by Amy Sandas
It was fine.
Callista Hale had been a rookery brat, raised in poverty and violence. She’d scrounged and clawed and bit to escape the muck and soot of her origins. Though that angry, desperate girl would always be a part of her, there was no reason for anyone to ever become acquainted with her.
The theater in Covent Garden was teeming with people dressed in their finest.
Callista swept past them all, not bothering to glance toward any of the shocked or curious faces of people who wondered how she could have the audacity to show her face amongst such noble citizens. Pshaw! Those who knew better—the gentlemen who frequented her wicked establishment—kept their stern faces carefully averted, trying desperately to avoid her notice lest she indicate by word or deed their association with her in front of their precious wives.
Idiots!
Each and every one of them knew her policies on discretion and privacy. She made sure they followed her rules strictly or they risked being banned from her place or worse. Only in their self-guilt would they think she’d even consider revealing their dirty little secrets.
Idiots. Every one of them.
“Madam.”
Her inner tirade was brought to an abrupt halt as Mr. Maxwell stepped in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere.
She was rarely caught off guard and his sudden appearance caused her to stiffen before she recalled the grand audience around them. With a slow, sensual smile, she continued forward to offer her hand to her escort for the evening.
“Mr. Maxwell. A pleasure, I’m sure.” He took her offered fingers and bowed his head over them. When he straightened, a subtle smile turned up the corner of his mouth and his pale gray eyes stared intently into hers. He wouldn’t have missed the fact that she was wearing his gift, yet he chose not to comment on it.
“You are exceptionally lovely this evening.”
Callista accepted the compliment with a tilt of her head before she slid her attention down the length of his masculine form. She’d thought him handsome before, but in his black evening wear and stark white cravat, he looked far more distinguished and more delectable than any of the lords surrounding them. “No spectacles?”
If he was put off by her comment, he didn’t show it as he gave a half shrug. “I prefer opera glasses when at the theater.” Gesturing to the side, he asked, “The show will start shortly. Shall we take our seats?”
When people attended the theater, it was to observe the other attendees as much as it was to watch the performers on stage, which meant the seats were rarely occupied by the start of the show as people continued to mingle in the lobby well into the evening.
It seemed Mr. Maxwell did not intend to follow that trend.
“If you wish,” she replied lightly, then had to hold her breath as he smoothly stepped to her side. After tucking her hand into the bend of his elbow, he maintained a respectable distance as he led her through the crowded room. His proper decorum was disconcerting. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man who played the role of escort. If she went anywhere with a member of the opposite sex, she was leading the way.
His stride remained unhurried as he brought her first to the cloak room to check her outer garment before passing right by the refreshment counter to take her up the stairs to the upper seating level. When he stopped outside the drawn curtains of a private box, Callista glanced at him curiously.
He smiled at her questioning look and swept the curtain aside to allow her to pass onto the darkened balcony. “After you.”
“How extravagant,” she noted.
“I’ve a few friends in high places.”
Though the box held seats for up to six people, it appeared it had been reserved for just the two of them. A table had been set up with chilled champagne along with a bottle of brandy.
As Maxwell stepped up behind her, the curtain leading to the hall fell closed. Standing back from the balcony railing as she was, she couldn’t see the floor seating at all and the stage curtains were still closed. All she could hear were the sounds of the orchestra playing softly and subtle movement of her skirts as she turned to face the man behind her.
“I think I like your friends,” she whispered.
His answering laugh was rich and warm. A man’s laugh shouldn’t be so physically affecting. Shaking off her reaction, she stepped forward to take one of the seats.
“A drink, madam?”
“Champagne.” She was in the mood for something light and sparkly to balance the velvet darkness surrounding them. Just because she’d decided to allow him the opportunity to seduce her didn’t mean she intended to make it easy for him.
After handing her a crystal flute and taking one for himself, he took the seat beside her.
“Thank you for joining me this evening.”
Callista glanced aside at him. Keeping her expression neutral, she noted the way his black and silver hair swept back from his broad forehead in soft waves. Without his glasses, the predatorial gleam of his gaze was poignant and sharp beneath thick brows, even in the darkened theater. But his mouth was relaxed and soft. The upper lip was modestly arched while the lower was full and lush. It was a deliciously kissable mouth.
He waited patiently for her to finish her perusal, without fidgeting or glancing away. He was comfortable being under direct observation, which usually indicated a person who was confident they had nothing to hide or someone who was so accustomed to deception they had no fear of detection.
Which was he?
“I imagine your business takes a great deal of your time,” he added.
“It does,” she finally replied as she sipped her drink. Though in truth, the demand on her time was far less than it had been even five years ago. Pendragon’s Pleasure House was well staffed and had reached a point when it could essentially run itself.
“Is it difficult for you to get away?” He gestured toward the stage. “For diversions such as this, I mean.”
She arched a brow. “Not particularly. I simply prefer to spend my time doing what I enjoy. I enjoy business, Mr. Maxwell. I enjoy success and profit and the wealth and influence that have come with it.”
