The room fell silent at Mr. Holland’s entry, and Esther’s guests viewed the tall young master of the house with wary eyes. For a moment, Afton half expected him to fly into a rage at the scene before him, but instead he broke into an arrogant, cocky sort of smile, and she thought all the room breathed a little sigh of relief to see it.

“What’s this?” He affected an easy air, holding his cane loosely without leaning on it. “You sounded like such a merry party, I thought I would join you.”

“Of course, you must join us, Mr. Holland,” cried the eldest Miss Trumble, and the rest of the party echoed her.

“We were just playing a new version of charades.”

“How diverting.”

Georgiana quickly explained the rules to Ezra, while Mattie took his arm and guided him to a high-backed chair before promptly taking the seat next to his.

“I am so glad you are come, Mr. Holland,” she said, blinking at him prettily. “The night shall be ten times as fun now you are with us!”

“But I see a problem,” Ezra protested. “If I join your game, I shall make your teams uneven.”

“That is quite all right, for we are losing anyway,” declared Mattie.

“Yes, Miss Green is absolutely trouncing us!” said Mr. Bard good-naturedly.

“Miss Green, is it?” The notion seemed to amuse him, and he smirked as he cast Afton a sideways glance.

“You must have a turn now, Afton,” Esther insisted. “Show Ezra how the game is played.”

Afton had been having so much fun guessing the charades that she had hardly had time to dread her turn. Now that Mr. Holland had joined their party, she somehow thought she was even more self-conscious than she would have been otherwise. She wasn’t confident in her ability to act at all, but at least, she consoled herself as she reached into the hat with a trembling hand, she would not have to speak.

Pulling out the word, she read the neat script and took a steadying breath.

Margaret turned the minute-glass, and her turn began.

At once, Afton fell to her knees, hands clasped over her breast, and made the most pathetic expression she could.

“Saint!” Charles was first to go, determined if he could not be on Esther’s team, he would at least impress her with his cleverness and wit. But his guess was not the correct one.

“Angel!” tried Alexandra, also determined to redeem herself from her recent failure. But like Charles, she was incorrect.

More shouts came in, from every direction.

“Prayer!”

“Supplication! No—intercession!”

“Church!”

“Sacrament!”

Afton continued to look out at them with the most pitiful, harmless expression she could muster. She shook her head emphatically in the negative, thrust her hand towards them with her palm turned outward, then clasped her hands once more over her breast, praying all the while her word would get through to them.

“Shame!”

“Fear!”

“Begging!”

“Confession!”

“Guilt!”

“Innocence.”

Ezra’s word, not loudly spoken, nevertheless seemed to carry through the room, and for just a moment, it seemed time stood still.

Then Afton acknowledged he’d guessed correctly and rose to her feet, and all the room erupted into happy chatter.

“Innocence!” cried Mr. Gibbs as she took her seat beside him. “I should have guessed it! How well it suits you. I feel stupid for not seeing it myself.”

“It’s because she should have acted it differently,” complained Charles. “No one could have guessed innocence from that stupid look you wore.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Gibbs interrupted before Afton could apologize. “You were perfect, Miss Green.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, once more feeling her heart flutter in her breast.

Something about Lieutenant John Gibbs—his dark eyes and swarthy complexion, his polished military manner, his fine red coat and seemingly undivided attention to her—was beginning to affect Afton in ways she could not explain.

She was not accustomed to keeping the company of young gentlemen. When she lived with her father, she hardly had occasion to speak with one, much less entertain their attentions for more than a minute. So it was, Mr. Gibbs’ powers of flirtation were having quite their desired effect upon the pure young maiden.

And why should they not? After all, he had singled her out for this very reason, knowing her to be an orphan, newly arrived at Holland House, practically friendless in this crowd and utterly without guardian and connection—not to mention the sort of obliging girl who’d do anything to please, if it meant keeping up the appearance of amiability.

Though hardly the prettiest girl in the room tonight, her accessibility—and yes, her innocence—made her a very natural target. He felt sure Miss Green would not say no to him. Not if he managed her properly…

Once, Afton considered, wholly unaware of Mr. Gibbs’ predatory intentions, she had fancied herself quite in love with Mr. Hawthorne, the middle-aged bachelor who’d lost his first love to another man and remained faithful to her for so many years. But now, glancing shyly at the charming and friendly Mr. Gibbs, she could hardly recall the face of Mr. Hawthorne, or what it was about her encounter with him that had moved her so.

“Would you care for a drink, Miss Green?”

Afton started from her thoughts to realize Mr. Gibbs was speaking to her, and he smiled so the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“You seem thirsty after exerting yourself, if you don’t mind the observation.”

“Oh,” she fanned herself with her hand, face flaming with embarrassment. “Oh, not at all. Thank you, Mr. Gibbs, a drink would be most welcome. It is quite warm in here.”

“Indeed. Perhaps a place a little away from the fire would suit you better.”

