As Tobias made his way downstairs, the port and whisky caught up with him. The sounds of the gaming room called to him like a siren, but he held fast and went to the entry hall where a footman fetched his hat and gloves.

Donning the accessories, Tobias thanked the footman before stepping into the cold night. Thankfully, it sobered him slightly. But only slightly. Brooks’s was a short walk away, as were any number of other entertainments, including the lodgings of his—former—mistress on Jermyn Street.

He could walk there or to St. James’s to grab a hack. Both held temptations. He’d walk up to Piccadilly instead.

“’Evening, Toby,” came a familiar feminine coo.

Closing his eyes briefly, Tobias exhaled, his breath curling from him in a wisp of steam in the chilly air. “Barbara, why are you out in the cold?” She wore a thick cloak, but there was truly no reason for her to be out here.

She sauntered close to him. “Just out for a stroll.”

He shook his head as her familiar scent battered at his defenses, already weakened by the liquor he’d imbibed. “I’m not walking you home.”

Curling her hand around his waist, she smiled up at him. “How about I walk you home? To my lodgings, that is.” Her fingers brushed against his backside.

Typically, his body would jolt with awareness at her touching him like that, his cock hardening. And part of him did want her—the part that was warm and addled with whisky. The rest of him didn’t want her, and he wasn’t entirely certain why. Perhaps he was finally ready to actually be the man his father wanted him to be.

No, not that. Never that. Giving in to a flash of rebellion, Tobias lifted his hand to stroke his gloved fingertips along Barbara’s soft, round cheek.

Fuck his father and his machinations.

Except if he truly wanted to win, he needed to wed, and this was not how he would accomplish that.

Tobias stepped from her embrace. “Good night, Barbara.”

He turned and quickly made his way to Piccadilly and the boring safety of a hired hack.

Chapter 7

Going down the stairs had been challenging. Climbing into the coach had been only slightly better than getting out. As Fiona maneuvered the massively wide skirts of her court gown into the antechamber outside the throne room of the Queen’s House, she prayed she wouldn’t lose her balance. How she wished Prudence were here, and not just for her help, but for her calming and supportive presence.

After they’d returned home from the musicale the night before, Prudence had apologized profusely for revealing her presence in the card room to Overton. In Fiona’s opinion, she’d had no choice—he’d encountered her when he’d gone in search of Fiona, and Prudence had, smartly, told him that Fiona was with Cassandra. Fiona had thanked her for not jeopardizing her position and then admitted that her reasoning was self-serving, for she didn’t want to contemplate navigating London without her. Which was precisely what Fiona was doing today, unfortunately.