The instruction to meet Matthew for a pre-dinner drink in the drawing room took Priscilla by surprise. After revealing she was in danger of falling in love, his desire to spend more time together was the last thing she expected.

Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed at the half-open door. Matthew was lounging on the sofa, legs stretched out in front and crossed at the ankles. The spicy scent of cologne in the air teased her nostrils. His intoxicating smell brought to mind passionate kisses in the carriage; the masculine taste had coated her lips for hours.

Upon noting her arrival, Matthew jumped up. Penetrating emerald eyes scanned her plain muslin dress, a garment far removed from the vibrant gown she’d worn to the party. But there were many facets to her character. One dress did not define her.

“Were you expecting me to wear something more fetching?”

“Not at all.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Where you're concerned, I would not make the mistake of presuming anything.”

The comment made her sound impulsive, daring, those qualities necessary to excite a man. If only it were true. “Someone once said that a person's outward appearance often reflects their inner thoughts. One's choice of clothes can convey mood and purpose.”

“Based on what I know of your character, I would agree.” His inquisitive gaze scrutinised her from head to toe. “Last night you were a woman intent on seduction. Every delicious element conveyed strength and determination. Tonight, you are the natural, unassuming woman whose life is entwined with mine.”

As always, his response was insightful.

“And which one do you prefer?”

“Both, for together they make for an interesting combination.”

A sudden fluttering filled her chest. “Unlike us, most married couples spend time together before deciding to wed. They learn of each other’s likes and dislikes, appreciate the similarities, respect the differences.” She was growing accustomed to speaking so candidly. “We’ve been swept up in a whirlwind and must find a way to muddle through.”

“I know it’s a cliche, but things will become easier over time. Equally, every minute should be enjoyed and savoured.”

How close would they be a year from now? Would they still be lovers? Would the excitement she felt today be something more profound tomorrow? Perhaps she’d made a mistake telling him she intended to harden her heart.

Priscilla sighed. “Worrying about the future can ruin the present. Sometimes I think too much, panic about how things should be. But I expect nothing from you other than your friendship and support.”

Guilt flared. It wasn’t the whole truth.

“I have the utmost regard for your opinion, even if it highlights my weaknesses.” He gestured to the decanters on the side table. “What would you like to drink? Instincts say pour you a sherry, but I suspect I am far from the mark.”

“Sherry is often too sweet, but a nip of brandy will suffice. Uncle Henry believes buying sherry for ladies is a waste of good money. He believes we should all stick to drinking tea. Yet having learnt of his penchant for gambling, I’m convinced it has something to do with not paying his bills.”

“No doubt you're right.” Matthew moved to the drinks table, pulled the crystal stopper from the decanter and poured two glasses of brandy. “Lord Callan’s solicitor is yet to contact me about payment of your dowry.”

“Well, I’d like to say that such things take time to arrange.” Doubt surfaced. “But I fear he may be stalling. Will it be a problem?”

Matthew returned, glasses in hand. Priscilla’s fingers brushed his as she took the drink. The frisson of awareness she’d felt on that first night in the garden returned.

“I hope not.” He raised his glass in salute. “To muddling through.”

“To muddling through.”

Their gazes locked over the rim of the glass as she sipped the brandy. The fiery liquid warmed her chest although she suspected the spirit had nothing to do with the heat building between her thighs.

“Was there a reason you wanted to meet in here before dinner?” The question had plagued her for an hour or more. The soothing effects of the brandy gave her the courage to ask.

“It seems we have reached a knot in the thread, so to speak, and must work to unravel it if we have any hope of moving forward. This morning you said you liked me and enjoyed my company. I feel the same way about you. Perhaps building a solid friendship is a good place to start.”

Priscilla's heart swelled. “People will chastise us for our modern way of thinking. Most married couples lead separate lives. Well, except for Tristan and Isabella.”

Two lines appeared between his brows. “Do you regret the decision you made in Holbrook’s garden? Tristan would have done the honourable thing. He would have forsaken his own happiness to save your reputation.”

She did not need to consider the question. “Tristan is like a brother. Any physical relationship would have been impossible. Ruination was the only option had you not played the hero.”

His expression darkened. “I am far from a hero.”

“You have never lied to me, Matthew. That is one quality of a hero. I know why you married me — to save your friend, to save yourself and to help me too. It might not qualify as heroic, but it was not an entirely selfish decision.”

“There was another reason.” His heated gaze fell to her lips. “It is only right you know the truth about the man you married. Friends don’t lie, and so I ask you to forgive my bluntness. I married you because I wanted to bed you. I wanted to pleasure you until your innocent mouth begged to be fucked.”

This time his honesty stole her breath. “Well! Heavens!” She swallowed. “Now I know why you rattled the door fifteen times or more last night.” One had to find amusement in the situation.

He narrowed his gaze. “Damn. So you were awake. Do you know what it's like to lie in bed all night with a throbbing erection?”

“Thankfully, no.”

He was silent for a moment. “Do you think me disrespectful for speaking so crudely? I fear it stems from spending too much time with reprobates.”

“Thankfully, no. While your words lack sentiment I appreciate there is a compliment within them somewhere.”

Slapping a hand to his chest, he laughed. “So now it is clear we share a mutual appreciation, it would be nice if we could be a little more at ease when together.”

