“It’s her!”

“Let me by, I must speak with her—”

“Lady Eve, may I bring you a glass of wine—”

“I’ve reserved a place in one of the card rooms for you—”

“The most enchanting creature—”

At the sound of the growing tumult in the central room, Derek made his way to Worthy. The factotum was dressed as a small, bespectacled Neptune, a long trident clasped in one hand. “Worvy,” Derek muttered in a seething tirade, “you plants yourself on Miss Lawson, an’ don’t leave ’er. A bloody miracle if she ain’t raped ’alf a dozen times tonight, with every bastard in the place itching to join giblets with ’er—”

“Yes, sir,” Worthy interrupted calmly, and pushed his way through the crowd, putting his trident to good use.

Derek’s hard green eyes swept over the crowd. “Raiford, you bastard,” he said in a quiet, biting tone. “Where the bloody ’ell are you?”

Alex arrived at the assembly shortly before midnight, when the dancing and merrymaking had gathered considerable momentum. Taking advantage of their unique opportunity to gamble at Craven’s, the scantily dressed women sauntered from room to room, giving feminine squeals of dismay if they lost thousands of pounds or crowing with delight if they won. Concealed by masks and costumes, married women felt free to flirt with scoundrels, while distinguished gentlemen made overtures to demimondes. The charged atmosphere made it easy, almost mandatory, to engage in heavy-handed fondling, loose talk, and reckless behavior. Wine flowed like water, and the crowd became unruly with inebriated glee.

As Alex’s entrance was noted, there were a few cheers and a rapid string of toasts in his honor. He acknowledged them with a distracted smile. His gray eyes searched the room for Lily, but her small form was nowhere to be seen. As he paused to stare at a weird assortment of dancing couples, a group of women approached him. They all sported alluring smiles, their eyes gleaming invitingly behind feathered masks.

“My lord,” one of them purred, her voice distinguishable as that of Lady Weybridge. The young, beautiful wife of an elderly baron, she was dressed as an Amazon. Her opulent br**sts were barely concealed by a flesh-colored bodice. “I know it’s you, Raiford…those remarkable shoulders give you away…not to mention that blond hair.”

Another of the women pressed close to him and laughed throatily. “Why does your costume seem so appropriate?” she asked.

Alex was dressed as Lucifer—his coat, breeches, waistcoat, and boots all dyed a glowing scarlet red. A severe, demonic mask with two curved horns concealed his face, while a scarlet cloak covered his shoulders.

You must have been hiding devilish impulses for years,” Lady Weybridge murmured. “I always suspected there was more to you than met the eye!”

Frowning in bemusement, Alex nudged the clinging woman away from him. He’d been pursued by women before, been the recipient of seductive glances and pointed flirtation—but he’d never been the focus of such a direct assault. The thought that their interest was caused by his game with Lily was astonishing. They should be repelled by his scandalous behavior, not excited by it! “Lady Weybridge,” he muttered, pulling at her hand, which had crept inside his coat and slipped around his waist. “Pardon me, I’m in search of someone—”

She flung herself at him with a brandy-scented giggle. “You’re quite a dangerous man, aren’t you?” she murmured in his ear, and seized his earlobe with her teeth.

Alex gave a perturbed laugh, quickly pulling his head back. “I assure you, I’m quite harmless. Now if you’ll let me—”

“Harmless my foot,” she countered seductively, pressing her lower body to his. “I heard all about what you did last night. No one knew you were such a dark, wicked, vengeful brute.” Her red lips drew closer, pouting and whispering. “I could please you a hundred times more than Lily Lawson. Come to me and I’ll prove it.”

Somehow Alex managed to pry himself loose from her insistent grasp. “Thank you,” he muttered, stepping back to avoid her possessive hands, “but I’m occupied with…” he floundered and finished uncomfortably, “…something. Good evening.”

Hastily he turned and nearly knocked over a slim woman dressed as a milkmaid. He reached out to steady her, and she trembled. The blue eyes regarding him through the rosebud mask were soulful and awestruck. “My lord,” she murmured fearfully. “You don’t know me, but…I…I think I’m in love with you.”

Alex stared at her dumbly. Before he could reply, a temptress disguised as Cleopatra—but possessing a round face and high voice that betrayed her as the countess of Croydon—threw herself into his arms. “Gamble for me!” she cried. “I’m at your mercy, my lord. Cast your passions to the whim of fate!”

