The chandeliers above spilled golden light over the marble floor of the Florentine ballroom, each crystal facet trembling faintly with the music of the quartet. The air was perfumed with gardenia, money, and secrets. Laughter clinked in the distance like fine crystal about to shatter. Yet she stood still.

Bedelia Du Maurier hadn't danced all night.

Clad in black silk threaded with gold, her dress clung to her with the kind of reverence usually reserved for saints or sinners. She cradled a flute of champagne in her hand, her gaze fixed across the room. She wasn't watching the dancing. She was watching him. The man who didn't quite belong, and yet... commanded every corner as if it were his throne.

In tailored crimson, his smile barely grazing the edges of polite, his conversation with the lords and barons around him practiced but indifferent. A man of mystery. A man who watched without blinking. And when his eyes finally met hers across the ballroom—unflinching, curious, dark—something inside her leaned forward.

She didn't have to wait long.

He crossed the floor like a secret unfolding, like a question no one dared ask aloud. His hand extended toward her, the offer unspoken but absolute. She took it without hesitation, her champagne glass left behind like a shed skin.

The music shifted—something slow, something with strings that ached.

As they began to move, her body responding easily to his lead, Bedelia tilted her head just slightly, as if to catch the scent of his intent.

"You don't strike me as a man fond of dancing," she murmured, her voice silk over steel.

"I'm not," he replied, low and smooth, his eyes locked on hers. "But tonight, I was tempted."

"By me?" she asked, knowing the answer.

He smiled. "By the idea of what you might say... when I held you this close."

Their steps were deliberate, hypnotic. They danced like two predators circling, masked in civility. His hand rested just above the swell of her hip. Hers grazed the nape of his neck. To the crowd, they were nothing more than two beautiful strangers enjoying the night. But to each other—they were far more dangerous.

"You're not from here," she said.

"No."

"And yet, you knew where to find me."

"I always do."

Bedelia allowed a smile to curl her lips. It was not coy. It was knowing. "How very unfortunate for you."

"Why do you say that?"

She leaned in, her breath grazing the shell of his ear. "Because men like you... often think they are the hunters."

His grip tightened—just slightly. Enough to be noticed. Enough to suggest he was not unarmed.

"I don't mind being hunted," he said. "So long as the game is worth it."

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again. "And do you think it is?"

A beat. His thumb brushed against the gold at her waist.

"I suppose I'll find out... before the night ends."

The music swelled.

And so they danced—two brilliant minds orbiting each other under the soft deceit of chandeliers, each wearing a mask made of charm and danger. She didn't yet know his name.

But she already knew who he was.

The devil wears many faces.

Tonight, he wore yours.