But without sex, how did he get the guilt and regret out of his head?
* * *
Portia had felt a quiver go down her spine at Sinclair’s intense look. I don’t like you leaving my sight.
Of course, that was just because he was being protective. She followed the women toward the drawing room, trailing behind the others. Then she spotted Sadie, alone, down the hall, looking furtive.
Why wasn’t Sadie with the viscount? Why did she look so guilty? Was their meeting for another reason than a romantic tryst? Curious, Portia followed. No one would suspect they were meeting about her kidnapping—everyone would assume they were doing something naughty.
Portia approached, then slipped behind a marble statue of a nymph that stood in a niche so Sadie would not see her. The nude nymph’s full figure and huge bosom could hide a small horse.
In the hallway, the young, bosomy courtesan met Viscount Sandhurst. “Quiet and come with me,” Sadie commanded, and she led Sandhurst by the hand down the corridor.
Blast. Portia still didn’t know if they were going to meet for pleasure or to discuss a plot that involved the kidnapping of innocent women.
She couldn’t picture blushing Sandhurst, who seemed to be only thinking about sex because he was so young and fascinated by it, being a clever villain. And she felt there was an intelligent, evil person behind her kidnapping. Though, that was just a guess. Just an instinct.
Sadie didn’t seem to have any thought beyond seducing a man with a title.
But was that true? Or just a very good act?
The problem was—how could she follow them without being spotted? She could hardly walk in on them if they were having a passionate encounter.
She went back into the drawing room. And walked in on yet another shocking thing.
Harriet Barker and the young courtesan whose name she didn’t know were kissing while sitting on the sofa. A sloppy, openmouthed kiss with lots of moaning.
As Portia almost stumbled over her feet, they broke apart. “I thought you were one of the men,” rumbled Harriet. “What’s taking those blasted gentleman so darned long?”
“Maybe they’re kissing each other while we’re not there,” suggested the very lovely widowed countess. Her soft laughter fluttered through the room.
The countess leaned against an enormous white piano, polished to a mirror finish. The whole room was white. In blinding daylight, it would hurt the eyes. In warm, golden candlelight, it was rather stunning.
“Ooh, I’d like to see that. Gentlemen kissing. Yummy!” declared the Unnamed Courtesan. She jumped up from the sofa, her brunette curls dancing. She discarded her wrap. Good heavens! Portia gaped. The woman wore only a corset embroidered in fanciful colors—turquoise, lavender, scarlet. Peacock feathers streamed down from the bottom of the corset, covering just her privates and her bottom. Her long, shapely legs were revealed. In a world where it was shocking to show an ankle.
Also, could such a woman be a kidnapper? She seemed only to care about gentlemen. All the women here seemed to be thinking only about the men—or was one woman faking her interest, and she was behind Portia’s kidnapping and the notes?
But who could be likely—?
“Who are you?”
The sudden, abrupt question startled Portia. Sherry flew up out of her glass and landed on the pale carpet as she spun around, wishing she could swallow her heart back into its place.
The Elegant Incognita stood behind her, watching her suspiciously.
“Me?” It took her so long to answer she knew she looked exactly as if she was lying. “I am Miss Love. The Duke of Sinclair’s mistress.” Summoning courage, Portia lowered her voice. “I’ve heard that a woman was to be kidnapped and brought here. Part of a game. Did you hear any such thing?”
The woman’s brows lifted. “No, but perhaps Genvere likes women to be unwilling. Some men do. But now that you have your hooks into Sin, you’ll never want for anything again. Will you?”
The woman peered at her, as if trying to see through the mask. “A woman wears a mask at an event like this to protect her identity. Which means she has something to lose.”
“Or she just likes to wear a mask,” Portia retorted. Though it wasn’t the cleverest thing she’d ever thought of. Still in her thoughts was the scene of the two women kissing. She knew there were women who loved other women, who had Sapphic feelings. But those women had kissed to entice the men. How odd to think men would be aroused by such a thing, since it appeared that men were not to be involved.
It interested her. She knew a proper woman should not be curious.
But she was.
She also knew she had no idea how to question anyone. How to find clues or even, through extreme cleverness, get a person to reveal secrets. But she had to try.