Frustrated and bothered by the odd direction her imagination was taking her in, Clarissa decided to go splash some water on her flushed face before dinner, vowing to redouble her efforts to woo her Duke as soon as she had finished. She headed towards the retiring room, but heard Penhurst’s voice on the landing above. Not wanting to either see him or be forced to converse with him alone, she darted behind a suit of armour. Boots clipped ominously on the marble steps above her head, alerting her to the fact he wasn’t alone, and she found herself holding her breath.
‘What time are we leaving?’ His companion was Lord Gaines. ‘I’m as hard as a pike staff just thinking about it.’
‘They are expecting us at midnight—but I dare say we can slip out earlier once the port is done. We’ve been promised some new girls tonight.’ Clarissa heard Penhurst rub his hands in anticipation. ‘Buxom ones.’
‘You requested Celeste, didn’t you?’
‘Of course I requested Celeste. I know how much you like her.’
‘I like the way she plays my flute, Penhurst. That wench has a talented mouth. You should try it. After me, of course. I call dibs on the first round.’
‘Unless we share her? Top and tail.’
‘Now there’s an idea.’ Both men chuckled as they passed directly over Clarissa’s head and instinctively she clamped a hand over her mouth in case they heard her, her stomach roiling with disgust.
‘A message just arrived, my lord.’
The butler’s voice made them pause mid-step and wait. Clarissa’s heart thumped loudly in her ears as he walked briskly towards them while she pressed her back into the wall and prayed for invisibility. All her senses were heightened. Even the smell of Lord Gaines’s usual bay rum cologne was so cloying she wanted to gag.
She heard the faint whisper of paper as he took it. There was a pause, then Gaines grunted in acknowledgement, before Penhurst spoke. ‘That will be fine. Make sure they are waiting.’
‘Very well, my lord.’
The butler scurried away, but the two men lingered. ‘They’re early.’
‘Only by a few days. It’s a small inconvenience, I will grant you, but it doesn’t affect tonight.’ She heard the sound of Penhurst scrunching the note, then slapping his odious friend on the back. ‘Tonight your Celeste will still play her sweet, sweet music.’
To her utter relief, because she feared she was about to turn purple from lack of air, their heels clipped the stairs briskly while they continued their disgusting litany about their plans for Celeste. Only when Clarissa heard the footsteps disappear down the hallway did she risk peeking out from her hiding place to watch their retreating backs. With a casual flick of his wrist, she watched Penhurst toss the ball of paper into the enormous medieval fireplace that dominated the entrance hall.
