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“How droll you are, old chap.”

“I like to think so.” He bent and prepared his aim.

“Does our hostess concur?” Mal asked slyly.

Apollo hit the cue ball prematurely and missed his shot by more than Mal had at his turn. He straightened and made every effort to remove all trace of expression from his countenance.

“Our hostess? Why should she agree with me upon any subject, let alone the state of my wit?”

“No reason.” Mal lined up his cue stick. “Save, perhaps, that I do believe I saw the lady in question departing in haste from Blindman’s Bluff earlier, and you were not far behind her. Was it an assignation, then?”

Blast his friend for being too clever. And curse himself for being too shoddy in his efforts to keep anyone from noticing his interest in Ophelia.

“I have no notion what you’re prattling on about now,” he lied. “I dislike parlor games, so I simply didn’t wish to partake in Blindman’s Bluff. As for following our hostess, I did no such thing.”

Mal made a noncommittal hum and abandoned all pretense of playing billiards, straightening instead and leaning on his cue stick in a lazy pose. “Then where did you go?”

“For a walk in the gardens. Does it matter?”

He tried his utmost not to think about Ophelia, naked and magnificent in his bed. About how sweet she tasted or the sounds she made or how very wet he’d made her. She was his for the next few days at least. Until he could persuade her to give him more. But he would worry about what happened after they left Wingfield Hall and returned to London later.

Mal gave him an indolent shrug. “I reckon not, unless you don’t mind if I try my hand at seducing our lovely hostess myself. If you have staked your claim, naturally, I’ll turn my attentions elsewhere. If not, however, I shall consider myself free to pursue her.”

“What about your brunettes?” he bit out, feeling churlish.

“I told you. They prefer each other. My poor prick has never been so unattended and rudely ignored.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ve heard quite enough about the state of your cock for one day.” Apollo gave a dramatic shudder. “Indeed, perhaps for an entire lifetime.”

“Ha,” Mal said. “Yet again, you were the one who asked. I merely provided the answer. If you didn’t want to know, you ought not to have asked.”

“How about Helene?” he suggested next, desperate to send his friend anywhere other than toward Ophelia.

Mal shook his head. “Alas, actresses are not for me. Far too temperamental. After Jeanette set my library on fire, I can’t countenance another mistress who is so damned mercurial.”

Mal went through mistresses and lovers the way most men went through gloves. Apollo could barely recall them all, and they were replaced on a nearly weekly basis. The flaming library had been quite memorable, of course. He didn’t know how it had escaped his memory. She had been after Madame Beaumont of the poisoned fish.

“I had forgotten about Madame Oiseau,” he admitted.

“Do you know, she wasn’t even truly French?” Mal tutted. “I ought to have known, I suppose. She lost her accent in bed. I don’t think she had an inkling oiseau is French for bird. And do you know, to this day, the damned library still smells of soot and smoke?”

“I expect it would. You’re lucky she didn’t burn down the whole bloody town house.”

“She wouldn’t have had the stomach for it, I don’t think. The moment she upended the candle, she tried her best to put out the flame. But it was too little, too late until the kitchen servants came in with buckets of water and put an end to it.”

“No actresses, then,” Apollo concluded.

“You see? That is why our hostess holds so much appeal. She is not dramatic, nor a prima donna. Doesn’t seem the sort to set a library on fire or poison one’s fish. Of course, I would wager she is beautiful beneath that mask as well. That certainly helps.”

She was beyond beautiful, but Apollo didn’t dare say it.

“Theodora,” he suggested hastily.

“Never cared for her. The woman is a serpent in a Worth gown.”

Blast. Mal was not wrong in his assessment of the woman. Not at all. And Apollo ought to have known that his friend had more discerning taste than that. However, he was eager to keep his handsome rake of a friend far, far away from his Phee.

Settle for anyone else with a quim, he wanted to yell whilst tearing at his hair. But Apollo could not do so because he yet retained his sanity. Or what remained of it.