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truce. Or perhaps…almost a kind of…camaraderie between them tonight. “I’d rather freeze.”
    A fingertip traced patterns on the blanket, over her hip. “Something I said?” he murmured, gauging her expression with those dangerous eyes, as if he were searching for answers when she didn’t even know what the questions were.
    “We’ve escaped,” she replied. “The terms of our truce are finished.”
    “Not quite.” He poured himself more bloodied champagne and sipped at it, resting back on the mound of cushions like some indolent pasha. “The debt has not yet been paid.”
    Mina sat up, dragging the coat and blanket tightly around herself. “You demand payment tonight?”
    “I do.”
    Of course he did. London glided by, the enormous brick walls that surrounded the heart of the city—and the Echelon’s territory—passing directly below them. Lights stretched out for miles, twinkling in the darkness of night. Beautiful.
    “Where are you taking me?” she asked.
    “Some place safe. Some place nobody knows about.”
    “And then?”
    “Then?” He arched a brow, lying on his side and resting his head on his open palm. “Then we finish this.”

Three
    “This is a bedroom,” Mina said, her teeth chattering.
    “Mine, to be precise,” Barrons replied, ushering her through the door and then flicking on the gaslights.
    “I thought you lived at Waverly Place.”
    “Officially.” He gave nothing away as he crossed toward a decanter and poured blud-wein into a pair of glasses. “Unofficially, I sometimes need a place to stay that nobody knows about.”
    A small house outside the city walls? Unusual. None of her sources on him had ever turned up anything like this. Why would he need a private sanctuary? That indicated involvement in some mischief. Mina closed the door behind her and tugged the pilot’s coat tighter around her in a vain attempt to warm herself.
    The bedroom was smaller than expected, with an enormous four-poster bed taking up most of the space and a cold fireplace in the corner. Curiosity bit her, and she found her gaze dwelling on the ormolu clock on the mantel and the heavy damask drapes. She trailed her fingertips over the smooth velvet pane on the bed. Wonder what that would feel like against my skin. She jerked her hand away.
    Barrons offered her one of the glasses, his fingers brushing against hers. He frowned, then turned her hand palm up. “You’re freezing.”
    “Some idiot pushed me into a canal.”
    She waited for a sharp response, but instead the line between his brows drew deeper. “If I recall, I suggested it. Come. You need to get out of those clothes and get warm.”
    He led her toward the connected washroom. At the sight of the enormous bath, Mina balked. “If you think that I’m getting in your bath—”
    “Then don’t.” He flicked the taps, sending a stream of water into the claw-footed tub. “If you won’t avail yourself of some scandalously hot water, then I shall.” He lifted up a small vial and dropped a generous amount of foaming soap into the machine aerator. It whipped the soap particles into the water, creating a mess of bubbles. “I’ll send my manservant, Isaiah, up to set the fire to rights. Hopefully that will warm you instead.”
    Her gaze flicked toward the water, her skin prickling at the hot steam that began to envelop the bathroom. “This is indecent.”
    Barrons laughed under his breath. “Not yet, it’s not.” Shrugging out of his wet jacket, he tossed it aside. “Now, you or me?”
    Why not both of us? She lowered her eyes, but the image of him remained. Wet, his sleek shirt clinging like a second skin, delineating the heavy muscle of his shoulders and chest, hinting at the darkness of his nipples behind the fine lawn.
    Steam curled up, dancing in the air like a dozen ethereal harem girls. She desperately needed to return home, to set into motion ploys to protect herself, but she was so damned wet and cold. And tired. For the first