troll family as they could safely manage. This section of tunnel was older—and piled high with bones. They were headed back into the catacombs. A cold shiver vibrated through her body.
Mia grabbed hold of Exeter’s arm, slowing the pace. “What if Prospero knows about the trap?”
Exeter shortened his stride, pulling her up beside him. “You think he suspects something?”
Her nod quickly turned into a confusing shake. “I’m not sure—it’s more of a feeling than anything he said. There was something odd about the way he spoke of his appointment—as though he wanted me to know where he was going. He mentioned Ping and an address. Eight rue de Talleyrand.”
Exeter stared. “The address of the Contessa Castiglione?”
“Ping and Tim could be in trouble. I say we pay her a visit. We’re invited, are we not?” There was something comforting about his wary gaze. She’d seen it hundreds of times over the years. Ordinarily it meant he was on to her—some bit of mischief she was plotting. But not tonight. Tonight his shaded squint felt reassuring.
Emboldened by his interest, she continued. “If I’m right—we might be able to help Tim and Ping capture him. Prospero can’t fight us all off.”
“We’ll make our way to the Contessa’s home . . . however . . .”
A caveat was coming. “Yes, Exeter?”
“We will not be announced. We’ll find another way in—have a look about. If I deem the situation too dangerous, you will leave immediately.”
“And what about you?” she protested. Exeter laid a finger to his lips. The hissing sounds and low moans were drawing closer. She brightened. “A good sign, is it not?” The wraiths had followed her and Exeter.
“How are you feeling?” She sensed his struggle to read the signs of an impending shift in the dark. The telltale wrinkle in her brow and pain in her eyes. The band of headache radiating from temple to temple. He placed a thumb to her racing pulse, so he could feel the elevation in temperature. No use hiding her symptoms any longer. “She wants out.”
Exeter massaged her temples. Gentle hands, the hands of a healer. “Better?”
Mia closed her eyes and nodded. “A bit.”
“Hold her back, until we arrive at the soiree. We’ll find a spare room—or closet. I’ll take care of you.” She imagined his mouth on a nipple—his fingers slipping inside her. Arousal shuddered pleasantly through her body.
Mia grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled him back. She kissed him hard, drawing blood. “Don’t make me wait too long.”
He licked his bottom lip. “We must go.”
The hissing noises had grown steadily louder—by the time they found an exit, the wraiths were nearly upon them. Rounding a corner, a bony hand stretched out and grasped at her shoulder. Exeter turned and leveled a blast of energy at the wraith and pushed her up a ladder. “Wait for me topside.”
The wraith hordes had reached the level of a howling storm. “Do not try to fight them off by yourself.” She turned back to see a large round ball of energy grow in his palm. A squadron of skeletons dressed in rags hissed at the sight and retreated.
“Topside, young lady. I’ll just be a moment.” Exeter glanced up at her. “Promise.”
Mia climbed the ladder and turned the wheel of the hatch. Nothing—no release, just a few creaks and groans. She put her shoulder to the stubborn barrier and pushed. Finally, the door swung open. Mia stepped out into the cold night air and marveled briefly at the unlikely spot. The hidden entrance was situated just below the foot of the Pont Neuf.
Exeter climbed out of the small opening. “Shall we make our way to eight rue de Talleyrand?”
Mia picked up her skirts and jumped over a puddle. “The sooner the better.”
Exeter hailed a hansom on the left bank and they were at the Contessa’s palatial maison in minutes. Parting the canvas curtain to have a look ahead, he spoke softly. “There’s a line of carriages at the gate waiting to enter the grounds.” He tapped on the roof and passed the driver a few coins. “We’ll be getting out here.”
Inside the gate, they meandered past low shrubs and through flower beds. The garden path led to an open door under a sign that read LIVRAISONS. A swath of gaslight poured out the entrance, illuminating several cases of champagne. Exeter grabbed a bottle and nudged Mia through the delivery door, startling a scullery maid. “We seem to have taken a wrong turn. Might you point us toward the salon?”
Following the girl’s directions, he opened the door on the right and found the servants’ stairs. On the second floor, he turned the knob. Mia wriggled between Exeter and the crack in the door.
“What do you see?” His words breezed past her ear and tingled through her body. Mia caught her breath. “A gathering of rather smart-looking nobs swilling champagne and—”
“And?”
The scene was not unlike any soiree one might attend in London, with an exception. “Not a soul in costume, but some are wearing demi masks—or donning them.” Mia shifted to one side, so Exeter could see. “What do you make of it?”
Exeter squinted through the crack. “It appears there is yet another level to this party—on the third floor.” He opened the door as a servant walked by, and scooped two black feathered masks off a tray.
“My word, you are a stealthy one this evening,” she teased.
He fit the mask over her eyes, and turned her around. “We shall be ravens in the night.” His softly spoken words sent a shiver through her. She held the mask in place while he looped the satin ribbons in a bow behind her topknot.
Mia tied Exeter’s mask on, but was not prepared for the lurch in her stomach when he turned around. The mask shaded the top half of his eyes, and a glimmer of gaslight played across his face—dark pupils with a glint of emerald in his gaze. Another tremble quaked inside her. The devilish kind of quiver that caused naughty thoughts and made her ache for intimacy with him. “Do you think we’re presentable enough?”
A half smile toyed at the edges of his mouth. “Just a guess, but clothing might be optional here.”
Mia blinked. “Whatever do you mean—?”
He grabbed her hand and slipped into the crowd. Exeter lifted a chilled bottle out of an iced chiller and replaced it with the bottle he had stolen. “This bottle, a decidedly better vintage, could use a chill, but while we wait . . .” He moved to another table, and procured two empty glasses. “Guzzle a few of these, darling.” As soon as she downed the champagne, he poured another.
Halfway through her third glass, she hiccupped. “Exeter, I’m afraid I’m . . .”
“Yes, I believe you’re about ready for the third floor.” While they finished their bubbly, they both watched the ups and downs, the comings and goings of the guests. “The Contessa has not shown her face. Not a sign of Ping or Tim Noggy.” His gaze returned to her. “You haven’t seen anything that might resemble Prospero?”
Mia arched a brow. “Might he be a shape-shifter? I didn’t get that impression.” He emptied the last of the bottle into her glass. “Are you trying to get me sloshed?”
“I am.” Exeter took hold of her hand, and angled his mouth for a kiss, but instead spoke in a whisper. “Do you know what a sexual fetish is?”
Mia shook her head. “I don’t believe so.” She leaned closer. “What is it?”
“Exotic sexual preferences, you might call them. Sodomy of all varieties, the
Mia snorted a soft laugh.
Exeter sighed. “There is a subset of the beau mode who enjoy sex orgies—incorporating a variety of different fetishes. The Earl of Shrewsbury is fond of spanking. During the hunting season he hires a number of courtesans out to his country estate, for entertainment.”
Mia placed the back of her hand to her burning cheek. All this talk of fetishes and orgies nearly had her wet with perspiration. “One would think his backside would be sore enough after a hard day in the saddle.”
His mouth twitched. With his eyes and nose covered, she found herself staring at his mouth. Slightly wide, with a full lower lip and well-formed upper. A girl might lose control of herself. “You’re taking this awfully well.” Exeter remarked.
“The cat is curious.”
“And Mia?”
“She would like to see for herself—what goes on at these orgies.”
