Good Lord, his state of undress was the least of his problems.
He’d strapped Viscount Murchbanks’ daughter to an erotic machine, took liberties with her person and then spent all over her. He’d be lucky just to be shot for his temerity. Since the Black Years when so many, rich and poor alike, had perished, the gentry had been even more obsessed with reserving their women for men of like status. If the viscount ever learned that his daughter had been cavorting with a man like him, all hell would break loose.But it was all that blasted woman’s fault—not that it made the outcome any different.