Was Bastien pleased to see her, or was he irritated?
This was the first time they’d seen each other since admitting their mutual attraction. The night they’d agreed to be nothing more than mere acquaintances. Alas, the presence of a mere acquaintance would not cause a swarm of butterflies to take flight in Celine’s stomach, to cluster around her heart, their wings fluttering.
Frustration warmed beneath her skin.
Odette struck a dramatic pose, her right hip jutting forward as she gestured toward Bastien. “Pray tell, just who are you supposed to be?”
“The Minotaur.” A rich voice emanated from behind the bull mask, amusement rounding its tone.
“Is there a Minotaur in Shakespeare’s play?” Odette queried.
Bastien shook his horned head once.
“Well, bully for you,” Celine joked, wishing she could see his eyes. Wishing she could read his thoughts like the pages of a beloved book, pausing to savor every word. Her fingers moved into her pocket of their own volition, pinching his insolent note, stoking the anger in her blood, hoping the blaze would overcome the desire.
The bull’s head tilted in Celine’s direction, the motion filled with scorn. Then Bastien glanced away, as if he were bored with the very idea of her.
Though it was subtle, his dismissal enraged Celine beyond reason, the fire of fury swallowing everything in its path. She crumpled the note in her fist. He’d already disregarded her once today. After which Celine had gone to immense trouble to attend this godforsaken gathering, all with the intention of confronting him.
And he thought to treat her with derision?
Madness, to the very end. It was true a foolish part of Celine had wanted to see him and be seen in return. She deserved to feel wounded now. Nothing good ever came from succumbing to madness.
No matter. To borrow his own words, Celine would grant Bastien no quarter. He’d trifled with her long enough. These weren’t the actions of an acquaintance. These were the actions of an enemy. She’d had her fill of enemies.
If Bastien was the Minotaur, Celine would be Theseus, armed with the sword of Aegeus.
Ready to slay the beast.
As if Arjun could taste the discomfort collecting in the air, he laughed, pushing his donkey mask up his face, the silk ties swiping through his unruly waves. “Well, I’d wager this event to be the height of this season’s debauchery. Anyone care to name the terms?” His British accent sounded too refined for a party in which satyrs roamed the gardens with insidious ease. Too cultured for a night in which drunken fools lost their inhibitions in a maze of fragrant rosebushes, forgetting all their thorns.
As if to illustrate the point, a striking young woman with hair the color of smoldering embers poured a glass of bubbling champagne down the pale skin of her throat, letting it dribble between her collarbones and soak through the front of her bodice. It traced the shape of her breasts before she feigned outrage, as if she’d simply missed her mouth, her ensuing giggles high and false.
Whatever attention the girl sought to garner, she succeeded. Every eye—male and female alike—was locked on her slender form, equal parts scandalized and tantalized. With a smug smile, she whirled into her circle of tittering friends, safe and cosseted.
For now.
Distracted by the exhibition, Pippa’s shocked gaze landed on Celine, the same realization stealing through them in the next breath. A flash of pain shimmered across Pippa’s features, her lips parting in surprise. The next instant, she leaned toward her escort, speaking with him in hushed tones.
Celine knew it would take less than ten paces for Pippa to face her. Less than half that for the murderer to notice, were he present, as she suspected. And Celine simply could not allow that to happen.
Panic took root in her stomach. Maddening laughter lilted into the air around them, mingling with incessant chatter. The scent of fresh herbs and the iron of overturned soil filled her nostrils as Celine looked about, seeking an escape.
In a single, sinuous motion, Bastien removed his bull mask, his silver eyes like storm clouds, his expression guarded. As if he could sense her distress.
They locked gazes for a blink of time.
The next instant, Celine wheeled about without warning, rushing toward the entrance of the maze, her cream-colored hem snagging on thorns as she ran.
DARKNESS INCARNATE
Celine didn’t know why she was sure Bastien would follow her.
She just knew—with the certainty of a rising moon—that he would.
When she glanced over her shoulder, the shape of his great- coat stretched behind her, and a jolt of something unseen, unheard, unfelt before this moment raced through her blood. It pulsed in time with her heart, sending her rushing down a wicked path, deeper into wicked darkness.
She was Theseus. Setting a trap for the mighty Minotaur in a cursed Labyrinth.
As if she led him on a string, Bastien glided in her footsteps. Celine felt him through the layers of shadow, like the night had embraced her, remaking her in its own image. The sounds of merriment faded into sighs, the smell of sweat and trampled flowers steeping in the warm air.
Celine wove past a pair of young women embracing in a corner, rose petals crushed to paste beneath their feet. A shoulder strap on one girl’s gown had slid down her arm, the rouge on her lover’s lips nothing more than a smudge across her cheek.
Her face flaming with apology, Celine rounded the next corner and came upon a dead end. She spun in place, her head held high. Bastien stood before her, backlit by the moon, his upturned collar concealing most of his face, the head of the Minotaur dangling from one hand.
She glared at him through the void, vowing to hold fast to her plan, though the space around them thickened with suggestion. “The Minotaur, Bastien? Really?”
“I possess a certain affinity for monsters.”
“And the long black coat?”
“I enjoy making a spectacle.” His face held nothing but shadows, the set of his jaw refined. As if nothing about the situation troubled him in the slightest.
It provoked Celine further. “And what of Anabel’s yellow ribbon?”
Bastien took a step closer. An arctic chill emanated from his skin. “What of it?”
“Why do you have it?”
He said nothing for a time. “Why do you think I have it?” Bastien took another step closer, pressing Celine into the corner.
“Stop,” she commanded.
He halted in his tracks. “Are you afraid?”
“No. I’m furious.”
“I see.” Bastien’s response was slow. Deliberate. “You think I killed her,” he said quietly.