image was etched upon his mind. It seemed that he could still smell the faint scent of her perfume and taste her upon his lips. And just the memory of that kiss, of her body against his, and all that had flared between them, made him hard. He wanted Venetia Fox. He had wanted her since that first night on the green-room balcony. Linwood had had his share of women, but none compared with her. She was a woman more beautiful than any other. Intriguing. Irresistible. And it seemed that the attraction that he felt for her was reciprocated. There was definitely something of a connection between them. Desire rippled through him. Maybe Razeby was right. Maybe a little distraction would be no bad thing. Maybe then he would be able to sleep at night without first drinking half a bottle of brandy.
He set the glass down on the table, and as he did so his eye went to the article uppermost on the neatly folded page; the same article he had read and reread since yesterday. Lord Dawson of Bow Street announces that the shooting of the Duke of Rotherham was murder. His arousal was gone in an instant. His mind sharpened. The problem was not going to go away. He had the horrible feeling that instead of the ending it should have been, Rotherham’s death had started something, something that, if not contained, would destroy them all. He could not afford distraction, even distraction as enticing as Venetia Fox, not when he had a murder to hide. He lifted the bottle of brandy and topped up his glass.
Venetia was still out of sorts the next afternoon. Because of what had happened the night before with Linwood. Because he had not yet called upon her, even though, had he called unannounced, she would not have received him. And because of what Alice was now saying as she sat opposite her in their drawing room.
Venetia studied her friend’s face, the pallor of her skin and shadows beneath her eyes that betrayed a night spent not in sleep, and the triumph and the excitement that radiated from her every pore.
There was an uncomfortable silence, in which Alice had the grace to blush.
‘You have accepted Razeby’s offer.’ Venetia could not keep the disappointment from her voice.
‘He’s offered me two thousand a year, and the house in Hart Street. How can I refuse?’ She paused. ‘Please understand.’
‘You are placing yourself at his mercy, Alice. What happens when he tires of you and takes a new mistress?’
She shrugged. ‘If it happens, then I’ll move on and find another protector.’
‘When it happens.’
‘I’m going into this with my eyes wide open, Venetia. I’ve made up my mind.’
‘Flirt with him, tease him. Sleep with him if that is what you so truly desire, but do not give yourself into his power.’
‘It’s too late,’ said Alice. ‘I’ve accepted him.’
‘It is never too late,’ said Venetia.
‘Really it is.’ Alice’s gaze met hers. There was a small silence. ‘I want him,’ she said simply, as if that explained it all. ‘I want this. Please be glad for me, Venetia.’
Venetia gave a sigh, followed by a smile of resignation. ‘If you are happy, then I am glad.’
Alice smiled. ‘And what of you, last night? Linwood came looking for you. Did he find you?’
‘He did.’
‘And?’ Alice demanded.
‘He walked me home.’ She made no mention of the ruffians who had attacked her, or of Linwood saving her.
‘You really do like him, don’t you?’ Alice looked worried.
She could not like a man like Linwood. Not when she knew the secret he was hiding. And yet… She thought of the way he had not taken part in the feasting upon Miss Vert; the way he had come to protect her, instead. And the dark sensual attraction that simmered between them. ‘He is different to any other man I have met.’ It was the truth.
‘Venetia…’ Alice chewed on her lower lip. ‘You should be careful of Linwood. He’s not a good man.’
A chill stirred in Venetia’s blood. Her gaze sharpened. ‘That is the second warning you have given me of him, Alice. If there is something I should know…’
Alice bit her lip again as she always did when she was uncertain or worried.
‘I concede I have an interest in him, if that makes a difference in your decision to speak.’
‘I swore I’d never tell, but…’ Alice hesitated. ‘I think you need to know, Venetia… the part with Linwood at least.’
Venetia nodded, her senses quickening, her heart beating that bit faster. ‘Go on.’
‘It was when I worked for Mrs Silver. Linwood came to her House of Rainbow Pleasures and—’
Venetia felt her stomach contract and a sudden sick feeling of dread. ‘Linwood was your client?’ she whispered in horror.
‘No!’ Alice glanced up, shocked at the suggestion. ‘Not mine, or any of the other girls. No,’ she said again and frowned as if the memory was unpleasant. ‘He came for information. Offered a fortune for us to betray one of our own.’
‘One of your own? I do not understand.’
‘The identity of one of Mrs Silver’s girls. As you know, none of us ever revealed our faces or our real names in full. But this one girl, well, it was a bit more than that. We were all sworn to extra secrecy over her. Paid a lot of money to keep our mouths shut. So I can’t speak of her, but I can tell you that Linwood offered much money for even the smallest scrap of information on her.’
‘He wanted her?’ Venetia’s voice was quiet.
‘Not in the way you’re thinking. There was a big scandal over the girl and a certain eminent nobleman. Linwood wanted information, for himself, for his father and their newspapers. He owns the London Messenger, you know.’
‘I did not,’ said Venetia, making a mental note to inform Robert of that fact at their next meeting.
‘He’s dangerous.’
‘Did he threaten you?’
‘No, nothing like that. He and his father are reputed to have been up to all sorts of shady dealings. He’s handsome, Venetia, handsome as the very devil, and with something of that same darkness about him. I would that you would take Devlin or Hawick instead.’
‘I do not want Devlin or Hawick.’
There was a silence.
‘Then be very careful over Linwood, Venetia.’ The same words Robert had used. ‘He is cold and untouched by emotion. Nothing affects him. Linwood may make for an exciting lover, but… he’s dangerous.’
And Venetia meant to discover precisely how dangerous.
Linwood sat in his box in the Theatre Royal that night and watched Venetia Fox upon the stage. That she could absorb him in the story she was weaving upon the stage, even though he had seen the play already, rather than studying the woman herself, was testament
