She giggled at Brent, who shifted his chair closer.
Phoebe frowned, conscious they now appeared to be squashed along two sides of the table, when there were four very good ones available.
‘Yes, do tell us about the kissing!’ the mop-head soldier echoed, picking up her hand and doing something wet and slimy to the back of it.
The earl’s moist lips came to mind, and she felt a swell of nausea.
‘Are stage kisses as real as they look, or did you save those for your admirers after the duels?’ Mop-head smirked.
Much against her will, the night in the viscount’s library reached out of the fog of her brain again. She was certain he’d wanted to kiss her. Had he admired her? Or was she merely a distraction?
‘I’ll respect you more now I know who your brother is.’
She gritted her teeth and yanked her hand away, aware that Aurelia was not going to give up. ‘Command – I choose command!’ she substituted swiftly, hoping her change of mind would turn all thoughts from kissing.
‘What fun!’ Aurelia giggled. ‘As you lost the game and haven’t answered the question, it now becomes a matter of honour. And there are really only two commands that settle a matter of honour in my book – a race, or…’
Phoebe swallowed, picturing Aunt Higglestone’s face if she were to ask to borrow a horse to settle a card debt, when she wasn’t even permitted to ride.
‘Or?’ Phoebe frowned, crossing her fingers beneath the table.
‘Or a kiss!’
At this, everyone around the table began to laugh in a way that Phoebe found highly unnecessary, as it really wasn’t funny at all.
‘But because we are all friends, I’m quite prepared to share your debt with you!’ Aurelia added archly.
Then she lurched towards the younger soldier, and pressed her lips to his in a way Phoebe had only read about in a novel Harriet had once banned.
Phoebe stared in shock, before realising Smithfield had also slid his roving hand around her waist, and was starting to loom towards her. Horror-struck, she recoiled from his pursed lips, but the more she leaned away the more her chair leg locked, and he seemed only too happy to interpret squirming as encouragement.
Which left her no choice at all.
Muttering one of Fred’s favourite curses, she made a grab for Aurelia’s half-drunk sherry, and emptied it over the soldier’s leering mop-head.
Which was also precisely the moment that the door opened. For a second, no one moved and then slowly, Phoebe turned her gaze towards the doorway to find a curious footman, a dancing-eyed captain, and a belligerent marchioness looking back – and behind them all, a haughty stare that made her want to retreat inside her widow’s cap for good.
Phoebe inhaled raggedly as she glanced back at Aurelia, only to find that she’d somehow managed to slide away from Brent, leaving herself and mop-head looking very cosy indeed. She flushed to the very roots of her powdered hair.
‘What is the meaning of all this, Aurelia?’ the marchioness demanded, making all the candles in the candelabra flicker uncertainly.
‘When the captain said you were enjoying a round of cards with an unknown Mrs Smith and two gentlemen of the regiment, I must admit to not being best pleased, but to find youina private room, with anactress,andtwo foot soldiers?Do you not realise what the world might think? Thank goodness the viscount knows us well enough to trust your behaviour stems from childish innocence, and nothing more!’
Phoebe’s chest thumped as she lifted her eyes to the viscount’s, but they were so heavily lidded they revealed nothing. She glanced back to Aurelia.
Why would it matter what the viscount thought – unless they had an understanding?
Briefly, she stared, feeling as though a bucket of icy water had been emptied over her head.
Could the disagreeable viscount actually be Aurelia’s betrothed?
‘If I may be per … permitted to def—’ mop-head began to stammer through a shower of sherry drops.
‘You may not!’ the marchioness snapped so fiercely he blanched.
‘Might I recommend a more discreet tone, Marchioness?’
The viscount’s tone was dispassionate and his eyes cold, taking Phoebe back to the Swan Inn in a heartbeat. He closed the door, before directing one of his piercing stares at all those gathered. Phoebe felt herself wither instantly, certain he would see straight through her disguise, yet, when his gaze swept the room, it seemed to pass over hers without a flicker of recognition. She exhaled silently, relief coursing her veins plus something else, too – a shadow of disappointment – despite it making no sense whatsoever.
