Hell, no! If left alone in a dark room with this shepherdess, there could be only one outcome. And yet the urge to beg for a key waged a war within.
“Not tonight.” Miss Vale’s acting skills were to be commended. She leaned forward to present Cavanagh and Mrs Crandall with an eyeful of milky-white flesh and whispered, “We’re experimenting out of doors. Indeed, the last time I gazed upon Lawrence’s naked form, we were in a graveyard.”
Mrs Crandall laughed and tapped Miss Vale playfully on the arm. “Oh, you’re a riot, Mrs Beckford. No wonder you have men fighting for your attentions. And you have given me a splendid idea for our next soiree. Hot Arabian Nights. We shall erect tents in the garden which will feed your appetite for exploring nature.”
“Perfect.” Miss Vale smiled. “I’m sure Lawrence will approve.”
“Wholeheartedly,” he said, though did not wish to imagine a hot night in a tent with Miss Vale. “I’m sure the thought of sleeping outdoors appeals to Cavanagh, too.”
His friend gritted his teeth and mouthed a curse. “I’m afraid the heat brings me out in a dreadful rash.”
“A massage with aromatic oils will soothe any raging irritation,” Mrs Crandall replied. “And with my expert fingers, I know just how to hit the right spot.”
They all chuckled though only Mrs Crandall seemed genuinely amused.
Woods entered the room, marched over to his mistress and mumbled in her ear. The madam clapped her hands and nodded profusely. “Time for a game,” she said in the tone of an excited c
hild.
With the bang of a hand gong Woods had snatched from a side table, he announced that his mistress wished to address the crowd. Gaining everyone’s attention, Mrs Crandall moved into the middle of the room and informed them they were to take part in a game of murder.
A chill ran the length of Lawrence’s spine, bringing the hairs on his nape jumping to attention. Was the game Mrs Crandall’s idea or had another guest made the suggestion? He observed Layton’s wicked grin.
“Woods will hand you all a character card,” Mrs Crandall informed them. “When we snuff out the candles, you must creep about the room. The person with the victim card will choose an appropriate moment to scream and crumple to a heap on the floor.”
“Once the lights are out, the lady is sure to grope my nether regions,” Cavanagh complained. “I might take my leave before we plunge into darkness.”
“When Woods enters with the lit lamps, you are allowed three chances to guess the murderer. Failure to give the correct name means you will have to remove an item of clothing.”
Bloody hell!
The odds were against them. There were thirty people in the room. But this game was not about skill and mental agility. It was about rousing the crowd to partake in an orgy.
Without thought, he gripped Miss Vale’s hand and held it tight. “Lead the way. We will be right behind you.” He’d made a mistake bringing Miss Vale to this pernicious den. A mistake he was desperate to rectify.
“Are you ready for the fun to begin?” When the crowd cheered, Mrs Crandall summoned Woods to hand out the cards. Impatience saw her take half the pack and distribute them to those on the opposite side of the room.
Cavanagh was the first in their group to receive a card—that of the handsome lothario. Lawrence held his breath while waiting for Miss Vale to reveal her choice from the deck. There were but two words on her card—lying vixen.
Miss Vale looked at him and gulped.
Had any other woman received the card, he might have questioned her integrity, believed that fate had given him a sign. And although he could not explain how he knew, he was certain honesty flowed like blood through Miss Vale’s veins.
“And what of your card, Trent?” Cavanagh asked.
With a hollow feeling in his chest, Lawrence stared at the blank side of the card in his hand. Would he be the illegitimate rogue, the unwanted bastard? Would he be the great pretender? The man obsessed with integrity when in truth he wanted to make love to the innocent woman at his side?
Aware of his hesitation, Miss Vale placed her hand on his. “It’s a silly game. Whatever is written on the card has no bearing on one’s character. I can assure you I am not a vixen in any sense of the word. And even if I wanted to lie, my loose tongue forbids it.”
Lawrence’s pasted smile slipped as he turned over the card and read the single word guaranteed to haunt his dreams.
Victim.
Chapter Ten
The hum of excited chatter filled Mrs Crandall’s drawing room. Sporting wide grins, people studied their cards with enthusiasm, and yet Mr Trent looked fit to throttle the first person who dared utter a word.
With her hand still resting on his arm, Verity gave a squeeze of reassurance. “If you’re the murderer, you are not supposed to say.”