have kept me away.”
A corner of her mouth lifted. “I forget, sometimes, that people have families.”
Despite her wry smile, a note of melancholy tinged her voice, making him contemplate her kin. Did she have any, and did they know what she did to earn her bread?
Then, she said more lightly, “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
“Thinking of this night has been a balm to me these past weeks,” he said candidly. There was no need to dissemble or tell flattering half-truths. Not here. Not with her.
“If you’ve been troubled, I am sorry for it.” Sincerity firmed her words. Perhaps he was, to her, more than another masked guest, something beyond a means to keep a roof over her head.
God knew she held greater significance to him than her role as manager of this establishment.
He bowed. “I’ll find my way through my difficulties.”
Or so he hoped. Every step put him deeper and deeper into unknown, perilous territory.
“Good,” she said. “It would pain me to think of you in distress.”
“Would it?”
She shot him a pointed look. “I’ve no reason to speak falsely.”
“You are this club’s proprietress. I would be inclined to believe that you’ll say nearly anything to ensure a paying guest’s return.”
“It may be that I do not always give voice to my innermost heart,” she said, inclining her head. “Yet I will not lie. Not often,” she added wryly. “But, I won’t dissemble with you.”
Perhaps here, too, she wasn’t telling the truth, but he chose to believe her. It filled him with dark pleasure.
“Appreciated, madam.” Her presence beside him warmed him far more than any wine.
“We match.” She glanced at his mask. He’d forgotten that his was green, nearly the same color as her own. She stroked a fingertip along her mask, and then his. Though it wasn’t skin-to-skin touch, he nearly growled at the contact. “Coincidence?”
“Fate,” he said.
She gave a half smile. “Fate doesn’t exist. There are only choices.”
“And what do you choose tonight, madam?”
“For now, I choose to spend my valuable time with an inveterate scoundrel. One who disappears like smoke.” Her rich and husky laugh reached all the way down to his groin, making it tighten. Then she frowned. “In all this time, you’ve never joined in the activities in here. A displeased or bored guest is unacceptable in my establishment. I thought that when you stopped coming, maybe you’d grown tired of us.”
“Nothing here has ever disappointed me.” He was never returning after tonight, so it cost him naught to speak the truth.
Together, they observed the room and people within it. Half-nude guests danced together, while sighs and moans gently wafted above the music.
“You have never participated in the activity here,” she said, “not once in the whole of a year.”
After the too-brief conversation they’d had that first night, he’d returned again. And again. Each time, he’d been careful. Seeking her out, but trying not to appear too fervent. Yet every time, he made sure to engage her in banter, draw her out like a silken thread.
She was swathed in mystery, cloaked in secrets. Beautiful, aloof. How could he resist her? He wanted more.
But they played a sophisticated game, him and Amina. Always at a slight distance, like chess opponents strategizing the movement of their pieces on the board. A word here. A flirtation there. They both seemed to understand the way of the world, never revealing themselves entirely. All the while, desire was an invisible presence between them, gathering strength.
The last time he’d been at the Orchid Club, they’d spoken of their favorite secret places in London, little corners of the city that held unexpected joy. She hated the zoological gardens because of the caged animals, but loved to watch the birds take wing above a tiny square nestled in Chelsea. He’d confessed he would grab a cake from Catton’s famed sweet shop and eat it while standing on the banks of the Thames, watching the ships drift along the water.
Then . . . he’d taken her hand. A brief touch. Their eyes had met, and the charge between them had crackled like summer lightning. He’d nearly gone to his knees from merely that contact.
She’d slipped away to see after other guests, but he’d felt her gaze on him the rest of the night. A promise of what could be. He’d excitedly planned what might happen the next time they met. But then he’d had to disappear. Leaving the potential unfulfilled.
Until now.
He stepped in front of her so that he commanded her full attention. She tilted her head back to look him in the eye. Always, she had that direct way of looking at him, and it shot awareness through him with a hard, quick intensity.
“I return to this place again and again for one reason,” he said. “The same reason that brings me here tonight—you.”
Her lips parted, yet she did not speak. Surprise flashed in the depths of her eyes.
He narrowed the distance between them, and this close, he caught her scent of night-blooming flowers.
“This will be my last visit to the Orchid Club.” It pained to speak it, making it more real, more inevitable.
She frowned. “If I’ve said or done anything to drive you from here—”
“The world pulls me away, not you. I’d speak more on it, but the rules of the house . . .” He smiled regretfully.
“I . . .” She looked away, then back at him. “I’ll miss you.”
If she wasn’t speaking the truth to him now, she was an excellent actress. She was the picture of regret. So he opted to believe her—it was a falsehood to which he’d gladly cling.
“And I’ll miss you.” For the rest of his life, no matter what befell him or what path his life took, he’d ache for her. “Before I take my final leave, I’ve one thing to ask you.”
“And that is . . . ?”
He took her capable hand in his. She wore no gloves, and neither did he. The press of their palms together jolted through him, bright and hot. He’d anticipated her touch again with an unseemly eagerness—but now he saw that his eagerness had been entirely warranted. She felt . . . exquisite.
“Spend the night with me.” To his own ears, his voice was all but a growl.
Her eyes widened. For a long moment, she said nothing. Hope rose and fell within him, like a bird riding currents of air.
“One night,” he said in the silence. “In the morning, we’ll part company forever, but until the sun rises, we’ll give each other unimaginable pleasure. I promise,” he went on, “you’ll
