Heart Search (36 page)
Then Camellia referred to D’Ash’s instruction holosphere, met Mica’s gleaming eyes, and said, “If the collar gets caught on anything, it will fall off and you will lose it.”
Mica smiled wide, showing pointy teeth.
You are the BEST FamWoman EVER.
You are the BEST FamWoman EVER.
“Thank you.”
A few loud notes sounded from outside the front door and Camellia picked her cat up, opened and closed the door with a few Words, and set the spellshields. The glider gleamed an elegant dark blue and the door lifted at the touch of Camellia’s fingers. There was only one cushiony bench, and she put Mica in first, slid in, and pulled the door closed.
The glider smoothly accelerated and they were off to adventure and romance!
Dark fell as they rode to T’Birch’s estate. Camellia had second thoughts about her costume. It wasn’t sexy . . . unless she took off the dress and only wore the apron, and that would be scandalous. But once they were alone after the party, that might be an option. She had the feeling that Laev might think so.
When they arrived, the greeniron gates were open and the glider continued to the front portico of the Residence. Camellia got more nervous. She definitely was dressed as a middle-class or lower noble would be. Which she essentially was. She had no idea how richly others would be dressed, except she knew that appearances were always important to the Birches.
Then the glider pulled up to the front of the Residence, directly behind a huge old Family vehicle that sat rocking gently on its landing stands. Five men and women dressed in Birch livery a century out of date—Birch Family and staff members—helped the occupants of the first vehicle out. Both wore long, enveloping thin scarlet robes over their clothes in lieu of a costume and large feathered masks.
Ooooh,
Mica said.
I would like a feather or two from those.
Mica said.
I would like a feather or two from those.
“I thought you were more interested in collecting fish,” Camellia said.
Mica ignored her and leapt out the moment the door raised, slinking with cat sinuosity, and sped away into the night.
“Invitation,” grated a large man who appeared more guardsman than greeter, holding out his hand.
“Let me help you, lady,” said Laev, and handed the Birch guard the heavy piece of papyrus. “For the lady and the FamCat. Also my FamCat and myself.” His intonation was slightly archaic.
“As you say, sir.” The man bowed himself away.
“And what have we here, a maiden?” Laev asked, offering his own hand. “Perhaps in need of a gallant escort?”
He’d dressed sexy. Camellia’s breath caught. Light gleamed dully on his narrow-legged black leather trous and black leather vest, his hair slicked back in a style she vaguely recalled seeing in history vizes. He wore no shirt underneath the vest. The lack of it only emphasized the beauty of the body she’d seen naked. He wore a black half mask, too. On each hip were blazers in functional holsters. Something about the practical grips sent a chill down her. They weren’t toys.
Camellia extended her own hand to Laev, and he took her fingertips and placed them on his arm. A jolt of sensuality rushed straight to her core, and she suppressed a gasp.
He smiled as if he’d felt and welcomed the same sensation. When she got out, he didn’t move aside, so she brushed against him. His teeth showed white and even as his smile widened. She stepped away and he followed, still within millimeters of her body. With an arrogant jerk of his head, he signaled to one of the greeters to tend to the glider.
His aura surrounded her. He’d used a different fragrance, one with more musk, and she became aware that her clothes smelled of the honey she’d used when baking the flatsweets. Though only the tips of her fingers on his arm connected them, they moved up the stairs in step.
Once they were in the great hall of the Residence, the muscles under his arm shifted, and he took the lead, always keeping pace with her. He guided her down the hallway toward double doors, where two more members of the Family stood in Birch livery of white and vibrant spring green. Voices and the sound of musicians tuning their instruments floated from the room.
All the nerves Camellia had had about a FirstFamily ball vanished, muffled under the pure sensuality of being with Laev. Only he mattered, his closeness, his scent, the shadow of his body slanting over hers.
She tried to pull her mind from the daze, but being with Laev, in public, at a ball given by the highest sticklers of the FirstFamilies was a fantasy.
Then he was bowing before the Birches, and Camellia was sinking into a curtsey . . . one not so low as to give away her own meager rank. She was on Laev’s arm, after all.
D’Birch’s gaze was locked on the delineation of Laev’s chest. “What kind of costume is that?” She didn’t seem to hear her own rude words.
“Shooting costume,” T’Birch said, eyeing the blazers. No doubt he could tell they were real, too. “Two centuries ago, FirstFamily bucks liked to show off their muscles.” He flexed his arm and his wife, who had her hand tucked into his elbow, glanced from under her lashes to him. “I’d love to see you in something like that.”
T’Birch reddened a little but smiled. When his wife turned back to them, her gaze cooled as she looked at Camellia. “A . . . cook? How quaint.”
Camellia smiled mysteriously and responded, “Everyone knows that the original D’Cherry was a baker.” The Cherrys were prominent in the news because they and the Elecampanes were excavating the lost starship,
Lugh’s Spear.
And Camellia hadn’t actually claimed she was a Cherry, just stated a fact.
Lugh’s Spear.
And Camellia hadn’t actually claimed she was a Cherry, just stated a fact.
Laev’s hard arm went around her waist and she swallowed, focused again on him.
“The next dance is a waltz, I believe. I’d like to waltz with my prize.”
The GreatLord snorted and waved them away. The music changed, and within two strides she was in Laev’s arms, her body whirling as much as her mind. He held her close and felt incredible against her. “Ah, lady,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “I don’t want to spend much time in the light with you.”
Her pulse quickened and her heart thumped hard.
“Say you will walk in the gardens with me. Find a sacred grove, look at the stars.”
Around and around they went, entwined like dancers atop a music box. She couldn’t miss a step in this perfect dream.
