Traed raised an eyebrow at Agatha.
“Well?” Agatha pierced him with one of her “you must answer” expressions.
Lilac recognized it as such immediately and hoped Nickolai’s brother was wise enough to heed it. The ramifications if one did not were too unspeakable to bear. It appeared the brother was no fool, for he set his wineglass down on the table to answer her straightaway.
“Nickolai”—Traed turned to give Rejar a pointed look—“and I do not share the same father. I do not use a tide because it does not suit me to do so.”
Agatha knit her brow. Did that mean he had a tide or not? “Yes, my boy, but are you entitled to a show of respect by a proper tide?”
“Is not everyone?”
The man was very circumspect. Agatha tried to worm her way around his answer. “But…are you Russian?”
“Russian?” he looked perplexed. “No, I am not Russian.”
Patience at an end, Agatha bellowed, “Where do your father’s people come from?”
“The Sky Lands of—”
Rejar coughed loudly, interrupting Traed’s words.
“The Highlands?” Agatha asked, mishearing him over the Prince’s sudden coughing fit.
“I knew it! He’s a heathen Scotsman!” Emmy mumbled loudly to herself as she cleared away a plate from the table.
How could he be a Highlander if his brother was a Russian Prince? Agatha was confused. It was very difficult to get a straight answer out of the man. He seemed to keep his business to himself. Still, he seemed honest enough in his answers, almost to the point of bluntness.
Well, she liked him nonetheless. There was something there…a certain gentleness he tried very hard to conceal beneath a tough exterior. He probably succeeded in fooling most—but not her.
When it came to people, Agatha had insight.
This man had a good, decent quality about him, denoting strong character. Her sights went proudly to her new nephew sitting across the table from her.
And why shouldn’t the man be of good stock? Just look where he came from—now here was a specimen! She winked secretly at the Prince. Grinning, he covertly winked back.
Throughout the meal, her niece appeared slightly flustered. Lilac and Nickolai had been late coming down to dinner and when they did finally arrive, Lilac had a nice, rosy flush on her face. Agatha noted that her niece did not seem quite so acetic to his Highness now. On the contrary. Her niece could not seem to look at him without blushing prettily.
Agatha let out a sigh of relief. She had done the right thing.
After the meal, they all retired to the drawing room.
Lilac recalled that both men had given her aunt the strangest look when she asked them if they would like the ladies to leave the room so they might partake of some port. Nickolai had then turned to her aunt asking her if she would like some of this “port.” Auntie Whumples had tittered that she had often been tempted, before she apparently came to her senses and suggested they all go into the drawing room.
The brothers just looked at each other with foggy expressions.
Lilac supposed the men of Russia did not indulge in port. One could not speculate what the men of the High-lands did, being Scotsmen. She made a mental note to ask Nickolai’s brother about a lurid rumor she had heard regarding something called haggis.
She was not surprised when Nickolai sat right next to her on the couch. For some reason, he always liked to be near her. It was very…She swallowed. Catlike.
No, she promised herself she would not think about it. Determined, she squelched the allusion.
Auntie asked Nickolai something about how he was settling in so Lilac took the opportunity to speak to Nickolai’s brother. He was about to sit across from her on one of Auntie’s few odd purchases—a Greek Revival chair. She noticed him curiously examine the chair’s winged paw feet, only to throw a speculative glance at his brother.
Lilac smiled. “Nickolai had nothing to do with it. I’m afraid it wasn’t a very good shopping day for my aunt.”
“Ah.” He sat down in the chair, although she couldn’t say he actually relaxed. He did not seem like a man who ever truly relaxed.
“I believe I owe you an apology. You must think me terribly rude. It’s just that I was…was…” How did she explain it?
“You were angry with…Nickolai.” He finished for her. “He had upset you in some way. I understand this. There is no need for you to apologize.”
Lilac was surprised at his comprehension of the situation. Then again, being Nickolai’s brother, he was probably well acquainted with how irascible the man could be. It was curious—every time he said Nickolai’s name, he appeared to have trouble with it—almost as if it were choking in his throat. In any event, it seemed obvious to her that he knew nothing of his brother’s questionable activities with the darker arts. In fact, the brother seemed most…pedantic.
“That is so kind of you…May I call you Trey? Since it seems we are now related?”
Traed stared at her. Her innocent words had a profound effect on him. Yes, they were related. Rejar had mated with her. She was blood to him now. His oath of Chi’in t’se Leau would cloak her as well. And he supposed that by association, he would have to watch over the “aunt” too.
He frowned absently. When he started out on this journey, he had no idea what Yaniff was getting him into.
Rejar’s mate watched him expectantly, her large green eyes open and guileless. How had this innocent ever fallen into the hands of his Familiar brother-of-the-line? There was no doubt in Traed’s mind but that she was untouched. Or at least, she had been.
It was certainly an unprecedented event.
Everyone knew a Familiar’s tastes usually ran to those more…sophisticated. So how had Rejar come to this passage? And would it not be interesting to press him to find out? A brief wily smile flashed across his face.