“After the game,” snapped the general, Georgiana, who had ears like a fox and just so happened to overhear their conversation. “Team One stays where they are.”

“If you insist. And, if you’ll excuse me. I shall fetch your drink forthwith, my dear Miss Green.”

“Be quick about it,” demanded Margaret, their team leader. “We are one man short as it is, with Mr. Holland joining the game. If we aren’t smart, we shall fall behind.”

Amused, wholly unbothered by the other ladies’ preoccupation with their little game, Mr. Gibbs rose with a wink for Afton, then left for the table.

While Afton sat immobilized with palpitations of her heart, the game continued to play out in front of her. The room was in uproar, but the noise was scarcely louder than her own tumultuous thoughts when Mr. Gibbs returned with a rather full glass of wine.

With her father, she’d only ever enjoyed a few sips at special occasions, but here, suddenly feeling very alone in this lively room, she was presented with considerably more than she was used to drinking, and heartily encouraged to drink it. Not slowly, as she would have preferred, but quickly.

“The flavor is exquisite when it coats the whole tongue,” Mr. Gibbs urged her. “It’s the only way to get the full effect…”

“Running!”

“Olympic games!”

“Gymnast!”

“No, no! A swing!” cried Esther.

“That’s it!”

Laughter, cheers and boos went up as team two took another point.

“It’s your turn, Mr. Gibbs,” Margaret said, pulling his sleeve impatiently.

“I’ll only go if Miss Green drinks her wine.”

“Then hurry up and drink it!” Margaret cried exasperatedly.

“But—”

“Drink it or I shall pour it down your throat, myself!”

Afton needed no further encouragement, and downed the entire glass of wine, much to the delight of everyone in the room, who cheered her on most enthusiastically.

Mr. Gibbs, satisfied, went on to act out the word pride, which Charles managed to guess at the very last moment. Team one was back on top. Before Mr. Gibbs came to sit back down, however, he fetched Afton another glass of wine.

“Try this vintage, my dear Miss Green. The flavor is exquisite.”

“But I’m not used to drinking. Are you sure it’s quite all right for me to—”

“Oh, perfectly harmless! You won’t become drunk from two mere glasses of wine, I assure you.”

“If you’re quite sure, Mr. Gibbs…”

Others in the room were far too engaged in the game to properly advise Afton against such reckless behavior, and indeed most of them wouldn’t have bothered even if they’d seen what was happening. Only Ezra noticed the pair’s exchange, and sneered with disgust, easily guessing the man’s intentions but making no move to save the girl from her own fatal desire to please a perfect stranger. After all, she was nothing to him, and who was he to stand in the way of another man’s conquest?

Let Miss Green learn her lesson the hard way.

The night wore on. The teams for charades quite lost track of the score, and as more young people became intoxicated, the game eventually deteriorated into wilder and wilder antics, and more and more hilarity.

The wine continued to flow freely, and soon everyone’s cheeks were flushed with alcohol.

At about ten o’clock, one of the twins suggested a game of Blind Man’s Buff, and all readily agreed. They took turns blindfolding one another, and once the ‘blind man’ managed to catch another player, they were forced to identify them by touch. Needless to say, it proved quite a scandalous game, with much patting and pinching and otherwise intimate behavior which could not possibly be deemed appropriate in any other setting. Sadly by this time, Afton was so intoxicated she had quite forgotten all of her inhibitions, and, giggling incessantly, allowed herself to be fondled rather intimately by a blindfolded Mr. Gibbs, who everyone insisted was cheating though no one particularly cared.

When it was her turn to play the blind man, Afton turned the honor over to Charles, claiming she felt dizzy and nauseous. Affecting concern, Mr. Gibbs led her to a private corner of the room.

“Are you quite alright? You don’t look well, Miss Green.”

“My stomach,” she said. “My head. Oh, the room is spinning.”

“Let me fetch you something to drink.”

“Water,” she requested, but Mr. Gibbs returned with another glass of wine.

“It’s just the thing for a sick stomach,” he assured her, and Afton was not strong enough, nor indeed sufficiently in her right mind to protest.

“Insufferable, isn’t it?” he remarked, looking out at the gay party with a sneer of contempt. “They’re all such children. You’re not like these other silly girls, are you, Miss Green? I can tell. You’re mature.”

He’d called her that before, she thought. Mature. To the young girl, it sounded like a wonderful compliment, coming from such a sophisticated older gentleman. And yet, something in the way he said it made her flesh crawl.

Then, very distantly, somewhere through the haze of all the alcohol swimming in her system, she felt hot breath on her neck, and realized he was kissing her.

“Please, Mr. Gibbs!”

“Call me John.”

“Please—stop—”

“Are you getting warm? Perhaps we should move to a private room. It will be quieter there…”

“I don’t think I should—”

“Come, dear girl, I insist.” Mr. Gibbs hauled her to her feet. When she couldn’t stay upright, he steadied her, pressing his lips briefly against her ear and inhaling her scent deeply.

“Let’s find someplace where we can be alone…”