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“I confess I have never attempted it.”
“I shall reserve judgment until I have better evidence.”
The wicked amusement in her eyes made him suspect that she was considering precisely how such evidence might be obtained. Bloody hell, he adored the workings of her mind.
“Would you care to gamble?” George asked as they entered the next chamber.
The room was considerably smaller and furnished as an intimate salon. Deep crimson damask curtains framed the windows, and a dozen low gaming tables had been arranged among velvet divans and richly upholstered chairs. Candlelight shimmered upon crystal decanters of brandy and whisky, while laughter and the occasional triumphant exclamation rose above the rustle of cards.
George knew the gambling rooms well. Aphrodite offered faro, whist, and games of chance to suit nearly every appetite, though the stakes were not always measured in guineas. Tonight, several masked guests appeared to be wagering articles of clothing rather than money.
Cordelia noticed almost immediately.
“George, why is that gentleman removing his waistcoat?”
“He appears to have lost a hand.”
“Of cards?”
“One hopes.”
She pressed her lips together, struggling to contain her amusement. At the nearest table, a lady wearing a magnificent emerald-green gown laid down her cards with an expression of triumph. Her opponent, a tall gentleman in a silver mask, groaned theatrically before removing his cravat and surrendering it to the growing pile of discarded garments in the center of the table.
Several spectators laughed and applauded, while the lady leaned back in her chair with the satisfied air of a woman who had every intention of winning considerably more.
Cordelia watched with fascination. “Do they continue until they have nothing left to surrender?”
“That is generally the intention.”
“And then?”
“Presumably the winner collects the spoils.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “You are being deliberately unhelpful.”
“Very well. The object is to strip one’s opponent of every stitch of clothing. Whoever is unfortunate enough to lose may then find themselves reclining upon the table while the winner enjoys whatever wicked liberties they have agreed upon, often to the considerable delight of everyone watching.”
She sucked in a breath. “Goodness. Have you... have you ever played this game?”
His mouth quirked. “I usually watch.”
“Oh.” A becoming pink suffused her cheeks, though her expression remained composed. She glanced toward the table again, where the gentleman was now negotiating quite earnestly for the opportunity to retain his boots.
“Is there pleasure in watching?” she asked.
“Sometimes.”
“For the person watching, I mean.”
“I understood your meaning.”
She looked up at him, her cheeks delightfully pink. “I want to watch too.”
His gut clenched at the eager sincerity in her voice. If he had entertained any hope that this visit would satisfy Cordelia’s curiosity about Aphrodite, he was rapidly discovering the foolishness of such an expectation. Every new entertainment merely presented her with another dozen questions, and he suspected she would cheerfully remain here until dawn if he allowed it.
“This particular game may take some time,” he said. “Let me show you somewhere else.”
She gave the players one last, regretful glance before slipping her hand more securely around his arm and following him. As they moved through another passage, passing alcoves curtained in crimson silk and private chambers from which laughter occasionally drifted, Cordelia grew uncharacteristically quiet.
