by Win Hollows
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, biting her lip. “Yes, it was a dream.”
“What if you could go back into that dream? Just for a little while?” He knew his plea was insane. Nothing good could come of this, but he didn’t care.
“Max,” she whispered, shaking her head.
Anger rose in him. “Are you not the Viper? The woman who can kill a man at twenty paces and steal the Crown Jewels of Geneva without anyone the wiser? Fight for what you want, dammit. Just once, take what you want.”
He saw the fury enter her eyes. “What I am is whatever the hell I want to be, and if I want you, then I’ll have you, and not a moment before.”
The music ended, and they stayed exactly where they were, though his arms dropped from her form.
Max’s loins swelled. This was his viper in all her glorious power. “Then meet me tomorrow night. There is a musicale at Covent Garden I must attend. The Royal Opera. Meet me at ten in the folly in the back wood.”
She looked frantically around the room as if something outside their tense bubble could save her from her decision. He could see the agonizing turn of the wheels in her mind in the way she worried her lower lip with her teeth again.
Her eyes latched onto something, and her lips tightened into whitened lines. Max looked to where her gaze rested and frowned. It was Mister Tennenbaum, sitting in a chair and tapping his toe to the music, his graying hair shining silver in the gaslights.
She turned her eyes back to him again, a hard light now solidified in them. “Yes. I’ll be there.” And then she turned and walked away until the crowd swallowed her golden dress up in its midst.
Heat pumped through his veins. Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night he would—
A stinging pain entered his consciousness. “Argh!” He patted his arse. “What the—” he spluttered, whirling around to see a round-bellied little man squealing and running in the opposite direction, a shiny arrow clutched in his fingers.
Max growled and started forward before stopping himself. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to contain the instinct to go after the cherubic actor and pummel him into oblivion.
He sighed. A cold bath. That was what was needed this night. Perhaps that would cool him off until he could behave like a normal human being again.
What had he been thinking, asking the Viper to meet him alone in a dark place where anything at all could happen? There was just as much likelihood she would decide to kill him as kiss him.
He couldn’t help it, smiling as he walked back to where his sister had been deposited. Whatever tomorrow night brought, it would be terrible for him either way.
But it felt too unearthly good to resist.
****
She couldn’t believe herself. What had come over her?
Elorie forced her palm away from her heated cheek as she wound her way through the crowd to where another room branched off with an archway separating it. She just needed a moment to clear her head.
There were a thousand reasons why she couldn’t possibly let herself meet the Earl of Eydris tomorrow night. Her purposes and his could never align, and it was asking for trouble to pretend otherwise. And he still thought she was playing a role for the Hand of Charlemagne. That was for the best. If he knew her true plans, there would be hell to pay. Max wouldn’t understand and would ruin everything.
She couldn’t seem to summon a lick of her usual common sense when he was near. Every hard-won lesson and scrupulous bit of training had gone out the ballroom door as he had pulled her to his muscular body. And the way he spoke to her, in words that caressed every longing she had put aside for far too long… The man was a weapon all right, in all possible senses of the word.
She leaned against the wall and swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. Looking at her surroundings, she observed the five or six tables of card games ongoing, ladies and gentlemen all separated except for one table at which a single woman with a familiar shade of bright, peach-colored hair sat with three other gentlemen. The lady was sitting with her back to Elorie, looking quite at ease sitting amongst three gentlemen with whom she was playing cards. Elorie pushed off the wall and came nearer, drawn to the woman’s low chuckle as she discarded.
She could almost swear… “Lady Tierney?”
Raquel Tierney turned around in her chair and smiled. “Lady Crescenfort! What a lovely pair of slippers you have there. Absolutely smashing with that dress.” She winked.
Elorie couldn’t help smiling back. “The lady responsible for my choice in wardrobe has exquisite taste.”
“Do you know what they’re talking about?” one of the men muttered to another at the table.
The other sighed. “Not a clue. Never do.”
