Vivian’s heart thumped painfully against her ribs. If Corny had lost money… “He never could get his fidgets under control,” she guessed, trying to sound as if she already knew what she was talking about.
“Gives the game away every time,” the man agreed, winking as he raised his glass. “Here’s to a better night, for you at least, your first time joining us.”
Vivian clinked her glass against his and, since it would have been rude not to, took a gulp, dismayed to see that there wasn’t much left. She hadn’t meant to drink so much. But she’d be slipping away soon—no good could come of being there when the actual gambling started. “I bet he couldn’t wait to get out of there,” she said, wondering how much time Corny would have needed to get back to the house. “I know I would have.”
“Maybe, but they’re dead serious when they say that no one can leave until the gameplay is done. He had to stay until the end, just like the rest of us.” He laughed. “Don’t want anyone ratting us out to get their money back, after all.”
Vivian froze. “Oh. Yes. I mean no, we don’t want that,” she said, not sure what she was saying but hoping her surprise wasn’t written all over her face. If they didn’t allow anyone to leave… did that mean once the game started? Or once they walked into the room?
“And that game went on for half the damn day. I probably could have bought a new company with what I lost on that last hand,” theman was saying, apparently happy to take the chance to brag and not noticing that she was barely paying attention anymore. He winked at her. “If you get out early, don’t feel too bad. Come sit on my lap and I’ll keep you entertained.”
“Golly, what an offer, mister,” Vivian said, hoping he thought her breathlessness was meant to be flirtatious. But her eyes were fixed on the door.
A new man had just walked into the room, and this one didn’t wear a mask either. His suit fit so perfectly it looked like it might have grown on him, and he was flanked by two men whose smart jackets did little to soften their menacing posture.
Vivian swallowed. Judging by the confident way the new man looked around the room, the muscle flanking him, and the quick, nervous way that the man in the checked suit hurried to his side, this was the man in charge. It took all her willpower not to bolt for the door that instant. Would she still be able to slip away?
“Ah, it looks like our host is coming to greet his newest victim,” the man said, giving her a friendly nudge with his shoulder. “I’ll give you your privacy, of course, but come find me after.” He winked again. “Like I said, I’m a good time, onandoff the dance floor.”
“Sure thing,” Vivian said faintly, forcing herself to smile as she watched him walk away. She wanted to grab his hand and make him stay with her. But just because a fella could hold his own in a Charleston didn’t mean he was trustworthy. She remembered the feel of his mouth on her fingers as he licked away the drops of champagne and shivered. She could handle herself without that just fine.
“Good evening, madam.”
The host had reached her. To her relief, only the man in the checked suit was with him; his bruisers still stood a few paces back, though they were watching her as well. The host smiled, but it was clear to her that it was a show, put on for the benefit of the other players. Up close, his smile was cold, and it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Evening,” Vivian said, hoping her smile was more convincing than his. “Hell of a shindig you throw down here.”
His nod could hardly be called that, a bare dip of his chin. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “I’m glad you approve. But my associate tells me—” He gestured toward the man in the checked suit—“that perhaps we were not expecting you to join us this evening. I’m certain we have not yet received your deposit.” Behind his back, she saw two of his fingers move. At the gesture, one of his muscled escorts peeled away from the wall he was propping up and began ambling in their direction. The host smiled at her once more, and it was even colder this time. “May I ask who invited you to our little soiree?”
Vivian shifted so that her weight was forward on her toes. “Do you want his real name?” she asked, her voice as light as if he were an old friend asking her for a dance. She kept her eyes away from where the waitress was making her rounds with the champagne again, getting closer and closer to them.
The host raised his brows, looking bemused, as though her apparent lack of discomfort puzzled him. He gestured at her with one hand. “If you please.”
“Sure thing, mister. I know you know the fella,” she added, glancing at the man in the checked suit, who looked surprised at being addressed directly. Vivian leaned forward conspiratorially. “My friend Corny Rokesby.”
The host frowned. “Mr. Rokesby?”
“Of course,” Vivian said, smiling brightly. “He’s sitting right over there.”
They all turned to look in the direction she was pointing. The moment they did, Vivian stepped back, sticking one foot into the path of the waitress. The woman stumbled, and Vivian helped her along, sending the tray of glasses and a half-full bottle of champagne flying toward the men. There was the sound of glass shattering, shrieking from the waitress and several guests, bellows from the men—but Vivian hadn’twaited for any of it. She was already plunging through the velvet curtain and dashing toward the steps, ignoring the shout of the man who had handed her the mask.
It didn’t occur to her, until the moment her hand was on the knob, that they might have locked the door behind them. She would have sobbed in relief when the door swung open, but she didn’t have time. She yanked it shut behind her, already taking the steps toward the ballroom two at a time. The door at the top was unlocked too. She could hear shouts and pounding feet from below before they were drowned out by the clamor of five hundred conversations, all happening at once to the sound of a jazzy, brassy quickstep.
Vivian slammed the door behind her, tearing off her mask and tossing it on the ground before she dashed around the silk screen and plunged back into the crowd.
TWENTY-THREE
Vivian pushed her way toward the dance floor, trying to find her friends. Were Mags and Leo still dancing? No, they had said they would meet at the bar in an hour. How long had she been gone?
She changed direction, then froze. In front of her, she could see the two bruisers from downstairs blocking the door back toward the bar and staircase while they scanned the crowd, clearly looking for her. Vivian tried to melt back into the crowd, searching for another exit.
She had reached the edge of the dance floor without realizing it. And she could see another door on the other side. Looking around quickly, Vivian grabbed the hand of the first unpartnered person she saw, a lanky boy dressed as some kind of creature with furry trousers and horns on top of his head, wearing nothing but a vest over his otherwise bare chest.
Vivian didn’t even bother to ask what his costume was supposed to be. “Fancy a spin?” she asked, a little breathlessly, trying not to lookback over her shoulder. The more she looked at them, the more likely they were to spot her. They knew what she was wearing, even if they hadn’t seen her face. And she didn’t want them seeing what she looked like without her mask.
“With you, doll? Absolutely,” the boy said, grinning as he slid his arms around her. “How fast should we go?”
“Fast as you like,” Vivian said. The band had just started a Baltimore, and the line of the dance should carry them around the floor toward the other door. The back of her neck prickled with nerves, and she could feel her body flushing hot then cold, over and over.
