daresay he could afford to buy out half the shops in the city. Isn't that right, my lord?"
Rayven grunted softly. "Perhaps."
"What brings you to London?" Rhianna asked.
"Business," Montroy replied with a grimace. "Fortunately, it will be concluded quickly. I'm planning to go to the theater later. If you're not busy, you're welcome to join me in my box."
Rhianna looked inquiringly at Rayven.
"Whatever you wish, my sweet," he replied coolly.
"I think not," Rhianna said, "but thank you for the invitation."
Dallon nodded, all too aware of Rayven's jealousy. He was about to take his leave when the strains of a waltz filled the room. Feeling suddenly reckless, and a little curious to see if he could prick Rayven's eternally cool demeanor, he said, "With your permission, Rayven, I should like to dance with Rhianna."
A muscle ticked in Rayven's jaw as he fought to keep hold of his temper. "Perhaps you should ask her."
Rhianna looked at her husband. Tension hummed between the two men like a wire drawn taut. "My lord?"
"It's up to you, my sweet," Rayven said.
"I should like very much to dance, if you don't mind."
With a curt nod, Rayven gave his consent. He did not want her dancing with anyone else, especially Montroy, but he couldn't dance with her himself, not here, where the small dance floor was lined with gilt-edged mirrors from floor to ceiling.
Montroy rose smoothly to his feet and offered Rhianna his arm. With a half-smile at Rayven, she stood up and placed her hand on Dallon's arm.
Hands clenched into tight fists, Rayven watched them wend their way toward the dance floor. Jealousy made a hard, ugly knot in his belly as he watched Montroy twirl Rhianna around the floor. Rhianna's skirts swirled around her ankles; the lamplight streaked her hair with gold. How well they looked together, two mortals in the prime of life, their skin glowing with good health, young hearts beating fast as they whirled around the room. He didn't miss the admiration in the viscount's eyes, or the way the man smiled at Rhianna.
He's in love with her, Rayven thought. The knowledge filled him with the urge to kill, to rip out Montroy's heart and grind it into the dust.
He took a deep breath, his hands clenching and unclenching, as he watched them walk back to the table.
Rhianna's cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining, as she took her seat across from him.
Schooling his features into an impassive mask, Rayven lifted his wineglass and drained it in a single swallow.
"Thank you, Dallon," Rhianna said.
She smiled at Montroy, and Rayven was consumed with the urge to strike out at the other man, to grab Rhianna by the arm and shout to the world that she belonged to him.
"I should be going," Dallon said. He kissed Rhianna's hand, then sketched a bow in Rayven's direction.
"Good evening, my lord."
"Montroy."
Dallon felt himself go suddenly cold, as if ice had formed on his spine, as his gaze met Rayven's. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could scarcely think.
Then Rayven looked away, and the world was set to rights again.
Dallon shook his head, wondering if he had imagined the coldness, the unspoken warning he had read in Rayven's devil-black eyes.
"Good night," he said again. Turning on his heel, he stifled the urge to bolt from the room.
"Did you enjoy your dance?" Rayven asked.
"Yes, very much," Rhianna replied, "though I would rather have danced with you."
"Another time," he said. "Are you ready to go?"
Rhianna nodded, perplexed by his clipped tone, his curt manner. Surely he could not be angry with her because she had danced one dance with Ballon.
Bevins was waiting outside with the carriage. He took one look at Rayven's face and quickly opened the carriage door. He felt a rush of compassion for Rhianna as he handed her into the coach, nodded at Rayven, then closed the door behind them.
They rode in silence back to the hotel. Rhianna stared out the window of the carriage, wondering what she had done to make her husband so angry with her.
"He's in love with you."
"What? Who?"
"Montroy."
"That's absurd. He doesn't know anything about me."
"Love isn't based on knowledge," Rayven replied quietly. "If it was, you would not be sitting here with me."
Rhianna turned to face him. Even in the dim light, he could read her expression clearly. Her eyes were filled with confusion and compassion. How foolish she was, to think she knew him because he had told her a little of his life, because they had made love. He had