Taking his time, he guided her into the next room, one that Lavinia had insisted would appeal to the ladies, one he referred to in private as the Wallflower Parlor, although to his guests it was merely a ballroom, like any other they’d visited before, but within these walls they were guaranteed a waltz with a charming gent. Although he’d have preferred to provide employment for the poorer among them, he’d needed fellows of a certain caliber to entertain his ladies, men who spoke with a bit of polish and knew how to dress to please in jackets, waistcoats, and cravats. Most of his visible male staff had been trained to take a position in some posh house as a footman. Here they earned double what they would have elsewhere.

“I’d not expected dancing,” she murmured.

A few ladies lined the edge of the dance floor, awaiting their turn, knowing they would soon circle about the floor. No female here was ever neglected.

“Perhaps you would care for a waltz?” He never danced with his patrons, but he wanted to hold her in his arms, sweep her over the polished parquetry. The fact that he’d never waltzed in his life would hardly serve as a deterrent to something he desired. Lavinia had taught him the basics, thinking it might come in useful at some point, that he might wish to dance with one of his guests. He hated to give her credit for being correct. While she was now his sister-by-marriage, he was still struggling to forgive her completely for the horrid past she’d wrought upon his brother.

Selena shook her head. “I am not here to dance.”

“You have no interest in gaming, in feasting, in dancing. Why are you here then, darling?”

With a bit of obstinance and daring, she met and held his gaze. “I am here to be bedded.”

Chapter 3

Growing up in the rookeries had taught him to never show exactly what he felt so he didn’t allow so much as a muscle in his cheek to tic, but the bluntness of her words took him off guard. As did the fact that she continued to hold his gaze as though she hadn’t said something outrageous. He wanted to tear off the damn mask and see if she was blushing. If she was, it was only her cheeks because her chin remained a pale alabaster, with no hint whatsoever of pink or a warming.

He didn’t like at all the singular purpose for which she’d come to his club, and the irony was not lost on him. He reveled in sin, enjoyed his role in introducing people to vice. It was unlikely he was headed to heaven and so he fully intended to enjoy the ride that would deliver him to hell. He understood people had urges, had never understood why fault was found with people satisfying those urges—in or out of marriage.