He returned her smile with a small one of his own.
She read his look exactly. Unlike Nickolai, who seemed to be at ease wherever he went, neither Traed nor she really belonged here at this garish outing. It was something she had in common with Nickolai’s brother and at that moment a special, silent bond of understanding formed between them.
Plates were cleared once again and desert arrived.
Ordered up from Messrs. Grange, the dessert was, again, an extravagant affair. Fresh strawberries, exotic hothouse fruits, all manner of pies, and confections. The selections seemed endless.
Leona addressed Alvanley, “Your favorite apricot tartlet, my lord.” Lord Alvanley beamed. In spite of the outrageous expense he had an apricot tartlet every day.
A footman placed a slice of apple tarte tatin in front of Nickolai. His dual-colored eyes lit up. Lilac had long suspected her husband had something of a sweet tooth. She was proven right when he took a bite, saying to her, “Mmm, what do you call this?”
Strange, but he was pointing to the apple, not the tart itself.
Lilac looked at him askance. Was he jesting? Who didn’t know an apple when they saw one? Surely they had apples in Russia.
“A kumquat,” she replied drolly. Lilac had never actually seen a kumquat, but she had read all about the little orange fruits from China.
He looked boyishly confused. “A come-kwat?”
She nodded, hiding her grin.
“Ah. It is good.” He slowly licked the filling off his fork with the edge of his industrious tongue.
Lilac’s wide gaze riveted to that hardworking, swirling tongue of his.
Rejar watched her knowingly from beneath thick lashes.
“Have you been to Ireland or Scotland yet, your Highness?” Leona leaned forward, her deep cleavage threatening the tensile strength of her dampened gown. “The hunting and fishing there are marvelous. Perhaps you would like to join a group of us next time we go—you do hunt?” The innuendo in her throaty voice was unmistakable.
Rejar’s glance fell to his wife. “On occasion,” he murmured cryptically.
“Excellent! Then you must join us!” Leona was already making her plans.
It did not go unnoticed by Lilac that she did not seem to be included in the invitation.
Nor by Traed.
His pastel gaze shifted speculatively from his plate to Lady Harcorte.
After dinner, Madeline Fensley cornered Lilac in the drawing room while the men were still in the dining room enjoying their port.
“Is it true?” she asked her breathlessly.
Lilac furrowed her brow. “Is what true?”
“Did he really lick you all over?”
Lilac paled. Her hand went to her throat. “Who told you that?”
“Why it’s all over the ton, my dear girl!”
She suddenly felt rather sick. Whatever possessed her to trust those women? What could she have been thinking of?
It had just seemed so nice to be able to confide in other women for once.
Everyone seemed to be talking intimately about the same subject. Why had they chosen her words to bandy about? Surely, they had all experienced similar things.
Madeline Fensley nudged her out of her reverie. “Come now, Lilac, why so shy?”
The dining room doors opened and the men rejoined them.
Lilac put a hand to her perspiring forehead. What would she do if Nickolai found out? She hadn’t meant to be so indiscreet. “What?” she whispered distractedly.
“I said, cat got your tongue?”
At that precise moment Nickolai came up beside her. “Mmm, most definitely.” He winked smartly at Madeline, her unknowing pun amusing him.
Lilac blanched.
She had to get rid of Madeline right away! Before the woman alerted Nickolai to her indiscretion. “You know what they say, Madeline.” She stared pointedly at the woman, trying to give her a clue. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
Nickolai’s eyes widened slightly.
“Yes, darling.” Madeline was not going to take the bait. “But t’was information which brought him back.”
What a humorous tenet, Rejar thought, not understanding a thing that was going on between the two women. He must remember to tell it to his mother.
Lilac was beyond repartee. “Please…” she almost begged the other woman, her eyes filling with tears.
“She’s such a sensitive little thing, your Highness.” Madeline smirked, pitiless.
Rejar’s brow furrowed. Concerned by his wife’s sudden distress, he ran his finger tenderly down her smooth cheek. “What is it, Lilac?”
A single tear slipped out of her closed eyes.
“Would you excuse us?” It was not a question. It was a royal command. Madeline Fensley immediately left them alone.
Rejar guided her into the darkened alcove to his right. “What troubles you so, souk-souk?”
“I didn’t mean to, Nickolai. I swear I didn’t!”
Rejar frowned. “What did you do?” He prepared himself for the worst.
“It was just that I thought I could trust them not to say anything—we were all talking about our husbands…” She bit her lip.
Had she given his secret away? This could be serious for all of them. She was not ready to accept the consequences such a disclosure would entail. “Tell me exactly what you told them.” His hands cupped her shoulders.
“I told them how you liked to…do I have to tell you, Nickolai?” she sniffed.
“Yes,” he ground out. “You must tell me, Lilac. Now. Perhaps I can undo this damage you have done.”
“I—I told them how you—you lick me.” Her voice dropped off at the end.
He was stunned. This was not what he expected to hear. “You what?”
She nodded dismally. “And how you like to use your teeth…”
His lips parted. He just stared at her. “Is that all?”
She looked at his booted feet. “And how you take forever…” She twisted her dress. “This is terribly embarrassing,” she mumbled into her chest.
