Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(31)

“That is true, Mrs. Barker. I know the endowments of every gentleman here,” said the Incognita. “Except Viscount Sandhurst.” She teasingly fluttered lashes at him. “I do hope to rectify that situation during this event.”

The lad blushed. Tugged at his collar. “Well . . . well, indeed. I should oblige.” Then he turned to her, Portia. “Unless I am claimed by another delightful lady.”

Oh dear.

The sound of glass shattering made everyone gasp. Sinclair growled, dropped his broken wineglass, and mopped up his hand. The footman rushed over to assist.

Someone laughed. A deep, throaty, husky chortle.

Portia looked toward the sound and saw the gentleman who’d laughed was staring at her.

It was the man with the darker gold hair. She hadn’t been able to see him well before, because he’d been leaning toward the woman beside him.

Now he watched her, leaning back casually in his velvet-cushioned chair. A smirk touched his lips. He brushed back his hair, the dark gold tresses falling over his brow. His eyes appeared to be violet. A startling color and probably just a reflection.

Then she gasped. She knew him. It was one of Sinclair’s old friends from ten years past. Viscount Willoughby.

But why smirk? Was it because he was responsible for bringing her here?

Ten years ago, the viscount hadn’t approved of Sinclair marrying her. She knew Willoughby had been the one to take Sinclair to scandalous brothels. Oh yes, it had been Sinclair’s fault because he had gone, but the viscount had been determined to corrupt him.

Could he be behind her kidnapping?

Somehow she had to question him.

Willoughby looked away from her. “The problem here is that there aren’t enough women. It’s damned disappointing.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Miss Bradshaw, the Brash Courtesan. “There’s one of you for each of us.”

“Almost, darling,” corrected the Incognita. “There are six of us, seven of them.”

“I like satisfying a group of women at once,” Willoughby said carelessly. “I never fuck less than three. Having only one woman is damned dull.”

Portia gritted her teeth. She hadn’t liked Willoughby then for his arrogance. It appeared he was no different now.

The footman—there was only one—cleared away the course. Humphries followed, serving the next one. He held a plate in front of her. It held pinkish red lobster tails, stuffed with something and delicately arrayed with green sprigs of an herb. She took one.

At the foundling home, she’d always eaten simply. She had to run the foundling home on a meager budget now. Her brothers now had families to support, so they had to receive incomes, else how would they and their families live? They had found careers—one of her brothers had trained to be a physician, the other owned a print shop that was favored by the ton. But with wives and children of their own, they could spare little time for the foundling home.

Portia lifted her fork and took a nibble of the filling of the lobster tail. Heavens, it was succulent shrimp, rich and almost sweet.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t help it.

She’d never had such delicious food in her life.

The Brash Courtesan suddenly squealed in delight. “Oh, Sinclair, if your mistress goes off with Sandhurst, then I would be more than happy to please you. After dinner, I would be delighted to suck your cock.”

Portia’s eyes had snapped open. And both her fork and a piece of shrimp had gone spinning out from her hand and were now flying across the table.

* * *

Sin caught Portia’s flying fork and tossed it to the table. The footman brought her fresh silverware as everyone else looked from her to Sin, then from him to Sadie.

Sadie wore a smirk like a cat that had not only gotten into the cream but who had given a standing order to have it delivered every morning.

“This time I’m devoted to my pretty mistress,” he said smoothly.

“That isn’t like you.” Sadie pouted, watching him. “You’re not even faithful to a partner at an orgy for longer than it takes to make her come.”

He saw Portia wince.

This conversation needed to come to a halt. “After dinner, Sadie, we’ll see.”

“We’ll see?” She put her hands beneath her bosom, lifting it. “You can’t be turning shy now. Not after all the wicked things you’ve done. You’re like Willoughby. The rumour is you never sleep in your bed unless you have four others sharing it with you. But with you, not all of your bedmates are females.”

Portia stared with wide eyes.

“Exaggeration. I’m not as legendary as that.”

“But you are,” murmured Clarissa. “You are quite legendary, Sin.”