Bloody hell. This just wouldn’t do. There was the chance she might not come down to share the meal with him. But just in case she felt common courtesy would demand it, he left the house. There was only one cure for his current dilemma, and there were several residences where he could find it.

He decided upon Lady Catherine. A widow of several years, she never failed to welcome him into her home. And since she was somewhat of a recluse, he rarely found her already entertaining when he called on her, as tended to be the case with the other women he shared company with. He didn’t keep a mistress, had never found the need to when he had so many invitations from the women of his acquaintance that he couldn’t keep track of them all. The few he regularly visited were the least complicated of the lot, enjoyed the independence that widowhood gave them, and wanted from him no more than he was willing to give, or at least strived to give that impression.

Catherine was a handsome woman a few years older than Vincent. She was indebted to him. He had arranged for her to acquire the house of her dreams, the one she had fallen in love with as a child and had wanted ever since. She had been unable to convince the owner to sell to her when she’d become a rich widow. It was how Vincent had met her, when he’d heard what she was after.

He hadn’t lied to Larissa when he’d told her how he made his fortune. Catherine had paid him an exorbitant fee for finding out what it would take to get the owner of the house to sell—in that particular case, a racing stable in Kent which the man had never thought to acquire himself, even though he was an avid horseman, and an invitation to meet the queen, both easily obtainable.

Catherine was still indebted, or felt she was. She really did love her house. Vincent often wondered if that was why there was always plenty of extra food available when he showed up unexpectedly, even though Catherine would otherwise have eaten alone.

The lavish meal, he enjoyed as usual, for she had a splendid cook. He even enjoyed her company, her fine wit able to amuse him occasionally, when he was a man who didn’t find much amusing. She expected him to stay the night with her. He had planned to. It was why he was there. But as much as he had been overcome with desire that day, he felt absolutely none that evening.

It wasn’t Catherine’s fault. She was as lovely and accommodating as usual. It was Larissa’s fault. She still wouldn’t leave his thoughts, even for the few hours he spent with another woman.