The humor of the situation got to him. A dimple curved his twitching mouth. Since Lilac was still looking at the floor, she missed his expression, hearing only the sternness of his voice. “So, you would discuss me to others.”
Her head snapped up. He quickly lost the dimples.
Lilac grabbed his lapels, her tear-streaked face beseeching him to understand. “I would never do that, Nickolai! I wasn’t paying attention—not really. I was embroidering!”
“Ah. That explains it. It is difficult to think and do such intricate work at the same time.” He teased her.
She looked down again and sniffed.
His arms came around her. “Do not worry about it, Lilac. There is no harm done.” He kissed her forehead.
“Do you mean it?” Her sweet, imploring face tugged at his heart.
“Have I not said? Best we go back into the room before we give them more to gossip about.” He tugged her topknot, smiling to himself when it listed to the side.
Unaware that the bun on the top of her head was lopsided, she rejoined the group, taking a seat on a couch next to Lady Hendrake. The elderly woman, dying for an ear to gossip to, dived into a tedious story about some earl’s son who had run off with a baker’s daughter. Lilac listened silently, pouting at the boring tale.
With her pouting mouth and sagging hair, Rejar thought she had never looked more adorable.
Taking a glass of claret from a passing waiter, he sat behind her, in a chair near the wall.
Truthfully, he was getting tired of the evening’s excesses. He longed to go back to the house, back to Lilac’s bed. His sights sought out his brother, Traed. He was surprised to see him talking with Lady Harcorte.
Traed spoke in a low, commanding voice to his erstwhile hostess. It was time to inform her that her game with his brother was finished.
“If you desire to hunt, I suggest to you, Lee-oh-nah, that you have a care for
your choice of prey.”
Leona was not easily intimidated. At the veiled threat, her eyes instantly narrowed. No one told her what to do. Ever. “I see.” She ran the lip of her fan mockingly down his chiseled cheek. “And what prey would you suggest?”
Traed watched her from beneath lowered lids. The woman was overly bold. “Never play with something unless you know the danger of its bite,” he said quietly.
Instead of dampening her interest, his words of warning only served to entice her. “Perhaps we can discuss this dangerous bite later, hmmm?” Not giving him a chance to answer, she left him, her steps seeking out Rejar’s location.
Traed’s green eyes watched her from across the room.
He would have to shift her focus. He did not like the unhealthy interest she was showing in his mated brother. As Rejar’s Chi’in t’se Leau it was up to him to protect him—from any threat.
In his opinion, this woman could cause much trouble for his brother. Traed had noted the hurt look on Lilac’s face when she had not been included in the woman’s false invitation to hunt.
Traed smiled sardonically.
Familiars were not the only ones who had a talent for the sport. Aviaran warriors were known on occasion to engage in the pastime.
Rejar settled back in his chair to watch his mate.
He noticed every tiny nuance of her.
The texture of her skin, the shape of her hands. The curve of her ear, the softness of her skin. Her smile.
He loved to see her smile.
Feeling suddenly frisky, he decided to share his provocative thoughts with her. {Do you know what I am going to do to you when I get you home, souk-souk?}
Lilac looked up at the opposite wall, hunching her shoulders. She had received his message.
{I am going to lick you all over, exactly the way you told those women. Lap you up like sticky spun crystal…}
Still looking at Lady Hendrake, Lilac pushed her sagging topknot to the crown of her head with a shaking hand. Nickolai was speaking in her mind! Lilac responded to the chattering elderly woman with an ashen smile.
She would kill him! He had promised to stop that naughty behavior!
He continued relentlessly. {I will scrape my tongue across your velvet skin so I can feel every curve, every ripple, every little nuance of you…}
Lilac broke out in goose bumps.
She glanced over her shoulder at Nickolai. His seductive, lazy gaze bore into her from over the rim of his wineglass.
Deliberately, he watched her while he gradually sipped at his wine.
Taking his sweet time, he dipped the tip of his tongue into the glass, moistening it with the wine. He stroked his tongue delicately around the rim. Just to torment her.
Lilac fidgeted in her seat. Rejar smiled.
{Then, when you are ready, my beautiful little wife, I will give you that special kiss we both know you like so well. I am going to glide my tongue right between your—}
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Lilac stood up.
“Excuse me?” Lady Hendrake was appalled.
“Forgive me, Lady Hendrake. I’m not feeling well this evening.”
“Perhaps we should leave.” Her husband came up behind her. There was a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. Once again, he had gotten what he desired.
Lilac was tempted to stomp on his arrogant foot.
Ignoring the darts her eyes were throwing at him, he took her hand and, collecting Traed, said good night to their hostess.
Leona Harcorte stared out at the cloudless night before pulling the draperies shut.
The night had not gone as she had hoped.
The Prince was not yet ready to accept her blatant offer. It was painfully apparent by the smoldering glances he kept sending his wife that the rogue was still enamored of her. Consequently, she was alone this evening. How utterly boring.
Standing before her boudoir mirror, she plucked the carmine plumes from her hair, releasing it from its intricate style. The soft brown waves cascaded about her shoulders. She ran her fingers through the tangled mass.
