ROTH’S HOME WAS one of the beautiful Paris mansions, replete with huge wooden double doors that led from the street into a gorgeous courtyard. Only steps from the Champs-Élysées, it was the most fabulous earthly residence I had ever seen. The house itself was three stories and built of pale stone, ivy winding its way up the face and forming a thick facade around the doorway. Though the home was impressive to say the least, the real gem was the garden.

Colorful birds sat in the lush tropical trees lining the walkway through a beautiful portico, and a gentle waterfall tinkled in a far corner. I took in a breath at the abundant flowers cascading from the planters and felt as though I were once again in a flowery glade on the slopes of Olympus. Deep purple and dusky blue blossoms sent out a fragrance that ensnared me as surely as if I had been caught in a net.

“Surprised?” Roth asked me, slowing his brisk pace. He seemed so anxious to get back to his home that I was beginning to suspect he might vamp out on me after all, but then I noticed the first of the sun’s rays dancing along the thick hair at his crown, with nary a wisp of smoke.

“Didn’t take you for the gardening sort.” I tentatively reached up to stroke the silky petal of a giant golden-tipped flower.

“Everyone has their vice.” He peeled the dark coat from his lithe body as he took the steps into the house two at a time.

“Where’s the fire, anyway?” I arched a brow at his retreating back.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back to attend you in a little while,” he called over his shoulder. He left the door to the mansion swinging wide as he disappeared within.

I continued my examination of the garden and took my time, perusing each plant in turn, trying to remember their counterparts from the wooded slopes of Olympus. After I satisfied my curiosity, I turned to enter the home.

What I saw inside rivaled anything a Paris museum had to offer. The house was marvelous, full of morning light that glinted off the beautiful windows and a huge crystal chandelier that hung in the foyer. The marble floor was polished, and the walls had been masterfully hand-painted with mythological scenes of battle and glory.

Artemis stared down at me from a beautiful woodland scene, bow in hand as she took down a stag. The likeness was nothing short of entrancing. It was one of the better ones I’d ever seen. Surely, whoever painted the murals must have laid eyes on the deity, the detail was so fine.

“Madam?”

“Gods!” I nearly jumped out of my skin as an elderly man with white hair and kind eyes appeared next to the door. His British accent matched him perfectly as he stood there in crisp butler attire straight out of the 1800s.

His mouth shot closed, and he wrung his hands momentarily. “I-I’m sorry, madam. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. It’s my fault, really.”

“Might I take your stole?” He began wringing his hands again, likely only then realizing that I wasn’t wearing anything under the fur. “Oh, dear.” He sighed, his fluffy white hair wisping as he shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

He stiffened his shoulders, seemingly trying another tack. “The master is engaged at the moment; however, I’m sure he’ll attend to you as soon as he can. Would you like some refreshments while you wait?”

“Sure.” I was happy I could give him something to do. He seemed to be itching to serve and berating himself for his performance thus far. “What’s your name?”

“Bartholomew.”

“Nice to meet you, Bart. I’m Lilah.” I held out my hand, expecting him to shake. Instead, he gave a formal bow and kissed my knuckles. “Wow, Bart, you sure know how to treat a lady. Might want to teach your boss some of those skills.”

An unexpected schoolboy blush rose to his cheeks as he began to lead me through a darkly paneled dining room and into a sunny sitting area. I plopped down onto a splendidly upholstered fainting couch and admired the sumptuous room. Roth is filthy rich.

“Might I interest you in some scones and perhaps tea or freshly squeezed orange juice?”

“You don’t have to serve me.” The loud rumble from my stomach belied my words.

“It is my pleasure to serve, madam.” A smile lit his pale blue eyes. “I’ll be right back with your repast.”

As he bustled off, I continued to admire the home. The room I was seated in was beyond opulent, with luxurious furniture and an intricate rug that sat beneath a crystal table. The man has taste. Though previously uninterested in the finer things in life—a mossy knoll surrounded by stars and moonlight had suited me well enough when in Artemis’s service—living in the mortal world made me admire beautifully crafted items. Being an immortal, I had an uncanny interest in things that would last, and so, it seemed, did Roth.