Raquel twisted back around in her chair. “Gentlemen, this is my friend, Lady Crescenfort. She’s recently come to town. I think she’s going to be all the rage this season.”
Elorie laughed nervously. More attention was not what she was looking for at the moment. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed cards, Lady Tierney.”
“Enjoy?” a blond-haired fellow to her left intoned. “Does one enjoy war? Because that’s what this is—a massacre.”
“Now, now,” Raquel scolded. “Don’t pout about being beaten by a—how did you put it when we started, Baron Umrein? A slip of a girl with earbobs bigger than her brains?”
The man turned an uncomfortable shade of red. “Didn’t realize you heard that.”
Raquel laughed. “I’m sure. But your quarterly allowance seems to disagree with you, as it’s now mine.” She patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I take lines of credit.”
One of the other men snorted. “I told you not to bet blunt you don’t have.”
Baron Umrein threw his hands up, his cards fluttering to the floor. “You’ve lost more to her than I have in the past hour!”
The other man smiled. “Yes, but I’m filthy rich, so it doesn’t really matter.” He winked at Elorie.
“Quite so,” Raquel agreed. “Will you stay for a hand, or are you going back to the ballroom?” she asked Elorie.
“As a matter of fact, I was about to make my way home. My chaperone is elderly and doesn’t like staying out ’til all hours.”
Raquel made a sound of disappointment. “Well, do come round for tea on Thursday. I’m quite looking forward to some company that isn’t my surly brother.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Elorie assured her, dipping a half-curtsy to the gentlemen before taking her leave of them.
As she made her way to a salon off the main ballroom, she took stock of the night. Things were going swimmingly, really. Her reputation as Lady Crescenfort from Norwich was becoming a reality. It didn’t bring her a bit of joy to know so, however. This was work for her. Nothing more.
She only wished she knew if, when this was over, she would be happier or infinitely worse off.
Well, there really wasn’t a choice any longer, so she shoved her maudlin musings to the back of her mind where they belonged.
Collecting her dozing chaperone in the corner of the Littonway’s salon where a few other aging ladies were gossiping, she furtively scoured her surroundings for the Earl of Eydris. Just knowing he was in the same building set a panicked rhythm to her heart, although he wouldn’t be anywhere near here.
Spotting her quarry wasn’t a challenge as the frumpy woman was dressed all in bright purple lace flounces that sagged around her soft form like a melting cake. Add that to the fact that she was snoring up a storm where she sat on a settee near the fireplace, and Elorie was able to make a beeline for her. She helped Lady Truesdale, sister of the Earl of Crescenfort, to her feet gently, steadying her as she rose. The poor dear was senile as an opium-doused sloth, which made for the perfect chaperone when Elorie had no intention of being herded about like most of the debutantes were. Elorie led the sleepily humming lady out one of the side entrances to the home and had one of the footmen coordinate their carriage to be brought around. Once they were settled inside, Elorie made sure Lady Tempe
rance Truesdale’s blanket was wrapped firmly around her legs as the warming bricks had long since cooled.
“Are you comfortable?” Elorie asked her softly.
The woman smiled, her wrinkled cheeks stretching to accommodate the movement. “Yes, dear, thank you.”
“You know I prefer Ellie, Aunt Tempi,” she reminded her with a smile.
“Oh, that’s right. Your mother’s side of things,” she commented. “All that French nonsense.”
Elorie sighed, gritting her teeth. “Yes, indeed.”
“I’ve always thought Dierdre was a lovely name. My late sister’s name was Dierdre, you know.”
The coach swayed as Elorie clenched her hands in her lap. She had heard this many times before and knew from whence her name was derived. “Yes, I remember.”
“You’ve a stain on the hem of your dress, Dier,” she told Elorie.
“Have I?” She looked down to try and see her hem. “I must have stepped in a puddle getting in the carriage.”
“You know, if you take a piss on that and then let your maid scrub it before the laundress gets ahold of it, it will come right out. Works every time.”
