ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One by Julie Harvey Delcourt Page A

tried to convince herself she simply was no longer capable of passion, that surely the damage she had suffered had burned all that out of her.  She had tried to be glad.  Watching other couples she had come to understand that what had burned between them in passion, laughter and shared interests was not common.  It was not a love likely to be repeated with another and she didn’t want it back if she couldn’t keep it forever.
    Tonight in her dressing room had proven the fires still raged in her, they just had been dormant.  Unfortunately for her, they seemed to ignite for only one man.  The one man she truly could not and would not have in her life, the one man who could finally destroy her if she let him close again.  She could not survive that kind of pain twice. The idea of letting him get close and then up and disappearing again was enough to make her feel sick.  She unconsciously pressed a hand to her stomach.
    The carriage slowed to a stop and the doorman assisted her down.  Bridge House was an imposing and elegant resident, bricked and colonnaded with tall windows.  Lights glowed into the night and the sound of laughter and the rattle of dice in cups and music greeted her as the doorman took her cloak.  It was crowded tonight and the noise, the press of people, the smell of perfume, tobacco and the arrangements of flowers that decorated the low tables assailed her senses.  It was elegant and yet unmistakably raffish.  Gowns were cut a bit lower, eyes glittered behind silken and velvet masks, smiles were slyer and easier, bodies stood closer to each other with an understood sense of intimacy.
    “Good evening Madam,” a lightly accented French voice addressed her. 
    “Your usual drink?”
    She turned and smiled at the slender man who spoke.  “Yes indeed Jean-
    Claude, and show me the way to my friends.”  She didn’t need to state names, this discreet man knew all the associations and workings of those who came to this house.  The fact she had a ‘usual’ drink here should tell her it was time to cut herself off from this venue.
    “Madam, I believe they are in the blue parlor enjoying a little presentation.”
    Presentation? She wondered.  What this time?  It was not unusual to be offered entertainment for those not playing dice or cards, but the blue parlor was the most private of the salons.  She had never been in there before.
    “I believe it is Lord M-‘s birthday and his friends have arranged a little private entertainment,” Jean-Claude elaborated having seen the questioning look on her face.  Jean-Claude was always a bit starchy and quiet as befitted his position but something in his tone indicated a reluctance.  He hadn’t moved to escort her there.
    “Well lead the way monsieur before I am more than just fashionably late,” her lips curved below the black mask.
    “As you wish,” and he led her on through to the back of the house.
    The wound their way through the press of bodies, heads turning at their passing.  Jessy took the glass that appeared in front of her as the door to the Blue Parlor was opened. She took a sip of her favorite wine and then very nearly spit it out.  What met her eyes as the door of the blue parlor closed on her shocked even her theater jaded sensibilities.  
    Within a circle of sumptuously dressed masked figures, two women, completely unclothed, were engaged in a rather grotesque acrobatic that at first made no sense to her wondering eyes.  When she finally followed the pattern of limbs and heads she could feel herself turn green and then flush with mortification.  She was not even aware of the door opening behind her until firm hands took her by the shoulders and promptly dragged her from the room.
    Without even a chance to turn around she found herself spirited through another door and into a small empty room where a fire blazed in a marble hearth.  She whipped about the moment the hands released their pressure not certain if she had been