Demon could not deny he was intrigued. “I am listening.”
She hesitated. “The matter is…a delicate one.”
“What matter isn’t?” he asked, impatience growing.
The evening had only just begun, and already, he had tarried here too long, tempted by a lady he had no business being drawn to. Gen had made it clear as a window pane that the members of her establishment were not his for the tupping.
Her lips—a full, lush mouth, he noted, made for kissing—tightened in displeasure. “Indeed.”
He was not telling her what she wished to hear. That much was apparent. But how was he to know what the devil she wanted? Standing there, looking so lovely, smelling so damned delicious. Tempting him.
Christ.He had no doubt Gen would tattoo his face in his sleep if he attempted to bed any of her fancy clientele. He had to force the woman to bloody well spill whatever it was she needed to tell him so he could carry on with the evening.
“What do you have need of, my lady?” he asked, impatient. “If it is a fruit or some such you’re after, I will request it from the kitchens. If it’s a game, I’ll have it brought to the floor. If it’s—”
“None of those things, sir,” she interrupted, her body as stiff as an icicle hanging from the eaves, her voice just as cold.
“I’m not a soothsayer,” he returned. “Before I can give you what you want, I need to know what it is you’re after.”
“This was an error on my behalf. Forgive me for importuning you.” Her voice had softened, and he thought he detected a tremble in her chin. “I told Octavia coming here was a mistake.”
The last, she muttered to herself.
The woman grew more fascinating by the moment.
“It’s my pleasure to see to the happiness of all Lady Fortune’s members,” he said, trying for a bit of gallantry and thinking Gen would be proud. “Don’t know who Octavia is, but I’m sure you being here isn’t a mistake.”
“Never mind who Octavia is.” She caught her skirts in her gloved hands and moved to swish past him, dudgeon high. “I was wrong to seek you out.”
He should allow this mysterious, alluring woman to go. Let her disappear into the fabric of Lady Fortune, where the sea of masked ladies rendered each indistinguishable from the next. And yet, Demon caught her elbow as she made to pass him.
She stopped, turning toward him. Her eyes, the deepest shade of blue he had ever seen, cut straight to the heart of him.
He almost forgot himself, forgot it washewho had halted her. “I am here now, my lady. There is no need to run.”
Her chin went up. “I am not running.”
He dared to counter her. “Looks like you were trying to, doesn’t it?”
What was the matter with him? He was not meant to defy the patrons. Gen would punch him in the eye if she knew.
Bloody good thing Gen didn’t know. She was in Mayfair this evening. Far from the edge of the East End, this meeting of realms where London’s elite came to play in decadence amongst the lords of the underworld.
“Secrecy is essential,” she said.
The warmth of her was seeping into him, so he released her, disliking the effect she had upon him. How long had it been since he had last bedded a woman? Too long. He would have to rectify that. Soon, if the tightening of his trousers had anything to say about it.
“Upon my honor,” he reassured the masked lady who had sought him out.
She didn’t need to know he possessed scarcely any honor. He had what little his father had bestowed upon him. Curse Papa Winter to his lecherous soul.
Still, she hesitated, looking torn. “You do not know who I am?”
“Number one hundred four.” His response was easy—that was all she was to him. All she could be.
Gen had developed an ingenious system for her membership, which had led to its rapid growth. The ladies were guaranteed their privacy. Each was assigned a number and nothing more. They entered Lady Fortune wearing masks and left wearing them. The ladies loved it—from the private gaming hell that was theirs alone, to the assurance their secrets were safe.
She rolled her lips, taking longer than necessary to answer him once more. At last, she spoke.
