What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Page 11

  “I’ve no choice. Their substantial win at Lord Holbrook’s party attracted too much attention. They have since taken to using their skills for deception in the backstreet establishments.”

  “Do women visit these hells?”

  Did Priscilla not trust him?

  “Some.” They were mostly the ladies of the demi-monde. Women who’d lost favour. The wives of scoundrels and rogues. And then there were the destitute ladies who’d rather try their hand at cards than be any man’s mistress. “But I have no interest in bedding other women if that’s what concerns you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I've already said I trust you. But I would like to come with you if I may.”

  Was she intent on courting scandal?

  “I refuse to take my wife to a gaming hell.”

  “Why ever not? Besides, have you not made a terrible miscalculation?” When he raised a brow by way of a challenge, she added, “Someone must partner you when you play whist. What is the point of reading the signs when your partner lacks the necessary skill and could lose the game?”

  She had a fair point though he’d thought of asking Tristan to accompany him. “And you want to be my partner? But you don’t know how to play.”

  An impish grin revealed a certain smugness. “The other night, when you tried to teach me the rules, I feigned ignorance so you would spend time with me. I can play whist. Coupled with the ability to memorise the cards, I can be a formidable opponent.”

  “What, you expect me to believe you can remember the order of play?”

  She folded her arms across her chest, the action pushing her breasts together. Damn, he’d almost forgotten how much he wanted to bed her. “There is only one sure way to prove my point. Put me to the test.”

  With his curiosity aroused, he took all the played cards from the table. “Then it shouldn’t be too difficult to recall the order of these cards.”

  She inclined her head. “I had the ten of hearts, the four and three of clubs. The first card you turned over was the nine of diamonds, followed by the nine of hearts and then you drew the five of spades. Shall I continue?”

  Bloody hell! If she could remember a whole pack, she’d prove to be invaluable.

  “There’s no need. We can play later this evening, and I shall put your skill to the test.”

  “Does that mean you’ll take me with you?”

  “You do realise people will slander your good name if they discover you frequent the seamier places.”

  “I am quickly becoming a lady who doesn’t give a fig for what others say.” She picked up a French bean and bit it in half. “Besides, as a lady who allows people to fornicate in her home, what more can they say?”

  Guilt flared. “When I’ve made enough money, you won’t have to share your home with anyone.”

  “Well, perhaps with some help, you might win enough from the sharps to rent a studio.”

  In moments of fanciful musings, he often dreamed of such a thing. “If I agree to take you, it will be only this once.”

  What harm would it do? If anything it would prove to the gossips that he loved his wife and craved her company.

  “Of course. I would not wish to make a habit of socialising with immoral men. But I could read your notes and observe the sharps’ behaviour too.”

  He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I might need persuading.”

  “Really? Then let’s draw cards. If I win, you have no choice but to take me.”

  “You’re my wife. I intend to take you in every way possible.”

  A chuckle burst from her lips. “Does your mind only follow one train of thought?”

  “When it comes to you, yes.” Despite the stays, her breasts wobbled as she laughed. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin to stop the excessive salivating. “May I remind you that sitting in your undergarments is hardly the way to test a man’s resolve.”

  “Then the time for honesty is nigh. Tonight, I shall leave the connecting door open. A bed will be far more comfortable than the drawing room floor.”

  “But not nearly as much fun.”

  “Take me to the gaming hell, and I’ll find a way to compensate you before we return home.”

  Intrigued by her proposal, Matthew dragged his hand down his face to temper his raging blood. “Agreed. Now shall we declare the winner of this bout?”

  “Oh, I think it’s fair to say we have both won this game.”

  Chapter 13

  The Diamond Club, a notorious gaming hell that catered to the elite of society, stood nestled in the corner of the courtyard known as Pickering Place. Once a prime location for men to duel with pistols, due to its secluded position away from the main thoroughfare, it was not uncommon to find a gentleman slumped against the wall ready to end his own life.

  Fortunes were made and lost at the exclusive club.

  With a firm grip of Priscilla’s hand, Matthew came to a stop outside the imposing black door with a lion-head knocker. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and removed a crisp calling card. “This club keeps a register of those who enter. They take my card and return it when I leave.”

  Priscilla wrapped the silk cloak across her chest and clutched his arm. “What if a gentleman forgets to bring a card?”

  “Then someone inside must vouch for him. Failure to do so results in the manager politely asking him to leave. If one creates a fuss, his assistants are far from polite. Of course, things are different if you’re a lady. Then you’re given tokens to enter whenever you wish.”

  “Then I presume ladies are part of the entertainment,” she mocked.

  “Gentlemen come here to escape the pressures of daily life. Recklessness can be addictive. The club would be bankrupt if they didn’t cater to their guests’ every need.”

  While she’d appeared confident earlier, the slight tremble of her body and the lines marring her forehead conveyed a sudden apprehension.

  “What will they make of me?”

  “You’re here with your husband. People will assume a scoundrel is educating an innocent in the ways of the world. No doubt I will be considered lucky to have a wife willing to break with convention. You will be considered an original, and consequently, can do no wrong.”

  “The only reason I’m here is to support you.” She hugged his arm. “Though I suppose I should try to enjoy the experience.”

  “We are here to work,” he reminded her. “I’m assured Lord Boden is playing tonight. Have you remembered the signs you must watch out for?”

  For an hour after dinner and during the carriage ride to Pickering Place, Matthew had educated Priscilla in the language of the sharps. It was vital she understood every nuance: every subtle difference in movement or expression. To interpret the silent communication required concentration, a heightened awareness.

