Priscilla held her breath in anticipation.
“I do not
own land,” he continued. “I have an income from my late father’s estate but earn my living hosting parties for the dissipated members of the ton. During the day you will be free to do as you please. But should I be entertaining guests, you are to remain in the bedchamber for the duration of the evening.”
He would keep her hidden away like a naughty child? “But surely people will expect your wife to act as hostess.”
“It is not that sort of party.”
“What sort of—” Priscilla’s cheeks flamed as realisation dawned. “Oh, I see. You mean married men cavort openly with their mistresses. Inhibitions are relaxed. They—”
“Indeed.”
Having no desire to witness the unscrupulous events, she would gladly remain in the bedchamber. Suspicion flared. Despite having little choice but to marry, she refused to suffer humiliation.
“I agree to your request,” she said, even though his hard tone suggested she had no option. “But I have one question and insist on an honest answer.”
He sat back in the seat. “Then please continue, Priscilla.”
To hear her name fall so languidly from his lips made her heart thump hard in her chest. If only she were immune to his charm. “Do you have a mistress?”
Mr Chandler frowned. “By mistress, do you mean a woman I court regularly and support financially?”
Priscilla bit down on her lip and nodded.
“Then, no. I do not have a mistress.”
That did not answer the question. “But you are intimate with women.”
“I am not a monk, Priscilla. I have not taken a vow of chastity.”
“Then let me be blunt, sir. Do you intend to be faithful during our marriage?”
“Contrary to popular belief, I am a man of my word. If I make a promise, I keep it.”
Why could he not say yes or no? “I need a more definitive answer.”
“Then, yes. It is my intention to be faithful during our marriage.”
“And do you intend to share my bed?”
“On occasion. When the need arises.”
Oh, how dreadfully unromantic. “Do you expect my loyalty in return?”
“Absolutely. That is not a matter for negotiation.” Mr Chandler removed his watch, checked the time and pushed the item back into his pocket. “Now, do we understand one another?”
“Perfectly.” She was an optimist at heart. An ability to converse honestly would stand them in good stead. The rest was in the hands of Fate.
Mr Chandler sat forward and shrugged out of his coat.
“The night is far too cold to sit in shirtsleeves,” Priscilla said, sounding more like a mother than a prospective wife.
He threw his coat onto the seat opposite. “I doubt I’ll be cold with you at my side. We have twenty minutes until we reach Berkley Street and I thought we could use the time to become better acquainted.”
Priscilla straightened, unable to keep the grin from forming. No gentleman had ever asked about her hobbies. “What would you like to know?”
A sinful smile touched his lips. “It is not what I want to know, Priscilla, but more what I want to do.”