Rose's Rapture: Lords of the Night, Book Two by Jordan Summers Page A

responsibilities. I would be missed.”
    “I wish to speak with you privately. I won’t keep you long.” Another lie slipped easily from his lips as his power reached for her, seduced her, drew her to him. He couldn’t make her go. His magic wouldn’t allow it, but he could entice her into wanting to go.
    “What do you wish to discuss?” she asked, calling his bluff.
    Lazarus hesitated, then said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Your friend, Rose.”
    Abigail stiffened and her gaze skittered away. “She is very beautiful. I’m sure she would welcome your interest.”
    Lazarus blinked. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that Abigail was jealous . But how could that be? They’d only just met and he hadn’t kissed her yet. He kept his smile in check and his expression carefully bland. When he didn’t respond, she continued.
    “Rose told me she had a headache and left. I’m sure she’ll be well enough tomorrow to receive visitors,” she said, waiting for his reaction.
    “I believe there was more to her departure than that, but I’d rather discuss it in private,” Lazarus said, sure beyond all doubt that Abigail was indeed jealous of her friend. She had no need to be, but he wasn’t about to disavow her of the idea, since it played perfectly into his plans.
    Abigail searched his face, then sighed. “Very well, but only for a moment.”
    Lazarus fought the smile that would reveal his triumph. He kept his expression placid, giving nothing away. “You leave first. I’ll join you.”
    She nodded as they left the other dancers swirling on the floor. The rustle of material mixed with the gentle strumming of the stringed instruments formed a soothing cadence. Abigail was anything, but calm. Her stomach churned at the idea of Lazarus being interested in her friend. Why it would matter? She refused to consider the answer. She thought about Rose. When she’d approached earlier her eyes had been red-rimmed and her face blotchy as if she’d been crying. If something had happened to her friend, Abigail wanted to know about it.
    Abigail just wasn’t sure that she trusted Lazarus enough to slip out of the ball with him. He was a stranger. Yet when she stared into his sherry-colored eyes Lazarus didn’t seem like stranger at all. Quite the opposite in fact. She felt as if she’d known him for a lifetime. And that was even more unsettling. She pictured Rose’s face. What kind of friend would she be, if she didn’t at least hear him out?
    She made her way toward the French doors, chatting with guests along the way. She broke out her fan and flicked her wrist, letting people believe the heat was getting to her and that she was in need of a breath of fresh air.
    Abigail looked around one final time, then slipped out the door. The terrace was dark, despite the light coming from the ball. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust. She stepped deeper into the darkness. The cool air felt slightly damp against her heated skin, causing her shiver. Strong hands landed upon her shoulders. Startled, she spun around, her gown twisting about her ankles, and fell into Lazarus’s open arms.
    She gasped. Before she could demand he release her, he stepped back and asked her to stroll with him, effectively spiking her guns. Abigail placed her quivering fingers on his arm and allowed Lazarus to lead her down the length of the terrace.
    “I feel it is my good fortune to have come this evening. Thank you for sending the invitation,” he said mildly.
    “You’re welcome.” Abigail tried to recall issuing an invitation to anyone named Hyde, but drew a blank. Not that it mattered, since she was beyond grateful that he chose to attend her party. It had been years since a man had caught her attention, made her feel deliciously alive, utterly feminine. She hadn’t taken a lover after her husband’s death. Had never found anyone who’d interested her in such a manner…until she’d spotted Lazarus across the room.
    He