Sinful in Satin by Madeline Hunter Page A

that one day’s sobriety will hardly reverse matters. Expect bizarre play and huge losses. You really should demand we draw for partners.”
    Castleford took the teasing with good enough humor. But then, the duke had always relished his reputation.
    Jonathan took the chair across from his host. “As I remember, even half of his brain was better than most that are whole, so I will take my chances. It was good of you to plan this for a Tuesday, Castleford, so I am not ruined without a fighting chance at least.”
    “Oh, he did not choose a Tuesday because of you,” Summerhays mused as he dealt the first hand. “He did it because of the whores.”
    “Tuesday is the only day they are not about,” Hawkeswell explained while he examined his cards. “On any other day a visitor is bound to run into at least one bared bottom somewhere in this house, poised for fornication on the chance our friend should wander by. Since Summerhays and I are now married, we would have to decline if he invited us here of an evening any day but Tuesday.”
    Castleford looked with resigned pity to his right at Summerhays, and to his left at Hawkeswell. Then he looked across the table at Jonathan.
    “I have a most clever retort on the tip of my tongue, relating to wives and bare bottoms. Alas, I dare not speak it because—”
    “Because it might get you called out,” Summerhays finished.
    Castleford sighed, dramatically. “See? They have become so boring it is a wonder I can stand them. The truth is that I will only entertain their company on Tuesdays because then I am somewhat boring myself.” He smiled, a devil recognizing with delight the potential demon in another man. “You, however, are welcome to call whenever you like.”
    Jonathan had not expected this old, vague friendship to rehabilitate itself at all, let alone so easily and thoroughly. He thought he could be excused for finding it all a little suspicious. From the glances Summerhays and Hawkeswell exchanged, they did as well.
    “I am honored. I do not know what to say.”
    “Your first bid will suffice. Make it a good one, so we can bury these two.”

Chapter Seven
    “S o, it is settled, then,”Marian announced. “I’llbe doing the cooking and care for the kitchen, and Bella here will clean and help you with your dressing and such.” She looked to Bella for agreement.
    Celia did as well. Bella had not said much since they had descended into the cellar beneath a stationer’s shop. Bella’s attempts at creating a home there could not banish the dark and damp, and Bella herself could not stand against Marian’s demand that she pack whatever she wanted to keep and follow them out.
    Tawny haired, and thin and wan in ways that spoke of lack of food, she had obeyed, expressing neither joy nor resentment. Mr. Albrighton, who had led the way down into that dungeon, showed her great kindness, taking the little sack she made of her garments and gently speaking reassurances, as if he suspected she needed them.
    Now Bella sat on a stool near the fireplace, her expression one of ecstasy from its warmth. She had not contributed to the discussions of the household, but she nodded at Marian’s division of work.
    “You and I should be going above soon,” Marian said to her. “There’s a good-size chamber that we can share, at the other end of the house from where that gentleman lives.”
    Marian had been startled to learn Mr. Albrighton resided here. Not given to trusting any man much, Marian would probably take on another duty now, as chaperone.
    “Before you retire, I would like to speak about a few house rules,” Celia said. “You may find them a bit odd, but my experience has been that they go far to ensuring peaceable coexistence among women. They were the rules by which we all lived with Daphne.”
    Marian nodded agreement. “If they suited Mrs. Joyes, I expect they will suit us.”
    “The first one is we do not pry into each other’s histories or lives. Not the past,