  “A left eye twitch means he’s playing a knave. Fingers clasped tightly together means it’s a king,” Priscilla recited. “It makes sense when you think of it. A knave is mischievous, a bit of a scamp. The eye twitch is to mimic a wink. The king is regal, and holds his fingers clasped to convey authority, and as a barrier against an attack.”

  To say her insight impressed him was an understatement. “You’ve just proved your point, Priscilla.”

  “What point?”

  “That I need you.” He paused, his words rousing an odd feeling in his chest that he fought to suppress. “Not once has it occurred to me that there might be a logical definition for each movement.”

  “No doubt it made it easier for the sharps to learn the language.”

  “And easier for us to read the signs,” he added, raising the brass knocker on the door and letting it fall. “Come, let us go inside and take refreshment. The hard play doesn’t begin for a half-hour. We’ve time to wander before we observe the rogues at work.”

  The stick-thin gentleman who opened the door and escorted them into the hall snatched the calling card from Matthew’s hand as a starving man would a ten-pound note. Lifting his
monocle, he studied the script before placing the card in a wooden box on the shelf behind him. The man turned and inclined his head. “Welcome, Mr Chandler.” He opened the ledger on the desk before him, dipped his pen in the inkwell and made a few scrawls on the page. “I see you have brought a guest this evening. Is the lady to play at the tables?”

  “Mrs Chandler is only here as an observer.”

  “Mrs Chandler? I see.” From the dubious look gracing the man’s weathered face, he assumed the woman parading as his wife was, in fact, his mistress. “You’re aware I will need to enter her name in the guest book?”

  “I am aware, yes.”

  “Will the lady require tokens to return unaccompanied?”

  Priscilla spoke up. “I shall only ever attend with my husband.”

  The man dropped his monocle, the eyeglass dangling on a string tied around his neck, and looked down his beaky nose. “Then may I ask will you require the use of any other house services?”

  Priscilla nudged Matthew’s arm. He turned and whispered, “By services, he is asking if we require the use of a private room.” Noting her frown, he added, “Do we desire the use of a bedchamber?”

  Recognition finally dawned.

  “Certainly not.” Priscilla’s blunt reply made the gentleman draw back. “As his wife, I have no need to take advantage of your hospitality,” she continued a little more calmly.

  An ache of disappointment filled Matthew’s chest. The desperate need to bed his wife meant he was in a constant state of arousal. Even so, he’d not take her in a room used by every debauched sot, and there was but an hour or two to wait for the opportunity to sample her heavenly delights.

  “Supper is served at midnight in the dining room. Should you need anything else you need only ask.” The man held his open hand awkwardly in front of his chest only pulling it back when Matthew graced his palm with two sovereigns. “I wish you both a pleasant evening.”

  “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?”

  “A fraud?”

  “There is not a dishonourable bone in your body. You may play the role of libertine, but that is not the man I have come to know.”

  While he appreciated her faith in his character, he was a man who’d had many casual relationships with women. “Priscilla, whatever you think of me now bears no reflection on the things I’ve done in the past. No doubt Mullworth will take pleasure in taunting me.”

  “Is that another reason you keep me locked in my bedchamber during parties? Do you fear I’ll not like what they say about you?”

  For a reason unbeknown he wanted her to think he was worth more than the sum of his conquests. “I have no issue with the truth. It is the fabricated remarks of a wastrel I take umbrage with. Besides, the three of us conversing together is not good for business.”

  “Why?” Priscilla scoffed. “It is not considered de rigueur to speak with a married woman in the presence of her husband?”

  “It has nothing to do with that. If Mullworth says one disrespectful word to you, I’m liable to knock his teeth down his throat.”

  “Chandler.” The pot-bellied gentlema
n burst upon them. “You never mentioned you were coming to the club tonight.” With wide eyes, he turned to Priscilla. “And if I’m not mistaken, is this not the lovely lady who dazzled in red.”

  Suppressing his irritation, Matthew made the necessary introductions.

  “My husband tells me you’re a member of his club. Do you attend his parties often?”

  “Never miss one.” Mullworth’s ruddy cheeks wobbled as he shook his head. “Always top for entertainment, though I recall you experienced an hour of merriment yourself the other evening.”

  “Merriment?”

  “The waltz, my dear. The waltz.”

  “Well, I could not pass an opportunity to dance with my husband.”

  “Dance?” Mullworth chortled. “It looked to be a little more than that. No doubt the entertainment continued long after we’d left. Chandler is known for his prowess in the bedchamber.”

  Matthew coughed into his fist. “Remember you’re talking to my wife.” Although his fists ached to punch the man, he would rather not make a scene.

  “Of course.” Mullworth smiled at Priscilla and inclined his head. “I’m merely teasing Chandler here. What I mean is it was obvious you share a deep affection. Rest assured, he has not looked at another woman since you wed.”

  “Why would he?” Priscilla raised her chin. “Is it not my job to make certain he has no need to wander?”

  “Too right. Too right.” Mullworth put a hand on his stomach and chuckled again. His ravenous gaze travelled over every inch of Priscilla’s body. “We all knew it would take an exceptional lady to capture Chandler’s heart. Perhaps we might see you again when he holds the next party. A host needs a good hostess by his side, and to be guaranteed the company of such a ravishing creature will surely draw more members.”

  “I doubt I shall have cause to attend another party.” Priscilla showed no sign that she found the man irritating nor did she fall for his flattery. “As I’ve already said, my only reason for attending was to dance with my husband.”

  “If dancing is what you love, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of gentlemen willing to fill your card.” Mullworth’s slippery tone roused Matthew’s ire. Knowing the man as he did, the last comment was an innuendo for a more sinful activity.