Nearly everyone in this room had experienced lovemaking.
Louisa glanced at all the faces, young and old, beautiful and plain, bold and bashful. She could not imagine them doing what she and Lord Granborough had done!
Her eyes alighted on the spinsters seated across the table. “Not the Broomes…”
Instead of finding husbands, they’d traveled the world.
Madame de Roubernon’s eyes danced with knowing laughter. Poor Louisa wasn’t in on the joke. “Not a wedding night, but perhaps they too have had a first time.”
She felt terribly sheltered, for she hadn’t considered the fact that women ‘did the deed’ for all sorts of reasons, some having nothing to do with marriage.
“Think of it as a sisterhood,” said the Frenchwoman. She placed her gloved hand on Louisa’s, carefully imparting one last piece of knowledge. “Go, luxuriate in your bath, and then put on something pretty, somethingyoulike. The sexual act is for you as much as it is for him.”
Louisa pondered this, for what could she possibly gain from doing…that?
“Thank you, madame. I am feeling overtired, and I do believe a warm bath would help.” She rose from her seat, bidding her neighbors ‘goodnight’.
The Misses Broome were disappointed to see her go, as it was always such a treat to have a young person at the table. Louisa felt like an infant beside these enlightened ladies.
“Leaving so soon?” asked one sister.
The other declared, “But the night is so young.”
“I’m sorry, but I really must get back or His Lordship will worry.”
Louisa returned to her stateroom, stopping to speak with the first-class stewardess on duty, who bobbed a curtsey and went to prepare a warm, scented bath for the Marchioness of Granborough.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Giles reclined in an overstuffed armchair with his legs stretched out beneath the table in front of him. Waiters weaved between the groups of gentlemen gathered in the smoking room, serving them brandy and lighting their cigars.
A fire crackled in the blue-tiled hearth, casting warmth and light over the oaken paneling, the bronze lamps with amber shades, leather upholstered furniture, wooden tables, and chairs. Giles selected a Havana cigar from the humidor, allowed it to be cut and lit, and then filled his mouth with heady tobacco smoke.
The table was littered with crystal ashtrays, drinks glasses, cigarette cases, and pocket change. Gathered around this hub of masculinity sat Mr. Meyer and Monsieur de Roubernon, two young Englishmen, and a fellow from San Francisco who was traveling on business—this curious gentleman wore a gold nugget ring and claimed to have met Wyatt Earp, though Giles suspected he was a card sharp or a confidence man looking to make his fortune on the high seas.
It took a twister to know one, and Giles was a swindler of the worst sort.
Mr. Meyer puffed his cigar. “We’re thinking of getting a discreet poker game together, if you’re interested.”
“Count me out,” Giles replied, explaining, “I never play for money.”
One of the Englishmen goaded him. “Come, Granborough, you’ve blunt to spare.”
Truth be told, Giles feared he was born with a propensity for vice—gambling, drunkenness, dissipation. He’d watched his father waste and wager everything the family owned, heedless of the harm. The consequences of these actions were merely a tin can to be kicked down the road for someone else to deal with.
Even at Oxford, when he ought to have been carefree and gay, Giles had practiced the art of economy, rationing his allowance and taking his clothes to be mended or sold rather than enjoying jaunts to Savile Row on his father’s unpaid accounts.
Yet those poverty-stricken days were behind him. Hedidhave the blunt to spare for a card game or a harmless flutter now and then, but old habits died hard. He’d vowed to always temper his passions.
He owed it to Louisa, who deserved a decent, prudent husband. He must never waste her money.
Giles refused to be recruited for a poker game that was sure to end badly for him. If Meyer, de Roubernon, or any of the others couldn’t see that this California businessman had intentions of lightening their pockets, they were fools.
A wise man knew where his best interests lay. Giles dragged himself to his feet, saying, “I had better get back to my wife.”
There was a great deal of back slapping and elbow nudging as he placed his spent cigar on the waiter’s silver tray.
Leaving the smoking room, he stepped into the passageway. Unbeknownst to him, the previous night’s hired thugs were waiting by the door. They flanked him as soon as Giles crossed the threshold, and then followed him down the swaying corridor.
