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A delighted sound escaped her, and she promptly kissed him on the mouth before twirling away with such exuberance that he could not help laughing. He was not entirely certain what she expected to discover at the pleasure palace, but he understood that this was another adventure for her, another opportunity to escape the tedious restrictions society imposed upon ladies. And if he could be the gentleman who helped her experience the freedom she craved, he could hardly begrudge her the pleasure.

Now, scarcely an hour later, he was escorting her through the establishment’s magnificent entrance hall, wondering whether any man in England had ever been so thoroughly conquered by a woman. Cordelia’s gloved hand rested lightly upon his arm as she surveyed her surroundings with undisguised curiosity. Aphrodite was particularly crowded this evening, its grand salon alive with music, laughter, and the low murmur of indulgence that George had come to associate with the pleasure palace. Light spilled from enormous chandeliers, glinting upon polished floors, gilded furnishings, and the jewel-studded masks of ladies and gentlemen who had come to enjoy themselves without the tiresome restrictions society placed upon their pleasures.

Rich silk draperies in shades of garnet and lustrous black adorned the walls, while the air carried the familiar mingling of sandalwood, amber, expensive perfume, and something sweet that reminded him of ripe peaches. George had visited Aphrodite so often in the company of Raine, Radbourne, and Grantham that he scarcely noticed such extravagance anymore. Yet watching Cordelia take it all in with those wonderfully expressive eyes made him appreciate the establishment anew.

A few curious glances followed them, for despite the gentleman’s attire she wore, the auburn curls escaping her black half-mask and the feminine grace of her figure made it rather difficult to mistake her for a man. Cordelia appeared entirely unconcerned by the attention, and George found himself smiling at the quiet confidence with which she carried herself.

In the great open salon, which Madam Rebecca often transformed into a ballroom, a string quartet played from a raised gallery. The music drifted over the murmur of conversation and occasional bursts of delighted laughter. Footmen moved among the guests carrying silver trays of champagne and sugared fruits, while several couples reclined upon velvet-covered sofas arranged beneath enormous paintings depicting mythological lovers in various states of undress.

A few couples danced with an intimacy that would have caused several dowagers of the ton to expire from sheer outrage. One gentleman held his partner so closely that their bodies seemed almost one, his hand resting upon the generous curve of her hip while she whispered something against his ear that made him laugh and kiss her neck. Nearby, another pair had abandoned all pretense of dancing and were enjoying a passionate embrace beside a silk-draped alcove.

Cordelia looked from the dancers to the assembled guests, then turned toward him.

“Is this all the wickedness?”

George nearly chuckled at the unmistakable disappointment in her tone. “Aphrodite often holds balls, just as the great hostesses of society do. The difference, my sweet, is that here one may dance as closely as one pleases, kiss one’s partner without provoking a scandal, and indulge in whatever liberties both parties are inclined to enjoy.”

She gestured discreetly toward the room. “It is all very pleasant, but hardly the den of depravity I was led to expect.”

“My dear Cori, we have been inside for approximately three minutes.”

She smiled. “Four, I believe.”

“Then I must beg your indulgence while I endeavor to corrupt you at a more satisfactory pace.”

Her eyes sparkled behind the mask. “I should be most obliged.”

He studied her for a moment, delighting in the mischief dancing in her brown eyes. She looked utterly enchanting in her borrowed masculine attire, and he wondered whether any other gentleman in London had ever found himself escorting a lady through Aphrodite while feeling this extraordinary mixture of amusement, tenderness, and anticipation.

“Since you are determined to discover the full extent of Aphrodite’s wickedness, I suppose I must show you something beyond the ballroom.”

“I had begun to think you were deliberately concealing the most interesting entertainments from me.”

“I am merely attempting to preserve what little innocence you have left.”

“How very noble of you, George.”

“I am often accused of possessing remarkable virtues.”

She scoffed. “By whom?”

“Persons of discerning judgment.”

She laughed, and he guided her through an arched doorway into a long gallery illuminated by dozens of gilded wall sconces. Thick Turkish carpets muffled their footsteps, while silk damask covered the walls between paintings of varying degrees of artistic merit, though their subjects were uniformly provocative.

Some depicted lovers embracing in moonlit gardens, their bodies entwined beneath the sheltering branches of flowering trees. Others drew upon classical mythology with an imaginative freedom that would undoubtedly have horrified the Royal Academy. More recent works formed part of Madam Rebecca’s latest enterprise, a private collection intended to capture the many expressions of human desire. Several portrayed masked gentlemen and ladies in intimate embraces, their identities concealed beneath artful shadows, the beauty and passion of the figures rendered with a skill George could appreciate even without possessing an artist’s eye.

Cordelia slowed before a particularly elaborate painting of Venus reclining upon a bed of roses while several admirers competed for her attention. The artist had rendered the goddess with astonishing beauty, her golden hair spilling over silken cushions, while the gentlemen surrounding her seemed determined to demonstrate their devotion.

“Good heavens,” she murmured.

“Shocked at last?” he asked with droll humor.

“I am wondering how the artist persuaded the gentleman on the left to remain in such an uncomfortable position long enough to be painted.”

Of all the scandalous details Cori might have remarked upon, she had chosen the unfortunate angle at which the gentleman’s body was arranged. “Perhaps he possessed an extraordinary commitment to art.”

“Or perhaps the artist took a considerable liberty with the truth. Surely no gentleman could remain comfortable in such a position.”