Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick Page A

some of my goods. Like any expert tradesman, I insist you sample my wares before we settle to the tawdry details of striking a bargain.”
    He swept her off in another direction before she could argue. Perhaps if he waltzed her vigorously enough, she would be too breathless to talk business for a while.
    They would eventually have to deal with the subject, of course. But he intended the bargaining to take place here on the terrain that he controlled, not at a place of her choosing. Such details mattered greatly in any negotiation. When one did business with a lady reputed to murder gentlemen, one took care to occupy the high ground.
    As he whirled Madeline around the floor, the practical side of his nature noted with detached satisfaction that the Golden Pavilion assembly rooms were crowded tonight. The masquerade balls, held every Thursday evening in the summer months, were among the most popular attractions in the pleasure gardens. They were open to anyone who could afford the price of a ticket. The only requirement for admission was that the dancers be masked.
    The democratic nature of the events offended many. But the masquerade balls had been declared amusing by some of the more jaded elements of the fashionable world. That was all it took to draw the crowds. The faint hint of scandal and intrigue that hung over the gardens proved infinitely seductive. On any given Thursday night dandies, officers, young rakes, and country gentry mingled with actresses, ladies, merchants, and rogues on the dance floor. They danced amid a fanciful re-creation of the splendors of ancient Egypt and Rome.
    The shadowy lighting gleamed on gilded pillars, obelisks, and statuary. One end of the spacious rooms was dominated by a decorator’s version of an Egyptian temple, complete with imitation stone sphinxes.
    At the other end a Roman fountain surrounded by artistically broken columns splashed into a wide, low pool. Fake mummies, lavish thrones, and a great many painted urns were strategically displayed in between. There were also a number of dark alcoves and recesses equipped with small stone benches just large enough for two people.
    When he had purchased the run-down pleasure garden three years ago, Artemas had had a vision of what he wished to create. Henry Leggett had faithfully carried out his instructions. It was Henry who dealt with the manager, the architects, and the decorators. They had all been instructed to fill the extensive grounds with the exotic, the sumptuous, and the mysterious.
    No one understood the allure of dreams better than a man who did not allow himself to dream.
    The music drew to a close too soon for his liking. Reluctantly he brought Madeline to a halt. The black folds of her domino swirled around her trim ankles one last time and fluttered to a rest. Her eyes challenged him through the mask.
    “Now that you have amused yourself by teasing me, may we proceed to business, sir?”
    Ah well. He had known he could not make the dance last all night. “Very well, Mrs. Deveridge, we shall discuss our bargain. But not here. We require privacy for such a sordid affair.”
    “Hardly sordid, sir.”
    “In the eyes of Society, madam, there is nothing quite so vulgar as a matter of business.”
    He took her arm and guided her through the wide double doors out into the lantern-lit grounds of the Dream Pavilions. The mild night had drawn a large crowd to savor the slightly scandalous thrills of the pleasure gardens.
    The careful lighting heightened the eerie effects of the tableaux of triumphal arches, mythical scenes, and classical ruins that were arranged along the winding, wooded paths. High overhead, an acrobat walked a tightrope. Down below, a troupe of dandies placed bets on the results of illusions crafted by a magician dressed in Oriental robes. People strolled about munching hot meat pies and pastries purchased from nearby booths. Men and women flirted in the shadowy garden alcoves and disappeared into the dark