Page 11 of The Secrets He Keeps

Chapter Four

The next morning, asmall package arrived at Pendragon’s. The card addressed it to Madam Pendragon and also included an invitation to the theater for the following evening. It was signed simply, E.M.

Callista took the wrapped box up to her private suite to open. Inside she found a stunning pair of red elbow-length gloves made of a leather so fine and supple it felt like butter against her skin when she slid her fingers into place and smoothed the gloves up her arms.

Recalling the look in Maxwell’s eyes when she’d done the same before leaving the oyster bar the day before, her core tightened with an intense jolt of desire.

The man had proven to be unexpected. For the most part, he possessed an air of thoughtful patience and self-assured restraint. She’d already ascertained that not much flustered the man. He was not one to waver under criticism nor did he appear particularly vulnerable to female manipulation. His demeanor was almost studious in nature.

Yet...he’d shown her more than once that a wickedness resided beneath his stoic façade. There was heat in his eyes when he looked at her. And a gleam that suggested the sort of knowledge that came only from extensive experience.

It made her want to indulge in a little of that experience herself.

She wouldn’t, of course. And not just because he declared his intention to seduce her as a means of demonstrating his methods. If she wanted a man, she didn’t need him to seduce her. She simply welcomed him to her bed. It had always been that way.

And wasn’t that exactly why she’d been without a lover in far too long?

The act had grown stale and uninteresting. The truth was, even though she operated the most infamous and exclusive brothel in London, she rarely thought of sex in a personal context. Her last bed partner had been a few years ago now and she hadn’t felt like she’d been missing anything. There was nothing new to explore. One man was much like another.

Erik Maxwell was surely no different.

Her unexpected sexual awareness of the man might simply have been triggered by the fact that she couldn’t fully read him. She knew men. She knew them well. Knowing what men needed before they knew themselves had been the focus of her life for more than two decades. Maxwell was the first in a long time whose motivations and desires still remained unclear to her after two encounters.

The anomaly was the only reason she so readily accepted his invitation. Besides, it wouldn’t exactly be fair to declare his efforts at seduction futile if she never allowed him opportunities to employ his supposed skills.

Typically, she’d never leave her place on an evening they were open for business. However, with the Christmas holiday arriving in only a few days, business had slowed tremendously as gentlemen spent more time than usual with family and at intimate parties. It was exactly why one of her biggest events of the year occurred between Boxing Day and the New Year. Free of familial obligations, her clientele always proved ready for more risqué revelry.

The reply she sent to Maxwell’s invitation indicated that she would meet him at the theater. She dressed in a gown of black silk beneath an overlay of red lace netting embroidered with a snaking pattern around the hem and over her bodice. Accessorized with her favorite strand of black pearls, her new red leather gloves, and a black velvet cloak, she was finally satisfied with the drama in her appearance.

The signature colors and eye-catching, seductive style was a crucial aspect of the infamy that surrounded her. Madam Pendragon was a character who’d developed out of a need for Callista to stand out at a time when she’d been just another pretty prostitute. Her ambitions had always reached far beyond whatever current status she found herself in, but at one point, she came to the realization that men wanted more than a pretty face and a good fuck. They craved fantasy and the kind of drama they could enjoy and then walk away from.

Madam Pendragon provided that and so much more.

Callista’s dedication to the persona had grown until she’d lost sight of any delineation between herself and the madam. They had long ago become one and the same. Not even her brother—the only person who’d known her as she’d been before all the production she surrounded herself with—saw much of Callista anymore.

It was fine.

Callista Hale had been a rookery brat, raised in poverty and violence. She’d scrounged and clawed and bit to escape the muck and soot of her origins. Though that angry, desperate girl would always be a part of her, there was no reason for anyone to ever become acquainted with her.

The theater in Covent Garden was teeming with people dressed in their finest.

Callista swept past them all, not bothering to glance toward any of the shocked or curious faces of people who wondered how she could have the audacity to show her face amongst such noble citizens. Pshaw! Those who knew better—the gentlemen who frequented her wicked establishment—kept their stern faces carefully averted, trying desperately to avoid her notice lest she indicate by word or deed their association with her in front of their precious wives.

Idiots!

Each and every one of them knew her policies on discretion and privacy. She made sure they followed her rules strictly or they risked being banned from her place or worse. Only in their self-guilt would they think she’d even consider revealing their dirty little secrets.

Idiots. Every one of them.

“Madam.”

Her inner tirade was brought to an abrupt halt as Mr. Maxwell stepped in front of her, seemingly out of nowhere.

She was rarely caught off guard and his sudden appearance caused her to stiffen before she recalled the grand audience around them. With a slow, sensual smile, she continued forward to offer her hand to her escort for the evening.

“Mr. Maxwell. A pleasure, I’m sure.” He took her offered fingers and bowed his head over them. When he straightened, a subtle smile turned up the corner of his mouth and his pale gray eyes stared intently into hers. He wouldn’t have missed the fact that she was wearing his gift, yet he chose not to comment on it.

“You are exceptionally lovely this evening.”

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