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Demon beasts. That’s what they are. Ann’s words come back to me: But they are the ones who rule. Not tonight, they shan’t, for the power of the realms flames within me, and I’ll not temper it. Don’t go up against me, mates. I will win. And I want to win. I want to win at something.

I close my eyes, and when I open them, Simon has broken away from his mother, Miss Fairchild, and all the acolytes. He strides toward me with a hungry look and extends his gloved hand, palm up, though it feels as tense as a fist. His jaw is determined, his voice raw as he says, simply, “Dance with me, Gemma.”

He has called me by my first name, and it sends a shock through those near enough to hear it. Mrs. Tuttle looks as if she might drop her lemonade. For a moment, I do not know what to say. I should feel remorse. Instead, a terrible satisfaction flows through, exciting me. I have won. And winning, however cheaply bought, is thrilling.

“Dance with me, Gemma,” Simon says again, more loudly and insistently. It gains the attention of the other guests. Many of the dancers have slowed, watching the scene. There is whispering. Lady Denby’s mouth has fallen open in disbelief.

Lord Denby has taken notice now. His eyes meet mine, and there’s no mistaking my intent. Corrupt my brother, will you? I’ll see you in hell first, sir.

The smile I give Simon is like a fallen angel’s. He seizes my wrist tightly, and half drags me to the dance floor. He’s making a spectacle of himself. Roughly, he pulls me into waltzing position. The music begins anew, and Simon and I twirl around the floor. There is a heat between us that does not go unnoticed by the others. With each push of his hand against the small of my back, it feels as if Simon wants to eat me alive. I have brought about this affection in him. Let everyone see how powerful I am. Let them think me a beauty, nakedly desired by an important gentleman. And let Lord and Lady Denby be disgraced in the bargain. I cannot keep the satisfied smile from my lips. I am in command and it is intoxicating. On the edge of the dance floor, Lord Denby watches, fuming. He was wrong to doubt me.

An older gentleman taps Simon on the shoulder to signal his intention to break in, but Simon pulls me closer. We dance on, gathering more and more attention, and when it is enough—when I decide it’s enough and the point has been made—I bring it to an end. Time to stop, Simon. Say good night, sweet prince.

Blinking, Simon comes back to himself, utterly perplexed to find me in his arms.

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Middleton,” I say, stepping away.

A faint confused smile appears on his lips. “It was my pleasure.” At once, he searches for Lucy in the crowd.

Gossip spreads like contagion. I’m whispered about, glared at from behind fans as I leave the floor.

The magic crashes over me in a wave. I’m suffocating with it. It comes off me like a sickness, infecting all who come into contact with me, liberating their hidden desires. A gentleman gives me a helpful arm, and in that gesture he is seized. He turns to the older gentleman sitting near.

“What did you say to me earlier, Thompson? You’ll answer for that.”

The older man’s mouth tightens. “Fenton, have you gone mad?”

“Is it madness to say that I will not be blackmailed for my debts to you any longer? You do not own me.” He lays a hand on old Thompson, and just like that, the magic spreads.

The old man rises to his feet. “Here now, chap, I daresay if it weren’t for my charity, your standing would be a shambles and your family in the workhouse.”

Quiet, quiet, I think. Forget. To your brandy and cigars. They take up their glasses again. What has been said is forgotten, but the bitter rancor remains, and they eye each other warily.

I careen into a spinster chaperone with her charge, and I feel the pain in her heart. The aching desire she has for her married employer, a Mr. Beadle.

“He does not know,” she says in a sudden rush. “I must tell him. I must confess my fondest affections for him at once.” And it is all I can do to grab hold of her hands until the feeling is replaced by the one I put in its stead.

“Shall we have cake?” she says to her confused charge. “I have a sudden need for cake.”

A prickly sweat rises upon my brow. The magic burns in my veins.

Lord Denby sidles up to me. His face is florid; his eyes burn. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Miss Doyle.”

“Have you not heard, sir? I am a very dangerous girl.”

“You’ve no idea what we can do to you,” he says evenly, but his eyes flash.

I whisper low in his ear. “No, sir. You’ve no idea what I can do to you.”

Fear shows itself briefly in his eyes, and I know I have won this round.

“Let my brother be or face the consequences,” I warn.

“Thank heavens I’ve found you!” Felicity trills. “Good evening, Lord Denby. Would you mind awfully if I borrowed Miss Doyle?”

Lord Denby is all smiles. “Not in the slightest, my dear.”

“Where have you been? You must save me,” Felicity insists, linking her arm tightly through mine.

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