Chapter Five
The first formal dinner held at the Inchworthy hunting box featured an array of guests who couldn’t decide whether they loathed each other, or couldn’t wait to fall into bed together, mused their butler.
Standing silently to one side of the dining room and supervising the footmen as they served, Paul observed the five participants with an expressionless face, hiding the feeling of distaste that grew as the evening progressed.
The meal was a much simpler one than would have been expected at a London affair, of course. But the food was excellently prepared, flavourful and appropriate. Cook and her daughters had excelled themselves, and if this was to be the quality of their preparations, then Paul knew his guests would have no reason to fault their meals.
Their behaviour, however, would not have passed muster in town. Yes, this was an out-of-the-way, modest country estate. And no, no one would be tattling about this evening to the ever-eager ears of theTontomorrow morning. But even though Paul had travelled extensively throughout parts of the world that wouldn’t know what to do with a setting of fine china and tableware, he’d not been privy to the kind of licentious undercurrents running rampant at this dining table.
Sir Farren had taken the head of the table, since the Earl had sent his regrets and his intention to dine in his rooms this evening. He pleaded exhaustion from the journey, but Paul had to wonder if exhaustion from his guests might not be closer to the truth.
Lady Aphrodite had claimed the seat opposite at the foot of the table, and since it was small—as befitted a hunting box—she was not left to dine in empty space.
Sir Ambrose sat on her right, with a Tisdale twin between himself and Sir Farren; this pattern matched on the other side of the table, where Sir Geoffrey had partnered the other Tisdale. Since the women had chosen to dress identically this evening, Paul had a hard time telling them apart. Fortunately, the appellationMiss Tisdaleserved for both.
It was the wine that did it, he concluded. Neither woman could hold much more than a glass or two without becoming giggly. And those giggles had commenced during the soup course. Everyone ate, he was glad to see. Plates were cleaned, and Cook’s game pie was pronounced beyond delicious. He stored up their praise to relay below stairs.
Wine was poured, consumed, and refilled. As the level of liquid in the bottles diminished, the level of noise in the room rose, until an eavesdropper would have imagined there to be at least twelve or fifteen people present, all trying to make themselves heard.
The dessert course was welcomed with shrieks of delight, primarily from the Tisdales. They might have been twins, but they each had their own healthy sweet tooth, falling with glee on the jellies and marzipan sweets decorated with shining white beads of icing. Lady Aphrodite’s eyes gleamed and the gentlemen indulged freely.
Sir Geoffrey enjoyed teasing his Tisdale twin, making her pout, giggle and then shriek with laughter.
The other Tisdale was busily feeding Sir Ambrose a choice sugar plum, then pretending to eat her own while dropping itaccidentallyinto her bounteous cleavage. Since Sir Ambrose had had his hand up her skirts several times during the meal, Paul wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see him dive down her bosom in search of the missing sweet.
Roars of approval and laughter greeted his actions, Sir Farren shaking his head as he thumped on the table in encouragement. Sir Geoffrey offered verbal suggestions and directions, insisting that his friend remember “that big hard nub isn’t what you’re hunting for, Ambrose. There’s two of ‘em, but just one of the sugar plum.”
Lady Aphrodite’s laugh seemed forced, to Paul’s ears, and yet she encouraged her brother to loosen Hestia’s laces, in order to more easily access the treasure he sought.
Before matters progressed much further, Paul knew it was time for him get the footmen out of the room. They were locals from Pineneedle Drift, and he did not want too many tales of orgies running through the village. It would be entertaining, of course, and much would be forgiven those who paid good wages. But even so, there was a limit.
Shocked at the somewhat paternal trend of his thoughts, Paul directed the two young men to remove the last of the dishes and take everything off down to the kitchen.
As they were doing so, he glanced at Lady Aphrodite and gave her a small nod, indicating that if she wished to withdraw, along with the ladies, then she was free to do so.
She rose. “I’m done. But damned if we shall break up such a delightful evening so early. I demand that you gentlemen accompany us to the salon. After all,” she giggled, “there’s still a sweetmeat to be savored.” She glanced at her brother. “If you can find it…”
Hestia Tisdale laughed raucously. “Goodness knows where it’s got to, my Lady. Why it might be in my drawers by now…” She spread her legs wide suggestively.
“Well, damn it all, Ambrose,” snickered Sir Geoffrey. “You ain’t going to turn down a challenge like that, are you?”
Sir Ambrose stood, wobbled, and gripped the table to steady himself. “Absolutely not. Got to uphold the reputation of the Hacklebury-Smythes, don’t you know.” He straightened. “I’ll follow the trail wherever it leads me.” His eyes fell on Hestia, legs wide, lips parted—the visualization of many men’s lecherous desires. “No matter how long it takes or howhardit is…”
“Oh, Sir Ambrose.” Phoebe pushed her chair back, ignoring it when it fell on the carpet in her hurry to reach the other side of the table. “I must know…how hard is it?” She rushed to his side and grabbed the front of his breeches. Her eyes widened. “Oooh, ’tis hard indeed…”
Paul opened the door to the dining room, hoping that Harriet had set up tea and brandy in the salon. He wanted to quit the room so badly he could almost taste it.
“Your tea is ready, my Lady.” His look was pointed, his position by the door a very strong signal.
“Why thank you, Paul.” She looked around. “Come on then. Let us see where the hunt leads.”
Everyone followed, laughing, giggling, holding on to each other without restraint. Sir Geoffrey brought up the rear and paused as he reached Paul, standing straight and silent against the door.
His hand reached out and rubbed the front of Paul’s breeches. “Mmm. Wouldn’t you like to come and play with us, dear chap?” Sir Geoffrey’s voice was a low and sensual purr. “You would be a very welcome addition. And I’ll make sure you have fun.”
Paul grasped the man’s wrist and firmly removed the groping fingers from his crotch. “No, Sir.”
The man pouted. “Spoilsport.” Then he giggled—actually giggled—and Paul’s lip began to curl in distaste. “I’ll convert you yet.”
