Impossible, of course. Or so she prayed.
Sinclair called him “Saxonby,” nodding curtly. The other man returned the quick nod. Obviously they knew each other.
She’d wondered how people greeted each other at orgies. Did they trade commentary about the weather before . . . before watching each other do something naughty to someone’s private bits?
They were approaching the enormous dining table and the balding butler stepped in front of them.
Sinclair growled—he seemed to be doing a lot of growling. “She sits beside me.”
But the butler rushed in. “My apologies, Your Grace, but that is not possible. Seating has been arranged by Lord Genvere, based upon precedence.” The butler waved his hand and a handsome footman, dressed in livery, came forward to direct her to her seat.
A footman, whose impassive expression kept changing into a smirk, led her to a chair positioned between two young men—a tall, slim man with golden blond hair, a baby nose, and huge blue eyes, and the raven-haired man who had been spanked. He possessed a gentleman’s jaded expression.
With wide blue eyes, the blond man introduced himself by lifting her gloved hand—in fine white silk gloves—and bestowing a kiss. He smiled at her. His eyes shone at her. “I am Viscount Sandhurst.”
Portia floundered. She couldn’t give her name, and she’d never thought of that. Sandhurst was young, but dressed in elegant, stunning clothes. Diamonds glittered on his buttons and gold thread adored his silk waistcoat.
“I am Miss . . . Miss Love.”
“What a delightful name.” Sandhurst grinned. “I saw you come downstairs with the Duke of Sinclair. Throws fantastic parties. I’ve never been, but I’ve wanted to go. Are you his special mistress? You are lovely.”
“I—” Being Sinclair’s mistress would be safest, wouldn’t it? There was irony. “Yes, I am exclusive to him.”
“A dashed shame. You have the prettiest lips I have ever seen.” He leaned close. His breath tickled her ear.
Of course that was all of her face he could see. Should she run? No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t flee in a panic after only minutes here. However, she was used to dealing with unwanted male attention with a pistol. Here, she was devoid of weaponry.
Young Sandhurst whispered, “I have to admit I’ve never been to one of these. To a scandalous party. What happens? How do people begin to have sex with each other? I feel too dashed awkward, not knowing how to begin.”
She had no idea. She could be truthful. But it was too tempting to make fun. How did people go from sitting calmly around a dinner table to doing carnal things . . . in a group? “I believe sometimes an announcement is made. Something like: ‘Begin Rutting in Three seconds.’ Then a countdown ensues. A horn might be blown, as if signaling a hunt.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I wonder what will be done here. Have you met our host?”
Heavens, this young man was naïve. “No. Do you know Lord Genvere?” she asked.
“Never met him. Dashed surprised to receive the invitation, but since I’ve been eager to attend a sex party, I accepted at once. At least he’s invited attractive guests.”
She glanced around the table at the glittering crowd. Yes. And some he brought against their will.
Soup was served. A lobster bisque, rich and velvety.
She got that feeling—the prickling awareness that someone was watching her. Looking up, she met Sinclair’s intense, chocolate-brown eyes. He shot a glare at Sandhurst.
She knew what she must do. Find out what she could from the young viscount. But how did she do it? She couldn’t ask: Did you kidnap me? This young man looked too callow to be a dastardly kidnapper with a warped sense of humor.
She touched his wrist to get his attention.
Sandhurst jerked around so quickly he almost knocked over his wineglass. She snapped her hand out and saved it.
He was staring so intently at her, he hadn’t even noticed. “Yes, Miss Love?” he asked. He looked boyishly hopeful.
With a pang, she remembered Sinclair as a young man of nineteen. He had been so boyishly gorgeous too.
“Did you receive a note from our host? An odd and unsettling note?”
“The note? I thought it was a hint we would be doing sinful things tonight. We will, won’t we?”
A hint. She hadn’t thought that. But then this young man hadn’t been kidnapped and tied to a bed. Yet, that could have been a sick joke as well.
“Did you know anything about my arrival?”
“No, I wish I had. Of course, I guess you’re the property of Sinclair. And he’s known to be a crack shot.”
“So am I,” murmured the black-haired man at her side. He leaned close to her, his lids half-covering his green eyes. “I can also boast the best endowment of any man here. I’ve seen my competition and it wilts before my impressive prick. I possess thirteen inches. In this instance, my dear, thirteen is very lucky.”