He smiled then. Lowering his chin, he asked earnestly, “And what about life outside of Pendragon’s?”
Callista scoffed. “There is no life outside of Pendragon’s. It is me and I am it.” She looked away from him to casually scan the slowly filling theater below. Already she spotted several of her clients, some of them escorting their wives, others ensconced in the shadows with their mistress. Without turning her head back to the man beside her, she asked, “Why all the questions? What will you do with my secrets once you’ve dug them all up?”
“Nothing.” His voice was velvety and dark. The accent she’d become accustomed to thickened with his whisper. “Secrets are for keeping, madam.”
She slid him a glance from the corners of her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Well, I have none. Anyone who wants to know about me will have little trouble gathering the facts of my life. There have been many who have sought to discredit me over the years. Rivals who have tried to sink my ambitious rise. They have all failed. I hide nothing, so there is nothing to discover.”
He shook his head. “That is blatantly untrue.”
Callista narrowed her gaze.
Leaning forward, he noted smoothly, “What of the secrets in your soul? The private longings of your heart?”
Her laugh was harsh and cold. “My heart? That offensive thing? Discarded long ago. And if I’ve a soul, it’s far too blackened to possess any tender morsels for you to feast upon.”
The sound he made was a low hum and his eyes sparked with silent intention as he leaned back again and raised his glass for a long sip of champagne.
She could see he didn’t believe her—that he fully expected to uncover some long-buried yearning she’d yet to fulfill. Then he’d likely press upon that weakness, mold it and reshape it to suit his purpose, until she believed he was the only one capable of filling whatever voi
d he believed to be inside her.
The amount of arrogance men managed to cultivate had long ago ceased to astound her. Yet she found herself disappointed to witness it yet again in this man. Had she actually been hoping he might be different? Smarter. More experienced. Less self-obsessed. Truly interested.
As the lights lowered around them and the curtains drew open upon the stage, Callista shifted her full attention to the scene unfolding before her, intentionally and completely ignoring the man beside her.
The performance was a well-known Italian opera she’d seen many times before. It was a farcical comedy about bedroom escapades and secret lovers and she’d always enjoyed the way it depicted sexual congress as a lighthearted, pleasurable diversion. She never could abide the operas about vestal virgins and perceived betrayals that invariably ended in someone’s untimely death.
She actually loved the opera. It provided one of the rare instances in her life that allowed for true escapism. To her surprise and appreciation, Maxwell was content to allow her to enjoy the performance without overwhelming her with unwanted small talk or attempts at flirtation or other such annoying interruptions. Most men, if they got an object of their desire to join them in a private theater box enshrouded in darkness, would have made definite attempts at furthering their agenda. But Maxwell hadn’t attempted any sly caresses. Nor had he leaned close to whisper in her ear at any point during the performance.
As the curtains fell on the final scene and the lights came up, Callista rose to her feet to applaud the show. The man beside her stood as well. His shoulder briefly brushed hers, but when she turned to look up at him, his face was in profile as he directed his focus to the stage, where the performers were taking their bows.
After a moment, he turned to meet her gaze. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes unsettled her.
“Shall we make our way down?” he asked. “Or would you prefer to wait until the crowd has dispersed?”
“There’s no need to wait.”
There was just a brief pause, then he gave a nod as he gestured for her to precede him from the box. Once past the heavy curtain, he offered his arm once again. She accepted his escort despite the odd tension that had settled in her being. Most frustratingly, she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of her discomfort.
Becoming lost in her thoughts, as she often did after a particularly transporting performance, it took a bit to sense the subtle shift in the energy of the man beside her. Glancing up at him, she could not detect anything overt in his manner. Still, she sensed an increased alertness in his being. A sharper focus in his gaze as he looked out over the flow of theatergoers making their way from their seats.
When they entered the more open common area, she finally had to ask, “What has you so intent, Mr. Maxwell?”
The look he gave her was one of question mingled with a slight suggestion of concern. “Do they always stare in such a way?”
She cast a dismissive glance about the crowd then shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t typically bother myself with the rude habits of strangers.”
He chuckled. “Have you any idea how many men and women are both covetous and intimidated by just the sight of you passing through their midst?”
Callista met his gaze with a sardonic lift of her brow. “Of course I do. As well they should be.”
“Indeed,” he agreed with a slow smile, “the lady dragon is fearsome and sensual beyond compare.” Dipping his head closer to hers, he added, “I wonder if they see the superior intelligence and unique beauty of the woman within the awe-inspiring creature?”
Arching her brows, Callista replied, “Woman and beast are one and the same.”
He tilted his head and studied her quietly for a moment. “Are they? I am not so sure.”
They reached the cloak room, and when the attendant retrieved Callista’s heavy black garment, Maxwell took it before she could. Shaking it out, he held it up with a subtle light of challenge in his eyes.
Inexplicably, she hesitated. But only for a moment. There was no reason to resist such a gesture. She’d had men touch her in ways that went far beyond this simple act. So why did it feel so damned unsettling when she turned in place, giving him her back?