“I believe you are mistaken about my name. It is Traed. Traed ta’al…” he hesitated here, never having referred to himself as anything but Theardar’s son. However, like everything else in his life, that name had been taken from him. “…Yaniff,” he concluded.
“Then I apologize again for my second offense, Traed ta’al Yaniff.” She smiled prettily at him.
Traed nodded graciously, uncharacteristically moved by her sweet entreaty. He caught Rejar’s sights above Lady Whumples’s head. You do not deserve her, was what his visage plainly related to the younger man.
Rejar’s eyes gleamed mischievously. For the first time in his life he intruded upon the older man’s privacy by sending him a thought. {Of course I do.}
Traed did not even flick an eyelash. He just looked at Rejar speculatively for a moment. Then quirked that eyebrow.
Rejar grinned flippantly before answering something Lady Whumples had asked him. He decided that since he had to deal with having Traed as his brother, Traed was going to have to deal with having a Familiar as his.
Now I have him in my head. Traed exhaled a long-suffering gust of air, in that moment resembling his other brother-of-the-line, Lorgin.
“Tell me, my boy”—Agatha faced Traed—“have you seen much of our London Town yet?”
“I have seen nothing,” Traed replied more than truthfully; he had not even stepped out the door of this abode.
“We shall have to remedy that, won’t we, my Nickolai?” Agatha patted Rejar’s arm.
Lilac wondered if her elderly aunt wasn’t having the time of her life thinking she was commandeering these two robust men about like a small gray-haired general. But did her aunt realize they were allowing her to do it?
“Yes,” Rejar agreed. “Tomorrow I will take you to a place called White’s Club and introduce you to—”
“Nickolai, you can’t!” Lilac was mortified.
Rejar turned a questioning glance at her.
“We…” she fidgeted with her dress, “We just got married,” she whispered to him.
His eyes sparkled down at her. “I have not forgotte
n. Do not worry,” he said sotto voce, “I will not leave you alone for too long, souk-souk. You will not have time to pine for me.”
As if she would pine for him. “You nick ninny,” she hissed. “If it were up to me, you could stay away the whole week for all I care! The point is, one does not marry one day and show up for a rousing good drink with the lads the next! It is just not done!”
Rejar placed his arm around her, bringing her close to him. He bent down to murmur in her ear. “What do you mean by these words?”
“It is just—not—done,” she reiterated. “It would be a terrible insult to me. Couples who marry do not show themselves in public for a respectable amount of time.”
“Why?”
“Because it is done that way! Most newlyweds have a ‘going away’ after the marriage ceremony.”
“Where do they go?” he whispered back.
“I don’t know! Somewhere. We did not do that—so we must stay here and not show our faces for a time.”
“This is the most foolish society I have ever…” Rejar took a deep breath. “Very well. I will not ‘show my face.’”
“Good.” She nodded approvingly.
“Except to you,” he added playfully. “Which face would you like to see this eve?”
She blushed.
“And Lilac?” he murmured in her ear.
“Yes?”
“Do not call me a nick ninny again.” He ended his whispered words with a small lick to her ear.
“Have the two of you finished your little…discussion?” Traed asked wryly.
“Yes.” Rejar stood to make an announcement. “Lilac and I have decided not to show our faces. We will begin immediately by going to our bedroom and remaining there until such a time as we can either show our faces again or we have vigorously expired ourselves.”
“Nickolai!” Lilac was twice mortified.
Agatha tittered behind her palm.
Taking Lilac’s hand, Rejar urged her to her feet. “Lady Agatha, I will leave my cherished brother in your capable hands. Be gentle with him.”
“Nickolai!” Lilac trailed after him, dragged along by his firm clasp to her wrist.
“I am only doing as you ask, souk-souk. You may thank me properly in a few minutes.”
“Nickolai…”
Lilac’s voice faded away as Rejar closed the door firmly behind them.
Agatha looked at Traed.
Traed looked at Agatha.
Traed snorted; Agatha snickered. They both burst out laughing.
Traed shook his head, grinning. Rejar had always had a certain way about him… Not that he would ever let the scamp know it.
He had a certain way about him, she’d grant him that.
In fact, Nickolai had just positioned her naked self to sit atop him without a hint of apology.
She looked at him lying prone beneath her and cocked her head to one side. “And just what am I supposed to do now?”
“What do you think?” He shifted his hips beneath her to give her a clue. The throb of his swollen shaft between her thighs seemed to punctuate his suggestion.
Lilac’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Would I mislead you?” he asked silkily.
Lilac decided not to answer that question. “But how?”
Rejar sighed theatrically; it seemed a mentor’s work was never done. “Sit—on—it.”
Sit on it? How could someone do that? It would tear her asunder like a hare on a spit. “I don’t think so!” she scoffed.
“Lilac, put your palms against my chest and lean forward.”
She was skeptical, but when Nickolai used that special, sexy, rumbling tone of voice…she did as he said.
“Now…move back until you feel…that is it, right—there.” Rejar clasped his hands to her hips. “Now sit.”
He guided her down with practiced precision.
“Oh!”
His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Come forward.”
“I—Can I do that?”
