“She isn’t your usual sort of bird, Will.” One of Thorne’s dark brows lifted eloquently. How easily the man could convey a shrug with that simple look. “I should hate to think I’ve become set on one type of bird. After all, as the poem goes, ‘Variety’s the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor.’ ” His lips curled, not quite a smile, but enough to show a hint of fang. “And I do so enjoy my flavors.” Matilda made a noise of amusement. “So you do.” Ignoring Holly, she leaned in, her hip curving prettily as she took her weight upon one elbow. “And what, pray tell, are you here to enjoy?” Thorne did not answer but stayed as he was, slouched in casual repose, one arm draped along the back of Holly’s chair, and somehow managing to look elegant and urban.

Holly might have interrupted, told him to get on with whatever it was he was doing. But, quite frankly, she was enjoying the show. He was a master, hooking Matilda Markham and reeling her in. The woman’s eyes, so deep brown they almost appeared purple, gleamed in the flickering gas lamps as Thorne thoughtfully tapped his bottom lip with one long finger. Matilda’s attention lingered upon the action. Holly resisted the urge to snort into her wineglass. Then Thorne finally deigned to speak. “Right now, my interest lies not in sweet doves, but in mad dogs.” “Does it now?” Matilda said softly. “Have you a particular sort in mind?” “Yes. You see, my house has been overrun by rats.” Filaments of platinum shot through his black eyes. “Cook leaves out arsenic-laced biscuits, but the rats prove elusive.” Matilda Markham’s answering smile was dark. “Sounds like you need to procure yourself a rat catcher.” “I’d be most obliged if you could recommend one.” In a blink so fast that surely most humans wouldn’t have seen it, Thorne set the assassin’s dagger down upon the table before Mrs. Markham. “I’d prefer the very best.” “Sadly, I am not privy to such information,” Mrs. Markham answered smoothly, not even bothering to look at the dagger. “However, I believe I know of where you might find someone who is. Kettil makes a fine stew in his cauldron. Come and have a meal, will you? Tuesday night by way of the Tower Subway.” She moved to go, her voluminous bustle a rippling river of green and cream. One kid-gloved hand rested upon the table, close to Thorne’s hand. “Tribute is required. On all counts.” Thorne, who had not risen with Matilda, looked up at her. “I wouldn’t dare assume otherwise.” They watched her go, then Holly turned to Thorne, a dozen questions on the tip of her tongu.

He quelled them with a pointed look. Not her.

Not now. She narrowed her eyes. Did he fear being overheard? Thankfully, he seemed to read her with the same ease as she did him. His nod was brief and tight. “Let us finish our supper, love.” His tone was light and normal. One more glance in Mrs. Markham’s direction. “Then we can take a stroll along the Pall Mall.” Right then. So Markham might be listening. Holly hadn’t touched her skin to see how hot it was, so she could not be sure the woman was a demon, but it appeared to be the best guess. Patience in short supply, Holly reached into her reticule and withdrew a silver pocket watch. The piece was rather heavy, but she doubted that would bother Thorn.

“I almost forgot, dearest,” she said in a stage voice, as she wound the watch. “I’ve a gift for you.” Thorne’s dubious expression was quite amusing. “Do you now, buttercup?” He eyed the piece as though it might blow up in his fac.

Intelligent man. “How positively delightful of you.” Once the watch was sufficiently wound, she presented it to him. Oh, but he would hate this. Her anticipation in seeing his reaction was a guilty pleasur.

“Depress the setting lever to start it, darling.” He stared at her for one long moment, then took the gift. With pursed lips, he did as bided and then promptly hunched over with a hiss. As did two other patrons. And though Holly’s human ears could not hear the noise her device emitted, she knew it was unpleasant. “There.” Holly sat back and resumed her meal. “I think that should suffic.

