Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

She went straight to Simon and settled on the arm of his chair, which he instantly tugged her off of so she landed in his lap. They grinned at each other for a moment before she faced a bemused Cosima again.

“It’s good to see you again, Cosima.”

“Che cavalo,” she breathed. “Someone please explain what’s going on.”

Simon smiled. “Aggie and I were best friends growing up. I was a meek lad, not inclined for much but hunting and mathematics. I didn’t have many friends, save her, and she was much too good for me. I never thought to like her as anything more than my friend, but when I fell in love with Daisy…well, she was my rock. She was with both of us through everything, trying to find a way to make it safe for us to be together. Obviously, you know the tragic end to that story. What you don’t know, just as I didn’t, was that Agatha had been in love with me all that time. When Daisy died and I…was punished for loving her, I came to America on Thornton’s dollar and set up a new life. When the Order tried to force Aggie and Thorn together, they unwittingly paired the two people who could work toward their end and wanted to for what was done to their loved ones.”

Simon paused to press his nose into his lover’s hair. Agatha closed her eyes to relish his closeness and then continued his story. “When I confronted Alexander about not wanting to marry him, we made a pact to take down the Order. He didn’t trust me, at first, so I told him my story, how involved I had been with Simon and Daisy. Not only did he trust me after, but he also reunited us.”

“Does your family know?” Cosima asked, but her hand was in my lap locking through my fingers and her head was tipped to press against my shoulder. Her closeness was validation of my part in their romance, a sweet acknowledgment of how brave and right she felt I was in doing that.

I felt her gratitude soar through me like a shooting star.

“They know I’ve absconded with a hearty portion of my inheritance and some family heirlooms, but otherwise, no, they don’t know where I’ve settled.”

Cosima was silent for a moment, obviously digesting everything she’d been told. Finally, she tilted her face up to look at me, and whispered, “Not evil, not even close.”

I didn’t smile at her, but my eyes held the wealth of warmth I felt for her. I liked Simon and Agatha, but not enough to reveal how desperately entangled I was in my wife.

“Which brings us to now,” I said, finally ready to get down to business. “Have you heard anything I should be privy to?”

“Like what? You know I’m keeping an eye on Noel, as are you, but thus far, he’s been remarkably silent in his cage at Pearl Hall. Hell, he hasn’t even hired a new servant in years.”

“Did you know Giuseppe di Carlo is the newest member of the Order in the city?” I asked, searching their faces for betrayal. I trusted them as much as anyone outside of Cosima and Riddick, which was to say, not very much.

Aggie winced. “I did hear that. Alan Byers told me so the other day. Are you thinking to use him to ferret out information about the auctions?”

“Do you really think he’ll give it up?” Simon asked. “He’s a mafia boss, Thorn. I doubt he’ll give it up with a please and thank you from the likes of you.”

I raised a brow. “Do I seem like the kind of man who would use such pleasantries?”

Cosima laughed under her breath.

“No, but I don’t see how else you plan to get the information from him.”

“Easy,” I said with a slow, slick smile. “Giuseppe di Carlo loves games, and he loves poker. I’ll wager him for the information. The only problem is, we need to know where his game tonight is being held. Can you help me with that?”

Simon was a computer programmer in his previous life and made a living now doing freelance security work for big, somewhat sketchy companies.

His smile was in answer to my own, a spill of sly smugness across his face. “Oh, I think I can do that.”

Cosima

A woman’s greatest weapon when properly applied was her form of dress. The midnight black silk dress smothered the lines of my exaggerated curves like motor oil, a cool, dark spill from the points of my shoulders over the outer swells of my breasts to pool narrowly, rippling around my high-heeled feet. My hair was brushed until it floated like strands of pure night around my bare shoulders, catching in the shadowed valley of my breasts like the imaginary fingers of the men who would desire to touch me there. My eyes were lined with kohl, my lips painted a deep, wicked red, the colour of old, spilled blood.