“Indeed.”
He took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm and led her from the floor. “Come. Let me find you some refreshment.” He ignored the whispers and odd glances. “I assume you’d prefer our second dance to be a waltz too.”
Holding her close once again would stoke the flames of desire until he could visit her in her bedchamber.
She stopped and turned to face him. “Thank you for dancing with me. It was wonderful. But I shall leave you to your guests.”
Disappointment flared in his chest. It was an odd sensation. “I thought we agreed on two dances? Don’t you want me to twirl you about the floor?” Lord, he sounded like a disgruntled mistress.
She placed her palm on his chest. “Another time, perhaps. After our scandalous display, I fear I may attract entirely the wrong attention.” She smiled. “Goodnight, Matthew.”
Without another word, she mounted the steps and disappeared out into the hall. He stood there dumbfounded, his mind lost in a cloud of confusion. He caught his footman’s attention, nodded by way of a silent order to ensure Priscilla reached her room safely.
Desperate to find a distraction from the clawing need ravaging his body, he returned to Lord Parson and the group of drunken gentlemen.
“Well, well,” Parson said with a chuckle, “I doubt there’s a man in here who doesn’t envy your position. I assume you sent your wife back to the bedchamber before every dissolute sot begs for a place on her dance card.”
“After your amorous antics, I’m surprised you’ve not followed her upstairs,” Chigwell added.
Matthew brushed his hand through his hair. The sudden urge to beat the hell out of any man who dared even mention his wife took hold. “What sort of host would I be if I neglected my guests only to serve my own purpose.” When he joined Priscilla in the bedchamber, it would be as her husband, in their home. Not as a libertine with an audience of debauchers.
Parson slapped him on the back. “After such a lively display one thing is certain.”
Matthew feigned interest though hoped the fellow was wise enough to guard his damn tongue. “And what is that?”
“The gossips got one thing right. From what I saw, you are definitely in love with your wife.”
Lord Parson was mistaken. There was no doubt that he lusted after the lady, but after a lifetime of suppressing all emotion, he lacked the capacity to love.
Chapter 9
With a claw-like grip on the balustrade, Priscilla climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. The slow, hesitant steps were like those of a lady who’d consumed far too much wine. No doubt those passing by would presume her wavering stemmed from an inability to focus.
But her fickle heart proved to be the problem. The organ hammered in her chest as she fought the urge to rush back to the ballroom, to rest her head on Matthew’s chest and dance until dawn.
However, one did not win a game with a single hand of cards. And this was a game of skill, not chance. Patience and strength reaped rewards. She had to be the one in control of the play if she had any hope of succeeding.
Priscilla was about to enter her room when a shuffling noise inside captured her attention. She turned and peered over the balustrade, noted the footman, John, had returned to his post at the bottom of the stairs. Should she stumble upon an intruder, one scream and John would be at her side in seconds.
Trembling fingers gripped the brass knob and eased it to the right. But the door was locked. Foolishly, it had not occurred to her to secure the room when she’d ventured downstairs. With some trepidation, she tried it again.
The sound of footsteps padding towards the door forced her to step back.
With her hand clutching her throat, Priscilla noted the faint sliver of light from the room beyond before recognising her maid’s fearful face.
“Good Lord, Anne, you frightened me half to death.” Priscilla slipped into the room and locked the door behind her. “Why did you not return to your quarters as I instructed? It’s not safe to creep around at night when Mr Chandler has visitors.”
Despite Anne’s reassurances, Priscilla had told the maid to stay in her room below stairs and bolt the door. While Matthew prohibited the guests from entering the servants’ quarters, she’d heard enough tales to know there was always one rogue willing to try his luck.
“I knew you’d struggle to undress.” Anne’s lips formed a thin line. Her pale skin and red hair enhanced her sombre expression. “And I’d finished making the alterations to the blue gown and wanted to show you what I’d done.”
Priscilla glanced beyond Anne’s shoulder to the sapphire-blue gown laid out on the bed.
“I made the sleeves smaller as you said.” Anne scuttled over and held the garment aloft. “I put the black ribbon under the bodice and added the fine layer of matching silk gauze to the skirt.”
The next time she felt courageous enough to venture downstairs, the blue gown would be the perfect choice to capture her husband’s attention.
Priscilla moved to examine Anne’s remarkable work. “You’re wasted as a maid. You should have a modiste shop that caters to the elite.” Priscilla touched the oval jewel in the centre of the bodice. “What prompted you to add the brooch?”