The woman slid off Dangerfield’s lap, smoothed her gown and then began to stroll around Caitlin, looking her over from top to bottom. “I have to find something you’re good at.”

Caitlin’s hopes soared. She was about to open her mouth to explain exactly what she was very good at when Marcus interrupted.

“Now, now, Larissa. You cannot ask Lady Southall questions that would give her an advantage. We must keep it fair.” And he laughed, as if the idea of Caitlin winning—fairly or otherwise—was a huge joke.

Caitlin had no intention of attempting to win by fraud. Nonetheless, she stood silently, praying Larissa would pick something like shooting or archery—things she excelled at. Please, she begged in her head, not sewing. Not playing the piano.

Meanwhile, Larissa was talking. “… she’s the daughter of an Earl. She must be accomplished. Harlow is always telling me how tedious it is to have to sit and listen to young ladies sing or play the harp.”

Caitlin agreed with Harlow about recitals. And please! please don’t pick those pursuits either.

“Still, she is dressed in male attire, and she sought out Harlow at night, so she is most likely not like most young women of the ton.”

Dangerfield’s face signified agreement. He cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “Very true.”

Yes, Larissa was clever. She’d have to be. Caitlin could not imagine a woman remaining as His Grace’s mistress for very long if she did not have a brain.

“So, perhaps I’m focusing on the wrong person.” Larissa turned a seductive smile upon Dangerfield. “All I have to do is find something that you, my darling Harlow, are terrible at doing.”

A flicker of unease crossed Dangerfield’s handsome face and he shifted on his feet. Only a slight movement, but Caitlin caught it. He was nervous. Good.

Larissa laughed delightedly and clapped her hands. “I’ve got it—”

“Remember who keeps you, my girl.”

“That’s not fair,” Caitlin cried. “You can’t threaten her. I can always veto, remember?”

“He’s only teasing.” Larissa moved to stand in front of Dangerfield. Letting her hands slide up his chest and over his wide shoulders she pressed her ample breasts against him. “He would never get rid of me.” Her fingers gripped his buttocks and pulled him tight against her.

Caitlin felt as though her eyes would pop as she watched one of Larissa’s hands slide over Dangerfield’s hip and down toward his groin.

“He knows the pleasure my body, my hands, and my mouth can give. I’m the best at what I do.” Larissa threw her a scornful look. “You don’t look as if you know the first thing about pleasuring a man. Perhaps I should help Harlow win. Once he’s had you, he’ll realize how much better off he is with me.”

“Enough, Larissa.” Dangerfield removed Larissa’s hands from his body. “That’s enough.”

It was certainly enough. Caitlin felt sick. Larissa was right. Hands and mouth? Mouth? What did she do with her mouth—kissing perhaps? She had no idea what to expect to find in any man’s bed—let alone a man like Dangerfield. And she did not wish to know.

Not much, anyway.