A lopsided grin tilted his mouth. “You need not worry; I am fairly resilient. I will try not to break beneath this terrible pressure.”
“I was not referring to you,” she quipped, but gingerly leaned forward just the same.
He immediately took her breast in his mouth and began to draw on her. She felt his suckling motions all the way down to her toes. Lilac decided then and there that even if he did break, she was damn well going to stay right where she was.
“Fine, now, souk-souk”—he flicked the pearl of her breast with his tongue—“pump.”
Lilac went stock still. What did he mean, pump?
A hot stream of breath gusted across the nipple. “Like this.” He showed her exactly what he meant by several upward thrusts of his hips. Lilac blinked at the delicious sensation.
“Oh, like this?” She wiggled down on him, bounced up, and slid down again. Nickolai clenched his teeth.
“By Aiyah! Yes…”
Lilac decided she liked it and instantly became more enthusiastic. “This is quite stimulating, isn’t it?” There was something about being on top…Perhaps there were other ways just as stimulating?
“Nickolai?” She squeezed his lean hips with her thighs. Her husband groaned something about her being an excellent student.
“What?” he gasped, massaging her breasts as she continued to move boisterously on him.
“How many ways are there to do this?”
Silence.
“Well?”
“Shh…I am counting.”
But his hands were caressing. Especially those rounded thighs which were wringing him so perfectly. This deserved a reward.
He hooked his arm around her neck, bringing her down for his kiss. At the same time, he lunged up and met her downward motion.
Lilac thought him most inspired.
“Five thousand, three hundred fifty-two and three-quarters,” he panted against her mouth.
“Five thousand three hundred and fifty-two?” That stopped her for a minute.
“And three-quarters—not counting certain combinations.” He pulled her down tight against the base of his shaft. Both of them groaned.
“You’re making that up!”
“I am not.” He nipped her chin.
“You are!”
“Let us find out, shall we? We will start next with number two hundred thirty-three.”
Lilac playfully slapped him. His white teeth showed in a grin in the dimly lit room. Then he surged swiftly into her.
Lilac closed her eyes in ecstasy and started to say something to him, but he placed a long tapered finger against her lips. “I know what you wish to say.”
“What?”
“‘More, Nickolai, more.’” His low voice held more than a hint of amusement.
Lilac made a face at him. Dropping her voice several octaves, she tried giving him his own medicine by imitating his low, dulcet tones. “How much more, souk-souk?”
Familiars adored such games. A mischievous dimple popped into his cheek.
He whispered the words she had cried to him earlier that afternoon. “Harder, faster.”
Despite herself, she blushed. “Stop that!”
“Deeper,” he teased relentlessly.
“You are terrible, Nickolai.”
Rejar laughed, surprising her by grabbing her around the waist and rolling over on top of her. “Is this what you meant before?” He embedded himself in her to the hilt.
Lilac gasped and clutched his powerful shoulders.
“Is this what you wanted?” He moved in her hard and fast.
Lilac began moaning the words in earnest. “Nickolai…more…more…”
He responded to her passionate mood, at once becoming serious. Intently, he gazed down at her beneath him. “Yes, my Lilac, yes,” he avowed against her lips. “I will give you everything…”
And he did.
He freed his Familiar passion, driving into her with a ferocious intensity. Lilac, as caught up i
n the storm as he was, urged him on. When she began to claw at his back with the intense desire he had aroused in her, Rejar almost lost all control. She was becoming a Familiar mate.
So, he did what a Familiar man should; he growled wildly against her and bit her properly in the shoulder.
When their culmination finally came, it was simultaneous and meteoric.
Rejar reached up to brush back a lock of his hair.
He was lying flat on his back next to Lilac. Both of them were still trying to regain their breath after the tumultuous lovemaking session they had just shared. He closed his eyes, thinking he might drift off for a quick, revitalizing nap.
“Nickolai?”
“Mmm?”
“Have you been with a lot of women?”
He opened his eyes, all trace of sleepiness gone. He turned on his side to face her. “Yes.”
Lilac expected the answer, even applauded him for his honesty; but, for some reason, it made her feel…bad. “By a lot,” she cleared her throat, “do you mean, for example, ten women?” She didn’t know where she got the nerve to ask.
This time he did not answer; he simply gazed squarely at her.
“Twenty?”
He remained silent.
“Surely not more than forty?” Her voice went up in pitch at the end.
Rejar exhaled deeply. “I have been with many, many women, Lilac.”
She swallowed the inexplicable lump in her throat. “I see.”
There was something in her voice which troubled him. “Why does this bother you? Do you not benefit from my knowledge?” His hand reached over to cup the side of her face.
“I don’t think you understand.”
He smiled slightly. “I understand. But you must understand as well—my people are very different from your own.”
Lilac thought of the rakehells of the ton. “Not so very different.”
Rejar watched her expression change. What was upsetting her?
“I suppose I will have to catch up with you,” she said.
His brow kinked. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s only fair. You shouldn’t mind, should you? I understand it’s quite an acceptable practice in the ton.” A practice she despised. Lilac had no intention of doing what she was implying, but she was curious as to how he felt about it.