Now, start talking.” By all that was dark and unholy, Will was going to paddle the blasted female inventor one day. He fought not to cover his ears as the cursed watch continued to emit a horrid screech. Gods, but he’d have a ringing head when this was over. But the device was bloody clever. No supernatural within hearing range would be able to listen to what he said now. They’d be in too much pain, he thought darkly. “This thing isn’t going to blow up in my face, is it?” he asked, only half-jesting. “Of course not. It is merely a simple radio frequency, running at a pitch and speed that humans cannot hear but supernaturals cannot tolerate,” Evernight explained. “We have precisely ten minutes.” She happily took another egg off the silver tray. “Now then, who was she and what did you discover?” Growling low in his throat, Will surreptitiously pushed his fist against his aching ear. At least the pain distracted him from thoughts of finishing the kiss they’d almost started before Markham had arrived. It had been too strong, the temptation to haul her into his lap and take her, restaurant patrons be damned. “She is an informant, obviously. As to what? There is a moving fight club that goes by the name of Kettil’s Cauldron.” The moment Markham had uttered Kettil’s name, more memories had notched into place for Will. “One needs an invitation to attend. Kettil, the fiend who runs it, knows everything about the underworld. If he can’t tell us about the dagger, I fear no one can.” Will did not add that he’d have to fight for the information. Evernight might object to the messiness of the business. Despite being Irish, she acted like a fussy English lady unless thoroughly provoked. As if to highlight that, she used her silver to cut her egg up into neat, precise bites. Evernight’s fork lowered as she gazed up at him. “Us? You want me to go with you?” “Why, my dear Miss Evernight, were you expecting me to leave you behind?” “Most men would not want a woman involved in such matters.” “Most human men, you mean.” As far as Will was concerned, humans were ridiculous when it came to their rules about what their women could and could not do. It was akin to the way the SOS sought to keep supernaturals in their plac.

Unconscionabl.

Evernight’s pretty lips pursed. “Some non-humans as well.” Will refrained from snorting. “Sanguis do not view their females as fragile things.” Although Miss Evernight was not sanguis. No matter; he needed her near him. Will gave a negligent shrug. “Besides which, these recent developments have made it clear that I cannot leave you alone in the house.” Her lips now twitched as if she fought a laugh. “You do realize that is a complete contradiction to your earlier statement. Either I am fully able to take care of myself, regardless of my sex. Or I am not, and you need to guard me.” Damn. She was correct. How loathsome to realize that he was acting like an overprotective human. Nor could he really say precisely why the idea of having her out of sight filled him with trepidation. “All right, I’ll restat.

I find you capable enough to be at my side when I go to Kettil’s Cauldron, yet too vulnerable to leave alon.

Satisfied?” “That is hardly a satisfactory answer.” Her eyes twinkled, and Will found himself fighting a smile as well. She leaned in, and the lamplight caught the alabaster curves of her cheeks. “I think you’d bend any rule to satisfy your own agenda, Mr. Thorne, but,” she continued when he tried to voice his objections, “as your agenda happens to coincide with mine, I’ll keep any further comments to myself.” Blasted woman. He ought not to have any sort of fun around her. But he did. “You bluffed Mrs. Markham,” she said after a moment. “I’d hardly call what I did a bluff. More like a deflection.” Her twilight gaze fixed on him. “I’m speaking of when you first saw her. You had no idea who she was, did you?” Will flinched, fighting his surpris.

“How did you—” “You are not as opaque as you seem to think, Mr. Thorn.

Not,” she added, “to me.” Well then. Charmed, Will watched her resume eating. “You think you know me so well already?” “I know blarney. And you, sir, are full of it.” He could not help it; he tossed his head back and laughed, full out. Patrons turned to glar.

He ignored them. “You have me there, Miss Evernight.” Still chuckling, he leaned in, drawing in her subtle scent. “I had to play a bit of catch up with my memory.” “Mmm.” She took a sip of her win.

“And Mrs. Markham’s appearance jogged it?” The underlying bite of jealousy he heard in Evernight’s tone delighted him. “Well,” he drawled, “she is quite memorable.” “Oh, quite,” Evernight muttered under her breath. “And what payment shall Mrs. Markham expect?” One thousand pounds, if Will’s memory held. He’d tell Evernight as much, only baiting her was far more fun. He gave her a lazy smil.

