"No' with this mask," Ethan said, then asked, "Why are you behaving as if my interest is so bloody consequential?"

"It's consequential because you've never pursued a woman in your entire life."

Ethan had never had to before that night in Buxton—and he hadn't bothered to after.

"No' even your fiancée," Hugh added.

No, Ethan's fiancée had been handed to him as though on a platter—and it had cost Sarah her life. He'd had no idea that by trying to salvage his life after what the Van Rowens had done to him he'd be destroying another's….

Shaking off those memories, wanting to forget, Ethan strode for the stairs to go after the blonde lass, but Hugh shoved him back.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Hugh demanded.

"Doona shove me again, brother, or I will put you down." Hugh was the only one who'd ever dared to challenge him like this. "Did you never think I just want to bed her?" Christ, he wanted to bed her, wanted her fiercely.Finally! his mind seemed to roar.

"Bed her?" Hugh got an uncomfortable look about him. "No, I dinna think that."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. So Hugh suspected or knew the truth about him. Ethan should have realized that the secret of his celibacy would have gotten out among the Network. The members gossiped worse than old matrons at the village well.

Ten years had passed since his face had been so horribly damaged. As he'd predicted, the only way he'd been able to bed women had been to pay them, and he'd done so for the first seven years. Yet there were only so many times a man could tolerate looking down at a woman he was using and seeing her thinly veiled revulsion—especially after he'd paid for her.

One unsatisfying encounter after another had taken their toll, and now his body couldn't seem to be bothered to desire, to ache, any longer. If he was attracted to a woman, it was tepid, like a shadow of what he used to feel. Though his manhood had been left intact that night, it might as well not have been. He hadn't had a woman beneath him in years.

And even more disquieting—he hadn't especially missed it.

Until now…

"She's a lady," Hugh insisted. "No' to be used by you."

"Then what is she doing here?" Ethan asked incredulously, waving his hand around the warehouse.

"The same thing Jane is—they're thrill seekers. Typical rich Londoners."

"In a place like this, even a lady is fair game."

"You doona know that she's no' an innocent." His expression severe, Hugh added, "Ethan, you're…you just canna be this bad."

Ethan raised his eyebrows.

"Damn it, if for no other reason, then you should leave the girl alone to concentrate on hunting Grey." Hugh ran his fingers through his hair. "If I canna count on you to take out Grey while I'm watching Jane—"

"Have you forgotten who you're addressing?" Ethan reached the end of his patience and snatched off his mask to stare his brother down. "I've wanted to put a bullet between Grey's eyes for years—a dozen times, I've had him in my rifle sights and my finger on the trigger—but I dinna becauseyou thought the man could be redeemed."

Ethan had stalked Grey repeatedly, always keeping an eye on him. In fact, Ethan was the only one in the whole bloody Network who'd discovered Grey was killing on his own. "Now, when Jane's involved, you see reason. So how can you possibly think I would waste my opportunity to destroy someone I've craved killing?" When Hugh remained unconvinced, Ethan said, "I'm going to scratch this itch, then get to work." His tone and demeanor were bored.

He turned back, but the girl was gone, separated from her friends. He felt a flare of alarm. This was a dangerous place, and she was alone.

Or was she?

She could be meeting someone. She could even be married and already involved in an affair. He found himself striding down the stairs, donning his mask once more. He ignored Hugh's last call of warning, then plunged into the crowd.

Ethan was bent on finding her, which baffled him. He liked voluptuous brunettes, earthy women who gave as good as they got in bed. And Hugh was right—he didn't pursue women.

But if it took a delicate, angelic-looking blonde to provoke his body to this kind of reaction once more, then he'd be damned if he was letting the object of his lust out of his sight.

He promised himself he'd be inside her this very night.

If Madeleine Van Rowen was ever going to lose her virginity outside of a collateralized, signed marriage contract, it'd be with the towering man she'd spied in the black domino. He'd just begun navigating his way through the crowds of the Hive, the gaudily extravagant dance hall in which she found herself tonight.

From her spot on a raised dais, decorated with swans and lusty satyrs, Maddy watched him over the rim of her second glass of punch. She was growing light-headed and suspected the drink was spiked with more than rum—the spirit du jour—but she didn't particularly care. She wouldn't mind getting foxed after the day she'd just endured.

Today she'd learned that she'd failed to secure the man she'd journeyed from Paris to London to marry. "Madeleine, I'm just not the marrying type," he'd said."I'm sorry. "

Preferring to drown her sorrows in private, she'd wandered off from her group of friends, the Weyland women: Maddy's childhood friend Claudia, her sister Belinda, and their cousin Jane. The three Londoner Weylands were always craving the next forbidden thrill, and the Hive was supposed to be…thrilling.

Jane Weyland, the de facto leader of their group, had told the younger Maddy not to wander off again. After all, gentlewomen needed tostay together at all costs when out in London at night. Maddy rolled her eyes even now.

Please, innocent girls, Maddy had wanted to say. Though this masquerade was packed to the rafters with not only prostitutes and their lecherous patrons but also thieves and swindlers, it still paled in comparison to her everyday life.

Hersecret life.

Maddy told everyone she lived in the wealthy Parisian parish of St. Roch with her mother and stepfather, but she actually lived alone in a slum called La Marais—translated as the Swamp—and every night she drifted to sleep to the music of gunfire and brawls.

She was a sneak thief, a pickpocket who would steal a diamond as easily as an apple, and she wasn't above an occasional burgle. In fact, if Maddy hadn't considered the Weylands her friends, they'd do well to be wary ofher .

After adjusting her sapphire cape behind her and then her blue glacé mask, Maddy relaxed on the dais bench, settling in to enjoy her view of the tall man. He stood well above most everyone in the room—six and a half feet in height, at least—and he had broad, muscular shoulders filling out his jacket.

The black domino he wore had a fluttering drop in the front, and though she could see his brow and lips and strong chin, the rest of his face was covered. He had thick, straight jet hair, and, she'd bet, dark, intense eyes.

He was clearly searching for someone, striding with aggression, his head turning this way and that, fighting the crush of what looked like thousands of people. When a gaggle of bare-breasted tarts blocked his path, angling for his attention, his brows drew together—with consternation or irritation, Maddy didn't know.

What she wouldn't give to bed a strapping man like that for her first time. After all, she was an aficionada of male beauty. Her friend Claudia would chuckle each time Maddy tilted her head and peered at a passing man on the street. Maddy grinned into her glass. Making men blush as she so obviously sized them up was one of the things she lived for.

But if today was any indication of her luck, her husband and first lover was to be the Comte Le Daex, an obscenely wealthy roué who was three times her age. He was so antiquated he still wore a wig, forgodsakes. She tried to look on the bright side—he wanted to wed her—and to ignore the fact that he'd handily survived all three of his previous young wives.