Love Me Again (21 page)

When the royal dais was finally settled, there came another blare of the trumpets. Again the crowd went wild as the resplendent figures of the twenty-four knights, astride the equally resplendent Hungarian steeds, their ebony coats barely seen beneath the rich caparisons, thundered into the arena. Their entrance was accompanied by a rousing martial march played from the orchestra high in the balcony above the royal dais. Behind this impressive display of the flower of Europe's elite trotted twenty-four grooms, each carrying his master's banner, closely followed by dozens of equerries loaded down with the knights’ shields and weapons. Soon the arena was a hive of activity as the squires quickly found their places.

The knights also formed into four quadrilles, their colors matching to that of the Queen they honored that night. Except for the azure, emerald, crimson or black of their quadrille, seen through the slashed sleeves of their velvet doublets, the knights were dressed alike in medieval trappings. Dark, tight-fitted breeches hugged their muscular thighs, their lower legs encased in yellow boots with golden spurs. Also of the same brilliant saffron, their gauntlets were lavishly embroidered with golden thread and their broad-brimmed hats sparkled with diamond brooches sporting large plumes of their respective colors. The knights’ broad chests were protected with a silver and gold armor encasement that looked more like ornamentation than protection. Christina frowned when she looked at the flimsy piece of beauty covering Varek's torso. It appeared to have all the strength of papier-mâché to her critical eye. She swallowed as she remembered the sight of Varek's battered body lying helplessly before her. The damn fool!

All the ladies caught their breaths in awe as their gallant knights made their salutations before the royal dais, tipping their lances to the ground in honor and obedience to the lovely figures of the queens and empresses, receiving graceful nods in acknowledgment. Then, in pairs of two, the knights wheeled their horses about to thunder to the opposite end of the arena to give equal homage to their ladies. The crowds shouted their approval as each knight blew a kiss to his ladylove. Tied at each lean hip in a lavish bow, opposite the glittering hilts of their swords, were their ladies’ silken tokens.

Christina's breath caught in her throat as Varek reached down and his thumb sensually stroked the lark depicted on his token. Their eye contact was a brief clash of scorching emotions before he wheeled his horse around to fall into formation with the other knights as they cantered proudly about the arena twice amid the thunderous cheers of the gallery. Finally, each knight fell out of formation and retreated to where his groom awaited him.

Christina, her gaze glued to the tall, aristocratic figure of Varek, saw nothing else as he was made ready for the games to begin. Her hands fisted in her lap as she watched his broad-brimmed hat doffed and another ornamental piece of flimsy metal was placed over his golden head. When a flute of champagne appeared at her shoulder, she grabbed it and downed the cold liquid in one gulp.

“Are you all right?” the Princess Esterhazy asked, a perplexed frown wrinkling the flawless skin of her brow.

Distracted, Christina nodded as she accepted another glass.

Dorothea exchanged a puzzled glance with the princess over Christina's head. Both looked at Christina, wondering at the change in her usually cool demeanor. The viscountess looked positively frazzled. The young countess tried to wave the solicitous footman away as he approached to replace the empty glass in Christina's hand; however, the distracted lady was too fast for them. In trepidation the two ladies on either side of Christina frowned as she downed her third glass in rapid succession. Shaking their heads, the ladies turned back to the excitement of the festivities and promptly forgot the imbibing viscountess.

Christina, noticing her empty glass, looked about for the footman.

Varek found himself watching Count von Serent, one of the rather more impetuous of the young Austrian nobility. He pondered the count's mysterious animosity. For weeks now von Serent had been goading him. Why, he hadn't the faintest idea. However, this evening the young count had made quite vocal his displeasure with Varek. Wracking his brain for some insult he might have unwittingly given the young man, he finally shrugged it off. Then he grinned when his answer was promptly forthcoming.

Across the arena, his former mistress, Sophy, leaned over the railing in a brazen display of upthrust breasts to throw a flower down on von Serent's upturned face.

