A Promise by Daylight. Alison DeLaine

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      Sacks grinned. “I believe it’s more of an invitation, you fortunate cur.”

      “An invitation.” That was a different situation entirely.

      “Play your cards right, and you’ll be readying for bed with company.”

      An invitation. She forced her lips into what she hoped was dry recognition of the possibilities. “You have a point.”

      “That’s the spirit.” Sacks laughed. “You’ll learn the way of things ’round here.”

      Oh, the way of things around here was already perfectly clear. And suddenly she was angry—furious that he could pretend such distress and then, a few short hours later, act as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

      Invitation or no, she kept a firm grip on her medical bag and walked down the corridor and into the duke’s apartment.

      And there he was, on a sofa in his dressing room with a courtesan on either side of him, the afternoon’s burial apparently forgotten.

      “Ah, here is my new medic now,” he announced when he saw her. The quality of his voice told her he was feeling his liquor—and the tilt of his smile told her he wasn’t thinking of any widow and children now. The woman to his right wore an elaborate blue gown cut so that it concealed...very little. The duke had his arm around her, laughing, drinking deeply from a glass in his other hand.

      Almost immediately a young Parisienne appeared at Millie’s side. “Bonsoir,” she said, taking Millie’s arm with one hand and resting her other palm flat against Millie’s chest, smoothing it a little across Millie’s lapel—dangerously close to a place Millie did not want her to touch for any number of reasons, the least of which being that the binding around her breasts was not completely effective, and she relied on the drape of her clothing to conceal what the binding could not.

      Thank God her own breasts were not as generous as this woman’s, or all would be revealed regardless of disguise.

      “Bonsoir,” Millie murmured, removing the woman’s hand, too aware that she had the duke’s full attention.

      “Bring Mr. Germain a drink,” the duke said, drawing lazy circles near the top of his companion’s breasts.

      The tormented man in the carriage was gone.

      “No, thank you,” Millie said firmly, approaching the sofa where he sat, lowering her voice. “I’ve only come to remind Your Grace that all this activity may not be wise.”

      “When did wisdom ever lead to entertainment?” And he might be laughing, but now she saw that his mouth was a bit strained and the laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes.

      “Lack of wisdom could easily lead to a sudden decline,” she countered, and a servant placed a glass into her free hand while she spoke.

      “Perhaps you’d care to join a game,” he suggested.

      “A medic and a gamer, eh?” an Englishman called over from one of several gaming tables. “Do, do! We’ve just finished and are about to begin another.”

      Across the room next to the duke’s curio cabinet, a gentleman was tying a blindfold around a laughing woman wearing only her stays and petticoats.

      Hmm. Perhaps joining a game could be advantageous—both for her purse and her desire to be rid of these revelers.

      “I do believe I shall,” she said, and Lord Winston grinned.

      “Have a care with my medic, Perry,” he called over to the card table. “I’ll not have him taken advantage of.”

      Millie glanced at him as she seated herself at the card table and realized he found this entire thing amusing.

      Her new female companion perched on the edge of Millie’s chair, leaning so close that her bosom practically spilled into Millie’s face.

      One of the men at the table laughed, and too late Millie realized she had leaned away.

      “Say, Winston—I daresay your medic here is only too ripe for an education, both at cards and at women.” And then, to Millie, “But never fear, young lad. Mademoiselle Hélène will give you any experience you like.”

      Now Millie’s face was inches from the woman’s bosom, and she was staring directly into a deep cleavage that would have had a real man salivating like a hungry dog.

      She moistened her lips and hoped it made her appear at least a little bit tempted.

      “I’m feeling a bit...warm,” the woman whispered suggestively in French. “Perhaps you can help me, monsieur le médecin.”

      Little did she know. “Perhaps I can at that,” she murmured, hoping she sounded genuinely interested. “Only let me collect some winnings first, hmm?”

      “Oh, ho!” the man named Perry laughed. “Our young medic is more confident than he first appeared!”

      The men at the table laughed, clearly believing they would fleece her of every last penny in short order.

      They began the game, and Millie made a few mistakes on purpose, throwing the first round. And then, slowly, she began to change her tactics.

      “Tiens, Monsieur Germain,” one of the men said after a few rounds, by which time Millie had collected a sum about equal to that of everyone else at the table, “Perhaps I only imagine it, but Winston appears a trifle piqued.”

      Now the one named Perry glanced at the duke, who was engrossed in conversation while a woman nuzzled his neck. “Not as well as he’d like us all to believe, eh?”

      “On the contrary,” Millie said. “His injuries are progressing nicely.”

      And now, like a golden egg dropped in her lap, was the opportunity she’d been looking for.

      “Wears on a man, that sort of thing,” Perry said, shaking his head. “So difficult to imagine— Ho, Blanchet! Almost had her that time!”

      Millie glanced over her shoulder and saw the object of Lord Perry’s amusement—a man playing a game of undress-me-if-you-can with one of Winston’s strumpets. “Exhausting,” Perry said now, shaking his head, and she realized he was once again speaking of Winston.

      “Mmm,” she agreed, and played a card. “Especially with the— Well, he wouldn’t want me to speak of that.” She rearranged her hand and looked up to find Perry’s attention torn between his own cards and her little “slip.”

      “Has he got something more than the injuries?”

      “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. His Grace’s conditions are a confidential matter between him and me. You understand, of course.”

      “Of course.”

      “Le pauvre,” the woman perched on the edge of Millie’s chair said, looking at the duke. Poor thing? Hardly. “I think I shall go comfort him.” How she would find room on the already crowded sofa was a mystery.

      “That might СКАЧАТЬ