“You have not set me a simple task, Quintel. You realize, of course, that even though she’s only a farmer’s daughter, she can still claim a better heritage than I can.”
Quintel gave him an odd, understanding look. “You have spent most of your life proving to me and everyone else that the fact you were born a bastard wasn’t going to keep you from taking what you wanted in this world. Surely you’re not going to let a mere country girl intimidate you. Besides, once she’s been a trade wife, she can hardly claim more respectability than you can.”
Ridge shrugged. “Perhaps. I wonder if she knows.”
“Knows what? That you have no House name? I’m sure she does by now. There won’t be any lack of people willing to inform her that you grew up on the streets of Countervail without the benefit of a father’s name. I wouldn’t let it worry you.”
Ridge’s jaw tightened as he pushed old memories aside. There was no point thinking of those early days. He had escaped from the poverty and the brutality of that world and the life that had killed his mother. She had been worn out before Ridge was even eight. She had died of some respiratory disease that could easily have been cured by a Healer, if his mother could have afforded one. No, his mother hadn’t survived the grinding life of the streets, but Ridge had. Quintel was right. Ridge wasn’t going to let his past concern him now. His goals were within reach, and if seizing his destiny meant first having to seduce and control his new trade wife, then so be it.
“If you will excuse me, I think I will go to my chamber. It’s late and I’ve had a full day.” Ridge started for the door.
Quintel set down his goblet. “It’s time for me to retire also. I still have my studies to attend to this evening.”
Ridge smiled. “Has anything ever kept you from your appointed hours of study?”
“Nothing,” Quintel said simply. He rose, his black-clad body looking ascetically thin. “Iwis will be at my study door any minute now with my evening glass of Encana wine.”
Ridge nodded and turned to leave the room. “I wish you good evening, then, my lord”
“Ah, Ridge, there is just one other thing.”
Ridge halted and turned to confront his employer warily. “Yes?”
“This marriage of yours…I think we should celebrate it properly.”
Ridge eyed the other man. “It’s a business arrangement. It needs no celebration.”
“For the woman’s sake, Ridge. It will make the arrangement seem more of a real marriage to her. More romantic, more emotionally binding. Besides,” Quintel said, allowing himself one of his rare grins, “I have a mind to see you properly wedded, my boy. You have always escaped the necessity of taking a trade wife in the past. Who knows? First time out may prove lucky for you. This contract you have with Kalena might become permanent. I think we should give you both a proper send-off.”
“You’ve decided to indulge your odd sense of humor at my expense, haven’t you, Quintel?” Ridge said with a stifled groan.
Quintel’s grin disappeared. “My instincts tell me the wedding would be a good first step for this venture. I want all the luck on the Spectrum I can get for this trip.”
“Putting me through the paces of a formal wedding ceremony strikes you as lucky?”
“Don’t complain. I’ll be paying for it.”
“Somehow,” Ridge said as he turned again to leave, “I have a feeling I’ll be the one who winds up paying. One way or another.”
He opened the curved moonwood door, the only point of color in the all-white room, and walked down the hall with a feeling of deep irritation. He would kill for Quintel if the necessity arose, and had done it more than once in the past. But being forced to endure a full-scale wedding ceremony when the bride was merely destined to be a short-term trade wife was almost too much. He wondered how Kalena would take the news.
Ridge left the softly lit hall and stepped out into the oblong moonlit garden that divided Quintel’s side of the house from the servants’ quarters and the guestrooms. Quintel was a gracious host, but he insisted on his own privacy, regardless of how many people he chose to entertain under his expansive roof. No one violated Quintel’s private sphere without permission.
Ridge could have walked all the way around the garden under the shelter of the colonnaded portico that surrounded it. But tonight the garden paths of gleaming, iridescent rainstone were far too inviting to ignore. The rainstone was bathed in the red glow of Symmetra, reflecting the moonlight with almost unbelievable brilliance. Ridge glanced up at the red orb and decided Quintel probably knew what he was doing. He usually did. The time of the month when Symmetra was at its fullest was an auspicious time to begin a major venture. A full moon was traditionally a trader’s moon, and although he was not strictly a trader, Ridge had his share of belief in trading luck. In his view there was always room for the random appearance of luck at any point along the Spectrum, even if a man had to create that luck for himself.
He was halfway across the garden, almost to the black and white onyxite fountain with its shimmering black and white spray of water, when Ridge realized his quarry was not waiting conveniently in her chamber. He stopped, unconsciously using the shadow of the perfectly proportioned fountain to shield himself as he watched Kalena make her way through the garden. Perhaps the light of the red moon on the rainstones had lured her from her room. Or perhaps she was simply restless. Ridge wished he knew more about women in general. He sometimes found it very difficult to tell what they were thinking, even more difficult to tell what motivated them. But could a man be expected to understand that which sprang from the Light end of the Spectrum? He could only do his best to control it.