The sound of her cloak brushing the skirts of her gown told her he was stepping closer, though it would have been obvious anyway by the warmth of his body at her back and the scent of sandalwood drifting through her senses.
The weight of the velvet touched her bare shoulders first, then the gentle press of his hands smoothing the material in place. His touch was confident without being intrusive. The act was not overtly sexual in any way. In fact, it was quite platonic. Yet, for a second, she stopped breathing, wondering if he would use the opportunity to extend his caress, perhaps by sliding his hands down her arms. Or drifting a fingertip across her nape or along the outer edge of her ear. Or he could step closer—press his hard, trim body to hers.
She knew for a fact she’d fit perfectly against him like this. Her back to his chest, her buttocks lush to his groin, her head tipped back against his shoulder so his mouth could access her throat. Perfect.
When he did nothing more than adjust the fall of her hood, she glanced over her shoulder at him, not even caring if her irritation showed in her face.
His smile was slow and knowing, which caused her irritation to deepen.
So, that had been his intention. To make her physically aware of his nearness, his touch, then leave her body wanting more. It was a common ploy. She shouldn’t have fallen or it.
As he turned to retrieve his greatcoat, she took a moment to re-establish her natural grounding. To brush away any hint of sensual longing he might have inspired with his practiced torment.
“May I escort you to your carriage?” he asked, offering his arm once again.
Callista sighed. “If you must, though you should know the show of gallantry is utterly lost on me.”
When her words inspired a gentle chuckle from the man, she realized with a jolt of shock that she’d made the jaded comment specifically for that purpose. Already, she’d come to understand that he enjoyed her cynical and blunt sarcasm. And she enjoyed his rare show of amusement far too much.
Rather than wait for the carriage to come around, by silent agreement, they started walking to where the carriage was parked a couple blocks down from the theater. The silence continued during the stroll along the dark, frozen pavement. A few light, drifting snowflakes swirled about in the winter air and Callista tipped her face to watch them dance against the backdrop that was Covent Garden.
Callista loved this part of London. She loved its grittiness and danger and how it existed at the very edge of the sophisticated societies who came to the neighborhood of excitement and risk. She loved how it blurred the lines between light and dark, sin and virtue, entertainment and survival.
There was a specific sort of energy here. Filled with ambition and a soul-deep hunger. That energy had fed her for years, until she’d gained a fat enough purse to buy her own place closer to the neighborhoods of the elite patrons she’d intended to service.
“Is it possible I’m witnessing an expression of contentment?” His tone was warm and carried only a hint of the seductive undertones he’d employed earlier in the evening.
Callista allowed a smile but didn’t turn to look at him. In her current mood, she decided to be a bit magnanimous. “I suppose anything is possible.”
“I know better than to assume my company is the cause. Will you share the thoughts inspiring such enjoyment?”
Having reached her carriage, Callista stopped and turned to face him. A few snowflakes sparkled in his hair and dusted the shoulders of his greatcoat. His mouth was soft, his gaze curious. He appeared almost harmless in the winter moonlight.
But regardless of what he wanted her to believe or how she occasionally found herself feeling almost comfortable and relaxed in his presence, he was her rival and her adversary.
She smiled—a stiff curving
of lips that had grown chilled in the night air. “Come now, Mr. Maxwell, we both know you’ve less interest in my thoughts than you do in my perceived heart.”
His expression didn’t change at first. He simply stood in the light falling snow, looking handsomely distinguished and utterly self-possessed as his focus moved slowly over the details of her face. She oddly got the sense he was a bit...disappointed.
Then his manner slowly changed. She felt his shifting intensity like a vibrational wave. Her breath held and her leather-gloved hands curled into fists beneath the fall of her cloak.
“Madam Pendragon, I apologize for not having made myself clear since our first meeting.” His brows lowered, shadowing his gaze, while his firm lips shaped the next words with carnal intent. “I am interested in all of you. Not only the softness of your skin or the lush heat between your thighs. I want to learn the rhythm of your heartbeat. Share in your deepest dreams and darkest pleasures. Such desires are undeniable.” He leaned toward her to add in a heavy whisper, “As is my wish to become intimately acquainted with your shrewd and beautiful mind.”
Despite the riot of sensations his words and voice and silver eyes triggered throughout her body, Callista hardened her expression and tilted her head to a condescending angle. “You don’t want much, do you?”
“Just you, madam.”
The heavy words sunk through her winter wear into her skin as light snowflakes drifted around them in the golden light of the street’s gas lamp.
“You didn’t expect it to be easy, did you?”
“Nothing worth keeping comes easily,” he said, repeating a phrase she’d used when talking of Pendragon’s.
Her stomach twisted.
It was a grave miscalculation on his part. This whole seduction was a ploy to get her off his back. She could believe he wanted her in his bed. Not many men didn’t. But he’d made a mistake in implying he had any intention of keeping her.
Without a word, she turned and stepped into her carriage unaided by Mr. Maxwell or the groom who stood waiting beside the open door. As soon the door closed and the vehicle started moving, she put the arrogant man directly from her mind.
