Nero's Fiddle by A W. Exley

can’t be serious.” She took a step backward but heat already bloomed over her skin. “We’re at the opera in an open box with an unconscious man on the floor. Plus, you will miss the ending.” She waved a hand toward the stage where the soprano began her climatic song.
    “You started this by telling me about your lack of undergarments. I find I cannot wait until the ride home.” He stepped closer and pulled her hands toward him, making a loose loop with the cord around her wrists. “Besides, he won’t wake for some time, you made sure of that. No one can see in here because of the loose curtain and I’m certain the singer will cover your cries.”
    Cara’s back touched the plush wallpaper and the first few strains of the aria flooded the box. Nate raised her hands and hooked the cord over the light bracket. She tested the bonds; if she wriggled her hands, she would be free. Her restraint was an illusion. Nate bound her but would never imprison her. A charge pulsed through her body as she surrendered control of her own volition.
    He claimed her lips in a languid kiss as the music rose beneath them. Her body responded as though he were the conductor, setting the tempo with his hands. As he stroked her through the velvet of the gown, liquid heat ran through her and pooled in her core. Each musical note washed through her as Nate coaxed her higher, her desire building with the song of the soprano.
    He unbuttoned his trousers, then his hands drew her skirts up to her waist. He lifted her and settled her knees over his hips. She sighed as with a single thrust he claimed her. They stilled for a moment, bound together as the violin played, drawing out each note before plunging once more into the desperate composition.
    Cara flicked her hands from the light and dropped them over Nate’s neck. She grasped the silken cord and stretched it over his back, using it to pull him closer as he began to move. Their bodies followed the cue of the music below, each ebb followed by a higher and higher peak. The final crescendo played; she gave a cry as release crashed through her and pulled Nate over the edge.



ate did use the curtain tie on the thief. Eventually. The gash on the man’s head had stopped bleeding and now sported a lump the size of a small egg.
    “He’ll have quite the headache,” Cara said.
    A smile spread over Nate’s face as he looked at the silver cooler with the large dent on the side. “Champagne will do that to you.”
    The man stirred and moaned as they lashed his hands and feet together. A check of his pocket found a choker made of rubies and a pair of diamond cufflinks. Cara was not his first visit of the night, but definitely his last.
    “Brick is outside. He can take this fellow downstairs for a chat about how business is conducted in London.” In the corridor, Nate gestured for Brick to enter the box. “Are you all right to navigate these waters solo, while we clean up?”
    Cara kissed his cheek. “Give me a champagne bucket and I can deal with anything. Plus I haven’t been slipped a plea for help from anyone in a while. I’ll circulate and see what troubled birds I find.”
    Well-dressed nobles emerged from their boxes; the men in black tails with snowy cravats, the women in brilliant silks and satins and dripping with jewels. Cara touched a hand to her neck; none had diamonds that flashed as brilliantly as hers, nestled against the fire dragon’s scales. The modiste draped her form in ways that other women did not dare replicate. They preferred their crinolines and stiff skirts.
    She headed down the stairs and out into the foyer. The grand entranceway was a crush of bodies. Her skin was still overheated from her encounter with Nate and she longed for a blast of cool air. Automaton waiters circulated as refracted light from the overhanging lights played over the polished steel of the mechanical servants and clothed them in ever changing hues, their plain forms elevated to gliding