House to inspect the fire damage. He couldn’t take another night under Cassandra’s roof, knowing she was only a few doors away yet due to his promise to Melissa—untouchable.
    He took a deep breath. Quincy, his man of business, was quite correct. The smell of smoke had dissipated.
    “You were very fortunate, my lord. The fire damage was not very extensive. The house will be ready for you to occupy in a few days’ time.”
    The two men made their way back upstairs to Anthony’s study. The actual fire damage was contained to the back of the property, near the kitchens. The rest of his house had simply been affected by smoke.
    Thank goodness, for Anthony loved this house. Craven House was a substantial dwelling. He’d bought it five years ago, so it held no degrading memories of his childhood. It was a free-standing Mayfair mansion surrounded by extensive gardens and a high stone wall. There were enough rooms in the grand residence that Anthony rarely had occasion to see his mother.
    Not that she stayed in Town often. She preferred to stay at Wickham Manor in Selby near Bath. His father had boughtthe Bath property to be near Bristol, which up until last year was the largest slave-trading port in England.
    At this moment, Anthony had never been more thankful for the house’s size. He’d need the space to avoid his wife. Wife! His chest felt as if it had been caught in a blacksmith’s vice.
    Anthony cleared his throat. “That is good news, because I will be holding an intimate wedding breakfast here on Friday.”
    Quincy’s moon face puffed with surprise, his thick, brown brows furrowing. “Who’s getting married, my lord?”
    He could not help but give a bleak smile. “Me. Last night I proposed to Miss Melissa Goodly, and to my joy she has accepted.”
    Quincy jerked in his seat, nearly falling off his chair. “Er … ah … congratulations, my lord. May you be very happy.”
    Very happy might be pushing it, but he hoped for at least happy. Melissa seemed a sensible girl, not so full of unrealistic notions that a companionable relationship could not develop. Besides, she was very aware of her precarious financial state and the privilege that would come with her marriage to an earl.
    Turning to more important matters, Anthony asked, “Have they managed to ascertain how the fire started?”
    “No, my lord. One of the grooms found a cheroot near a box of old papers the maids keep for lighting the fires. The theory is a box of paper caught alight when a cheroot was carelessly thrown over the wall.”
    “Then I suggest we move anything flammable away from the area.”
    “It’s been done.”
    “Good.” He took his seat at his desk. “Shall we get on? What needs my attention today?”
    Quincy handed Anthony a sheaf of papers. “The shipping reports, my lord. Both your ships should arrive this week as expected.”
    Anthony looked forward to their return. He expectedCaptain Hawker to provide an update on the effects of the Anti-Slave Trading Act. The House of Lords passed the bill in March last year. Slavery had not been abolished, but they’d made it illegal for any British ship to carry slaves.
    There was a knock at the study door. Stevens, Anthony’s long-serving butler, entered and presented Anthony with a calling card. “Viscount Strathmore to see you, my lord.”
    Anthony raised his head, surprised. He’d not expected his friend until Thursday when they were due to meet at White’s before enjoying a night of entertainments.
    “Send him