Page 32 of Locked in Wonderland

The music wasn’t loud enough to drown out the buzz of laughter and excitement as the guests drifted between tables. I was so intent on learning the lay of the land that I didn’t notice the approaching woman until she was almost on top of me. People in Wonderland really needed to stop materializing out of nowhere.

“Darling,” she said warmly, her accent somehow sounding vaguely French, Italian, and Russian all at once while also sounding like none of them. “You are new here, yes?”

I was still contemplating whether to answer that question honestly or lie and pretend I came here all the time, when she gave a tinkling laugh.

“Of course you are. The Duchess would have remembered you.”

“The Duchess?”

She placed a manicured hand against my chest, scarlet nails glinting beneath the chandelier light. The dress she wore matched them perfectly, crimson fabric clinging to her curves like liquid silk, and an ample amount of cleavage spilling over the top.

I stared.

Not because breasts suddenly interested me, but because their continuing battle against gravity deserved respect.

“Me,” she said with another musical laugh, one scarlet-tipped finger trailing at a snail’s pace over my breastbone before it dropped to her side. “I’m the Duchess. This is my establishment.”

I guess the red ensemble made sense then, given the place was called The Scarlet Deck.

“If you prefer something less theatrical,” she continued, “you may call me Dahlia. Dahlia Dumont.”

“Lysander.”

“Well, Lysander,” she said, taking hold of my hand and gripping it so tightly that I knew any argument would be fruitless. “You are in luck. I am free to be your guide tonight. I will show you how things work around here and which are the most fun games to play.”

“You don’t need to do that,” I said quickly. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

“Better than spending time with a handsome man?” She laughed again, apparently delighted by the idea. “Sadly, no. This place practically runs itself. And what better way to supervise than from the heart of the action? We’ll get you some chips… my treat, of course, and then you can go wild. Who knows, you might win a fortune. And I won’t even ask for any of it.”

Alarm bells rang as soon as the words “my treat” had left her lips. “I have money.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Huh! Well, isn’t that something?”

I pulled the gold coin from my pocket and showed it to her. Something unreadable flickered across her face the moment she saw it, amusement dimming for just a fraction of a second.

“I don’t know what it’s worth,” I admitted.

“A lot,” she said smoothly.

I’d like to say there was some comfort in finding out my sexual performance was at least worth something substantial, but I was struggling to see it that way. I recognized, though, that I’d probably feel a damn sight worse had that not been the case.

Dahlia swept me toward a nearby office before I could ask further questions, where a bored-looking man sitting behind a counter exchanged the coin for an overflowing bucket of chips with all the enthusiasm of someone processing dry cleaning. I barely managed a thank you before Dahlia hooked an arm through mine and steered me back into the casino proper.

“I’m probably underdressed for this place,” I said apologetically. Instant regret at pointing it out hit when she seized on the opportunity to look me over, her gaze lingering long enough to make me acutely aware of the leather trousers hugging my hip bones.

She smiled. “Don’t be silly. We don’t have a dress code. If we did, you’d never have made it through the door.”

“No? Because it definitely looks like you do.”

Bare shoulders rose in an elegant shrug. “Looks can be deceiving.” Releasing my arm, she turned to face me with a beaming smile. It wasn’t quite up to Tom Cheshire’s standards, but it came close. “Now,” she said brightly, “tell me your vice? Dice? Cards? Or are you brave enough to trust your destiny to the spin of a wheel?”

“Actually, I’m looking for someone.”

“Everyone here is looking for something or someone.”

Before I could elaborate, she steered me toward a card table already occupied by five players.

“Everybody,” Dahlia announced cheerfully, “this is Lysander. It’s his first time here.”