He had heard the rumors, of course—of appetites indulged, of every desire, no matter how perverse, catered to in its darkened chambers. But he hadn’t expected the elegance. The place didn’t reek of vice; it dripped with luxury. Roman columns soared around him, framing a world of opulence. Gilded statuary, frescoed ceilings, and flickering candlelight evoked a palace fit for Nero. The masquerade in progress might have passed for a fashionable ball, if not for the costumes that left little to the imagination, breasts half-spilled from bodices designed more for seduction than support, men in sheer fabrics and goldenmasks, and half-naked nymphs painted in silver and wine, gliding past with trays of champagne and candied figs.
The masquerade had a theme of Ancient Legends, so they had decided to dress as Hades and Persephone. How fitting to their uneasy alliance. He caught his reflection in one of the many gilded mirrors and decided he was a tad overdressed. His black suit, silver waistcoat, and black silk tie were decidedly luxurious, but still proper enough for a ton event. It was the cloak that made the final transformation. Made of rich wool lined in crimson silk, it fell from his shoulders like a shadow, lending him an air of mystery and danger. He touched his fingers to the mask he wore. It was smooth black leather, sculpted to his cheekbones and brow. Anonymous, dark, ruthless. At his neck, a pin wrought in the shape of a Gordian knot, forged from onyx and silver, glinted under the light of the chandeliers. An impossible knot, tangled and inescapable. Only possible to undo by severing it. Like their marriage?
Since they had agreed to arrive separately—or rather, Alice had insisted on it, and Dalton had agreed—he meandered into the next room, scanning for any sign of the widow, while also searching for his Persephone. His mate.
As he explored deeper into the building, the excesses the club was famous for became more evident. A couple embracing in a shadowy alcove, her naked breasts on display. A bunch of patrons clustered around a tableau vivant of a classical picture featuring naked women and men.
Debauchery of this sort had never been his thing, but neither was he naïve. In the course of his career, he’d had reason to visit some seedy places, so he could well imagine what went on behind the club’s more private rooms. He didn’t like the idea of Alice in such a place. Hell, he didn’t even want to think about how being around Alice in this environment might affect him.
But he must go forth, for there was no way he could possibly dissuade her from being here. She had made it abundantly clear that his wishes had no influence on her decisions. Didn’t she always do as she pleased? Maddening woman. Why couldn’t she be more biddable? More suited to the life he had been forced to embrace? But then he wouldn’t be half as crazy about her as he was.
He would do better to understand that it was over. She was not what he needed, and he was not what she wanted anymore. She had realized how unsuitable they were and had the courage to walk away. And he would do the same. He would sever the last bond that tied them, even if it felt like he was severing his own limb with a rusty knife.
His gloved hand clenched at his side as he strode from room to room. Prowling. Searching. Hunting.
As he approached the ballroom, the gas lights dimmed a bit lower, the music drifted to his ears, haunting and sensual, the perfumes that lingered in the air more exotic than floral. Nathaniel stepped past a pair of masked dancers and scanned the ballroom. His cloak flared behind him, his boots soundless on the polished floor. He was Hades, King of the Underworld.
Yet none of it prepared him for the sight of her. She was the goddess of spring who had once laughed in his arms, now lost in a world of shadows and secrets.
Alice.
She stood at the edge of the crowd beneath a crimson-draped arch, as if she’d descended straight from myth. Her gown shimmered like starlight woven into shadow. The black gauze of the skirts floated around her lower body, clinging to the curves of her derriere and hips, teasing the eye with the promise of translucency that never quite fulfilled. Her tight bodice, embroidered with strategically placed gold-thread vines and blood-red pomegranates, hugged her torso like the embraceof a lover, pushing up the luscious mounds of her breasts until they were about to spill over the low decolletage. A golden cuff in the shape of a snake wrapped her upper arm, and her mask—floral, elegant, mysterious—hid half her face, but nothing of her allure.
Which every man in the room was drawn to. Most of all, him.
She stood conversing—or rather, holding court like the queen she was portraying—amid a group of gentlemen. Every inch of her was temptation—ancient, knowing, untouchable.
This wasn’t the woman who had left him in silence, nor the spy who held herself aloof, hard and sharp like a blade. This was Persephone, Queen of the Underworld. And she had never looked more dangerous. Or more beautiful.
She turned then, as if she’d felt the weight of his gaze, and their eyes met.
Time slowed.
Desire overflowed.
And Nathaniel, for one reckless heartbeat, forgot every reason they were there.
He wanted to grab her in his arms and steal her like the god of legend had done to Persephone. He wanted to secret her away from all the lascivious gazes and claim her only for himself. Spirit her to his lair, then devour her.
The impulse was so strong it left him reeling. He exhaled, breaking the connection of their eyes, and turned away. Held himself in check before he did something foolish.
They had always had this intense, almost explosive compatibility. And it wasn’t one-sided either. He had sensed it in her when their gazes connected. It had been clear in the widening of her eyes, the flaring of her nostrils, the parting of her lips. Oh, yes. She wanted him with the same intensity he wanted her.
It was proving distracting, this awareness of each other. This unsated sexual need that fairly arced in the air between them. If only…
Their marriage might be in ruins. Too far gone to salvage. But was it possible to slake this lust that still coursed through his—and her—veins? To have her again. Naked. Under him. Screaming his name as she fractured with her climax… He needed that. Craved that. Enough to convince himself it was the best course of action. After all, how could they focus their attention on the task of routing a traitor when half his brain was consumed by lustful thoughts about his wife?
He didn’t stop to question himself. Didn’t want to change his mind. When his brain cleared enough to think, he was only conscious of one thing:
Before this night was over, he was going to thoroughly bed his wife.
Alicecontinuedtotalkand charm the gentlemen around her, as she had been doing for the better part of an hour, but all the while aware of the importance of treading carefully. She had no doubt every single one of them had debauchery in mind and reason to think that was her purpose as well—after all, they were here, at this notorious pleasure club.
The masks made identifying the men difficult, but she would recognize the voice and the accent of the younger Russian they had spotted in the back corridor. She very much doubted the most senior of the co-conspirators would come here, but the lackey was likely to be present, probably accompanied by another of his kind. So she needed to engage the men in conversation in order to see if she recognized any one ofthem, but not to the point where they would make unwelcome advances.
For both of those purposes, she never stayed with one group for very long. Under the guise of enjoying the party and ‘browsing’ the offerings, she circulated between the rooms on the first floor. Conversing with as many of them as she could without eliciting suspicion.
So far, she had not encountered anyone worth pursuing. Many of them exuded excitement, no doubt anticipating the pleasures of the night. A few betrayed nervousness or unease, but none of them were the Russian from the corridor.