“What sort of payment do you think a woman such as Mrs. Markham would require?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Miss Evernight speculated lightly. “One’s firstborn? A bag of innocent kittens?” He wanted to laugh again. “She’s a lovely woman, once you get to know her.” The scent of wine on Evernight’s warm breath filled his senses. “In fact, she holds a wealth of invaluable knowledge within that pretty head of hers. You should meet with her. I’m certain she’d be happy to—” “If you dare,” inserted Evernight sharply, “suggest that I pick up pointers from Mrs. Markham, I shall thrash you where you sit.” Already, she knew him too well. Just as he knew such a barb would rattle her chain. He grinned. “It’s all right to be ignorant in the ways of the flesh. Most unmarried human ladies of your class are.” Then the truth of it hit him; Satan’s balls, she was a virgin. Of course she was. Human women—even ones who were elementals—guarded their virginity as though it were the door to their souls. Pass that threshold and be prepared to claim the woman for lif.

Sentimental nonsense, but perhaps that was why she was skittish. Evernight’s blasted radio contraption wound down, leaving behind a faint ringing in his ears and an awkward silence between them. “Evernight, you know—” Evernight rolled her eyes. “I am not ignorant.” “Of course not.” Will refrained from giving her arm a patronizing pat, but only just. The temptation to do it was high. Really, the woman’s pride rivaled the Queen’s. “I’m certain you’ve read manuals.” Her eyes narrowed, turning to glimmering triangles of deep blue sapphir.

“Amongst other things.” He took a sip of his chocolat.

“Watching through peepholes, perhaps? Very educational, those.” “I’m certain they are, Mr. Thorn.

However, I shall leave the peeping to you. I was referring to practical, applicable experience.” Will paused, the idea of Evernight participating in applicable experience filling his head with all sorts of lurid, delicious images. “Do go on.” But a waiter arrived with two steaming plates of what he proclaimed “Soufflé de filets de sole à la Verrey!” She paused until he was gone, then her slim shoulder lifted a fraction as she took another sip of her win.

“It is quite simple, really. I hired a man for the night.” Chocolate sprayed over the table as Will choked. And choked. “Pardon?” he managed weakly, his eyes watering. Oblivious to the turned heads, Evernight coolly looked him over, not a pink cheek or wince of embarrassment to be had. “You heard me perfectly well.” “You hired a man?” Hell. Bloody hell. “To…?” “Demonstrate the process.” She took a small bite of the soufflé, and her nose wrinkled, and she added a sprinkle of salt to the dish. “It was very illuminating.” “I am sure,” Will muttered, wiping his mouth with his table linen. “Who was this Mary-Ann?” “Oh, come now. You can hardly call him a Mary-Ann when he provides a service for women.” His hand clenched. “Do not split hairs. You know very well what I meant. Simply answer the question.” “Does it matter?” He just resisted thrumming his fingers on the tabl.

“I suppose not.” They sat in silence, Evernight taking her little, efficient bites, one after the other. His clockwork heart ticked an efficient, never-ending rhythm. Louder, louder. Will tossed down his wadded linen. “No, sorry, I cannot let it go. I have to know. You did what, precisely?” With an exaggerated sigh, she set her fork down and looked him over, her expression implacabl.

“I visited a man who is paid to entertain ladies. From what I gathered, he is usually employed by wealthy, if somewhat bored, ladies of a certain set who require discretion.” Will grunted. He knew that business, but he couldn’t seem to find his voic.

Instead, he waved her on with a lazy roll of his hand. “I asked this fellow,” she said, “to…” “Butter your bun?” She frowned. “You needn’t be nasty. It was a simple experiment. One night, no violence, nothing that gave me discomfort. I would decide when to stop. And he would teach me whatever I wanted to know.” Heat coursed along his thighs and into his c**k as Will thought of Evernight being instructed in the art of lov.

“And did you? Stop, I mean.” “Of course not,” she said, with a small, secret smile that made him frown. “He was very…” Her cheeks pinked, and she cleared her throat. “Well, there you have it.” “Paid a male whore,” Will muttered under his breath. Would wonders never cease? “He was not a whor.

Well, he was,” Evernight corrected. “But not to me.” “Because he was so tender and caring?” He laughed. “Do not fool yourself, darling. He was still a whore.” “I think not. You see, after we were… done, he refused to accept payment. Therefore, we cannot call him a whore in this instance.” A small smile played around her lips. “He was quite insistent on that point. Said he found the experience too entertaining to ask me to pay him for it.”