Elorie blinked, her mouth hanging open for a moment before she clapped in shut again. “Er… Thank you, Aunt Tempi. I’ll—I’ll remember that.”
Lady Crescenfort nodded, looking as though she’d done her duty for the next generation and began to hum again, eventually drifting off to sleep as they trundled along the streets of Mayfair toward the Crescenfort family home.
Elorie knew when she got there, her mother would want a full report of the evening before she was allowed to go to bed. Even though her eldest daughter had been absent for years without a whiff of her activities, her mother still acted as though she had every right to inquire after her. She supposed she had better get used to it for now.
That had been the deal, after all. Four years of freedom in exchange for the rest of her life. Those four years were up, and there was nothing she could do about it except scream inside her mind until she went as senile as her Aunt Tempi.
“Welcome to the rest of your life, Elorie,” she whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek as the walls of the carriage seemed to close in around her.
Chapter Six
There surely had never been a longer opera in the history of mankind.
The Dowager Countess Eydris and Camille both seemed perfectly absorbed in the monotonous performance as he sat with them in his reserved box at The Royal Opera House. He truthfully didn’t even know what the damn thing was about. Some woman loved some man, and that man loved another, blah, blah, blah…
Everything itched. His coat, his trousers, his cravat. It all rubbed at him in the most frustrating way, though his clothes were the best money could buy. He had spent too long out of formal wear lately was what it was. It wasn’t the fact that every second ticking by brought the first intermission closer. Brought her closer.
When the curtain finally came down in front of the actors and the lights flared to life around them, Max leaped to his feet. “Need to visit the water closet,” he mumbled and exited the box. He hated lying, although it wasn’t the sort of lie that really mattered. That was what his life had come down to—lies that mattered, and ones that didn’t. He knew his own logic was twisted, yet he couldn’t snap himself out of the terrible sort of person he’d apparently become.
There were crushes of people congregated in the lobbies and hallways of the opera house, the women’s dresses fanning out like peacock tails amidst the dark crows’ plumage of the men. He glanced over them, always more aware of his surroundings than most, even though he knew he didn’t need to be here. Here were his people, the crust he’d been born into—people who had no need to fear anything but the progress of industry as the merchant class grew ever closer to their level of riches and influence. He continued on toward the service door, putting it from his mind as the image of Elorie beckoned him.
Feeling the warm night air on his neck and face, Max stepped out into the darkness. Although this area of Covent Garden was well-lit for those attending the Royal Opera, the back of the famous building didn’t warrant as much attention. There was only one lamppost lit where a wooden delivery ramp met the cobblestones. It was enough for Max, who knew which path to take toward the folly he had told Elorie about.
Covent Garden was a strange dichotomy of reputable areas and dangerous rookeries, the crime-ridden regions encroaching all around those places where the peerage took their vulnerable families for entertainment. Max had always liked it, understanding the tense co-existence of such things in the deepest part of himself. He felt safe here, as if he belonged on the edge of both the darkness and the light.
Ornamental trees clawed their budding branches up and over the stone path, turning the crescent moon’s rays into a spider web of light on the ground. His feet didn’t make a sound as he made his way through the labyrinth of pathways, but his heartbeat began to pound in his ears the closer he came to his destination. The thought of Elorie waiting there for him forced the blood through his veins at a reckless pace. Picturing her lithe body against his, her hair sliding through his fingers, made his hands restless.
A glimpse of pale gray stone up ahead made him slow his pace, while the desire to do the exact opposite warred in him. It was after ten, and he would be the one late to their rendezvous, but he hadn’t survived ’til now by walking into situations carelessly He approached the folly nestled along the trees with cautious steps, its open framework of gothic arches giving him a view into it.
Max entered the beautifully carved stone structure, noting the low bench curving around its wall. Shafts of moonlight played through the arches, not even a breeze disturbing the stillness of the place that seemed more ancient than it was.
It was empty. She hadn’t come.
Disappointment washed through him as he stood in the middle of the gazebo, and rapidly on its heels was shame.