He watched Kalena for a moment, aware that he found her pleasing to look at in the moonlight. Her hair was a tumbled mass of red tinted curls, her light colored tunic an odd shade of gold beneath Symmetra’s glare. She moved with the grace he had noted earlier and it made him wonder how she would move beneath him in bed. Something within him suddenly ached to find out. He was considering his unexpectedly fierce physical reaction when he realized she was heading for the portico that ran along Quintel’s side of the large house.
Kalena didn’t realize anyone else was in the garden until Ridge spoke quietly from directly behind her. At the sound of his voice, she whirled around, startled.
“Those are the trade baron’s apartments,” Ridge said quietly, his eyes unreadable in the red moonlight. “No one goes into that portion of the house without an invitation from Quintel himself.”
Kalena struggled to regain her poise. “I’m sorry. I did not realize I was on the verge of intruding. This house is so large, it’s easy to become confused.” That last bit was true. The house, with its two stories of spacious rooms and its endless gardens, was far larger than any home she had ever seen, even the half-remembered Great House of her early childhood. The mansion was made up of a sequence of rooms and gardens perfectly designed to present contrast after contrast. Circles and ovals were separated by squares, rectangles and oblongs, each room carefully proportioned to compliment the adjoining chambers and gardens.
But Kalena’s reference to the elaborateness of the house was only a ruse, and she hoped Ridge would not realize that she wasn’t as lost as she claimed to be. She had known very well that she was nearing Quintel’s apartments, having casually asked a servant to explain the layout of the house. An assassin needed to make plans, and to do that she needed to know Quintel’s evening routine. Olara’s instructions were certainly detailed, but Kalena knew she would feel more confident of herself if she checked matters out firsthand. She had been attempting to discover more about Quintel’s evening habits just when Ridge startled her.
In the red moonlight Ridge’s expression was austere, almost cruel. Standing in the shadows, he seemed very large and intimidating. She was far too conscious of his size and strength—and of something else. With a shock, Kalena suddenly realized that something in this man compelled her on a deep, primitive level. The realization
frightened her for an instant, because she knew this man was not for her. There would doubtless be men in her free future, but she didn’t see how Ridge could be among them. He was tied to Quintel, and when her mission was over, Kalena would start down a new and different path. Her very safety would depend on her never seeing Ridge again. Quintel would appear to have died of natural causes, but Kalena wouldn’t want to stick around to take chances on anyone getting suspicious. More importantly, Olara had forbidden her niece to explore the most dangerous of temptations: sexual freedom. Kalena knew Olara’s injunction did not stem from her aunt’s notions of proper female behavior, but from a firm belief that the discovery of her own sensuality would spell disaster for Kalena’s mission.
“Never mind,” Ridge said, taking firm hold of her arm.
“I’ll guide you back to your quarters. I wish to speak to you, anyway.”
Kalena glanced at him uneasily. “Of course, Trade Master.”
“I think you had better drop the title and start calling me Ridge.”
“Very well. As you wish.”
He said nothing for a moment, walking in silence while he gathered his thoughts. Kalena waited anxiously, wondering what he was finding so difficult to discuss.
“Quintel has decided he would like to give us a proper wedding,” Ridge finally stated somewhat aggressively, as if he expected an argument.
Kalena relaxed, relieved that she wasn’t about to be interrogated about her activities in the garden. “That’s very generous of him.” A large wedding, Kalena thought, just as Olara had predicted.
“Quintel has decided a proper wedding ceremony would be a good way to start our journey,” Ridge continued, his voice still heavy with the weight of authority. “He is not a man to ignore omens and he has what I suppose you could call a feeling for situations that is sometimes amazing.”
“He sounds a good deal like my aunt,” Kalena observed tartly. “Does he go into trances, too?”
Ridge muttered something crude under his breath. “Of course not. That’s a female thing. No man would pretend he was capable of going into a Far Seeing trance.”
Kalena smiled impishly. “You mean a man would be too embarrassed to admit he had been endowed with such a female talent?”
Ridge made an obvious bid for patience. “I only meant to imply that my employer has excellent instincts—trader’s instincts. Furthermore, he is nothing short of brilliant. I never argue with him when he makes a firm decision.” Ridge broke off and then added reluctantly, “Or at least I don’t argue with him very much. He’s almost always right.”
“And because he has decided you and I are to go through this farce of a wedding, you have decided it’s a good idea?” She couldn’t resist teasing him when he was so obviously ambivalent about having a full-scale wedding ceremony.
Ridge hesitated. “He’s convinced it will contribute toward the successful completion of this venture,” he finally said very formally.
“Hmm. Which, translated, means he thinks the High Healers of Variance might be more disposed to deal with me if I seem more like a real wife to them. He’s hoping a proper wedding might make me appear more truly married, isn’t he?”
Ridge halted abruptly and turned to look down at her. His golden eyes gleamed with a reluctant admiration. “It would seem you have your own fair share of female intuition.”
“I prefer to think of it as an ability to reason with masculine logic,” she murmured, knowing that the comment would irritate him. Men did not like to admit that women were capable of great feats of logic. Logic was considered a masculine talent, a gift that had its origins at the Dark end of the Spectrum. To her surprise, Ridge did not rise to the bait.
