Chapter 4

L ady Sylvan spent the entirety of the carriage ride to the Thalia theater giving Gwen the sort of talk most young ladies might receive from their mother the night before their wedding. Being interested in the natural world and having spent the majority of her life in the country, the information was not entirely surprising.

But there were several things about which Gwen had been… unaware.

At least she knew now. And she would experience some of those things.

Tonight.

The Wicked Widows were fronting Gwen the money she would need to place her bid. So long as she could secure Aunt Agatha’s fortune, she would have no trouble paying them back, and then some.

Gwendolyn had never been to the Thalia before, and she looked around, curious, as Lady Sylvan led her down the aisle. It looked a little bit shabby, truth be told, but in a comfortable way. The red velvet curtain that was currently closed across the stage had once been brighter, and the wooden benches intended for patrons were scarred with scratches. But the soft candlelight felt welcoming, and the building buzzed with excited energy.

Around fifty women were gathered in the rows closest to the stage. Most of them were in masquerade dress, wearing masks or dominoes to conceal their features, although some, like Lady Sylvan, had not bothered. Gwen tugged the hood of her cloak forward, feeling exquisitely embarrassed to be present at such a gathering.

A sophisticated woman with dark hair, dark eyes, and a purple silk gown strode onto the stage. “That’s Madame Heron,” Lady Sylvan whispered. “She runs the Thalia.”

For all that she called herself “Madame Heron,” the woman’s accent held traces not of France but of East London. “Welcome, Ladies! Thank you fer joining us tonight. I’m pleased to announce that we’ve got seventeen prime examples of the male species for you to scrap over. Would you like to meet them?”

Cheers broke out from the women around her. Gwen applauded nervously. Just seventeen men. That wasn’t enough for even half of those present to secure a partner for the night.

The bidding was going to be ferocious.

The curtain drew back, and a line of bachelors began parading across the stage. Some were golden-haired and boyish, some dark and brooding, but all were appealing in their own way. Gwendolyn didn’t recognize a single one.

Which one should she bid on? Perhaps she should bid early to make sure she secured a partner for the night. After all, for her purposes, one man was as good as…

As good as…

The thought withered and died as Gwendolyn saw him for the first time.

He towered over the procession of tall, handsome men by half a head or more. From the waist up, he wore naught but a loose linen shirt, open at the neck, and his shoulders were so broad, his chest seemed to go on forever. In Gwen’s world, that of polite society, men stuffed themselves into layer after layer of linen, wearing two pairs of stockings to ensure no hint of leg hair showed through. That was doubtlessly why the sight of brown hair curling on his chest made Gwen feel short of breath.

She adjusted her spectacles as he reached the end of the stage and turned. The men had formed a loop and were going round and round as Madame Heron said… something. Whatever it was, Gwendolyn couldn’t hear it over the roaring in her ears.

He had brown hair and a beard, both neatly trimmed. In spite of the beard, she could tell that his lips were lush and full. His nose was a little crooked, as if it had been broken a time or two.

He wore an easy grin, an expression that suggested a jovial good nature. He seemed like the type of fellow who could walk into any pub in the country and be friends with half the patrons by the end of the night, the very opposite of Gwen’s own stilted awkwardness.

As he rounded the corner and made his way to the front of the stage, his gaze fell upon Gwendolyn’s face, hidden beneath her hood. He winked, and Gwen took a startled step back as if she’d been physically struck.

Lady Sylvan nudged her with her elbow. “Has Tom Talbot caught your eye?”

“Tom Talbot?” The name sounded slightly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Is that the tall man’s name?”

“It is,” the marchioness confirmed.

“Who is he?” Gwen whispered.

Lady Sylvan’s mouth fell open. “Do you truly not know?” Gwen shook her head, and the marchioness continued, “He’s a boxer. He’s been the reigning heavyweight champion these past three years. Surely you’ve heard of him!”

She had. Now that Lady Sylvan mentioned it, she recalled hearing her brother and his friends raving about some of Mr. Talbot’s matches, which they had attended.

It occurred to her in a flash— her brother . Joseph had a violent temper, and if he got wind of the fact that he’d been tricked, both Gwen and her lover could be in danger.

But not if she chose Tom Talbot! No one would dare to cross the burly boxer. Of all these men, Mr. Talbot was the only one she could choose with the confidence that she was not putting his life at risk.

That was why she was going to bid on Tom Talbot.

Because it was the responsible thing to do.

His loose linen shirt slipped, exposing one rippling shoulder to Gwen’s hungry gaze.

Something between her legs gave a damp pulse.

Oh, all right . Perhaps practicality wasn’t the only factor at play.

Gwendolyn buried her hands in the folds of her cloak, anxious for the bidding to begin.