Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick

he’s toying with me. The way a cat does with a mouse, y’see? But it’s not fair.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because of the three of us, I’m the only one who didn’t hurt her.”
Glenthorpe slumped into his seat.
    “I’m the only one who didn’t touch her.”
    “But you were there that night, were you not?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Save your explanations, Glenthorpe. I am not interested in them. Perhaps you can try them out on whoever you think is following you.” Artemas rapped on the roof to get the attention of the coachman. “If you will excuse me, I shall leave you here. I believe that I would prefer to walk the rest of the way home alone.”
    “But the footpads—”
    “A man must make choices when it comes to the company he keeps.”
    The hackney lumbered to a halt. Artemas got out and closed the door. He did not look back as he walked off into the dark, swirling fog.

Chapter Seven
    He was breaking all of his own rules tonight. The laws he had lived by for so many years were few in number but they were rigid and unyielding: He sold dreams but he never committed the foolish error of allowing himself to believe in them. He had made a career of crafting illusions, but he himself never confused fantasy with reality.
    He had told himself that a few waltzes with the Wicked Widow would amount to nothing more than elements in his strategy, clever ploys designed to lure her into his snare. The lady knew too much about him, and he knew that he had to gain the upper hand. The ancient Vanza adage summed it up well:
That
[_which is dangerous must be understood before it can be controlled. _]

    Madeline gave him an impatient look through the eye openings of her feathered mask. “It is high time that we got down to business, sir.”
    So much for seducing her with a waltz.
    “I had hoped that you would allow yourself to enjoy the evening before we discussed our business affairs in detail.” Artemas drew her closer into his arms and swept her into another turn on the crowded floor. “1
    certainly intend to do so.”
    “I do not know what game you are playing, Mr. Hunt, but so far as I am concerned, my reasons for being here do not include dancing and entertainment.”
    “I must tell you, Madeline, you are not living up to your reputation as a seductive female capable of luring a man to his doom. I confess that I am somewhat disappointed.”
    “Naturally I am devastated to learn that I am not proving sufficiently exciting, but I cannot say I am surprised that you noticed my failure in that regard. Why, only the day before yesterday, my aunt pointed out the fact that I have become as reclusive and eccentric as any member of the Vanzagarian Society.”
    “Do not concern yourself, madam. It seems that I am rapidly acquiring a taste for reclusive, eccentric females.”
    He saw her mouth open in outraged surprise. Before she could administer the set-down that he no doubt deserved, he whirled her into another wide turn. The folds of her black domino billowed around her ankles.
    He was grimly determined to enjoy at least a portion of this evening. She felt as good in his arms as he had known she would: vibrantly warm and sensual. The scent of her was more intoxicating than the most exotic incense. A strange recklessness had been brewing in him since the interview in her library. Tonight he would indulge it in spite of the risks.
    It took her a quarter of the distance around the dance floor to collect herself. “Why in heaven’s name did you insist on this ridiculous charade of a waltz?” she asked tightly.
    “It is not a charade. We are indeed performing the waltz, in case you had not noticed. Unlike so much of what is available on the grounds of the Dream Pavilions, there is no illusion involved in our dance. I expect we shall both be quite winded when we finish.”
    “You know very well what I mean, sir.”
    He smiled slightly. “I am in the business of selling dreams and illusions, madam. You are in the market for