A movement in the mirror caught her attention.
“Who’s there?” she called out, hoping her strong voice masked her trepidation. Leona never allowed herself to show fear.
The Prince’s brother stepped boldly out of her dressing room.
She was surprised. Immensely pleased but surprised.
“However did you get in here? I saw you leave with your brother and his wife.”
Tread crossed his arms and leaned against a wall. “So you did.”
Leona raised her chin. The man was arrogant. Albeit captivating. She would have to nip that annoyingly arrogant attitude in the bud before sampling the dangerous delicacy. Her men always danced attendance on her—not the other way around.
“You are a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I don’t recall inviting you to my bedroom.” Not in so many words, at any rate.
“Do you not?”
His cool appraisal unnerved her; the brooding handsomeness was really rather alluring. It struck her clearly that this was a man who would always do as he pleased. Both in and out of the boudoir. There would be no “nipping” with this one.
A sizzle of excitement raced through her. It would be different…
“Should I leave?” He raised a self-assured eyebrow, already knowing what her answer would be.
It would not do to play with him, she realized. Dropping her false outrage, she smiled seductively while sashaying provocatively towards him. “Why be hasty?”
“Why, indeed,” he murmured.
Leona stood on tiptoe, reaching behind the strong column of his neck. She released the queue which held back his midnight-mahogany hair. The waist-length strands shifted to fall about his shoulders.
Lord, he’s stunning, she thought. Positively stunning!
A rumble of thunder sounded above, interrupting her impression. Funny, the sky had looked clear just a few minutes ago…
As if to belie her observation, an arc of lightning flashed, illuminating the room; it silhouetted the arresting, masculine face before her. The sight of those intense, chiseled features alight with the passion of the storm made Leona’s breath still in her throat.
Eyes of the clearest green surveyed the length of her. When he raised his dark lashes, she could have sworn those pastel eyes were sparking.
She shook her head, thinking herself the silliest of women; it must be the lightning making them appear that way.
“The weather seems to have changed.” She stated the obvious in an attempt to regain normalcy in a situation which seemed to be going completely awry.
“Consider it atmosphere.” The corners of his mouth curved enigmatically.
There was a wealth of secrets in that smile. He really was exciting her. However, Leona preferred to be the one in control.
In a typical power play, she stepped back from him. “I think I should like a drink. There are many questions I have about your—”
A strong arm came around her like a band of iron; the fingers of his hand splaying against her scalp. Without delay, he pulled her head back, exposing the arch of her throat to him. “Yes or no,” he whispered against her lips.
The string of pearls around her throat snapped, scattering and rolling across the bedroom floor. Overcome, Leona clutched at his powerful shoulders. “Yes,” she breathed.
He took her to bed.
She begged him to stop. She begged him not to stop.
Lady Harcorte knew not which.
Traed ta’al Yaniff, Aviaran warrior, did not pay the least attention to her passionate entreaties one way or the other. He simply proceeded.
After all, she had been warned.
Chapter Fourteen
Aviara
“Lorgin! Lorgin, wake up!” Deana shook her husband’s shoulder. Normally the lightest of sleepers, tonight of all nights, he seemed to be in a dead sleep. Probably because I’ve been keeping him up all night, every night, she reluc
tantly admitted.
Well, these last months were no picnic, and why should she have to suffer alone? It was his fault to begin with! Not telling her how the Transference really worked…
She punched his arm.
“Mmm…I am not hungry.” Lorgin tried to burrow under his pillow.
“Who cares if you’re hungry? Lorgin ta’al Krue, wake up this minute!” She pounced on his broad back.
“I am up.” The resigned voice came from under the pillow.
“Good, because I want you to go into the village and get the healer.”
His golden blond head rustled out of the bedcovers. He turned on one side to face her. “The healer? Are you ill?”
She whacked him with her pillow. How could such a brilliant, magnificent warrior be so dumb? “No, I am not ill! It’s time.”
His brow furrowed. “Time for what?”
Time for what! “Time to have the baby!” A dull pain gripped her lower back. “Please hurry, Lorgin!”
Lorgin came instantly awake, all peripheries working. He leapt out of bed. “You are sure?”
“Of course, I’m sure—now go!”
“Let me see.” He ran his large palm gently over the swell of her stomach. He looked at her. “You are right, Adeeann. The babe is ready to come.”
She knew that…but how did he know that? Chocking it up to another Aviaran oddity—and they were legion—she motioned for him to leave.
He grinned. “You do not need a healer, Adeeann.”
“Are you nuts? And who’s going to deliver the baby? You?”
“Yes.”
Deana’s mouth gaped. “Stop trying to make me laugh—this is serious, Lorgin.”
“Very serious,” he agreed.
A sweat broke out across her brow. When Lorgin had that look, he usually meant what he said. Oh no. “Don’t do this to me now, Lorgin. Go get the healer.”
Lorgin sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his. “There is no need to be concerned, zira. It is a timehonored tradition. Aviaran fathers teach their sons how to birth their children into the world. I will bring forth the babe.”
Deana stared at him, stunned.