“I won’t argue fine points with you this evening, Kalena. The final verdict is that you and I will be going through a formal ceremony in three days’ time. I suppose you had better buy a wedding cloak,” he added vaguely. “Get whatever you need and tell the shopkeepers to send the bill to me. You better purchase a few things for the trail, too. I’ll make a list. While you’re at it you can pick up a couple of new shirts for me.”
Kalena raised her eyebrows mockingly. “You are beginning to sound like a husband already.”
To her surprise, Ridge took the comment seriously. “Yes, I am, aren’t I? Do you feel like a bride, Kalena?”
“No,” she said bluntly. “As far as I am concerned, this is all playacting.” And her role in the play would end when she had completed her duty. “What we have between us is nothing more than a business arrangement.”
Ridge eyed her narrowly, then settled his hands on her shoulders. Kalena felt the weight and strength of him and drew a deep breath. She saw in his eyes that Ridge had just come to some inner decision. In that moment she did not know whether to regret he had found her in the garden or be glad. She was not accustomed to the company of men in general, and never had she stood alone in the moonlight with a man’s hard hands on her shoulders. For an instant she was afraid, and then she reminded herself that soon she would be starting a whole new life, one that was certain to include men. Surely allowing herself a small taste of what the future might hold would do no real harm to her mission.
“Perhaps,” Ridge drawled, his voice dangerously soft, “I should take my duties as a husband-to-be seriously. If I am going to be made to feel like a husband, Kalena, then I think you should be made to feel more like a wife.”
Kalena stood very still, excitement shafting through her as she realized he was going to kiss her. For an instant a vision of her aunt’s outraged face rose to haunt her. Olara would be horrified. In truth, Kalena was slightly horrified herself. She had been telling herself for days that someday soon she would learn what it was like to be held by a man. Indeed, she had been looking forward to it with a nervous anticipation. But quite suddenly the moment was upon her, and she wasn’t as certain as she had been about what she wanted. It wasn’t that she feared the embrace, Kalena realized abruptly; it was that she wasn’t at all sure Ridge was the right man with whom to experiment. So much was at stake.
She stirred belatedly as he lowered his head, but by then it was much too late. His hands tightened on her shoulders, pulling her closer to his waiting strength, and his mouth was on hers.
Kalena felt curiously suspended in the red moonlight, as if she was no longer completely herself but was somehow on the verge of becoming joined with another—her born opposite. The sensation was disorienting, unlike anything she had experienced before. Very distantly, Olara’s warnings rang in her ears: You must not surrender to a man’s embrace until you have done your duty and avenged the honor of your House. Such an act would be extremely dangerous for you. But surely Olara had meant the complete act of making love, Kalena told herself. What harm could there be in a kiss?
Ridge’s mouth moved on her lips, slowly, inevitably taking control, and then demanding a response. Kalena briefly felt his teeth in a tiny nip that took her by surprise. She parted her lips in astonishment. Before she could utter a protest he was there, inside her mouth, his tongue exploring and tasting her with a boldness that left her breathless.
Kalena moaned faintly and felt Ridge’s hands slip from her shoulders down her spine and to the small of her back. Her arms went around his neck and she heard him inhale deeply. She had a fleeting impression that Ridge, too, was feeling unexpectedly disoriented, as if the kiss wasn’t turning out quite as he had anticipated. She could have sworn the large, strong hands that held her had trembled slightly. But almost immediately he seemed to regain control of both himself and the situation. His palms curved around her full hips as he urged her forcefully against the hardness of his lower body. She did not sense a calculated sensual expertise in Ridge’s embrace, but rather a determined hunger that seemed to have taken Ridge as much by surprise as it did her.
Kalena’s mind was suddenly spinning with the excitement of sensually clashing opposites. Her gently curving breasts were crushed against his tautly muscled chest. Ridge spread his booted f
eet and her soft thighs were trapped between the hard lines of his legs. She felt his strong, blunt fingers luxuriating in the lush shape of her buttocks and heard him groan. The heat of his mouth was colliding with the coolness of her own, bringing alive sensations that she had never experienced.
No wonder the sexual act was considered an example of a perfect union of opposing forces, Kalena thought. If a mere kiss brought such incredibly sweet devastation to her senses, she could only imagine what sharing a pallet with Ridge would do to her.
She opened her eyes bemusedly when Ridge finally released her mouth. In the red moon’s light she looked up at him, her lips still parted, her eyes half-veiled behind her lashes. Ridge studied her face for a long moment, his own expression shadowed and brooding. Then he lifted his hand to touch her hair.
“The color of a sunset,” he muttered, twisting his fingers through her thick curls. “The time of day when light and dark meet and embrace.”
Kalena said nothing, aware that she was waiting for something and not sure how to ask for it. Ridge’s finger dropped from her hair to the line of her jaw. He ran his thumb along it with a touch that was all the more sensual by virtue of its obvious restraint. His eyes never left hers as he moved his hand lower, slipping it down the column of her throat until his palm settled on her breast.