Yes, the ladies here gave him shy looks, smiled at him, and spoke with him, but it was because they were seeking a sort of rebelliousness. And how better to do that than by flirting with a bastard? But only within these walls. Beyond them, they would snub him, cut him, ignore him. Turn their backs on him. He would not be invited into their parlors or ballrooms. He would not be allowed to dine at their tables. He would not be welcomed at hers.

She would keep him to the shadows of her life. While on the one hand it grated, on the other he was desperate enough to have her however she stipulated. He understood the terms of their relationship—it was based on the physical only. She wished to be bedded. He wished to bed her.

Beyond that he gave no further thought.

Still when he caught sight of her gliding through the doorway, he envisioned her doing so without the mask, walking into a library where he read, into a dining room where he ate, into a parlor where he lounged, into a bedchamber where he slept, into every room in a grand manor where he resided. He imagined her on his arm striding into shops and taverns and theaters. Strolling through parks. Riding in his barouche. Not that he presently owned one, but no matter what he envisioned himself doing, he imagined her there. Madness indeed.

He made short work of reaching her, aware of the pleasure coursing through him as she bestowed upon him a warm smile. No sadness tonight. No distractions. No unexpected journeys elsewhere. She was here to stay.

Taking her hand, he led her back into the foyer and down a narrow hallway to a set of stairs and didn’t hesitate to head up them.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Someplace more private.”

At the top, he escorted her along a short corridor that on one side was open to the gaming floor. When he reached a door at the corner, he shoved it open and ushered her inside, closing out the world beyond. With his back against the hard wood, he watched as she reached up, undid the lacings on her mask, and removed it. It dangled between her fingers as she wandered around the room, taking in her surroundings. The sofa, the chairs before the fireplace, the low tables, the flames flickering on various candles spread sparingly around the room.

She stopped at the round white linen-covered table near the window where Gillie’s finest wine had already been poured, breathing, awaiting Selena’s arrival. Assorted cheeses and bread were also there. Along with—

“Strawberries.” Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a gentle smile, one wreathed with pleasure. “They must have cost you a fortune.”

“You’re worth it.”

Slowly, she turned. “Is this the relaxation room?”

“No.”