She raised her chin. “You’d be twenty thousand pounds in debt, miserable, bored with playing host to a bunch of degenerates. You would only have one friend instead of two.”
“Is that what we are? Friends as well as lovers.”
“We are all things to each other — confidante, companion, partner in crime.”
“Now we’ve mastered the language of the card-sharps, you realise we could earn quite a substantial sum of money if we toured the gaming hells.”
“You won’t have time for cards.”
“Why? Have you thought of a better way for me to spend my time?”
She moistened her lips. “The activity I had in mind will keep you busy for hours. The pleasure gleaned will be so intense it will soothe your soul.”
While his body responded instantly to the seductive lilt in her voice, he suspected she spoke of something other than passionate encounters in the bedchamber.
“As a man with a wicked mind, there is only one activity I can think of, yet I suspect you mean something else entirely.”
“Oh, I intend to find new ways to pleasure your body, but I was speaking about painting. If you’re to have a gallery, you will need more than three pieces of work.”
The fear of failure was often stifling. With his work kept hidden in the attic, no one could judge or offer the scathing criticism that would make him refuse to pick a brush up again.
“How is it you make an unsurmountable task appear easily achievable?” he said.
“Because I’ve seen your work, and I believe in you.”
His heart skipped a beat. Time stopped for a moment. No one had ever said those words to him. When he shook himself back to the present, a well of emotion rose from his chest to block his throat.
“Priscilla … I …”
The music stopped. Damn. Other couples left the floor, but he stood and stared into her blue eyes. A multitude of words raced through his mind but expressing emotion never came easy.
She must have sensed his torment. With no regard for the other people in the room, she raised her lips to his. The kiss was slow, sweet, satisfied him in a way he’d not thought possible whilst still fully clothed.
“We can talk about the future once Boden’s returned your vowel,” she said pulling away. “Now I shall leave you to work. No doubt your guests want to congratulate you on the outcome of the game.”
“Stay.” That one word told a story. It was a tale of a man who trusted no one, who gave nothing, a man redeemed by the love of a perfect woman.
“If I thought I might have you all to myself, then I would.” She placed her palm on his chest. “Can you not request they leave early?”
“I’d have a better chance of finding a one ended stick.”
She chuckled. “Then I shall unlock the connecting door and wait patiently.”
He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket and checked the time. “Give me an hour, two at most.”
“Take as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
Part of him wanted to keep her at his side, to talk, to dance. Part of him wanted her far away from those libertines skilled enough to lure her into a dark corner or empty room.
“Then let m
e escort you to the stairs.”
Cutting through the crowd, they made their way into the hall.
Matthew turned to John who was standing as straight as a pencil by the newel post. “Mrs Chandler is going to bed.” And he wished he was going with her. “You’re to remain here until all the guests have left. No one is allowed upstairs. Is that clear?”
Boden was too inebriated to be any trouble tonight, but still, a strange sense of foreboding gripped him. Would the lord seek a liaison with Priscilla purely as a means of revenge?