For years Declan had lived up to his promise, but Gareth thought his debaucheries had developed an air of forced desperation lately. How much drink, food, wealth, and women could one man pursue? Gareth had noticed even Declan’s appetites had withered over the past few years. His friend also hounded him far less now, which Gareth was greatly relieved about. For years the Irishman had battered and nagged him about drinking and gambling and whoring.

“You need to live my friend! Live in any and every way you can. We know better than most how it can all be snatched away in the blink of an eye.”

But Gareth had no taste for spirits, gambling of any type had been poisoned for him long ago, and women? Well, even the ones you hired cost more than their stated price. With people, there was always more than met the eye, which was as true—or more—with prostitutes as it was with anyone else.

Not that Gareth didn’t have the sexual urges of any normal man—at least he thought he did, although Declan’s behavior in that arena had often astounded him. He certainly had no desire to engage in the orgies Dec had been so fond of a few years back. The very last thing he wanted was to have sexual relations with a large number of women, or even a small number, at one time. One woman at a time was more than adequate. Nor did he feel compelled to sample a broad spectrum of body types as Declan had advocated so many times. Gareth did not think the fact he’d had sex with only one person meant there was anything wrong with him.

He snorted and popped a chunk of beef into his mouth. He knew there were many things wrong with him. But he did not think sex was one of his problems. Now women. . . well, that was—

“Mr. Lockheart?”

The chunk of beef went down the wrong hole when he sucked in a mouthful of air. His throat convulsed as his body tried to expel the foreign object from his airway without any conscious order from his brain. His eyes strained until he felt like they were popping out of his head—which felt like it had doubled in size.

A sharp whack on his back slammed his chest into the table and sent the half-chewed chunk all the way across to the opposite chair.

Gareth filled his lungs with blessed air, breathing convulsively in between coughing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for startling you. Don’t try to speak,” she added, not that he’d been either considering it or capable of it. The food was gone but his body seemed determined to make certain and coughing wracked his chest and his eyes, no longer bulging, teared profusely.