not irrevocable.
By taking the southern staircase closest to the direction in which the woman on the bridge had gone, he avoided the crowds. But when he reached the Quai di Conti, her scent had already largely dissipated. He searched the air for the path sheâd taken, for once wishing his olfactory abilities were as keen as those of his brothers.
Behind him, Sibela had commenced her screeching again. He grimaced. Bacchus, please let there be some mistake! Was he truly destined to be tied to such a female for a lifetime?
A door shut along the quai. He turned toward the sound and located the scent again. He tracked it past ten buildings and lost it just short of the stoop leading to a townhouse of plastered gray with a red door.
Had the pretty voyeuse he sought retreated here? Instinct had him taking the steps and rapping the knocker for admittance. If he was wrong, he was about to embarrass himself.
Almost immediately, the door was snatched open and a majordome appeared. When his gaze swept Lyon, his nose lifted and his lips curled into a sneer. He made to shut the door.
Lyonâs palm smacked flat upon it, holding it wide. âI seek a word with the lady who just entered hereâ¦â Something beyond the man caught his attention. Just inside, a womanâs wrap had been cast upon a hook. It was crimson red.
âThee salon weel not beegin for one hour. At nine oâclock tonight,â the man informed him with a supercilious sniff. He eyed Lyon up and down. âAnd eet eez by eenvitation onlee.â
A rivulet of blood trickled down Lyonâs neck and he mentally cringed, recalling his bedraggled state. His neck still stung from Sibelaâs claws and his shoulders were striped with welts where sheâd gripped him as theyâd mated. His shirt hung open and was sliced in ribbons, and his grass-stained trousers were damp with seawater.
He was probably not the sort of guest who normally called here.
The Human obstacle before him stepped back for greater leverage and again tried to close the door. Lyonâs huge paw remained fast, preventing him. His other hand delved into his trouser pocket and whipped out an assortment of Tuscan lire and soldi, which he deposited inside the servantâs vest without bothering to determine the amount of his offering. âI believe youâll find that to be adequate invitation,â he informed him. âIâll expect to be allowed in when I return.â
The majordome patted his bulging vest pocket, peeked inside it, and then favored him with a grudging nod. âOnlee eef you are suitablee attired. And do not bring your entourage.â
Lyon straightened and looked over his shoulder, surprised to see that an assortment of women loitered there, some openly ogling him and others doing the same in a more circumspect manner. Behind him, the door shut with a haughty snick .
He took the steps and strode back into the lane, sighing when his admirers decided to trail him. He was weary of this inexplicable Human attention and he had no time for it. He was a mess, and he had but one hour to get himself to his hotel, clean himself up, and return.
âIâm not what you want,â he murmured to the group at large. Sending a light mindspell over the women, he crossed the quai not waiting to see them disband.
At the parkâs edge, he glanced back toward the gray house. A curtain twitched at a window on the top floor. Someone watched him. Was it the woman from the bridge? Such an attic window would most likely open to servantsâ quarters. Was she a maid or a governess?
Was she the woman whoâd just given him the hardest orgasm of his life?
He would find out at nine oâclock tonight.
3
R eaching her solitary bedchamber in the rafters at the front of the house she so despised, Juliette soundlessly shut her door behind her. Without lighting a candle, she hurried to the single window along the wall and, taking care to keep herself
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