One or two of the men had taken it upon themselves to pull the women onto their knees. Breasts were fondled relentlessly, lips kissed, and hair gripped tight at the roots. Hands slipped beneath skirts. All manner of far worse things were going on in the darkened shadows of the room. Emmaline could feel it.
The devil was there, not just in the debauchery of the room but in the gambling tables set to her left and the stage set to her right where a couple of women danced wearing nothing but shift dresses made totally see-through by the candles set behind them.
Emmaline felt sick. And yet, she could not look away. It was disgusting and yet it was intriguing. Her stomach twisted painfully, and her throat constricted, yet there was a heat between her thighs and a shivering in her skin that was oh-so-deliciously wonderful.
“Please, this way,” her escort said, and it was when she stepped through the archway that Emmaline's eyes were drawn right across the room.
How she hadn't noticed him before, Emmaline did not know.
Sitting upon a throne made of black metal and red silk cushions was a man who commanded the attention of everyone sober enough in the room. Those having sinful fun appeared to have one eye upon him at all times.
The second she saw him, she knew he was The Devil Lord himself. There could be no mistaking him. Not with that crimson red mask, its black horns like those of a ram curling from the top of his head down to a point beneath his earlobes. Only the grim line of his mouth was visible but even in the dim lantern light of the room, the disdain was clear behind the mask.
Emmaline gulped. His commanding presence within the room was as daunting as all the whispers she had heard about him, if not more so.
“My Lady,” her escort said, offering her his gloved hand. Emmaline struggled to breathe past the lump in her throat. She placed her red gloved hand in his and on still shaking legs, allowed him to guide her down the center of the room.
Within a couple of steps, a hush fell upon the room. Every eye turned on Emmaline. The way her escort held her hand aloft, as if parading her for all to see made her heart skip several beats. Were she wearing champagne or ivory, she might have believed it a wedding.
Don't be so foolish!She snapped at herself. What a ridiculous notion that was. To have a wedding in such a debaucherous place would be ruinous.
Why the thought had come to her, she did not know, but she shoved it away just as quickly.
And by the time she stood at the foot of the throne steps, the room was so silent Emmaline swore she could hear flies buzzing.
All stared at her in open astonishment. She was overdressed, far too overdressed compared to the other half-naked women in the room. The rubies draped about her throat and ears and in her hair, were likely a huge target in place like this. What a fool she had been. Why hadn't she come dressed plainly? She had wanted to make a strong impression. Now all she wanted was for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
She dipped her head and, quivering, said, “My Lord, I—”
Before she could finish, The Devil Lord boomed, “What are you all staring at? Mind your business before I pluck your eyes from your heads! She is mine alone to gaze upon.”
Emmaline's heart quickened. Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Deep, commanding, threatening, frightening, and yet, it made her weak at the knees in an all too different manner than before.
Even Emmaline’s escort dipped his head low, averting his eyes from her. The weight of the gazes of the room was so suddenly gone from Emmaline that she felt light as a feather. And when The Devil Lord himself swept down the stairs to take her hand, she felt as if she might float away entirely.
“My Lady, I have been intrigued to make your acquaintance ever since His Grace made mention of you this afternoon,” he said, dipping his head to brush his lips delicately over her gloved knuckles. The warmth of his breath was tingling even through the silken material.
“And I you, My Lord,” Emmaline said, struggling to offer a curtsy without her knees buckling.
“Please, join me,” The Devil Lord insisted and at the click of his fingers a chair was brought forth for her to be seated beside his grand throne.
If not for the heaviness of his presence, the sheer weight of his darkness, the way he presided over all without so much as a sniff of entertainment himself, Emmaline might have believed him just another rich fool with too much money and very little sense.
Yet, though she had never met royalty, just to look at him and see the way the patrons of his establishment feared him, she felt as if she were in the presence of a king. More than that, she felt as if she were in the presence of a god. Or, in this case, a demon.
But even for a devil, this man was a true gentleman. He guided her up the steps and held the back of the seat as he awaited her to place herself upon it.
“A drink for the lady!” The Devil Lord commanded and not one, but three men jumped from their seats to grab glasses from the serving girls. Two were spilled before they reached the throne but the third, a glass of red wine, was offered to Emmaline with a bow so low the man was practically kissing the floor.
“Thank you kindly, My Lord, but I do not wish to dampen my mind this evening,” Emmaline said, speaking to the lord himself and not the poor, trembling man before her. The Devil Lord clapped his hands, and the man was removed from his presence.
“Then, My Lady, why have you come?” The Devil Lord asked, dropping down into his throne. He leaned on the armrest towards her, hand on his chin. The mix of curious charm and red devil's mask was quite something to behold.
Though she knew she ought not to, Emmaline could not stop from staring. She longed to know the face beneath.
“Might… might we speak in private?” Emmaline asked, glancing about the room.
Everyone appeared to have gone back to their own business just as instructed but she couldn't be sure.
