as she wanted to, she couldn’t speculate on his background. Anonymity stood as one of the central tenets of the Orchid Club. Yet he was well dressed, even more finely than a banker or brewer. The artful way he’d bowed revealed a privileged background. She inhaled his scent of gunpowder and spice, taking it deeply into herself, tucking it away for later.
A thousand questions assailed her, wanting to be given a voice. What brought him here tonight? What was he seeking? What responsibilities weighed so heavily upon him that he took delight in the establishment’s offer of freedom?
She could never ask, and never know the answer. “You paid the entrance fee,” she said, “so I urge you to take advantage of what there is to offer.”
She waved toward the dance floor, which had evolved into a mass of sweat-slick flesh. Moans and grunts competed with the music.
Damn the distance she put between herself and the guests. If nothing else, he’d give her several hours of pleasure. Touching her deeper, realer self—that was an impossibility. Letting someone get truly close led straight to disaster and misery.
The buccaneer’s gaze never left her. “The most fascinating and intriguing thing here is you.”
She made herself laugh. “Sirrah, you are fulsome in your blandishments.”
He didn’t laugh or smile, his expression utterly serious. “When I set foot outside these doors,” he said, “I don’t need to flatter anyone. What I want, I get. So believe me when I say honestly that I’d much rather talk with you than fuck a stranger.”
Her heart thudded. “Because, unlike everyone else, I tell you no.”
“Because you intrigue me beyond measure.”
She could only stare at him. The part of herself that she’d locked away, the part that longed for comfort and affection and all the things lovers shared, ached with want. Oh, she’d taken men to her bed over the years, but other than physical gratification, she’d made certain those encounters never touched her heart. She had been forged through hardship and loss, treading a solitary path. If sometimes her body throbbed for want of someone to hold her all through the night, if she ached for someone to whisper into her hair that she was to be cherished … she tamped it all down.
Think of Mamma. Her pain and loss.
Yet here was this man, this guest, a person unknown to her. Her buccaneer. Offering a taste of what could never be.
“I must go,” she said. “My duties can’t be neglected.”
His mouth turned down, but he nodded. “I will be back soon. To see you, Amina.”
It wasn’t her real name, yet the sound of it on his lips sent a dark thrill through her. Oh, to hear him call her Lucia as he joined his body with hers …
He gave another bow before turning and striding away. She watched him, her gaze riveted to the width of his shoulders and how beautifully his breeches fit his long, muscular legs. Compelled to follow, she trailed several paces after him, observing him as he walked. He didn’t join any of the couplings but went straight for the door.
Lucia did not follow him any farther. The threshold was where her dominion ended.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and adjusted her mask.
The club’s policy was to be open every week. Perhaps the buccaneer would return then. Perhaps she might see him once more, and they could talk, as they had tonight.
Her breath came faster.
In all her time here, he was the only guest who ever truly caught her attention, the only guest she’d wanted for her own selfish pleasure.
Doesn’t matter. Flirtation is all we can ever share. The establishment—and the profits it generated—was too important to her to throw anything away on a casual encounter.
Drawing herself up straight, she continued on with the rest of her night. There were responsibilities that needed tending—keeping the refreshments circulating, ensuring the staff’s well-being and the guests’ safety, maintaining the club’s spotlessness—a hundred tiny tasks she had to supervise. Yet, like a child sneaking tastes of her parents’ wine, she permitted herself brief thoughts of the buccaneer.
It would be a struggle not to grow drunk on him.
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