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noticed and pestered. If he’d thought about it, he would have made himself invisible before coming in here; it was the safest course of action in a room this crowded.
    â€œMrs. Hayes! You are late,” said a gentleman seated at a dining table in the center of the room as he snapped an enameled snuffbox shut. He was a gangly fellow of perhaps forty, with a long nose and a pale, oddly soft-featured visage. Like some of the other men, he wore a wig, but his was by far the most ornate and heavily powdered.
    â€œMy apologies, Lord Sandwich, and my compliments,” said Mrs. Hayes with a little curtsey. “Pray, where might Sir Francis be? I was to deliver these charming lambs to him personally.”
    â€œThe chief friar grew weary of waiting and retired to the chapel to make ready for the mass. These are the virgins, then?”
    â€œYes, and please you, m’lord.” Herding the girls into a semicircle, the better for viewing, Mrs. Hayes announced, “For your delight and diversion, gentlemen, eight unpolluted and intact maidenheads, fresh from the local villages. In the roseate bloom of youth, each and every one, virgin rosebuds as yet uncropped. I have tutored these innocents myself in the many and varied arts of love, the better to enhance their defloration during your rites of Venus.”
    The whoremistress clapped her hands twice, a signal to the girls to execute awkward curtseys, glancing at one another as if to make sure they were doing it right. From the way they jostled each other, it was clear they were unused to the wide, hooped skirts in which they’d been outfitted for their presentation.
    Scanning them with a critical expression, Sandwich said, “Intact, you say?”
    â€œPure and unsullied, one and all.”
    â€œWe shall see.” Lord Sandwich snapped his fingers at the girl closest to him, a buxom beauty with coppery hair, and signaled for her to approach. “Come, come,” he said, pushing his chair away from the table so that there was room for her to stand before him.
    â€œStep lively, Nadine,” urged Mrs. Hayes as she prodded the girl.
    He gestured her closer until she stood between his outstretched, cat-stick legs. “I shan’t hurt you.”
    â€œHe’d rather she hurt
him
—eh, Sandwich?” some wag remarked.
    â€œLift your skirts, then,” Sandwich said.
    Nadine greeted that command with a blink of bewilderment.
    Mrs. Hayes said, “They only speak the parleyvoo, your lordship.”
    â€œSoulevez votre robe.”
Indicating the girl’s skirts, Sandwich flicked his hand, cloaked to the fingertips in frilly lace cuffs.
    Nadine looked around at the raptly attentive audience, cheeks blossoming with color.
    â€œI’ll have that one,” someone remarked. “I do so love it when they squirm and blush.”
    â€œI daresay they’ve been well trained to do so,” someone else observed. “Is that not right, Mrs. H?”
    Ignoring the taunt, Mrs. Hayes stepped forward and started lifting the young woman’s dress, but Sandwich slapped her hand away. “What’s the chit being paid for, if not to do our bidding?
Soulevez-le, mademoiselle.
”
    Closing her eyes, Nadine gathered her skirts and raised them to her knees.
    â€œOh, for pity’s sake,” Sandwich growled. “
Plus haut.
Like this.” Leaning forward, he grabbed her hands and forced her to raise the mass of dimity, stiffened petticoats and panniers chest-high, leaving her naked from the waist down.
    â€œBy Jove, her cunny’s as red as her face,” someone chuckled.
    â€œA ripe little split apricot, just begging to be licked.”
    â€œBe a sport, Sandwich,” said an Italian-accented fellow who was craning his neck to see. “Turn her ’round so the rest of us can have a peek.”
    â€œUnlace her! Let’s have a taste of those apple dumplings.”
    â€œAll in good time,