Parlor Games by Leda Swann

well in bed before he would pay for her exclusive ser vices. She hoped her new protector would not expect so much from her—particularly not the bed part. “Who has paid for me?”
    “Tom Wilde. See to it that you treat him well.” She gave a rare smile. “You have done well. He has paid handsomely for the privilege of having you to himself.”
    Some of the tension escaped from her body. Far better Tom Wilde, for all his rascally ways, than Sir Richard the fat. She could almost enjoy playing parlor games with Tom, if he did not try to take them too far.
    Barely had she turned away from Mrs. Erksine than Tom was at her elbow. “Take my arm.”
    Orders, even orders to do exactly what she wanted to do anyway, always rubbed her the wrong way. It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse him, until she caught sight of Sir Richard waddling her way, his piggy eyes fixed on her. Hastily she tucked her hand into the crook of Tom’s arm. “Are you always this autocratic?”
    Placing his free hand over hers, he walked her toward an empty corner of the room. “Yes.”
    Secretly his attitude thrilled her. “You make no apology for it?”
    “I wanted you to myself. It seemed the fastest way of achieving my goal.”
    “Ruthless as well as autocratic,” she muttered, completely forgetting Mrs. Erskine’s injunction to be pleasant to him.
    He barked a short laugh. “And are you, Miss Sarah Chesham, always this rude to gentlemen who have paid through the nose to spend time with you?”
    She shrugged, not liking to be reminded that her time, even if nothing else, was for sale. “As you are the first such gentleman, I can hardly say.”
    “As you are so unaccommodating, I am hardly surprised you are not overwhelmed with admirers. Would you be as rude to anyone else in the room?”
    Mrs. Erskine’s injunctions forced themselves in on her remembrance all of a sudden. “I have not been rude to you at all,” she protested guiltily, knowing that she lied.
    “Would you be as rude to Sir Richard Etheridge, for example? He has a good deal more money than I do, and he is a baronet to boot.”
    “Sir Richard the fat?” Her face crinkled in distaste. “I would not care to talk to him at all.” That at least was no lie.
    He entwined his fingers with hers. “Is it just me who rouses your ire, then? Did our acquaintance start out on the wrong footing?”
    She could not think of their first meeting, when he caught her with her hands under her skirts touching herself, without blushing to the tips of her ears. “You are an acknowledged scoundrel. You bring out the worst in me.”
    His fingers squeezed hers affectionately as he maneuvered her through the room. “You are so pretty I cannot believe that your worst is so very bad.”
    The insincerity in his voice grated on her feelings. “Do not waste your breath with empty flattery,” she said wearily, suddenly in no mood to play games with him. “It is not necessary. I will spend the evening with you regardless. You have paid for my time and Mrs. Erskine will not allow me to cheat you of that.”
    Without her noticing, he had steered her to a quiet corner of the room where they could talk undisturbed. “I trust you enough to believe you would not try to cheat me.”
    “What do you know about me? That I work in a coffeehouse that doubles as a bawdy house, and that I am the closest a woman can get to a whore without being one? Why should you trust me?”
    “You are pretty enough to make me forget all that and trust you anyway.”
    Would he not give up his condescending flattery? Could he not see that its hollowness was insulting? She took her hand out of the crook of his arm. “Then you are a fool.”
    To her surprise he did not get angry with her. Instead he leaned against the wall, crossed his arms in front of him, and looked at her in genuine admiration. “You are an astute woman.”
    Her irritation could not be dismissed so lightly. “What do you mean?”
    “As pretty as you