So that is how the wind blows, Varek realized with a chuckle. Thank God! It had taken weeks, even after he had paid her a handsome endowment, to get rid of her and her possessive attentions. He had finally been forced to cruelty, having her physically removed from his residence. His ears still rang with the shrill curses the incensed lady had thrown at his head. And of course he placed the blame for the whole distasteful episode at Christina's feet. If she had never left him, he would never have been compelled to deal with the mundane problem of having to abide the tantrums of a mistress.

His grin died a slow death when the objects of his attention both turned toward him. Even across the vast width of the arena, their menacing expressions could be seen.

“So you see it too, your highness?”

He glanced down sharply to see Sergei standing at his knee. “What the devil are you doing here?” Varek grated out.

Sergei shrugged as he rechecked the richly tooled leather straps holding up Varek's silver stirrups. “Executing a favor asked of me.”

“What favor?”

There was a pause as Sergei continued with his inspection. Finally he looked up, his expression wary. It was obvious that Varek intended to hang on to his animosity against him. “Need you ask?” he asked wryly.

Varek's lips thinned to a tight white line. Looking up, he glared across the length of the arena at his irritating woman. He frowned when he saw her take another flute of champagne. That had to be her third or fourth. Since entering the lists he had kept an eye on her. Old habits died hard, or not at all, he was finding out.

His eyes narrowed on Christina as she drained another crystal flute. Christina did not hold her drink well; it went straight to her head, even after only a few. He had always been amazed at how quickly she could go from soberness to cup-shot to the inevitable after-effects in just a matter of a few short hours.

“I'd watch out for von Serent. He's been glaring daggers at your back since you arrived.” Sergei interrupted his thoughts.

Varek shrugged this inconsequential annoyance aside. He had a bigger problem at the moment. His eyes narrowed as he watched Christina list dangerously to one side as she stood to reach for another glass from a bobbing tray just out of her reach. He sighed in relief when the princess grabbed hold of her and sat her back down into her chair. Any minute he expected to see Christina tip over the railing and end up sprawled in the middle of the games. “Get the hell out of here, Sergei,” he muttered, still frowning across the arena.

With a lopsided grin, Sergei stepped back, his arms flung out wide and his shrug apologetic. “Would that I could, your highness. However, as I said, I am doing a lady a favor. Never have I told her nay, and I'll not start now simply because I'm asked to do something that is not particularly appealing. Myself, I hope you land on your stubborn arse.” Then he bowed low without breaking eye contact. “Your highness,” he drawled in mock deference.

Varek couldn't help it. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Even as betrayed as he felt by his childhood friend, Sergei could still make him laugh, most times at himself. Damn, if he didn't miss him! Losing Christina and Sergei in one fatal blow had been devastating. With a curse, Varek turned away from Sergei's engaging grin.

Just then the trumpets blared forth, announcing the starting of the games. With a sardonic salute to his traitorous friend, Varek wheeled his horse about and cantered back into formation.

Sergei's grin faded as he turned to watch von Serent move into position behind Varek; then he spared a quick glance at the woman who had been Varek's mistress. He had heard the rumors she was spewing about Vienna, and obviously young von Serent believed her lies of the abuse she had supposedly suffered at the hands of Varek. His hooded gaze studied the demeanor of Varek's former mistress as she closely watched Varek move about the arena. She didn't even try to mask the hatred twisting her face. Not once did she glance at von Serent.

Thoughtfully, he turned away to inspect Varek's lances again. It was bound to be a long evening, and he had no intention of letting von Serent out of his sight.

Christina was definitely feeling none of her earlier anxieties as she watched the handsome knights display their expertise in catching beribboned rings on their ornate lances. She clapped and shouted her approval with the other ladies. None noticed as a hiccup caught her by surprise. She giggled as she leaned over, and thinking she was whispering, shouted into Dorothea's ear, “Aren't they gorgeous?” Seeing a tray of champagne flutes out of the corner of her eye, she eagerly reached behind her.

Many of the ladies exchanged amused glances, several just as tipsy as the usually sober-minded viscountess.

