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‘You mean the green room?’
‘And more. But—’ she inhaled deeply and slowly released the breath, and the chill of the night air lent it a misty quality ‘—it is all part of my job. Written into my contract, would you believe?’
‘To entice and delight.’
‘Some may call it that.’ She leaned slightly closer to him, presenting him with a better view of her cleavage. ‘But in reality to generate interest in, and donations to, the theatre. You paid more to visit the green room than you did for your theatre ticket, did you not, sir?’
‘I did.’
‘To be seduced.’
‘By you, Miss Fox?’
‘Perhaps…’ She let the word hang in the air as a suggestion before lowering her voice as if they were two conspirators speaking secrets. ‘Or then again, perhaps not. We actresses are not supposed to tell. Such truths quite spoil the illusion.’ She smiled, but only because the role called for it, then glanced across at him, and looked at the murderer properly for the first time. At his olive-skinned face with its chiselled angles and planes that lent him a handsomeness she had not expected. At his dark hair that hung in ebony-sheened waves, and his eyes that were black as midnight and held such dark brooding intensity within that had nothing to do with their colour. His gaze met hers and it was as if he had stroked a finger down the naked length of her spine.
She stared into those dark compelling eyes and her heart gave a stutter and her stomach turned a somersault. She stared, shocked and unable look away. The moment stretched between them and all the while he held her imprisoned in that steady, scrutinising gaze as surely as she did any other man’s. Her heart was pounding as she finally managed to tear her eyes away and lower her gaze. With a determination of iron she masked the fluster, reined herself in, but all the willpower in the world could not suppress the shiver that rippled right through her. It took every ounce of her experience upon the stage to regain her poise before she could look at him once again.
‘The nights grow colder and an actress can hardly wear her woollens and flannels to work,’ she said by way of excuse, knowing that he had seen the shiver.
‘Indeed.’ His eyes moved over her dress, over the bare skin it revealed and the pale swell of her breasts before coming back up to her face. ‘That would not do at all.’
Play the part. It is just another role. He is just another man. ‘So… what is your excuse?’ She held his gaze, her appearance once more the cool, calm, enticing Miss Fox, but beneath the surface her composure was still ruffled. ‘Why are you braving the chill of a November evening instead of enjoying the hospitality of the green room?’
His eyes moved back to the Bow Street view. ‘I have things on my mind.’
‘You disappoint me. There was me thinking that you had come outside alone to wait for me.’ He glanced round at her and she curved her lips to show that she was teasing him, even though her heart was still beating that bit too fast. ‘Things from which an evening at the theatre cannot distract you?’
‘Quite.’
‘They must be serious or perhaps it is a comment upon Miss Sweetly’s and my acting abilities.’
‘Rest assured your acting abilities remain unchallenged.’
‘You flatter me. And flattery is not permitted out here. I have a rule that it must remain confined to the green room.’
‘The truth is quite the contrary, Miss Fox. I enjoyed the performance very much.’
She smiled a wry smile and let her gaze wander back to the view. ‘In that case I am intrigued as to precisely what it is that so preoccupies your mind, sir.’
The sounds from the streets below drifted up to her. The silence seemed so long that she wondered if she had gone too far in asking so blatantly.
‘Trust me, you do not wish to know.’ And there was something in the way he said it, a dangerous, haunting honesty that quite chilled her to the bone.
She turned her gaze away, watching the view once more so that he would not see the truth in her eyes. ‘We all have things on our minds.’
‘Learning your lines, or deliberating in your choice of Hawick or Devlin?’ he asked.
‘Not quite,’ she said, and thought with irony of just what she had come out here to do to him.
‘Then what, may I ask?’
She looked at him across the small distance and wondered, just for the tiniest of moments, what he would do if she were to tell him and the thought made her smile in earnest. ‘You are asking me to spill my secrets and you have not even told me your name, sir.’ She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, the ultimate femme fatale. ‘What manner of woman do you take me for?’