With a harassed groan, Alex pushed through the room, pursued by a coterie of eager women. He headed for the door, where Derek Craven appeared. For a man who was supposed to represent the god of merrymaking, he looked rather morose, his face dark and surly underneath a crown of grapes and leaves. They exchanged a scowling glance, and Derek tugged him aside, blocking the women from following.

Derek adopted a twisted smile as he spoke to the fretful, excited ladies. “Easy, loveys. I beg your pardons, but the prince of darkness an’ I wants to talk. Go on, now.”

Alex watched with an incredulous stare as the women departed. “Thank you,” he said feelingly, and shook his head. “After last night, they should be denouncing me as a scoundrel.”

Derek’s mouth twisted sardonically. “Instead you became the prize bull-beef o’ London.”

“That was never my intention,” Alex muttered. “Women. God knows what goes on in their minds.” He didn’t care about any woman’s opinion of him. All he wanted was Lily. “Is Lily here?”

Derek regarded him with cool sarcasm. “I would say so, milord. She’s sitting na*ed at a table o’ drooling bastards, trying to scalp five frigging fousand pounds off ’em.”

Alex’s face went blank. “What?”

“You ’eard me.”

“And you’ve done nothing to stop her?” Alex demanded in explosive fury.

“If you wants ’er safe,” Derek said through his teeth, “you ’as to take care ow ’er. I’m through with this ’ole crack-brained business. Keeping ’er from trouble—like trying to milk a pigeon, it is.”

“Which card room?” Alex snapped, tearing off his mask and tossing it to the floor impatiently.

“Second on the left.” Derek smiled bitterly and folded his arms across his chest as he watched Alex depart.

“Discard two,” Lily said calmly, and picked up the necessary cards from the deck. Her luck seemed to have improved ten times over since last night. In the past hour she had accumulated a meager stash of money, which she would now begin to build on. The other five men at the table were playing clumsily, their leering gazes wandering over her transparent costume, their faces registering every thought.

“Discard one,” Lord Cobham said.

Lily took a sip of brandy and studied his face. She smiled slightly as she noticed his gaze moving once more to the green velvet leaves that covered her breasts. The small room was crowded with men. Lily knew they were all staring at her. She didn’t care. By now she was beyond shame or modesty—her only thought was money. If flaunting herself would help her get the money Giuseppe had demanded, so be it. She would do anything to save Nicole, even sacrifice the last few shreds of her pride. Later she would allow herself to shrink from this memory and blush fiercely at the exhibition she had made of herself. For now…

“Discard one,” she said, flipping down a card. As she reached for another, she hesitated, feeling a hot prickling of awareness down her spine. Turning her head slowly, she saw Alex standing in the doorway of the room. No biblical angel of destruction could have looked more magnificent, his hair and skin gleaming with the rich darkness of antique gold against the blood-red garments he wore. The gray irises of his eyes smoldered wrathfully as he looked at her barely concealed body.

“Miss Lawson,” he said in an utterly controlled voice, “May I have a word with you?”

The way he stared at her made Lily tense with unease. She felt pinned to her chair, and knew a sudden urge to bolt for safety. Instead she drew on every bit of her acting ability to appear indifferent. “Later, perhaps,” she murmured, and returned her attention to her cards. “Your play, Cobham.”

Cobham didn’t move, only regarded Alex in the same transfixed manner that everyone else did.

Alex’s gaze remained on Lily. “Now,” he said, more softly than before. There was an edge to his voice that could have cut glass.

Lily stared at him, while their audience followed the exchange with intense interest. Damn him for speaking to her in front of them as if she were his property! Well, Worthy was in the room. It was his job to ensure smooth play in the gaming rooms, and remove all sources of interference. Worthy wouldn’t let Alex do anything to her. After all, she was a legitimate member of the club. She dared to give Alex a taunting smile. “I’m playing.”

“You’re leaving,” he said curtly, and took command in a blur of motion. Lily gasped in surprise as her cards were snatched from her hand and scattered over the table. Reaching for her apple, she hurled it at his head, but he ducked it easily. Suddenly she found herself smothered in his red cloak. With bewildering swiftness Alex wrapped her until she was immobile, her arms and legs tightly bound. She shrieked and struggled violently as he bent and lifted her, slinging her over his shoulder. The long wig dropped from her head, falling to a silky heap on the floor.

