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CHAPTER TEN

The following morning, the thick cream envelope slid under their door just after sunrise, its red-lined interior visible even before Nash picked it up. His stomach knotted as he read the elaborate script:

You are cordially invited to an exclusive gathering of select masters and merchandise tonight at midnight in the Rose Room. Join us for an evening of public play and private pleasures. Costumes will be provided. Your participation is eagerly anticipated.

Nash’s jaw clenched. Considering Gray’s warnings about his “lack of effort,” this wasn’t really an invitation. It was a command performance.

He watched Haisley sleep, her face finally peaceful. He hated to shatter that calm and drag her deeper into this nightmare. But since coming to the Velvet Cove, he’d tried to shield her from the surrounding horrors, and it had backfired.

She’d been so brave, but last night he’d seen the shadows in her eyes, noticed her facade fraying. He’d realized that, in trying to protect her, he’d put distance between them that made her feel vulnerable and alone.

As much as he hated exposing her to more danger, they stood a better chance of surviving if they worked together. She might not be an operative, but she was smart and observant. And he could use all the help he could get.

When she stirred, he handed her the invitation. The color drained from her face as she read, but she lifted her chin. “I suppose you’ll be…taking me to this evening’s festivities?”

He wanted to gather her close and promise everything would be okay. Instead, he watched her hands tremble as she set the invitation aside. “You’ll do everything I tell you to. Or there will be consequences.”

Haisley bit her lip and sent him a submissive nod, eyes downcast. He had to give her credit. She was playing her part perfectly.

The day crawled by until two boxes arrived that evening. Nash’s contained a floor-length black cloak and an ornate mask that would cover most of his face. Haisley’s made his blood run hot—then cold. The completely sheer black lace dress would hide nothing. The tiny heart-shaped pasties and scrap of black silk masquerading as underwear would provide the merest wisp of coverage.

She stared at the outfit in horror.

Nash took her hand. “Come with me.”

He guided her to the beach, where waves would cover their whispered conversation. Dutifully, she followed.

Under the rising moon, they walked close together. He’d give anything to squeeze her hand, reassure her. Since he couldn’t, he grabbed her arm and gave it a yank that looked more vicious than it was. “We need to talk.”

“About tonight?”

“I’ll be doing my part,” he murmured. “But I need you observing everything and everyone, too. Point out anyone you recognize. Keep tabs on who talks to whom and how people interact. Pay particular attention to anything out of the ordinary.”

“Everything here is out of the ordinary.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“But I won’t let you down,” she vowed.

“I know. But be careful, Hais. You’ve got to look curious, not scheming.”

“We’ll be expected to…perform, I’m guessing.” Her voice caught. “But we won’t be the main event this time, right?”

Nash nodded. “We’ll be background players. Just follow my lead. I won’t let anyone come between us.”

He wished he could say more to put her at ease, but false reassurances did her no good. Since Gray’s attention had turned to them, this island was getting more treacherous. Sugarcoating that fact only put her in more danger.

Back in their suite, a spa attendant—not Karliah—arrived to do Haisley’s hair and makeup. When she emerged, Nash forgot how to breathe.

Haisley had been transformed into a fantasy—copper hair falling in loose waves, exotic eyes huge behind her slip of a mask, lips a flattering red. The sheer dress clung to every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination.

She looked incredible. And resolute. She wanted to take these bastards down, too.

He fastened his cape, and they headed to the Rose Room.

As Nash pulled the door open, incense smoke curled through air already thick with lust and fear. Men in jewel-toned capes prowled, their masks—exactly like his—rendering them eerily identical. Their women trailed behind in tiny wisps of silk and lace, eyes either vacant or terrified. A dangerous anticipation gripped the room, as if every man here was waiting, breath held, for the signal to do his worst.

Haisley’s step faltered when she glimpsed the scene. As he led her into the party, Nash caught her gaze through their masks, trying to convey a calm he didn’t feel.