He glanced at her again, the dark eyes studying her face.
Their gazes held and even though she was prepared this time, the same prickling sensation stroked against her nerves. Her heart was racing and not only because she feared that he meant to walk away.
‘Forgive me,’ he said at last and gave a small bow of 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 for any woman to play, but especially for one as beautiful as Venetia Fox.
He watched her because she was fascinating. He watched her because she was the only thing in all of these weeks past that, for the few moments he had been with her, had stopped him thinking of other, darker, things. It was the reason he was here tonight. She was the reason he was here tonight. Not that he had any intention of taking this flirtation any further.
Her gaze met his across the room and held for just that moment too long before she turned it back to the man with whom she was speaking.
He waited until she slipped out onto the balcony before following her. She was standing there, staring out over the moonlit garden when he appeared. He did not say a word, just walked up and leaned on the balustrade’s stone coping just along from her and looked out over the garden.
‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ she said without looking round and he could hear the tease in her voice. ‘People will start to gossip.’
‘Are you afraid of gossip?’
‘On the contrary, you know that I am obliged to court it.’
‘Then you should be glad that I am here.’
‘Should I, indeed?’ She turned her head and looked at him then. There was an edge to the words that made him unsure if she were glad or angry to see him. Her eyes held his and there was a certain coolness in them before it faded. He watched her gaze drop to his hat and gloves he carried in one hand and his cane in the other. She arched a sultry brow as if questioning if he meant to leave.
He set them down on the flat coping surface before him.
She returned her gaze to wander over the darkness of the garden, but not before he saw the small satisfied curve of her lips. They were not the small rosebud lips so sought in women, but full, passionate lips that reminded a man of the erotic pleasures a woman’s mouth could bring.
‘Another refuge?’ he asked.
‘You know all my secrets, Lord Linwood.’
‘Not all.’
‘No, not all,’ she said as she turned to look into his face. He saw something flicker in her eyes, something that was not quite in keeping with the rest of her, something which he could not quite discern. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. ‘And I do have so many.’
‘I am intrigued, Miss Fox.’ It was the truth. She was the most celebrated and coveted actress in all London. Bewitching. Beguiling. Yet cool. Her reputation preceded her. Linwood had never met a woman like her.
‘By my secrets or by me?’
‘Both. But I thought you desired flattery to be confined to the green room.’
She laughed, her eyes silver in the moonlight beneath the dark elegant curve of her brows, her skin pale and perfect as porcelain. ‘I will tell you one of mine if you tell me one of yours.’ Her voice was husky and as alluring as that of a siren. Her gaze held his boldly. The sensual tension tightened as the silence stretched between them.
All around them was darkness, as dense and black as the secrets he carried in his heart, secrets that he would take to his grave rather than spill.
‘Would you really, Miss Fox? Tell me your darkest secret in exchange for mine?’
She glanced towards the star-scattered inky blue of the night sky, before returning her gaze to him. Her eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight. ‘No,’ she said softly, surprising him yet again with her candour. ‘I would not. Would you?’
‘I think you already know the answer to that question.’
‘I do.’
‘It seems we are two of a kind.’
‘Perhaps, when it comes to secrets.’ She looked directly into his eyes and again there was that coolness and distance. ‘But then again, I doubt you are anywhere as good at guarding your secrets as I am at guarding mine.’
‘I think you underestimate me, Miss Fox.’
‘No, Lord Linwood, I assure you the underestimating is all on your half.’
‘That sounds like a challenge.’
‘I do like a challenge,’ and her eyes held his and seemed to smoulder. The silence stretched between them, brimful with desire, before she turned her gaze to the garden once more. He felt the stirring of excitement, the need to know more of her. He studied her profile and did not want to take his eyes from her.
‘Were you on stage tonight?’
‘I am on stage every night. And every hour of every day. It is the price any actress must pay if she wants success.’
‘Are you on stage now, Miss Fox?’