Of course she hadn’t come. He was the one behaving like a fool, inviting her here for purposes he didn’t care to examine too closely. She had been wise tonight, while he had stupidly followed his prick here like a lovesick youth. How could he have thought that the Viper would want him after everything they’d done to each other over the years? That kiss at Cairdygyn Hold was an aberration born of mistaken rivalry and respect for their potential to destroy each other. He was nothing but a pawn to her in a game he should have been too smart to play.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He was not alone, the instinct telling him so honed to perfection.
And despite all his previous thoughts, he smiled in the darkness. Without turning around, he said to the night, “Are you afraid of me, Viper?”
Nothing happened for a brief moment, and Max feared he had made a mistake, his ears straining as he held his breath.
A twig snapped from beyond the folly, her noiseless approach no longer necessary. “Never.” Her reply sent tingles along his spine.
Her molten French accent was back, he noted as the familiar rustling of her cloak sounded behind him. Max’s heart pounded, the anticipation of her almost too sweet to ruin. If he turned around, perhaps she would only be a figment of his imagination, conjured here by desire and desperation.
Hunger for her won out, and he turned to see her coming through the entrance, her form silhouetted against the silver light outside. “You came.”
She reached up and lowered the hood of her cloak. “I came.”
Max drank in the sight of her, wide cheekbones gleaming below eyes that he could have sworn held uncertainty. Her hair was back in its usual braided crown, little wisps escaping near her temples and forehead. Lips that were just shy of too large for her delicate jaw were limned in moonlight, and he wondered how many men she had tempted with those perfect, velvety petals. The cloak he had seen her in many times covered her thoroughly, its purpose both warmth and protection from his gaze. That was all right. He planned to divest her of it shortly.
“What
now?” she asked softly.
Max looked closer, recognizing the way her cloak’s clasp rose and fell with the rapid breaths she took. A pulse point throbbed in her neck, and her hands trembled within the folds of her garment.
He smiled. She was afraid, after all.
He stepped toward her. “Now I want to see you where no one else can,” he told her, stopping mere inches away from her. He reached up to touch the vein in her neck that showed her trepidation. She flinched at the contact, but the pulse grew faster beneath his fingers. “I want to see you like this, in the darkness that always follows our footsteps. For once, I want to revel in it with you.”
She cocked her head, examining his face. What she saw there, he couldn’t tell. “You see darkness here?” Elorie asked, her hand coming up to his face. He held his breath as she traced the faint scar on his jawline. “I see freedom.”
Her touch was almost too much to bear, the soft pads of her fingers sending fissions of heat throughout his body. The words she’d spoken registered as strange, and yet the truth of them settled in his consciousness.
Freedom. Yes. Inside the Royal Opera House was stifling, but here… She was an escape he never dared dream of.
“I want you,” he said baldly, stroking his thumb down to her collarbone. The skin there was soft and luminescent, making him want to taste its essence. “I want you all to myself.”
Elorie gulped, the muscle working down her long neck under his gaze. “You have me. For now.”
He didn’t hesitate this time. At her words, he groaned and wrapped his other arm around her waist, crushing her to him as he took her mouth. Plunging inside the sweet, wet cavern, Max stroked her tongue with his.
She responded with unleashed enthusiasm, splaying her hands on his chest and digging her nails into his pectorals. Meeting him thrust for thrust, the tip of her tongue swirled around his in a primitive rhythm that made him burn to capture all of her. The Viper never did anything by half measures, and passion was clearly no exception.
Max pivoted their footing and backed her toward the stone bench encircling them. She didn’t resist but gasped as he laid her down on the coldness of it. He put a hand behind her head to cradle it from the hard surface, taking her gasp in his mouth while undoing the clasp at her throat. Pushing back the edges of her cloak, he paused to observe the expanse of skin he had revealed. The bodice of the deep sea-green dress she wore was round-necked and low, exposing the swells of her breasts to the silvery shadows and light spilling over her.