The conversation had helped to clear the air.

“Perhaps we should work backwards—”

“It’s my favourite position.”

“Must every conversation revert to your antics in the bedchamber?”

“Forgive me, please continue.”

“I meant we should get to know one another, learn what the other likes and dislikes. For instance, I like picnics and feeling the wind blow my hair. I enjoy sucking the juice from strawberries, laughing until my stomach hurts. Now, what about you?”

“For fear of the conversation following the usual thread, I shall refrain from telling you what I like. Perhaps at some point in the future, I may be lucky enough to demonstrate.”

Priscilla brought the glass to her lips and gave a coy smile. “You might.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Not quite.”

Matthew drained what was left of the brandy in his glass. “I have an idea how to please you.”

“Just one? Are you not known for your prowess in the bedchamber? Has your appetite for carnal pleasures been exaggerated?”

“There is only one way to find out.” He arched a brow. “Put me to the test.”

No doubt he would always have the upper hand when it came to banter. “You can start by telling me your idea.”

“To prove you right, and support the theory that I’m not entirely selfish, I shall tailor the evening around the things you like.”

She liked a great many things she’d not mentioned. The taste of brandy on his lips. The way his tongue danced with hers to send shocks shooting to her core.

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but isn’t it rather late for a picnic?”

“Not at all. It’s only late if one wants to sit in the park.” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Thrusting the empty glass into her hand, he marched from the room.

While waiting, Priscilla placed the empty glasses on the table. She contemplated refilling them though it would not be wise for her to drink much more. Her husband possessed a charismatic charm she found highly addictive. It took a tremendous effort not to strip to her chemise and surrender her body. She was heading into dangerous territory. The desire to place his needs above her own was fast becoming a priority.

The sudden commotion in the hall diverted her attention. Matthew entered the drawing room, held open the door for two footmen carrying a low table.

“Place it in the centre of the room, on top of the rug.” Matthew pointed to the exact position. “Bring a cloth, cutlery, and serve the dishes on smaller platters.”

Numerous servants bustled in and out, set about laying the table and transporting their meal from the kitchen.

Hopkins appeared at the door. “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

Matthew scanned the array of delectable dishes: fish, asparagus tart, a terrine of some sort, the quantity far too much for two people. “We’re just missing the bowl of strawberries.”

“That might prove to be a problem,” Hopkins said with a hint of remorse. “Cook had not factored strawberries into the week's menu.”

Matthew’s shoulders sagged. “Can you not find some from somewhere?”

Hopkins grimaced. “What with the hour being late…”

“Never mind,” she said. Matthew’s eagerness to please touched her. The thoughtful gesture was enough. “We’ll save the strawberries for another time.”

Hopkins inclined his head. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, we shall serve ourselves. I’ll inform you once we’ve finished.” Matthew stepped outside with Hopkins, returned a moment later and closed the door. “Your picnic, my lady.” With an air of smug satisfaction, he gestured to the table.

“Are we to sit on the floor?” Excitement bubbled in her belly at the thought of such unconventional behaviour.

“Is that not what people do on picnics?”

Priscilla stepped onto the Persian rug, but Matthew came forward and caught her wrist.

“There is just one more thing to do before we eat,” he said threading his fingers into her hair. His head was so close his warm breath breezed across her cheek. With nimble fingers, he removed the pins slowly. One at a time. Golden locks tumbled around her shoulders, and he teased them loose, brushed a few tendrils from her face. “I can’t promise you’ll feel the wind blowing your hair, but hopefully you’ll feel a similar sense of freedom.”

A strange ache filled her chest: a yearning she had never experienced before. It took all the effort she possessed not to throw her arms around his neck and plunder his mouth.

“Are you attempting to seduce me?”

He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Only if it’s working.”

It was working.

“Do you think it is?”

A sinful smile touched his lips. “Well, I hear the hitch in your breath. I see the glazed look of desire swimming in your eyes. You’ve moistened your lips too many times to count.” He trailed his fingers from her shoulder down the front of her dress. “I could offer a host of other observations, but I fear my licentious banter will ruin the moment.”

Priscilla swallowed in an attempt to gather her wits. Everything he said was true. But she would not surrender without gaining something in return.

“You enjoy a wager,” she said, for it would not do to appear too eager. “Do you feel confident enough to gamble?”

Matthew drew his head back, wide eyes conveying his surprise at the challenge. “What did you have in mind?”

“While we eat, we will play a game. We will draw cards. The winner of each hand can demand something from the other.” She would use the opportunity to find out more about him. Where did he go on those nightly outings? Why did he distance himself from his family? Had Lucinda Pearce approached him again? “And the loser must comply.”

A snigger burst from his lips. “If I win, you do know what I’ll want as my prize.”

“Of course. You will want to pleasure me until I beg to be … now, what was that delightful word you used?”

“I shall refrain from using the obscenity in your presence again.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You won’t beat me. I may have been duped by sharps, but I have some skill for cards.”

Priscilla shrugged. “It will be a game of chance. No one can predict the outcome.”

“Trust me, love. I’m not leaving this room until I’ve claimed your body.”

In that regard, she had nothing to lose, everything to gain. Of course, it helped that she had an excellent memory and could recall every card previously played.

“Then pray Fate is on your side.” Fate owed her something for her plight.

Perhaps her luck was about to change.