“A certain level of prestige amongst thedemimonde. It would not mean much to you…or to your social set, I should say. But there was a time that my company was desirable, that I was much in demand. I suppose I still am, in a sense.”
He had got a knack for it now, the act of lying together. Or perhaps he had simply developed a taste for it after all. His hand stroked her belly absently. His knees tucked up behind hers. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Thedemimondehas its own social world,” she said. “It is rather like a naughty echo of theTon, for those of us not fortunate enough to be born on the right side of social respectability. You have galas and garden parties and musicales—”
“You have Cyprians’ balls.”
“Yes.” Or house parties filled with revelry and debauchery. Everything more than a little askew of what a lady born into a noble household might expect, but still with a certain prestige amongst her own peers. A seedier side of society, and one she had enjoyed immensely for its lack of pretension, the tribute it paid to hedonism. “I received an invitation to one a few days past. I regret that I cannot attend.”
“Can you not? Have you some other obligation to which you must attend?”
She laughed, light and airy. “No; nothing. It is just that such events are meant for gentlemen to show off their paramours. An open secret of sorts. No one speaks of what happens within, but they are events designed for men to preen before their peers, to convey their worth and status to one another, often in the form of the lady upon their arm. If I were to arrive unescorted it would send a false message—that I am seeking a new benefactor.”
“But you’d like to attend,” he said. “If you could.”
“I enjoy a good party, a bit of honest hedonism. The merriment, the excitement of it. The fun of doing something wicked. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Possibly I’ve never done anything wicked enough to have formed an opinion.Tonevents have not, thus far, struck me as a particularly enjoyable experience. You said no one speaks of these balls?” he asked.
“They are known,” she said, “by those in attendance. However, many of the men who attend with their mistresses are married. It’s acceptable to have a mistress, but one is generally obliged to be discreet about it. If one wishes one’s contemporaries to guard their tongues, one must guard one’s own. Gossip begets gossip, so to speak.”
“Hm.” The sound had a tone of contemplation to it. After a lengthy pause, he ventured, “If it is as you say—that is, if there is no danger ofanyone speaking of it in public, lest they reveal their own sins in the doing of it—could I not escort you?”
“Would you?” Charity wriggled, turned round to face him. “Would you, really?”
“I’ve never been to one,” he said. “It sounds…better.”
ThanTonevents, she expected he meant to imply. Freer, fewer restrictions. Less social judgment. Less chance of making a mistake which would be whispered of behind his back, since there would be no one foolish or indiscreet enough to risk it. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose you could escort me. But you would have to give up an evening to do it. It might mean sacrificing an event which could bring you closer to Lady Cecily.”
“I’m not yet certain I wish to court her in earnest. And she must know as well as I that it will be several months at least before it would be acceptable to court her openly, besides,” he said. “When I am—ifever I am—I will give such considerations more weight.”
“Then I will accept your offer with all due gratitude. The ball is one week from today. I’ll come here after nightfall, so we might arrive together. And now that I think on it,” she said, and lifted her hand to toy with the loosed buttons of his shirt. “It might well be the perfect place to show you how to evade notice at such an event. How, when, and where you might steal a kiss from your intended.”
“I shouldn’t like to be caught out.”
“I should say not. If you were to be caught out, you’d end up with Lady Cecily as your wife whether you had decided you wanted her or no,” Charity said. “Fortunately for you, I am quite skilled at sneaking about.” She suppressed a shiver as the slight chill of the room began to cool her overheated flesh.
“Are you? I hadn’t thought such a thing would be required of a mistress.”
“Notrequired, no. But it is great fun indeed. It should be the same within a marriage, I think. Not because it is necessary—but because it is fun and thrilling and memorable. A bit of wickedness to indulge in together, for its own sake.”
“I shall have to take your word on the matter. At least until I have the requisite experience necessary to pass my own judgment.” Idly his hand smoothed over her back. The weight of his arm over her waist was a comforting one.
It felt—different than she had recalled. Or perhaps it merelywasdifferentthan she had ever experienced. There was no subtle atmosphere of expectation looming past the borders of the gentle embrace, no aura of impatience. It was only pleasant. Comforting. Soothing, the way the warmth of his palm chased the chill bumps from the bare skin of her back, exposed through the pulled laces of her gown and the parted fabric.
Had she ever experienced an intimate touch untainted by such things? Or had she—like Anthony—simply never had cause before now to understand the difference? But there was one, she was certain. She could feel it in the warm fingers that had found the nape of her neck, kneading away the tension caused by the somewhat awkward angle of her head upon the sofa.
She couldfeelthe difference in a touch not intended to entice or to incite. A touch that was simply…warm. For a moment—half of one, at least—she let herself feel the instinctive flash of envy that tumbled through her. For the woman who would inevitably become his wife. The woman who would one day be entitled to the tenderness of which those strong hands were capable.
Lady Cecily, in all likelihood. Who had best find herself damnedgratefulto have acquired such a husband, or—or—
His hand stilled upon her neck. “Have I upset you?”
Charity blinked. Shook herself free of the odd jumble of her thoughts. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”
He neither looked, nor sounded, particularly convinced. “Just for a moment, you looked like you wanted to do murder.”
“How uncouth of me. Naturally, I do try to keep any murderous inclinations I might harbor to myself. Just occasionally my face gets the better of me.” Still, there was an odd undercurrent of danger that pooled in her belly, one she had best get herself clear of before any more fanciful notions could bloom in her mind.