“It’s warm in here, don’t you think?” Laev said.
She’d never really concentrated on the shape and fullness of his lips, but now that they were accented by the half mask, they beckoned. She wanted to nibble on them, test their texture, and pull the taste of his mouth, his taste at that particular point, deep inside herself. Learn all his tastes.
The taste of him would change through the seasons. The thought jangled distant warning, which she ignored as he danced her out the door and onto the terrace.
There were a few other people there—a clump of men talking, a couple swaying and whispering to the music instead of dancing, an older couple matching steps and swirling faster even than Laev and herself—Cratag and Signet Marigold.
Laev and she reached steep stairs. One minute they were at the top, then, with a small flex of Flair, they were at the bottom, still in step. The music faded from her hearing, replaced by the sway of top branches in a breeze, the rustle of leaves, and the distant song of a trickling stream, only faintly accented by the murmur of voices from the Residence.
One last turn and their arms were linked and they were walking down a path of crushed stone. The scent of cleansing herbs came from it and the gardens beyond the hedges. Fluting, haunting music wafted in the air. Camellia glanced at Laev, saw the small muscles around his mouth relax in surprise. He looked at her, tugged on her hand, and a few steps later, they strode into an open garden with other couples listening to the music. Again there was dancing, this mostly free-form by individuals. Around the circular space were rustic stone benches. Laev picked up his pace and ran his palm warm against her own and she followed. They slipped onto a bench just before another couple. Laughter erupted, and that was the best sound of all.
After a tapping toe and pouting lip from the younger lady of the couple, the older one drew her partner into the center of the circle to dance.
Laev brought Camellia’s and his linked hands to his lips, brushed light kisses over hers. “And so I have procured a seat for my lady, and not just any seat.” His free hand lifted and swept the horizon, and Camellia looked at something other than he. Her breath caught in her throat. Atop a low rise ahead of them was a sacred stone circle, large gray vertical plinths linked with horizontal slabs in sets of three.
Black against the night sky, the stars in the spaces between seemed to beckon as portals to other worlds. The twinmoons showed bright and waning silver crescents above them.
The hidden flautist wove eerie beats, the dancers blurred, becoming colorful sweeps of cloth and feathered masks.
She leaned against Laev and didn’t think a moment had ever been so perfect.
Finally, the last note sounded and the dancers collapsed in giggling heaps on the ground. Laev turned to her and kissed her lips, softly, gently, tenderly.
The taste of his mouth was more heady than the moons and stars, whirled her senses more than watching the dancers. Drew her into lands more tempting and mysterious than the starry portals embraced by stone.
His fingers brushed her jaw and his mouth opened and darkness seemed to envelop her until there was only the taste of his tongue sweeping into her mouth and the throbbing need of her sex.
As he withdrew, she sucked on his tongue and tasted wine.
Meeting her eyes, he said, “Lady, you undo me. Unravel my control.” His breathing was ragged. “I cannot do what I want with you here and now.”
She smiled as if she were primal woman herself, seducing a man.
With a hitched breath, he dropped her hands and shifted away, angling his body to the front.
A fiddler stepped into the circle and the dancers rose from the ground, shaking their costumes out, turning to face the sweet song of bow across strings.
Laev swallowed, then deliberately relaxed beside her, though a glance from under her lashes showed her that he was still aroused. Camellia smiled.
The tune became lively and couples on the bench flung themselves into the dance circle, trading places with those who wanted to sit and watch.
Linking fingers with her again, Laev smiled, and she knew that deliberately charming smile, but it still stirred her heart in her chest. “I have brought my lady pleasure?”
A twinge of sheer desire speared through her at the edgy rumble of his voice.
When she didn’t answer, he kissed their twined fingers again, murmured, “I danced with her, and walked with her, and led her to this magic place to experience many things.” His eyes showed the amusement of his smile.
She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she whispered.
He leaned close, until she felt the warmth of his body deliciously slide all along her torso.
“Then please tell me,” he whispered, paused.
“Yes?” She was dazzled by him.
“That you have flatsweets in your pockets.”
She jerked back, and only his grip on her hand kept her from falling off the bench.
His head tilted as laughter roared from his throat, and he was beautiful. She could only laugh, too, and use the Flair of her shooting pulse, his surging delight, the ambient Flair of the dancers, and the amusement of the fiddler to translocate a box of two dozen flatsweets from her home pantry.
When he stopped laughing, she said. “No.”
He gasped, frowning.
She took the box from the far side of the bench and placed it on her lap, opened it, and the scent of sweet and flour and honey and cocoa rose.
The fiddle stopped on a long sweep and the man was the first in line.
Laev dug into the box and took out a handful of thin flatsweets, stuffed half a one in his mouth.
With a charming smile, the fiddler asked, “Any with cocoa bits in there?”
Camellia turned the box around for the man to peruse. He took two flatsweets with dark cocoa bits, stuffed one in his trous pocket. “Hungry work, fiddling,” he said.
She laughed.
The next in line was a middle-aged woman with purple hair and a plump stomach. She chose a curved and powdered almond crescent, popped it into her mouth, closed her eyes, and hummed with pleasure. The tall man behind her drew her close to him and smiled at Camellia. “Anything in there with raisins?”
“Maybe,” Camellia said, held out the box.
Sniffing, the woman finished chewing, then announced in a carrying voice, “I know these flatsweets. They come from Darjeeling’s Teahouse.” She narrowed her eyes at Camellia.
“Maybe,” Camellia repeated.
“Or maybe Darjeeling’s HouseHeart,” Laev said. “Plenty of good food”—he glanced at the fiddler—“and good ambience at both.”
Golden. The moment was golden. Her lover praising her craft. Camellia blinked back tears.
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