In what had to be no more than thirty seconds, Bart had returned with some mouthwatering scones on a beautiful serving tray with a fresh pat of butter and a glass full of orange juice. I eyed the rug and the nice furnishings. “Maybe I should eat this in the kitchen?”

Bart cocked his head to the side slightly. “Wherever madam would prefer, but Master Roth’s guests frequently take their tea in here.”

“Well, when in Rome.” I greedily dug into the feast. Bart seemed pleased that I was eager to eat what he had prepared, a faint smile of satisfaction creeping into his old visage. This guy really does live to serve.

His gaze suddenly sharpened on a point behind me, and he stared at the filigreed inlay on the mantle above the massive fireplace. Moving more quickly than I thought was possible for someone his age, he assiduously whipped out a polishing cloth from within his staid butler’s suit and began wiping the marble and metal with a vengeance, though I failed to see one speck of dirt from where I sat.

“These are really something, Bart.” I relished the honeyed warmth of the scones. It seemed like days since I’d last eaten, and I enjoyed every bite as I reclined into the fainting couch.

“Thank you, madam.”

When thoroughly engaged in his mission to rid the mantle of even the hint of grime, he asked, “Perhaps when you are finished with your meal, you will be prepared for Master Roth?”

My mouth was full of scone. “Prepared for what, Bart?”

He stopped his furious cleaning to glance over his shoulder at me, the blush once again creeping into his pale cheeks. He cleared his throat softly. “Well, madam. For his…attentions.”

“Attentions?” I almost blew the scone out of my mouth as I sat up straight. “You think I’m here to-to-to—” I began sputtering and couldn’t seem to stop.

He dropped his polishing cloth, his skin going from pink to bright red. “He’s with Corinne right now, and I believe she’s the one who put in the request for a new assistant,” he said the last word as if it were in air quotes. “Was it she with whom you spoke? I can fetch her as soon as she’s finished.” He was ever trying to be the helpful butler.

“Finished with what?” I was certain I already knew the answer. The stab of hurt that went through me was out of place. I reminded myself this kind of behavior was par for the course when it came to males. Roth was doing what men did whenever I was around—getting busy with some random chick right under my nose. I didn’t understand the envy that cut through me when I imagined him with someone else. I’d only just met the creep, after all. I fought against the emotion. Why should I care if he bedded the entire city? He probably already had. He was an incubus, after all. I refocused on my mission, realizing any feelings of jealousy I might have had were inconsequential compared to my need to return home.

Bart was still looking for what was most likely a very delicate way of explaining whatever Roth was up to or into, whatever the case might be. “Never mind about that, Bart. Would you mind if I looked around on my own for a bit?”

He practically collapsed with relief, kneeling down to retrieve the dropped cloth and continuing his war on grime. “Yes, madam. That would be fine. We have some wonderful artwork throughout both wings on each side of the home. The east wing is far more classical, while the west is somewhat modern to postmodern. The upper floor has more sculpture and artifacts.”

I rose from the couch, satisfied from Bart’s delicious meal and ready to explore. Wandering down the central hallway, I once again admired the lavish furniture and art. Every so often I had to bat away thoughts of what or who Roth was doing upstairs.

After spending more than a little time in the more modern wing, enjoying the manga covers, abstract nudes, and dot-matrix pieces that covered the walls, I ascended the stairs to the second level. When I got to the landing, a statue of Aphrodite bathing in the sea confronted me. The carefully carved face, which was as lovely as the goddess was rumored to be, seemed to lock me in a withering gaze. Sheesh.

I ambled through a corridor hung with rich tapestries and lightly glowing sconces. There were several smaller sculptures here, some of ballerinas, others of shrouded figures at prayer or mourning. It was an interesting mix—metal, marble, and plaster works. Doors punctuated the space at intervals; otherwise the entire hallway was an art gallery. At the end, double doors beckoned. I edged closer, noting that a hand-carved scene of Apollo chasing Daphne graced the sturdy wood panels. They were ajar, and I thought I heard noises within.