“Circe?” She raised her brows. “Are you afraid I might turn you into a pig?”
“Not in the slightest,” he said, amused again. “If you recall, his men were the ones turned into pigs—she did not manage to trickhim.”
“What are you trying to insinuate?”
“They were in love for a year before their parting,” he murmured. “Once she had lifted the enchantment over his men.”
Her stomach clenched and dipped, and the hand he held in hers trembled slightly. She struggled to retain her composure. Whynowshe should be so affected by his profession of love, even in this lighthearted way, she didn’t know.
And yet.
Andyet.
She gave him her best teasing smile. “I’m afraid I don’t have a year to spare you.”
“No?” He leaned ever closer, his cheek brushing against the side of her mask as he delivered his words straight into her ear. “How about a night?”
She shivered. The whole proposition felt entirely sordid, even if itwasher husband. Still, she fancied William was watching, and she decided it would not hurt to allow herself this one liberty. She allowed herself to melt into Percy’s arms. “Perhaps a night.” Her voice sounded nothing like her usual self—it was deep, husky, a throaty hum that made his eyes spark. “But a night is not enough to fall in love.”
“Is it not? Tell that to my heart, which has been yours since I saw you stab that man so masterfully.”
“Have you always been attracted to violence?”
“Only when it comes in the form of hairpins.” He twirled her slowly, one hand grazing her waist. The other grasped hers. Their bodies were not close, not particularly, but despite the overpowering warmth in the air, she felt the heat from his chest.
She could not see the colour in his eyes, but she knew it anyway. Four years of reluctant marriage had taught her that his eyes were mingled brown and green, lighter when he looked at her, and sometimes darker.
His palm skimmed her waist, and she wondered if his eyes were dark now.
In truth, she hungered for it.
There was nothing ladylike or pure about her wants and desires; it was as though he had unlocked something inside her by those almost moments, the anticipation that never came to fruition.
The tender flesh between her legs throbbed at the soft press of his hand against the small of her back, and she thought it entirely possible she had gone mad.
To punish him for making her want him, she cocked her head and gave him a saucy smile. “You should know I’m married.”
He gave an answering smile, roguish in a way she wascertainshe had not seen before. Surely she would have noticed her husband beingroguish. “Not to that unsavoury gentleman, I hope?”
“Oh no.” She tittered a laugh. “Very much not. He was nothing. An idle flirtation, long ended.”
“Isthatso?” His voice deepened to a seductive rumble she’d never heard directed at her. “Tell me, Circe, is that all I am to you?”
“What else could you expect to be? We only have one night.”
“True.” His fingers grazed up her spine. “Then I suppose we should make it count.”
For a few moments, they danced in silence. Cecily could remember nothing of the world around them; the only thing that anchored her in place was the steady weight of his eyes, and the surety of his hands.
Eventually, she could bear the silence no more, and looked at the shape of his mouth, just visible from underneath his mask. “What of you?” she asked. “Do you have a wife?”
Amusement radiated through him at her question, but he kept to the unspoken game they were playing. “I do.”
“And yet you are here, flirting with strange ladies.”
“Mm.” The hand on her back moved to her side and gripped her hip, just for an instant. A heartbeat later, he was holding heras properly as a saint, but the squeeze had been so familiar, so possessive, that her head spun. “I do not think you are so strange to me, my witch.”
She took a moment to regain her bearings. “I fear you must make for a poor husband.”
