Oh, interesting; there were a lot of clues packed into that. Bedfellow, singular; using the plural could have been bravado, trying to project more experience than she had, but the singular wouldn't have been an intentional undercut. Married, then, and unhappily. Or rather: married, and no longer happily. She seemed to consider her partner a predator, and said it was good fun; she spoke about prey speculatively. Something tells me. She was a woman who had been prey once, and wanted to consider herself the predator; she was trying it on tonight. It suited her, but it wasn't her.

"Is your husband here tonight, ma'am?" he asked. "Surely he would follow you in, to keep you company. Frighten away any grimacing reflections." He was fishing, a bit, for dirt on whoever she had worn that dress to spite. Women who came into the evening intending to commit adultery didn't peacock like this, but that didn't mean one who had started the evening with more mild expectations couldn't be persuaded. Maybe if Mrs. Bythesea had gone home already, this was a decent secondary plan. Of course, he still didn't know her name — but if he asked, he'd have to offer his own, and he was enjoying the anonymity.

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