Instead of being shunned, society’s wives and widows had taken her under their wing. Ladies commiserated with her for having to bed an older man, and she’d tried not to wince as they’d described their own unsatisfactory bedroom encounters in excruciating detail.
As an attractive young widow, she’d inadvertently become the ultimate matrimonial prize, and those well-intentioned women had closed ranks to deter all but the most honorable suitors.
Unfortunately, none of them had ever considered that Tess mightwelcomea few scandalous advances.
“We should put our masks on,” Tess said. “We can’t have anyone guessing who we are.”
Daisy and Ellie both nodded, and the three of them fumbled with their disguises.
Ellie’s gown was pale blue. The excessive frills made her look like a sweet, if rather impractical, shepherdess. Daisy, having decided that none of her own outfits were “harlotty enough,” had borrowed a deep indigo dress from a friend who worked as a chorus girl at Drury Lane Theatre. Her bosom was quite as exposed as Tess’s.
But Tess’s dress was still the boldest: a sinful, scandalous red.
She’d never worn anything this color in her life, but after a year of drab lavenders and dull browns the deep crimson made her feel daring and thoroughly wicked. She was simultaneously terrified of attracting attention, and emboldened by the fact that she would be completely anonymous.
Flaming torches illuminated the front of the house as the carriage joined the row of vehicles waiting to disgorge their passengers on the front steps. Laughter, music, and conversation floated through the open windows.
Tess’s stomach lurched in panic, but Daisy caught her eye with a knowing smile.
“You can do this. You’re a scarlet woman.Literally.You’ve spent far too long poring over rent books and grain yields. It’s time to have some fun.”
Tess nodded. Daisy was right. It was time to stop hiding in the shadows, and take something for herself.
Tonight, she would get herself kissed.
Chapter Three
Tess noticed him the moment she entered the cardroom. He sat at a table, half in profile, a pile of mother-of-pearl gaming chips heaped on the green baize in front of him, a glass of amber liquid by his wrist.
It was his stillness that drew her, the intensity of his concentration. He was an oasis of calm amid the crush of guests who eddied and flowed around him like the rushing waters of a stream.
His opponent shuffled his cards and drummed his fingertips impatiently on the table, buthismovements were sure as he laid down one card and requested another from the dealer with a flick of his hand.
Intrigued, Tess started forward, using the crowd as cover. The candles overhead highlighted his dark hair, a straight nose, and the shadow of an evening beard on his unfashionably tanned cheek.
He was the only one in the room not wearing a mask.
The implied arrogance of that gesture, as if he disdained to play by the same rules as the rest of humanity, fascinated her. She’d always wished for the courage to dismiss society’s expectations so brazenly.
Who was this man?
She edged closer, drawn by the aura of effortless command that surrounded him.
She’d never seen him before in theton. Was he a soldier, newly returned from the war? He certainly had the physique. His shoulders were muscled beneath his dark jacket, his body lean and athletic.
He had money, too, judging by the exquisite cut of his coat. A foreigner, perhaps? A professional gamester? Definitely not some impoverished country squire. Still, in a gathering like this, he could just as well be a good-looking footman who’d stolen his master’s clothes for the night.
Tess hovered near his elbow, desperate to see his whole face.
She almost hoped he’d open his mouth and say something imbecilic, or bray like a donkey when he laughed, and the allure would be shattered.
He did neither of those things. When his opponent made a comment, the deep sound of his laughter vibrated through her and produced a quivery feeling in the pit of her stomach. Tess took an amazed breath, shocked by her body’s reaction.
After the next hand, his opponent gave a disgusted snort and tossed his cards faceup on the table.
“Damn it, Thorn, you’ve bested me again!”
The good-natured complaint was accompanied by a groan as the loser pushed his tokens forward and his chair back.
