The scent of spilled spiced wine and lavender oil clung to the thick silk tapestries of the eastern pavilion.
I pulled back the velvet curtain a fraction of an inch, peering down from the high archway into the private reception hall below.
Lady Arabella Dupont sat gracefully on a velvet fainting couch, her crimson silk gown spread around her like spilled blood. Opposite her stood Alexander Grey, his face flushed with a violent fury as he slammed a coin purse onto the low glass table.
"That is half the interest," he said. "The northern reserves are currently locked down by Bloodmoon enforcers. You will wait for the principal."
"I'm not a patient woman, Lord Grey," Arabella replied, her voice laced with sharp, aristocratic condescension as she picked up a silver nail file. "Silas promise
