1

Two months later…

HE WAS THE MAN she had been waiting for, the lover who was destined to ruin her. But first she wanted to photograph him.

"No," Gabriel Jones said. He crossed the richly appointed library, picked up the brandy decanter and splashed a healthy dose of the contents into two glasses. "I did not bring you here to Arcane House to take my picture, Miss Milton. I employed you to photograph the society's collection of relics and artifacts. I may appear to be in my dotage to you, but I like to think that I am not yet ready to be classified as an antiquity."

Gabriel was no aged relic, Venetia thought. Indeed, she sensed in him the power and confidence of a man in his prime. He gave every appearance of being just the right age to sweep her off her feet into the thrilling fires of an illicit passion.

She had waited long enough to find the right man for the task, she thought. By Society's standards she was past the age when a lady could reasonably expect to contract a marriage. The responsibilities thrust upon her a year and a half ago when her parents had been killed in the train wreck had sealed her fate. Few respectable gentlemen were eager to take to wife a woman in her late twenties who was the sole support of two siblings and a maiden aunt. In light of her father's behavior, she had grave misgivings about the institution of marriage, in any event.

But she did not want to live the rest of her life never knowing genuine physical passion. A lady in her situation, Venetia thought, had a right to engineer her own ravishment.

The project of seducing Gabriel had been a great challenge because she possessed no practical experience in the business. True, there had been a few minor flirtations here and there over the years but none had resulted in anything more than some experimental kisses.

The truth was, she had never encountered any man who was worth the risk of an illicit affair. Following the death of her parents, the need to avoid a disastrous scandal had become even more imperative. The financial security of her family was entirely dependent upon her career as a photographer. She must not do anything to jeopardize it.

But this magical time at Arcane House had been literally dropped into her lap; a gift that she had never expected to receive.

It had come about in the most mundane way, she reflected. A member of the mysterious Arcane Society had viewed her photographic work in Bath and recommended her to the society's official governing Council. The Council, it seemed, had determined to have the contents of their museum recorded in photographs.

The lucrative commission had offered her an unprecedented opportunity to live out her most secret romantic fantasies.

"I would not charge extra for taking your portrait," she said quickly. "The fee that was paid in advance will cover all expenses."

And a good deal more, she thought, trying not to reveal her satisfaction. She was still dazzled by the incredibly handsome sum the Arcane Society had paid into her account at the bank. The unexpected windfall was literally going to change her future and that of her small family. But she did not think it would be wise to explain that to Gabriel.

Image was everything in her profession, as Aunt Beatrice never hesitated to point out. She must give her client the impression that her work was worth every penny of the huge sum that had been paid.

Gabriel smiled his cool, mysterious smile and handed her one of the brandies. When his fingers brushed against hers, a little thrill tingled along her nerves. It was not the first time she had felt the sensation.

She had never met a man like Gabriel Jones. He had the eyes of an ancient sorcerer. They were filled with dark, unfathomable secrets. The flames that flared on the massive stone hearth cast a wash of golden light across the planes and angles of a face that had been carved by strong, elemental forces. He moved with a dangerous, predatory grace, and he looked incredibly masculine and elegant in his beautifully tailored black-and-white evening clothes.

All in all, she thought, he was quite perfect for what she had in mind.

"Cost is not the issue, Miss Milton, as I'm sure you're well aware," he said.

Embarrassed, she took a quick swallow of brandy and prayed that the shadowy lighting would conceal her blush. Of course cost was not the problem, she thought, chagrined. Judging by the furnishings that surrounded her, the Arcane Society was evidently sustained by a comfortable fortune.

She had arrived at the crumbling heap of stone named Arcane House six days ago, conveyed in a modern, well-sprung private carriage that Gabriel had dispatched to meet her at the train station in the village.

The massively built coachman had been a dour sort who had spoken very little after confirming her identity. He had hoisted the trunks that contained her clothes as well as her dry plates, tripod and developing chemicals as easily as though they contained nothing but feathers. She had insisted on carrying her camera herself.

The journey from the station had taken nearly two hours. Night had fallen and Venetia had been uneasily aware of the fact that she was being driven deeper and deeper into a remote, seemingly uninhabited landscape.

Copyright © 2006 by Jayne Ann Krentz.