Lady Priscilla gave him a saucy grin and winked. “I lied.”
“Did you now?” Colin tried a rakish smile. After all, Lady Priscilla was quite famous amongst the gentlemen. Although she wasn’t truly a lady, it was what every man called her, for she was one of the highest-paid courtesans in the ton. Rumors had run rampant two weeks ago, after one of her latest conquests dumped her for a true lady.
“What can I do for you?” Colin asked, clearing his throat and nearing the lady. Her perfume was so strong, he fought the urge to hold his breath and look away.
She batted her eyelashes and drew closer. “Shall we discuss it over champagne?”
“Of course.”
With a ridiculously fake laugh, she threw her head back, exposing far too much flesh to the moonlight. “Wait for me right here.” With that she turned and went back through the door.
“She loves chocolates,” came the unmistakable voice of Viscount Maddox on Colin’s right.
“What the…?” He turned around and came face-to-face with Anthony. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Anthony grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him away from the door. “I agreed to help you with your first seduction.”
“This is not my first—”
“Do you want my help or not?” Anthony demanded.
“I do.” Colin sighed his resignation. Though he was certain this particular girl wouldn’t take much convincing. He examined his friend, who seemed to be sweating profusely. “I say, are you all right?”
Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just thinking about my final resting place is all.” He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Lady Priscilla is very sensitive. You must not offend her.”
“Right.” Colin nodded.
“Begin by comparing her to Lady Hawthorne. She adores her and has always aimed to be just like her in every aspect of life.”
“Cordelia? Ambrose’s wife? Truly?” Colin wasn’t entirely convinced.
Anthony scratched his head and looked away. “It is all truth. Also, and do not forget this lest you lose her before you even try to seduce the woman…” Anthony leaned in and whispered, “She loves poetry.”
“Poetry?” Colin repeated. “But I am no poet! I hate poetry!”
“Make it up.”
“Do you know me at all? I cannot simply make something up on the spot. I’ll look like an idiot.”
Anthony began to pace. “Allow me to help.” He cleared his throat and took a stance in front of Colin. “Your hair is like a cloud.”
“A cloud?” Colin interrupted.
“Have patience. I’m not finished,” Anthony ground out. “Your hair is a cloud, dripping with rain. Oh, if I were grass that I could drink up the water. You would soothe my soul and make me… smile.”
“It does not even rhyme!” Colin shouted.
“Poetry does not have to rhyme,” Anthony argued.
“So you are a regular Byron now? Is it only a matter of time before I see you give a reading?”
“Of course. I’ve been thinking a great deal about my future in… poetry.” Anthony coughed.
Colin opened his mouth to speak, but Anthony jerked his head toward the door and disappeared into the shadows.
“Ah, Lady Priscilla, a great pleasure.” Colin took the offered champagne and clinked his glass with hers.
She gave a throaty laugh and sidled closer to him. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, Sir Wilde.” Closing the distance between them, she leaned up on her toes and rested against his chest.
“As have I.” He took a soothing drink of the sparkling substance and set his face in his best smoldering rakish grin. “You remind me of Lady Hawthorne, so regal and beautiful.”
“Lady Hawthorne?” Lady Priscilla repeated. Her face dropped into a frown and she rocked back on her heels. “Whyever would I remind you of that — that terrible woman! She is a nothing more than a… She stole Lord Hawthorne right out of my hands!” Lady Priscilla began to pace in front of him, then turned and poked Colin in the chest. “She stole everything I’d worked so hard to gain in that man! Eight months of fawning over him, and he drops me like a common, a common…”
“Hoyden,” came a voice from beyond the balcony.
Lady Priscilla’s head seemed to turn completely around and then finally face Colin again. Panicking, he did the only thing he could think of doing; he began reciting Anthony’s poem. “You remind me of clouds.” Cringing, he struggled to remember the rest of the poem.
“Clouds?” Her voice wavered on the brink of insanity.
“Yes, how they soak up the rain.” Did clouds soak up rain?
“So now I am fat?”
“No, no, no, no!” Colin laughed. Terrible time to suddenly find the woman amusing.
Lady Priscilla’s eyebrows furrowed as she scowled and looked away.
Colin cleared his throat and tried to salvage what was left of the poem. “It is just that your very face reminds me of…” What was the rest of the poem again?
“An ostrich,” came a harsh whisper beneath the balcony. “Favorite animal.”
“Ostrich!” Colin blurted.
Her eyes widened and she looked as though she was considering the best way to murder him. This was a nightmare.
“Oh, devil take it. What I am trying to say is, you are beautiful.”
Softening, just slightly, Lady Priscilla batted her eyelashes and ran her fingers up and down Colin’s arms. “And you are so handsome and strong. Let us find a place where we can talk… privately.”
“Chocolate, the chocolate,” Anthony mumbled beneath the balcony. Colin reached behind him and Anthony shoved a chocolate truffle into his hand. Must have stolen it from the dessert tables.
Colin grinned. Chocolate could cover a multitude of sins. “But first, my lady, a gift. Close your eyes.”
“I love surprises.” Her lids fluttered closed and a seductive smile curved her lips.
“Open your mouth.”
She purred. The woman actually purred as her lips parted. Colin placed just a bit of the truffle into her mouth and waited for it to work its magic.
Lady Priscilla closed her mouth. “This is…” Horror washed over her features, and her eyes shot open. “Tell me that is not chocolate!”
“Of course! Chocolate is a rare…” Colin glanced frantically around him and cursed. “Delicacy.”