Free Taste of the Devil by Dara Joy

blinded by the light of a dazzling chimera. Breathtaking to look at, impossible to attain, and most likely poisonous to the bite.”
    Ginny relented; she had never been able to sustain anger against her beloved Henley. “Very well, then; that’s understandable. He almost mesmerized me with that countenance of his.”
    Her cousin clasped her hand, his generous and concerned nature coming to the fore. “You will be all right with this scheme you have concocted?”
    “Yes.” She waved her hand airily. “Right as rain.
    Despite his stellar attributes, the man is easily controlled.”
    Henley made a moue with his mouth. “That man is many things– but never would I call him malleable.”
    “That’s odd for you to say. You know his reputation; he seems to care for nothing but debauchery.”
    “I know; it’s just that he’s never struck me as...” He tapped his rouged lips. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
    “Believe me, Lord Devon is nothing to be concerned about.”
    Even as she said the words, Ginny recalled the incident in the garden when his smooth voice had given her chills. She could still hear that cold voice in her head.
    ‘You have what exactly?’ How could four simple words sound so... So dangerous?
    Ginny shook off the memory with a shiver. Surely, she had imagined his focused intensity? The sparks of fire in his lucid eyes? The sudden command in his presence?
    Of course, she had.
    For heavens sake, the man had been with her in her unmentionables and had been completely innocuous.
    She turned her focus back to her cousin. “Let’s change the subject. Tell me, what is Frock’s like?” Her eyes glowed with excitement at the thought of entering the famous gaming hell.
    Just as she asked the question, the carriage rolled to a stop.
    “You are about to find out. Come, Ginny, let’s have some fun and set them all on their ears!” Lord Henry offered his arm to escort her from the coach and four.
    The excitement began with the muffled sounds of the lively patrons drifting through the closed doors of the establishment. Ginny held her breath as footmen opened the heavy wooden doors with a flourish: the thrill of a new adventure tingled through her.
    They entered the den of iniquity without a backward glance.
     
    * * *
     
    Rows of flickering chandeliers met her eyes.
    The glowing candles illuminated the boisterous crowd, making the scene appear as if a painting had come to life. Ginny’s senses were assailed with the colors, sounds, scents, and textures of a lively gambling hell in full operation.
    Members of the ton floated by in a kaleidoscope of brightly colored raiment. Fashionable and not fashionable. Women clung to the arms of gentlemen, some ladies, some obviously not. Ginny tried not to gape at her first sight of a painted doxy who was drinking and guffawing alongside a bewigged lord that she recognized from Gingridge’s soiree.
    Tables for games of chance were set up throughout the hall, and she noted a large buffet in the far corner.
    (Her cheeks blushed as soon as she realized the curious shapes the food had been molded into.) The entire room buzzed with a plethora of sounds. Cards shuffling. Illicit murmurs. Glasses tinkling. Raucous laughter. Muffled giggles. Somewhere a pianoforte played.
    Towards the rear of the establishment, a wide stairway led to the second level. Whatever was up there seemed to be tres chic, for the stairs were constantly crowded with all manner of couples going up and down.
    She sighed blissfully. Frock’s was everything she had imagined it would be.
    “What would you like to do first, Regg? Are you hungry? Would you care for some refreshment?”
    “No, thank you, Henley. I say, let’s go upstairs first. It seems to be very popular.”
    Henley blanched. “Up- Upstairs?” He stammered.
    “Good God, no!”
    Ginny was flummoxed. “Why ever not?”
    “Be– because– just,” He flustered. “You can’t go up there, Ginny; if you mention it again, I