“What a strange fellow,” Priscilla said as they followed the boisterous racket to the large drawing room situated at the back of the house.
“Don’t let his frail demeanour fool you. He has the strength to slice a man’s throat if the mood takes him.”
“I can believe that. The man has the black, beady eyes of a hawk ready to swoop on its prey.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What shall I do with my cloak?”
“I suggest you keep it on. The ladies who frequent this establishment lack the morals you find in the ballroom and would think nothing of pilfering a reticule or silk cape. Now, hold onto me. Do not leave my side under any circumstances.”
Firm fingers grasped the muscle in his upper arm. “What if we’re separated in the crush? Should we agree on a meeting place? Should I wait in the hall?”
“Hell, no. As with any other house, the stairs lead to the bedchambers. If we’re separated, then remain in the drawing room and wait by the window.”
The thought of losing her amongst this rowdy rabble caused his heart to pound. Faint beads of perspiration formed on his brow as the need to protect her grew fierce. Having a wife had awakened newfound emotions he’d never encountered before. Then again, he’d never accepted responsibility for another person’s welfare.
Her hand slid from his elbow down the length of his arm. Warm fingers entwined with his. “Then it’s probably best we hold hands,” she said. With their palms pressed together tight, he could feel the faint beat of a pulse. “The connection cannot easily be broken.”
“Holding hands is an intimate gesture conducted in privacy,” he teased as they hovered outside the drawing room door. “It’s unheard of for a lady to display such a level of affection in public.”
“But are we not in love? Are we not considered foolish and reckless in our habits?”
“We are.”
“Then it’s best not to disappoint the gossips,” she said as they stepped into the room.
Swirls of smoke wafted through the air, the ghostly mist thick in places, transparent in others. The smell of tobacco clung to the coat of every gentleman they squeezed past. Fifty men, maybe more, were squashed into the small space. Some sat around the two tables positioned beneath the cut-glass chandeliers. Another group were arguing about the previous week’s horse race at Leominster. Numerous ladies prowled around the perimeter, hunting for the latest gentleman willing to pay their rent.
Matthew responded to the nods and muttered greetings, all the while aware of Priscilla’s hand pressed firmly against his. As expected, their attendance drew more than a few surprised glances.
“You seem to know a lot of people in here,” Priscilla said as he drew her to an alcove away from the gaming tables. “Other than Lord Amberley, I have never seen any of these people before.”
“One does not host scandalous parties without learning the names of every dissolute rake. The people who come here are not found sipping ratafia while discussing the merits of ribbons and lace.”
“What? Do you think one cannot speak licentiously about sewing?” A sweet chuckle left her lips. “Does tugging on ribbons not excite you?”
“I suppose it depends on the context.” Eager to hear more, he said, “I doubt even the most skilled courtesan could make ribbons sound remotely enticing.”
“Is that a challenge? Or shall we have a wager?”
“Another wager? You know how to tempt me, Priscilla” Their palms grew hot as they continued to hold hands. “Prove me wrong, and I’ll grant you anything your heart desires.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Will you answer another one of my probing questions on the way home?”
“Oh, I think I can do a little more than that.”
“Very well.” Straightening, she inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. “As a woman who likes sewing, I find ribbon has many uses. Tied like a belt beneath my bodice it helps to keep my breasts pert. It makes them appear full, soft and round.” As the words slipped seductively from her lips, his cock twitched in response. “The rich texture of velvet ribbon when worn against the skin always sends delicious tingles through my body. A strand of silk ribbon worn tight against the throat—”
“Enough.” One more word and he was liable to burst out of his breeches. “You were right. When you speak, I find ribbon a thoroughly captivating topic. Now, perhaps we might continue this conversation in—”
“Chandler.” A gruff, masculine voice called his name. “Chandler.”
Matthew scoured the sea of heads to see Mullworth pushing his way through the crowd.
“Damn. One of my regular members is here.” Mullworth was a debauched fool who spoke before engaging his brain. “He enjoys sharing stories of his conquests, likes to remind others of their licentious habits. I apologise if he says anything untoward.”
Priscilla squeezed his hand. “Do your members know you’re a fraud?”