A Marriage Most Inconvenient (Inconvenient Matches Book #1)

Chapter 24: Winter

It was damned good to be back in London, though the city was perhaps a bit boring without his friends, what with Rothbury still in Cornwall and Rutland about to retire to the country with his wife in anticipation of the arrival of their firstborn. Two years ago, Winter would have happily flirted his way into some widow's bed and that would have been the end of it, but alas he had no such distractions now.

Winter did not want to feel that pang of envy for all his friends, save perhaps Rothbury, but feel it he did. He wanted to settle down, give his mother some grandchildren and he wanted to like his wife. Which was why he found himself at a ball thrown by some Lady or other with some old friends from Cambridge, flocked by debutants and their marriage-minded chaperones and mothers. Though he had not yet announced his intention to find a bride, the sharks were eyeing him with interest, just waiting for him to ask one of their girls to dance. Which in itself was a problem. Most of these girls were, what? Eighteen? Nineteen? Grown women in their own right, but Winter had no wish to take someone a decade his junior as his wife. They'd be stuck for the rest of their lives making inane conversation about the weather and fashions. He repressed a shudder of disgust.

That was not to say Winter did not like women, in fact, the very opposite was true. He absolutely adored women. Short, tall, slender, plump, fair or dark; any libertine worth his salt was indiscriminate and Winter was practically the author of the book on scandalous behavior. He liked their softness, the way their eyelashes fluttered when they were pleased, the way they blushed when they were shy. He liked their teasing and flirtation and the subtlety of their wit. Therein lay the first problem. He liked women and not these chits that were fresh out of the schoolroom. He drew the line at three and twenty and would not look at someone even a millisecond younger.

Now, onto his second problem; he could not seem to muster the faintest bit of interest in anyone save for Seraphina Macleod. His abstinence began some two years ago when he had woken up in bed with four other people and had felt only disgust at the state he was in. He had been unable to remember how indeed he had ended up in that position, and what was more, he had been completely unsurprised. Just a regular Thursday in his books. It was at that point that he realized that he'd stopped enjoying sex, it was just something he did to pass the time. And then, how was it any different than the alcohol? Something he indulged in just because he could? Something he needed more and more of in the search for how it made him feel the first few times?

After that, he found little temptation in taking someone to bed. Indeed, these days he was far more familiar with the shape of his hand than with the body of a woman and he was more than satisfied with the arrangement. In fact, just moments ago, a scandalously dressed widow had all but shoved her bountiful assets in his face while she suggested he might meet her in their hosts' conservatory. He had felt nary a stir, twitch, or smidgen of interest. As had been the case with all women in the last two years until her.

What is the problem with that, one might wonder? Well, it was really a matter of principle. He could not take a woman as his lawfully wedded wife and then find himself unable to-ahem- perform. Or worse still, thinking of someone else while he tupped his wife. Infidelity in any form had no place in his marriage, hypothetical as the prospect was at the moment.

'By God, Win, is that you?' A familiar voice jolted him out of his maudlin thoughts, he turned from his position by the pillar he was leaning against and saw a face he hadn't seen in almost five years. Though his blond hair was cut much shorter than he had kept it when they had been in university, there was no mistaking the playful glint in those grey-green eyes. 'Rather Graham, now, isn't it?'

Winter's face pulled into a genuine smile at the sight of his old fellow from Cambridge; Harrison Windham, the newly minted Earl of Stanhope. 'Harry? By God! When did you come back from America?'