Page 6 of A Dangerous Game

With a stiff nod, Jonas raised his chin and pretended to thoroughly inspect the three women remaining. He and Dryden were the only fellows left in the room and the madame watched them expectantly.

“Do your lordships not find my girls to your liking?” she asked in thickly accented English. “There are others if you would prefer—”

“No,” Dryden interjected. “They are quite lovely, are they not Thacker?”

“Quite,” Jonas croaked, his throat so tight he could hardly breathe. Thank God for Dryden’s command of the situation, or he might faint in front of the madame and her girls.

“But, you see,” Dryden continued, circling the girls and inspecting each from head to toe. “My friend and I share particular tastes. We need a special sort of girl.”

The madame’s eyes lit up as if Dryden had just dropped a handful of diamonds into her palms. “Ah,oui, I understand. You like to share, yes?”

Dryden flashed the madame his white, bright smile, and Jonas’ belly clenched with an odd sort of urgency. He had noticed on more than one occasion that Dryden’s smile was quite breathtaking. It was certainly not the sort of thing one gentleman should notice about another, so Jonas pushed such thoughts aside whenever they occurred to him.

“Précisément. We are in need of one who is … equipped to handle the attentions of more than one gentleman. Would any of you happen to be so proficient?”

A buxom beauty with loose coils of black hair framing her face stepped forward and gave Dryden a sly glance. “I think you will find me more than up to the task, my lord,” she said, her cultured pronunciation at odds with the accent of a lowborn woman. She had been well-trained, like every other girl in this brothel catering to a wealthy clientèle.

Dryden looked the girl over, his grin growing wolfish. “Oh, you’ll do quite nicely.”

“Excellent!” the madame exclaimed, shooing away the two remaining girls. She gestured for Jonas and Dryden to follow their chosen whore and wished them apleasurableevening.

Dryden’s stern look commanded Jonas to his feet, and he silently followed him and the prostitute out of the receiving room. Jonas did his best to ignore the moans, groans, and cries of pleasure that echoed from the walls as they were led down a dim, twisting corridor. No one spoke until they were safely ensconced in a small but well-appointed bedchamber decorated in navy blue and gold silks.

The whore began murmuring to them in French while loosening her bodice, but Dryden stopped her by raising one hand. They conversed in her native tongue, which Jonas could hardly follow as he had always been better with Latin than French. After a moment of trying to follow their negotiations, Jonas gave up and moved to stand near the window. Through the sheer drapes he could see the alley facing the back of the brothel house, where two shadowy figures rutted in the gutter.

Christ, was the entire city obsessed with sexual congress?

When Jonas turned from the window, he found Dryden dropping a handful of coins into the whore’s hand. She tucked them into her bosom while taking her leave without a look back.

Jonas frowned at the closed door, then at Dryden. “I do not understand. Did you not wish to … you know?”

Dryden flashed that magnetic smile of his and shrugged out of his coat before draping it over an armchair. “Not particularly. A few coins in her hands, and we have not only privacy and quiet, but her silence. However, I would be happy to call her back if you wish.”

“No!” Jonas blurted, almost too vehemently. “I mean … thank you, but no.”

Dryden’s lush mouth curved into a teasing smirk that made Jonas’ stomach tie itself in knots. “Shy, are you, Thacker?”

Jonas flushed and looked away, embarrassed. “I suppose so. I know that men of our age are supposed to enjoy such pursuits, but it all feels rather …”

“Mercenary?” Dryden offered. “Seedy?”

“Yes. Both of those things.”

Dryden fell silent long enough for Jonas to grow anxious. Feeling the other man’s eyes on him, Jonas turned to find Dryden watching him with amusement twitching his lips.

“Why, Thacker,” he murmured, grinning. “I would never have thought of you as a romantic.”

The heat in Jonas’ face simply would not abate. Was Dryden having a laugh at his expense? No, the humor in his eyes was not the teasing sort. There was a softness in his gaze that carried a hint of—dare Jonas think it—admiration.

“I suppose I am,” he replied.

“There is nothing wrong with such sensibilities,” Dryden said, leaning against the window casement and crossing his arms over his chest. “You will make some woman a happy wife one day.”

Jonas stared at his shoes and fought not to flinch away from Dryden’s probing stare. Could he see what Jonas had tried so hard to hide and now tested him? The familiar niggle of fear curled through Jonas, and he felt frozen from the inside out, as if his heart had turned to ice and now pumped frozen water through his veins.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dryden move away from the window, his footsteps slow as he approached. “Wait a moment,” he murmured, a heavy gravity weighing down his words. “Never tell me you do not intend to marry someday?”

Jonas shrugged. “Never thought of it. I suppose it is inevitable.”

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