To one side, through a red velvet curtain peeked a great, black horse, with terrifying, wild eyes and a wide-open mouth filled with enormous white teeth. The beast seemed to leer at the sleeping figure, as though he could sense her dreams and was merely biding his time before he struck.
But the stallion would have to wait his turn, for seated on the woman’s long torso, in the shadowy stretch between breast and thigh, was a small, ugly figure, part beast, part man. The creature seemed to stare straight out of the painting, meeting the eyes of anyone who dared look. The expression on the goblin’s face was at once patient and possessive, as though he would wait for an eternity for the lady to awaken—and fight to the death to keep her.
It was the most compelling thing she’d ever seen, scandalous and sinful. She moved closer. “This piece—it is remarkable.”
“You like it?” She heard the surprise in his tone.
“I don’t think one likes it. I think one is captivated by it.” She wanted to reach out and wake the woman in the painting, to warn her of what was no doubt the beginning of a terrible demise. “Where did you find it?”
“It was used to pay a debt,” Cross said, closer, and she looked over her shoulder to find him at the edge of his desk, one hand on the ebony, watching her move toward the oil.
“A very large one, I imagine.”
He inclined his head. “I liked the piece enough to allow the debt wiped from the books—free and clear.”
She was not surprised that he had been drawn to this painting—to the wickedness in each brushstroke, to the darkness of the story it told. She turned back, drawn once more to the strange creature seated on the sleeping woman. “What is it?” she asked, reaching out to the little man, afraid to touch him.
“It’s an incubus.” He paused. Continued. “A nightmare. Demons were once thought to come at night and wreak havoc on those who slept. Male demons, like that one, preyed upon beautiful women.”
There was something in the way he spoke, a hint of—memory?—and Pippa looked to him. “Why do you have this?”
He was no longer watching her, instead, he stared down at the desk, lifting the dice she had placed there, clutching them in his palm. “I do not care much for sleep,” he said, as if it were an acceptable answer.
Why not?
She wanted to ask it, but knew, instantly, that he would not tell her. “I am not surprised, considering you spend most of your day in the shadow of this painting.”
“One becomes comfortable with it.”
“I rather doubt that,” she said. “How often do you use the passageway?”
“I find I don’t have much need of it.”
She smiled. “Then I might appropriate it?”
“You do not use it well. I heard you the moment you came near.”
“You did not.”
“I did. You will no doubt be surprised to discover that you are not very good at sneaking, Lady Philippa.”
“I’ve not had much cause for the activity, Mr. Cross.”
One side of his mouth kicked up in an approximation of a smile. “Until recently.”
“This place rather calls for it, don’t you think?”
“I do, actually.”
He returned the dice to the desk with a soft click, and the little white cubes captured her attention and she spoke to them. “Now, if I remember correctly, you owe me the answers to three questions. Four, if you count the one you left unanswered.”
In the silence that followed the statement, she could not stop herself from lifting her gaze to his. He was waiting for her. “All the dice were weighted. I owe you nothing.”
Her brows snapped together. “On the contrary, you owe me plenty. I trusted you to tell the truth.”
“Your mistake, not mine.”
“You are not ashamed of cheating?”
“I am ashamed of being caught.”
She scowled. “You underestimated me.”
“It seems I did. I will not make the mistake again. I will not have the opportunity.”
She snapped her head back. “You are reneging?”
He nodded. “I am. I want you out of this place. Forever. You don’t belong here.”
She shook her head. “You said you wouldn’t renege.”
“I lied.”
The unexpected words shocked her, so she said the only thing that came to mind. “No.”
Surprise flared in his eyes. “No?”
She shook her head, advancing and stopping a foot from him. “No.”
He lifted the dice again, and she heard the clatter of ivory on ivory as he worried them in his palm. “Upon what grounds do you refuse?”
“Upon the grounds that you owe me.”
“Do you plan to run me before a judge and jury?” he asked wryly.
“I don’t need to,” she retorted, playing her last, most powerful card. “I only have to run you before my brother-in-law.”
There was a beat as the words sank in, and his eyes widened, just barely, just enough for her to notice before he closed the distance between them, and said, “A fine idea. Let’s tell Bourne everything. You think he would force me to honor our agreement?”