“The smoky air is stifling.” The lie only weakened her stance. “Miss Pearce is staring at me,” she added truthfully. Honesty was the foundation of their union after all. “I would be lying if I said I did not find her intimidating.”
“Then may I suggest you offer a confident smile.” Nothing about his tone made her feel foolish. “Whenever my lips brush against your ear, close your eyes as though savouring my whispered endearments.”
“I'm not very good at pretending.”
“Who said anything about pretending?” His hands left her shoulders and settled on her hips. “Have I told you I cannot wait to taste your skin? That I long to rain kisses along the line of your collarbone, to devote my attention to satisfying your every need.”
Liquid fire pooled between her legs. All the bones in her body felt limp. The constant chatter, the cheers and applause for the players, were drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat thumping in her ears.
“Have I told you how I long to be inside you, buried deep?” His hot breath breezed across her neck. Amidst the crowd of people, he pressed into her, the hard evidence of his arousal brushing against her buttocks. “Can you not feel the truth of it?”
Her legs almost buckled. “Take me home, Matthew.” They were already courting gossip with their overfamiliar display.
“Do my words excite you, Priscilla? Am I not the dangerous man you long for?”
“You’re everything I’ve ever longed for.” The truth slipped from her lips without thought or censure.
After a brief pause, he said, “Come. We have seen enough here. Let us go home and see what delights the night shall bring.”
Priscilla blinked and shook her head to force her mind back to reality. The shocked gasps of the spectators drew her attention. Judging by the smiles on Lord Boden’s opponents faces, it was fair to assume the card-sharps had lost. In light of the unexpected turn of events, numerous gentlemen approached the losers with an offer to play again.
“The game’s over rather quickly.” Priscilla suspected Lord Boden’s solemn expression was merely a mask to hide his delight. “Whenever I’ve played whist it seems to go on for hours.”
Lost in a dreamlike state as he stared at Mr Parker-Brown, it was a few seconds before Matthew spoke. “Here the games are short. Gentlemen are easily bored, quick to complain. The house takes a percentage of all winnings, and so the more games played, the more profitable the club.”
“Stone the crows for all they’re worth.” Mullworth came to stand at their side, his ruddy cheeks and sickly sweet breath evidence of an excessive consumption of alcohol. “I bet thirty pounds Boden would win tonight. The blighter. I should have known his winning streak wouldn’t last forever.” Mullworth shook his head. “If only I’d known he’d lost at Hendry's this afternoon I might have held onto to my wager.”
Matthew cleared his throat. “You’re saying this is the second time Boden has lost today?”
Mullworth’s jowls wobbled as he nodded. “Lost a thousand to Mr Marlow. Perhaps you should approach Boden and arrange another game. Might give you a chance to reclaim what you lost to him at the Holbrooks.” The gentleman turned to Priscilla and gave a sly smile. “I’ll keep this lovely lady company.”
While Priscilla tried to convey a look of alarm without making it obvious, the man of the hour, Lord Boden, decided an introduction was due.
The arrogant lord stared at Mr Mullworth. “Goodnight, Mullworth. Best be on your way. There’s a good fellow.”
Mullworth’s cheeks ballooned as though a thousand curses were trying to force their way out of his pursed lips. “Well … I … goodnight.” With his head hung low, he scuttled off through the crowd.
A low chuckle rumbled at the back of Boden’s throat.
Had it not been for h
er husband’s plan to regain his losses from the prig standing before them, Priscilla would have thrust her nose in the air and called the man to task for his lofty manners.
Offering a satisfied sigh, the lord turned to Matthew. “Ah, Chandler. I’ve not heard from you of late. I was expecting a visit to repay your vowel though I hear you’ve been somewhat occupied.” Stony-faced, the man’s lips twitched as he inclined his head to Priscilla. “Mrs Chandler. While most would express pleasure upon hearing of your recent nuptials, I fear no lady of quality wants to visit her husband in debtors’ prison.”
Priscilla cleared her throat. “Then I must assume that no lady of quality has ever been in love, my lord. As you are now aware, money is as easily lost as won. Loyalty, once earned, is constant.”
Boden arched a brow. “Such strength of character is commendable, my dear. I wonder if you will feel the same when you’re forced to bid farewell to your maid. Will you still hold your husband in high regard when your clothes are threadbare, and he has drunk himself into oblivion?”
The muscles in Matthew’s cheek twitched. “You underestimate me on many levels. A man with nothing left to lose makes for a formidable opponent. But rest assured, you shall have your money in the next few days.”
Priscilla did not hold out much hope of that being the case. Her parents had died penniless. Any dowry offered was provided for by her uncle Henry’s estate, but the man had made no motion to settle. The proportion he’d stipulated as part of her inheritance was probably worthless given his current financial situation.
“You’re far too reckless to pose a threat.” Boden’s tone conveyed his contempt. “I trust you will honour your word. Any stain on your character will inevitably affect your wife. Then again, perhaps you lack her faith in love and loyalty.” Boden sneered. “Of course, I am always open to a wager.”
“A wager?” Matthew’s narrowed gaze suggested confusion, but Priscilla knew he had been waiting for an opportunity to challenge the lord. Surely what Matthew knew of the sharps’ game play was enough to push the odds in his favour.
Boden examined his fingernails with an air of indifference. “A rematch. Double or quits. You win, I wipe your debt. You lose, you owe me twenty thousand.”