Matthew couldn’t picture doing anything of the kind, but he played along for Robert’s sake. “And how do you suggest I do that?”
It was like he’d offered his friend a thousand pounds, Roseford’s eyes lit up so bright. He was practically bouncing as he said, “Let’s get out of this stuffy party and go somewhere fun.”
Hugh shook his head. “I shudder to think what you define as fun, my friend. Where exactly do you mean?”
Robert grinned wider. “The Donville Masquerade.”
Matthew stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. “The sex club,” he said with a shake of his head. God’s teeth, everyone knew about the Donville Masquerade.
Robert drew back. “You limit yourself, my dear old friend. Not just a sex club. There’s drink, gaming and dancing, and yes, I think a night with a comely lady would do each of us good.”
“Christ,” Hugh said with a slight laugh. “You and your appetites.”
Robert wrinkled his brow. “And since when is indulging in pleasure such a terrible appetite? It can’t have been so long since you did the same.”
Hugh shifted. “Well…nine months,” he admitted.
Robert’s eyes went impossibly wide and his mouth twisted in horror. “No. That…can’t be true. Is that even possible? Matthew, tell him that he will turn into a monk if he doesn’t change his ways.”
The two men faced Matthew and now it was his cheeks that filled with color. “I doubt I’m the one to tell him such, considering how long it’s been for me.”
Robert drew back. “Longer than nine months?”
Matthew cleared his throat. “I’m not sure this is a proper topic—”
“Ten months?” Robert pressed. “A year?”
“Honestly, Roseford, you are—”
“More than a year?” Robert nearly recoiled into the crowd.
Matthew let out a long sigh. He knew his bulldog of a friend, and there was no way he’d let this go until he had uncovered the number. “Fine. Three and a half years.”
Robert gaped, unspeaking. Even Hugh jerked his face toward Matthew like he’d declared he had decided to take over Spain. Matthew pursed his lips and forced himself to remain impassive beneath their horrified expressions.
“How are you both not…dead?” Robert said. “Youaredead, for that sounds like living in a grave.”
“Roseford,” Hugh said, voice heavy with warning.
Robert waved him off. “It’s settled, we’re going to the Donville Masquerade tonight. I have a membership and you two will come as my guests. I shall brook no refusals.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the ballroom, likely to call for his carriage.
Matthew stared at Hugh and found him looking back. Brighthollow shrugged. “He isn’t entirely wrong, you know.”
“Of course he isn’t,” Matthew said. “He never is. Not entirely.”
“We probably both could use a break from our troubles. Nothing says you have to spend an evening with a lightskirt, after all.”
Matthew shifted. He rarely thought about sinful things anymore. Those thoughts had seemed so wrong after Angelica’s death. Eventually he’d just purged them from his mind and become the monk Robert had first accused Hugh of being.
“You’re right,” he said with a sigh. “And I’ll go, if only to keep him from having an apoplexy in the middle of James and Emma’s ballroom.”
They moved to say their goodbyes to their friends, but Hugh caught his arm before they could reach anyone. He tugged Matthew to face him and his expression was serious.
“You aren’t betraying her,” he said softly.
Matthew’s lips parted and he nodded. “I know.”
