He leans forward, his knee brushing wantonly against mine. The sensation through the fabric of my dress stirs something in me that has been silent since the day I became a vampire.
“Then we shall toast. To the present.” He raises his glass.
“To the present.”
We clink. He does not drink but regards me over the rim of the Pontarlier glass, his lips too red and plump to be legal. The sparkle in his eyes is a promise, a dare.
“Do you not need to join the others?” I indicate Lucien and his men, still deep in serious talks.
“Not when I have much more scintillating company right here.” His words are silk against my skin, but he makes no move to touch me, the way most customers do. Entering these walls permits men to act out their most secret urges, and too many men reveal their true natures when they see what pleasures their money can buy. But this man seems content for us to trade heated glances while we converse, which is refreshing, if odd. I touch my hand to my jewelled collar, wondering if I’m losing my magic. “Truthfully, I don’t know why we’ve come here tonight. Lucien doesn’t tell me much. I’ve not been working for him long. I’m only here because my brother—” A shadow passes over his face, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced by that easy smile. “He will tell me when he requires my skills. Most of the time, my purpose is mainly decorative.”
I’m too aware of my body, of my skin tightening, of a heat growing inside me. I’m aware, too, that I will be performing shortly, and this man will see me and my infamous pole. I can’t decide if the shiver inmy skin is excitement or dread. “What business is your master in, that he requires such decoration?”
His mouth twitches. “Lucien is not mymaster.”
Spoken like a man. Even when he has thrown in his lot with a creature as dangerous as Lucien Vega, he believes himself to be free. But of course he does. He’s never had to build something like this from the rubble up. The world is already laid bare for him.
I sigh. “What business is your boss in, then?”
“You ask a question you already know the answer to, Mademoiselle Macquart. Lucien Vega’s reputation precedes him.” Gideon smiles at me as he sets his untouched drink on the table, and I have a sense the smile is supposed to be threatening, but to me, it’s ridiculous. “You won’t charm any of his secrets from me, but we can both pretend that our paths haven’t crossed on the morally grey footpath leading to the palace of cardinal sins.”
“Monsieur Rougon, Iownthe palace of cardinal sins.”
“Then a word of advice – if you want to part Lucien from his money, you should offer him a bath.” His eyes briefly shift to Catherina wallowing in the metal tub on stage before returning to me with vivid intensity. “He and his men have… peculiar tastes.”
“Then he is in luck, because that is precisely what we cater for.” I draw my finger along his knee. His skin is so warm, so pliant. “What about you, Gideon Rougon? What of your peculiar tastes?”
He lets out a tiny shudder, his eyes fluttering closed, golden lashes tangling together.
“I would love to see you dance,” he says. “I think you’d be magnificent.”
“Very peculiar, indeed. You don’t even know me.”
“That’s true.” He rubs his chin. “Tell me, then, where were you born? Was your mother a beauty? Did your father stop people in the street and force them to admire you? Which scent is your favourite? Do you read? Where is the most beautiful place you’ve ever lived? When is your birthday?”
Fuming, I stand. The spell shatters. “Enjoy your evening, Monsieur Rougon.”
From the way the blue of his eyes darkens at the edges, I know he catches my true meaning.
Choke on a baguette, Monsieur Rougon.
As if I would give him any of my secrets. Vampires don’t even remember our birthdays, as a rule. The only milestone normally celebrated is our Bloodeve, the night of our siring, and mine isnothingI wish to celebrate.
“Please, don’t leave.” His voice grows urgent, freezing me in place. I look into his eyes and see something I wish I could unsee. Behind that flirtatious, curious nature of his, there is a wall as thick as the Bastille. We all wear masks, but never have I seen one that is a perfect mirror of my own. I could break him like a glass trinket, but I’m transfixed by the flecks of gold at the edges of his peacock irises. “I don’t want our conversation to end. I mean, it would be great if you were telling me how brilliant I am, but a man takes what he can get. That’s a beautiful necklace you’re wearing, and you wear it with such grace.”
His eyes drop to my neck for a moment, then rise to meet my gaze again. His fingers trail over my wrist. The touch is fiery hot, presumptuous, anddesperate.
“Flattery will get you nowhere with me.”
He grins wickedly. “See, I don’t believe that’s true. Shall we place a bet?”
“What kind of bet?”
Gideon cracks his knuckles. “You spend the evening in my company. I will employ my considerable skills of flattery and charm, and if, by the time my not-master demands we leave, I cannot make you admit that you had an enjoyable evening, then he shall pay double your price.”
“And if you win, what is the prize you wish to claim?”
“I thought I was clear. You will admit that you enjoyed my company. That’s the only prize I’m interested in.” Gideon leans forward. “Why don’t we return to our drinks and you can tell me about more operas I’ll hate?”