“You’ll have to excuse Miss Lawson,” Alex advised the men at the table. “She’s decided to cut her losses and retire for the evening. Au revoir.” Before their astonished gazes, he carried Lily out of the room, while she wriggled and shouted indignantly.

“Put me down, you arrogant bastard! There’s a law against abduction! I’ll have you arrested, you high-handed beast! Worthy, do something! Where the devil are you? Derek Craven, you detestable stinking coward, come help me!…Damn all of you…”

Cautiously Worthy followed Alex, offering tentative objections. “Lord Raiford?…er, Lord Raiford…”

“Someone get a pistol,” Lily cried, her voice diminishing as she was carted down the hall.

Still seated at the card table, the elderly Lord Cobham closed his mouth and shrugged prosaically. “P’raps it’s a good thing,” he remarked. “I might play better now. Marvelous gel, but she’s no good for straight thinking.”

“True enough,” the earl said. He scratched his white hair and mused, “On the other hand, she does my libido no end of good.”

The men chuckled and nodded appreciatively, while fresh hands were dealt.

Over the lively strains of music in the ballroom, a shrill feminine voice rose louder and louder, shouting every conceivable profanity. A few of the musicians faltered, some of them staring down into the ballroom in confusion. At a peremptory signal from Derek they continued playing valiantly, but still they craned their necks to see the cause of the commotion.

Derek leaned against a statue of Mercury, listening to the wondering exclamations of the crowd. Couples abandoned their dancing and gambling and wandered out of the central room to investigate the noise. Judging from the fading sound of Lily’s voice, Derek discerned that Raiford was taking her down a side corridor, toward the front entrance. For the first time in her life Lily had been rescued, though she didn’t seem to appreciate it. Torn between relief and agony, Derek whispered curses under his breath that easily surpassed Lily’s in foulness.

A flamboyant buck dressed as Louis XIV came back to the central room and made a laughing announcement. “Raiford’s taken our Lady Eve over his shoulder—and he’s carrying her outside like a deuced savage!”

The scene crumbled into bedlam. A good portion of the crowd swarmed outside to see, while the rest mobbed around Worthy’s desk, demanding that the factotum take down bets. With his usual efficiency, Worthy began scribbling furiously in a large book and announcing odds. “Two to one he’ll keep her for at least six months, twenty to one for a year—”

“I’ll wager a thousand they marry,” Lord Farmington said with drunken enthusiasm. “What are the odds on that?”

Worthy considered the question carefully. “Fifty to one, my lord.”

Excitedly the throng gathered closer around Worthy to place more bets.

As Lily wriggled helplessly on Alex’s shoulder, she twisted to see a few well-wishers following them. “This is a kidnapping, you drunken asses!” she screeched. “If you don’t stop him, you’ll be named as accessories when I charge him with abduction and…oh!”

She gasped with surprise as she felt a hard thwack on her posterior.

“Hush,” Alex said tersely. “You’re making a scene.”

“I’m making a scene? I’m…ow, damn you!” She fell into a stupefied silence after another stinging blow.

Alex’s carriage was brought around, and he carried her to the vehicle. A footman wearing a baffled expression opened the door. Unceremoniously Alex dumped Lily inside and climbed in after her. A good-natured cheer went up from the crowd of masked guests on the steps. The sound fueled Lily’s temper to an even higher blaze. “A fine thing,” she shouted out the window, “when people applaud the sight of a woman being brutalized right before their eyes!” The carriage pulled away, and the forward jolt of the vehicle toppled Lily sideways on the seat. She labored to be free of the securely wrapped cloak, nearly dumping herself on the floor. Alex watched from the opposite seat, making no move to help her.

“Where are we going?” she spluttered, wrestling with the binding fabric.

“To Swans’ Court, on Bayswater. Stop shouting.”

“A family property, is it? Don’t bother taking me there, because I won’t set one foot on the bloody—”

“Quiet.”

“I don’t care how far it is! I’ll start walking as soon as—”

“If you’re not quiet,” he interrupted with soft menace, “I’m going to give you the spanking of your life.”