his head. ‘I am Linwood.’
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Linwood,’ she said with mocking polite formality.
‘And I yours, Miss Fox.’ Just the sound of his voice, rich and dark as chocolate, sent goose bumps erupting over her body.
She focused. Breathed. Let her gaze drop to his lips, to linger there for the smallest moment before returning to his eyes.
‘So now we are properly introduced.’ She lowered the pitch of her voice.
‘We are,’ he agreed.
She smiled, a slow, seductive, suggestive smile.
‘You can go ahead and tell me what is on your mind,’ he said.
‘Oh, you really do not wish to know, Lord Linwood. Trust me.’ It was a parody of the words he had used to her.
‘Touché, Miss Fox.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice, although his face betrayed nothing of it.
Her mouth curved as she turned her attention once more to the London streets beyond and below. ‘So what brings you to the green room tonight? I have not seen you here before.’
‘I accompany my friend Razeby. To use your own words, he wishes to be seduced, or, perhaps more accurately, to do the seducing.’
‘And you?’
‘I am not in the market for a mistress, Miss Fox.’
‘Nor I in the market for a protector.’ Her eyes were cool and disdainful with truth.
‘Hawick and Devlin seem to be under another impression.’
‘Hawick and Devlin are mistaken.’ She let just enough steel show.
His eyes slid to hers. He paused. ‘And had I come outside alone to wait for you…?’
‘Just the two of us, out here, alone in the darkness…’ She raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. ‘Who knows what might have happened?’
Neither made any move, only looked at one another across the small space of darkness. She stood still, calm, everything of her posture inviting, alluring, sensual. And in her eyes and on her lips was the merest suggestion of a smile and so much more.
The balcony door opened. ‘Linwood, I—’ Razeby halted at the sight of her. ‘Forgive me, I did not realise—’
‘If you will excuse me, gentlemen.’ Only then did she break the gaze that bound her and Linwood together, and took her time over a small desultory curtsy. ‘Lord Linwood.’ Her eyes met his one last time before moving to Razeby. ‘Lord Razeby.’ And as she passed Linwood she leaned close enough to smell his cologne and whispered softly for his ears alone, ‘Until the next time, my lord.’
She walked past Razeby into the green room, without a backward glance at either man, even though she could feel the weight of both their gazes following her.
And just like that, the matter was begun.
Chapter Two
Venetia’s heart was still thudding too fast as she closed the door behind her and made her way across the room.
What had just happened between her and Linwood was something which, despite all the men she had dealt with, Venetia had never experienced before. Linwood was not what she had expected. Yes, he was most definitely dark and dangerous, but there was something about him. Something both disturbing and fascinating. She quashed the thought in its inception, unwilling to admit even to herself exactly what it was she had felt on looking into Lord Linwood’s eyes. It was too late to change her mind, and even were it not, she had no intention of turning away from this. The first step of the plan had been completed. She and Linwood were introduced. The seed had been sown. It had begun. And the next time it would be easier… now that she knew what she was up against.
‘Are you all right, Venetia?’ Alice whispered by her side, her eyes scanning her face.
Venetia smoothed her expression into its small calm smile, betraying nothing of her thoughts. ‘Of course.’
‘Hawick and Devlin have competition tonight.’ Alice gestured with her eyes to the corner of the room. ‘More admirers.’
Venetia followed her friend’s gaze over to the group of gentlemen waiting there, some holding large bouquets of flowers, others clutching bottles of champagne. Their faces were flushed from too much drink, their eyes arrogant and eager and lustful as they met hers. Men used to using women, men used to holding all the power. Men over whom she now held power of a sort. Walking away was not an option. Not for any actress, least of all for her. She had not lied to Linwood in that respect. Just the thought of him sent ripples of unease spreading through her, like a pebble thrown into a still lake.
As if summoned by her thoughts she saw Linwood and Razeby slip back into the room from the balcony. Linwood’s dark gaze sought hers across the room. She met his eyes and held them for just a second longer than was decent. Her heart missed a beat, stuttered, but no one in the room would have known. She was as poised and confident as ever she was—an act perfected by years of practice and determination.
He drew her the slightest incline of the head in acknowledgement.
And in return she let the hint of a smile play on her lips before deliberately turning her attention to Alice while he still watched.
‘They’re coming over.’ Alice’s focus was fixed on the gentlemen in the corner.
Venetia nodded. This was her job and she was good at it. It paid her well—very well—and let her run her own life. With a single look she could quell a conversation when it had overstepped the mark, and stay a wandering hand. She sparkled and enticed and then enforced her limits with an iron hand and was trying to teach Alice the same.
‘Have a care over Quigley, he is not so harmless as he appears,’ she whispered the warning to her friend. Pushing Linwood from her mind, Venetia turned to face the men and the rest of the night.
It was at Viscount Bullford’s ball two nights later that Linwood saw the enigmatic Venetia Fox again. He watched her in the ballroom, with her almond-shaped eyes, smiling that small seductive smile. There was definitely something fluid and feline in the way she moved. Men watched her with greedy eyes of which she was either unaware or did not care. She appeared relaxed, polished, comfortable in her own skin; seductive, but not in the way he had thought she would be. Not blatant and too readily available. Rather, tantalising but untouchable. The dress she wore was the colour of a glass of red wine held up and viewed before firelight—a deep translucent red that made the darkness of her hair only darker and the whiteness of her skin a shimmering pearl pallor.
He watched her manage Razeby and Monteith, Bullford and Devlin, and even Hawick, flirting with each of them in turn, if it could be called that, for despite the smoulder in her eyes he noticed that she kept each one at arm’s length. Venetia Fox was very much in control of the situation. And although every man in the room was panting after her, she allowed not one of them to touch her as they must have been longing to. No wonder men were willing to bid so highly for her. And then he remembered what she had said of illusion and this flirtatious socialising being a part of her job. It was a dangerous game