“Your valiant knight is surely the most exquisite piece of heaven I have ever seen,” one lady sighed, her gaze pinned on Varek as he galloped by. The archduke made no effort to hide the devilish smile he cast boldly at his love. As Christina stood up to wave, she tottered, then blew him a kiss. Varek's eyes widened as he flashed by, close to the railing. He briefly cast a worried glance over his shoulder before he turned his attention to stabbing another ring. His lance fluttered with the ribbons of a dozen captured rings as he continued on to the opposite end of the arena.

“He is so clever. Look at all those lovely rings,” Christina crooned as she sat back down, her champagne spilling over the railing and into the sand below. Frowning, she looked down into her empty glass; then, blinking in confusion, she looked around for a footman.

“I think you have had enough,” the Princess Esterhazy laughed as she waved the attentive young man away. Leaning over, she pried the glass out of Christina's obsessive hold.

She hadn't had
that
much, Christina thought. She flinched as the ladies all applauded, standing as they praised the young Prince Trauttmansdorff's performance of charging full tilt, with scimitar in hand, at a cluster of apples suspended on ribbons. With a cavalry yell, his sword slit a ribbon; then while still in midair, he severed the gleaming apple in two.

Not sure what she was applauding, Christina nonetheless stood and cheered with the others. As the excited ladies settled down into their chairs again, one lady behind her whispered rather loudly, “He has the most nimble fingers! I swear he can titillate you even as you lay between those rock-hard thighs and suck that stallion cock of his. I vow, I've never felt the like before! And talking of delicious!”

My goodness! Christina giggled as she pictured arms down to the young prince's knees. They'd have to be to reach that far! With interest, her wide eyes searched out the object of such talent. She frowned in disappointment, for his arms didn't look

so very long. “That is nothing! Have you ever had Tour du Fen suck your nipples as he plunges deeply into you? Divine, simply divine, my dears. You must try him.”

Christina, mouth agape, looked behind her and found the source of this little bit of generous advice. Petite Marie Gresset, who didn't even reach five feet in height. Heavens, the lady barely reached mid-chest to the French count, who was famous for his towering height. Christina slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter that bubbled forth. The thought of those two in bed together brought all sorts of hysterical pictures to mind. She couldn't help but imagine the lanky gentleman climbing out of bed, his spine bent in half, after servicing his diminutive ladylove. Another spurt of laughter erupted and she slapped her other hand on top of the other as she faced forward, her shoulders shaking.

Dorothea glanced quizzically at her. “Are you crying?” she asked in alarm.

Frantically, Christina shook her head. When she was finally able to swallow her giggles she heard the tail end of another snippet of boasting. “...I vow I could feel his tongue touch my womb!”

Again her hand clamped over her mouth, the nails of her left hand digging into the tender arm of Dorothea, causing the poor girl to jump. Behind her hand she was laughing so hard she could barely draw breath.

“Did you hear that?” Dorothea demanded as she pried Christina's nails out of her forearm. “Jeanne Marie just said that her lover has hair on his back! Can you imagine anything more repulsive? Christina, let go!”

Christina had to let go. She was too busy stuffing her veil into her mouth to smother the gasps of hilarity that were now uncontrollable.

If one paid heed to the experienced ladies about her, she had been given the picture of the perfect lover, a hunchbacked gorilla, arms swinging about his knees and tongue lolling somewhere past his jaws. All that was needed to complete this mad image was this paragon of sexual dexterity drooling in abject adoration of his love. In desperation she gulped for air. Varek didn't stand a chance!

Dorothea stared at Christina, aghast. “I vow, you cannot hold your champagne. Christina, you are drunk! Stop it! Right now! You are making a spectacle of us. Anyway, the jousting is about to begin.”

That sobered Christina instantly. Blinking through the tears in her eyes, she sat at the edge of her chair and grabbed hold of the railing. Dizzy, she spit out her veiling, wondering how it had gotten into her mouth.

The orchestra was swelling with another martial beat as the knights, in two teams of four, aligned themselves on either side of the lists. Unfortunately, Varek was among this first tilt. When the heralds trumpeted the signal, both teams wheeled their horses and charged their challengers, their extended lances trying to lift their opponents from their horses.