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“You know him?” I cautiously ask.

“Intimately.” A wicked smile adorns his face as his fingers dance across my waist.

My eyes narrow, “you killed him.”

“Not recently,” he jests, bringing his face closer to mine, and the smell of his cologne is intoxicating.

“Lazarus,” I warn.

“What?”

“If he is dead in a pantry, I will shoot you.”

His grin turns wicked. “Darling Widow, such distrust wounds me.”

“You have stolen two of my kills.” I try to break away from our dance as I feel crimson stretching across my face. Anger is boiling within me once more, but he brings me flush with his body.

“One and a half kills,” he states.

“Jack and Lord Mire.” I glare at him.

“Lord Mire was a group effort.” He grazes his nose across my cheekbone lovingly.

“Lazarus.”

He sighs dramatically. “I am trying to improve.”

“By attending my mark’s ball?” Sarcasm drips off my words.

“Your mark has excellent taste,” he states with such nonchalance I have to hold back my hand from striking him.

“Do not flatter yourself into survival.”

“I was referring to you.”

My steps falter at his words only slightly, but enough for him to notice. His expression softens, but only for a second, then his usual mischief returns.

“Fallere,” he says, as we sweep beneath the balcony. “Interesting word.”

“I am aware of its meaning.”

“Latin is such a delicious language. Built for law, prayer, seduction, and betrayal. One can sound holy while saying something utterly wicked.” The last few words he whispers onto my skin.

“Do you intend to lecture me on language during a waltz?”

“I contain many talents. I’d love to show you, darling.” With his touch, his tone, the mere smell of him, I must close my eyes tightly for fear I will spiral into this ludicrous lust I carry for him.

“You contain many irritations,” I snap back, trying to will more anger within myself.

“And yet you have not released my hand.” He shakes our joined hands.

I look down. Damn him. I have not. His thumb brushes once over my gloved hand, then he brings it toward his lips and delivers the most seductive kiss I have ever witnessed in my life upon my knuckles.

“Fallere,” he continues softly, “to deceive. To trick. To disappoint. To escape notice. A marvelous little word.”

“Then where is he?” I narrow my eyes, glancing around the room.

“Who?” Lazarus’s question makes me pause.