“You lose, Malcolm.” The woman jumped up, ran over to congratulate the other contestant who was remarkably skilful at playing a corpse.
Was it only dissolute men who liked these sorts of games? Perhaps she should think of a game to play with Matthew. Something wicked, sinful, something to heat the blood.
She watched from the window as the winning gentleman dragged the woman away to the bushes to claim his prize. After her waltz with Matthew, she understood the need to rouse lust in a man. But lust was easily sated. A woman needed to woe a man with more than her body.
Priscilla returned to her bed. If the flurry of illicit activities in the garden were anything to go by, the party would soon be at an end.
Recalling Isabella’s comments about the three steps to love, she spent another hour ignoring shrieks and banging doors to concentrate on her plans for tomorrow.
The sound of raised voices travelled up from the hall. Deep, masculine chuckles were interspersed with a string of incoherent sentences. In the distance, the rumble of carriage wheels on the cobblestones convinced her the guests were departing.
It would not be long now.
After a period of constant noise that left a thrumming in her ears, the house fell silent.
The trudge of footsteps on the stairs and the creak of floorboards on the landing alerted her to Matthew’s presence. At least he’d not gone out on another one of his mysterious appointments. Many London streets were unsafe in the daytime let alone in the dark. Only a few nights ago a gentleman was mugged at knifepoint after being forced out of his conveyance by a broken carriage wheel.
As she strained to listen out for his movements, the silence proved deafening. In the end, she crept into the dressing room and pressed her ear to the connecting door.
Matthew was pacing about in his chamber. The clink of crystal led her to conclude he kept a decanter of liquor by his bed. Perhaps the effort it took to entertain scoundrels took its toll.
A loud sigh forced her to her knees to peer through the keyhole. Though the room was dimly lit, she could see him sitting on the edge of the bed, well, one half of him. He downed what was left of the amber liquid in the glass and placed the vessel on the floor before tugging on his cravat. Pulling the material from around his neck, he threw it onto the bed. The waistcoat soon followed, along with his stockings and shoes. Jumping to his feet, he dragged his shirt from his breeches so it hung loose.
Priscilla pressed her eye closer to the keyhole, but it wasn’t the cold draught breezing through that forced her to draw back. Matthew had dragged his shirt over his head to reveal his muscular torso.
Heavens.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
The desire to see more left her salivating. The pulsing sensation between her legs grew, and she feared she was too weak to refuse this man anything.
This simply would not do, yet it didn’t stop her looking again.
With his breeches hanging low on his hips, he padded towards the dressing room. Priscilla shot up and shuffled back. A second felt longer than an hour. Mouth open, she stared at the door. Watching. Waiting. The brass knob moved a fraction to the right but was accompanied by a loud thud and mumbled curse.
“Bloody hell.”
Expecting the door to be unlocked, he’d obviously thought to march right in.
The knob rattled. Once. Twice. The third time he rapped on the wooden panel.
“Priscilla.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Priscilla. Open the door.”
The pulsing in her throat almost choked her. Anticipating the betrayal of her trembling fingers, she clenched them into fists.
“Damn it, Priscilla.” He knocked loudly this time. “Damnation. The woman teases me and then falls asleep.” His irate mutterings were audible.
When he opened his bedchamber door and marched along the landing, she knew he would knock again. Slipping back into her room, she flopped down onto the bed.
He tried the knob on her door. Lord knows why as he was the one who insisted she lock it. “Priscilla. It’s me. Open the door before I wake the household.”
Priscilla covered her mouth with her hand. Part of her craved his attention, longed to touch him. If she let him in, the experience was sure to be the most pleasurable of her life. Her breasts grew heavy at the thought of taking him into her willing body.
With one last knock, he stomped back along the corridor.