“It was not bad luck that I lost such a significant sum. Indeed, Lord Callan was just as unfortunate.”
Priscilla shot forward. “My uncle? But he has no experience with gambling. He would never squander money in such a fashion.” Henry Callan was honest, dependable, forever lecturing on the need for prudence. “You have made a mistake. You did say you'd forgotten my uncle’s name.”
Mr Chandler stared down his nose. “There is no mistake. You will discover the truth soon enough. I am convinced we were both duped by sharps.”
“Sharps!” Priscilla flopped back into the seat. Fate was determined to cause total devastation. “Some speak of ruthless play at the gaming hells, but surely Lord Holbrook attracts a better clientele.”
“Even peers use unscrupulous methods if it means saving their estates. Gentlemen fleeced us, not rogues. The stakes were high, and so the temptation to cheat is great.”
Priscilla touched her fingers to her temple. No doubt someone had tricked her uncle into playing. The man would not willingly play deep. Heavens, he insisted on reusing the tea leaves when they had no visitors.
“How … how much did Uncle Henry lose?”
“A little more than I.”
“What?” Anger surfaced. “How much more?”
“Lord Callan lost fifteen thousand, though I’m told that is not his only loss this month.”
Priscilla put her hand to her head. The slight sense of disorientation had nothing to do with the excessive rocking of the carriage. “Fifteen thousand! Fifteen thousand?”
“If it is any consolation, the sharps added laudanum to our port. Not enough to make it obvious but enough to cloud our judgement.”
“They drugged you?” Good Lord, yet another shocking revelation. “If you were not of sound mind when you played then I doubt you were of sound mind when you offered marriage.”
“Perhaps not.”
An odd puffing sound left her lips. “Well, should honesty be the foundation for a successful union, we have nothing to fear.”
“Does that mean you intend to accept me?”
Only a fool would marry him under the circumstances, but she’d spent the night making one foolish decision after another. “I have no notion what to do. Lady Hadden is a frightful gossip and would have recognised me. I am doomed either way.”
Without warning, he crossed the carriage to sit at her side and cupped her face between his large hands. “Then let me offer some form of recompense for your plight.”
As soon as his lips touched hers, a fire sprang to life in her stomach. Mr Chandler’s skilled tongue penetrated her mouth. The tantalising strokes teased the senses. It was impossible to resist him.
Heavens above!
Within seconds, her breathing grew ragged as she tried to contain a surge of raw emotion. Hot hands caressed her body. The arousing smell of bergamot flooded her nostrils. His essence consumed her. She was a slave to his will. Her skin tingled, burned to feel the heat from his body.
“You will find pleasure in the marriage bed,” he drawled as they broke for breath. “I sense the spark of attraction between us and believe you will welcome my attentions with optimism.”
His hypnotic pull proved potent. When he kissed her, she almost believed his proposal had nothing to do with helping Lord Morford, nothing to do with needing her money.
“What will become of us if we wed?” She hadn’t meant the words to leave her lips. In truth, she suspected she would grow desperate for his taste, crave his attention like a bittersweet addiction. “What if we are both miserable and unhappy?”
“I shall provide for your every need.”
Material needs perhaps but never emotional.
“Is that not what every lady wants?” he continued. “A life of comfort, a life free from worry.”
Comfort had never been a priority.
“If I’m to be your wife, I assume you will have certain expectations.” She imagined more kisses but struggled to picture anything else.
“A few. But there is only one thing I must insist upon.”