He said nothing, but she sensed his attention.
“Good-bye, Marcus,” she said, placing emphasis on the first word.
And then she walked out and closed the door.
Chapter 5
After she was gone, Marcus rose from the bed and began to dress. He took his time; he was in no hurry. He felt wonderfully sated but knew it wouldn’t last. He’d be wanting her again by morning, and despite her pretending it was really good-bye this time, he was arrogant enough to believe that she’d be wanting him, too. But this time he wasn’t leaving it up to her to arrange a rematch.
He would take control.
The salon was as busy as ever. Marcus recognized a visiting foreign prince being petted by several beautiful women. Aphrodite was keeping a close eye on him, but when she saw Marcus preparing to leave, she came over.
“Marcus? There is plenty of champagne still to be had, and pretty girls.” She had a teasing expression and a sparkle in her eyes, as if she knew quite well her “pretty girls” had lost their appeal. He didn’t know why she found that so amusing.
“Thank you for the offer, madame, but my brother will be sitting up for me. Since he and your daughter married, he wants nothing more than to see me entrapped in similar domestic bliss.”
“Ah, yes, they are very happy. The perfect match. And I take a small piece of the credit for making it happen, mon ami. I am formidable when it comes to the happiness of my family and their families.”
Marcus wasn’t sure he liked the look in her dark eyes, or the way they were fixed on him.
“I am happy with my life the way it is,” he hastened to inform her.
“And what way is that?” she asked, head tilted to one side.
“Unattached.”
“Oh, mon ami, you have much to learn.”
Thankfully at that moment she was interrupted by one of her staff, and with a murmured farewell, she left him. Marcus strolled off into the chill night air with a sense of relief. London bustled about him, thriving even at this late hour. Omnibuses and cabs rattled by, and people strolled arm in arm, gentlefolk wearing the latest fashions and fresh from the West End theaters, and the poor, hurrying in their shabby best to the penny plays and sing-alongs to be found in the East End.
A juggler was giving an impromptu performance to the crowd he’d gathered about him. He was tossing oranges into the air, to the delight of the children, and when one fell, rolling and bumping over the uneven cobbles, they ran screaming after it.
Marcus passed by, deep in his own thoughts.
The lady in scarlet intrigued him. He admitted it. Whether their liaison continued or not, he wanted to know who she was, and why she was mysterious about her identity. She was going to extraordinary lengths to keep it secret. Why? He was not familiar with London high society—he found it a bore—and he probably would not have known her name if he did see her. So why this secrecy?
Well, tomorrow morning he hoped to have the truth in the palm of his hand, and then—he squeezed his fingers to make a fist—he’d have her! Marcus smiled to himself; it would be his turn to set the pace.
But it did not work out quite as he imagined. The following morning Martin O’Donnelly, his brother’s former valet and now owner of the Thorne Detective Agency, was nowhere to be found. When Martin didn’t call upon him as arranged, Marcus went looking for him, only to discover that he was out of town on another assignment.
Frustrated, Marcus went home to sulk.
As the days wore on and still no word from Martin, he grew increasingly frantic. What if Martin didn’t know who the goddess was? What if he had lost his one and only chance to discover her identity?
“I’ll have to go to every tedious affair in London to find her again!”
“What was that?” Sebastian was staring at him over his dinner. “Are you talking to yourself, brother?”
“Evidently.” Marcus laughed, embarrassed.
“I believe it is the sign of an unquiet mind,” Francesca said mildly.
“As a matter of interest, Fran, how many soirees and dinners and balls are there in London this week?”
“Every one, do you mean?”
“The ones that matter. The society affairs.”