Part 18 (1/2)
There wasn't much she could do about it; her aunt had been adamant. She would brook no refusal. Lilac had ranted and raved, pleaded and begged. Auntie Whumples crossed her arms over her ample chest, flatly declaring that the honor of the family was at stake; the matter was closed.
Well, he may have tricked her into marrying him, but she'd be d.a.m.ned if he was going to get any satisfaction out of it!
She adjusted her leather glove with a short, angry pull. Through happenstance {and several coins pa.s.sed to a bellman at the Clarendon”} she had been able to ascertain the Prince's whereabouts this afternoon.
It had been reported that he was seen with the bow window set at White's Club. Weeks later, Brummell was still delighted with the Prince's lark at the museum and had invited the Prince to join him at his favorite pastime-being on display to the ton at the bow window of White's.
Had the young lady heard of the Prince's amusing prank? asked the kind bellman.
Gritting her teeth. Lilac a.s.sured him she had.
Lilac stood on tiptoe and peered through the bow window into the famous establishment. A man his size should be easy to spot.... There he was! Right between Brummell and Alvanley.
White's was exclusively a male establishment; there was no way she could go in there and drag him out by his perfectly shaped ear. Lilac knew she would have to wait for him to look her way, then try to lure him out under false pretenses.
She had an itinerary. Not only was she going to tell him exactly what she thought of this farcical marriage of his, she also intended to set him straight on matters of the boudoir! At least, as much as she understood of such things, which admittedly wasn't all that much since she lived with a maiden aunt who never broached such subjects.
While Rejar sipped his tea and chuckled over something Brummell said, his thoughts strayed to the love-mark he had discovered this morning during his bath. It was just above his left breastbone; a small darkened spot where Lilac had drawn on him with her mouth.
A little pa.s.sion gift from Miss Devere.
He smiled with the memory. Women often gave him such marks but this one was special to him. It denoted a sensualistic pa.s.sage.
Idly, he gazed toward the window, surprised to see the object of his ruminations smiling sweetly at him, gesturing for him to come outside. Excusing himself, he immediately went to her.
Like calling a puppy. Lilac thought.
As soon as he came through the door, she launched into her prepared speech, all pretense of sweetness gone. ”I wish to speak to you, your Highness.”
Her sudden change of demeanor wasn't lost on him. He viewed her obliquely. ”Yes, Lilac?”
”Since it seems I am forced to comply with this farce of a marriage, I insist on a marriage of convenience.” There, that was to the point.
Rejar blinked slowly. ”A marriage of convenience ... What, pray tell, is this?”
Lilac blushed; the man was irritatingly obtuse. Surely a man of his proclivities should have a clue. The sapskull. ”A marriage of convenience sets aside ... intimacies.”
It took Rejar a full minute to completely comprehend what she was saying-so bizarre was the suggestion. When he did, he threw back his head and laughed; a rich, throaty sound. He grinned wickedly at her. ”Do I look like the type of man who will set aside intimacies?”
No, he didn't. Lilac swallowed. Somehow, her prepared speech was not going the way she imagined. d.a.m.n the man, anyway! He never did what was expected!
”I-I must insist-”
Rejar narrowed the distance between them.
Lilac froze as his hand came up to casually brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. As if he already owned her and had every right to do so! His fingers slid lazily across her skin, a smooth, sultry stroke.
Taking his time, he bent forward to lightly graze his chin against her cheek in an action that was almost feline.
Silent, he held her to the position.
His deep, silky voice teased against the folds of her ear. ”I will not leave you alone, you know. Not for a minute.”
It was several seconds before the true meaning of his words pierced the lulling quality of his gentle actions. When Lilac grasped what he was actually saying, she stepped back from him in horror.
”You're despicable! I will never allow-”
His powerful hands captured her. Clasping her shoulders, he brought her firmly against him. ”Not for a minute. Lilac. I will be at you morning, noon, and night. In fact, I intend for you to forget what it feels like to not be entangled with me.”
She paled. ”Let go of me!”
He ignored her, pressing his sensuous, velvet lips against her heated forehead. ”And what is more, my Lilac, you will love every minute of it. You will crave my touch, my kisses, my ...” he paused meaningfully. ”Well, I think you get the idea.”
”You delude yourself! You are arrogant beyond belief, your Highness-why, your conceit knows no bounds!”
”It is not conceit. My kind have no need for false promises.”
”Your kind? What-libertines, rakes, and rogues?” He only grinned the grin that never failed to make her nervous.
”You will find out.”
Aviara Yaniff climbed the rocky pathway that led inexorably upward. For an old wizard such as himself, it was an arduous journey. Wind constantly grabbed at his crimson robes, pulling them this way and that, its sound a low, mournful dirge through the crags and peaks of the Sky Lands of Aviara.
Some journeys were not of one's choosing, he acknowledged philosophically, and not for the first time. Nevertheless ... He rounded a bend in the path.
There on a promontory, perched on the edge of two worlds-sky and land-sat Traed ta'al Yaniff. His son.
Captured in silhouette, Traed seemed a part of this wild, turbulent land. Yaniff could see a certain symbolism in the way Traed gazed out over the horizon, his booted legs hanging dangerously over the edge of the cliff, his sights inward. Normally tied tightly back, his waist-length hair now flew unrestrained on the keening moan of this Sky Land wind.
The powerful emotions he kept under such tight control found some kind of ally here in these raw, untamed peaks. Even though Traed was not facing him, the old wizard knew his eyes were closed.
Yes, wild and turbulent. The real Tread kept well hidden from others. A man of deep pa.s.sions.
It said much to Yaniff, who watched silently some distance away. This kind of son let the wind speak to his spirit.
By Aviaran law, Yaniff had claimed Traed to his line just before the disturbing death of his natural father, Theardar, a powerful mystic who had turned renegade. In his madness, Theardar had disowned Traed.
Not only had Traed been the victim of his father's twisted desires and hatred, but Theardar's rash actions had set into motion events which could well affect the lives of generations of his people.
They were headed for busy times.
Yaniff stopped to rest. He leaned heavily on his staff, his thoughts more weighty on him than the difficult journey. Traed would not yet know of his approach.
”Why do you come here, Yaniff?” Traed's sure voice carried to him above the keening.
He sees.