At her condescending tone, Rejar shifted his sights from the strange exhibit to return her contemptuous look with one that plainly said, I am not amused.
I’m trembling, her answering look said. She batted her eyelashes at him, pasting a superior little smile on her face.
He quirked his eyebrow, this expression saying, I will be tolerant for now, but there will come a time…
So, the tone was set for the rest of the tour.
Agatha was delighted; Rejar was baffled by the moving figures, patiently tolerant of Lilac’s mood, and Lilac was suffering the Prince’s presence, but not in silence. She made it a point to toss verbal insults his Highness’s way whenever the opportunity presented itself. This occurred often, since, as far as she was concerned, the Prince made a wonderful fool.
In fact, Lilac was having such a good time making mincemeat out of the Prince, she almost didn’t mind his company.
Almost.
The only thing that worried her the teensiest bit was that every time she lambasted him with one of her jibes, he gave her the smile.
The one that said, You may play all you like but I will win the game.
The one that said, We shall see.
She absolutely hated that smile.
“Prince Azov, I was just thinking of you! What a coincidence!” The three of them turned at the wispy sound of a woman’s voice directly behind them. By her gasps for breath, it sounded as if she had run a race to catch up with them.
Rejar stared down into the covetous face of Lady Harcorte and felt annoyance begin to overshadow his pleasant mood. This was a complication he did not need. “Lady Harcorte,” he cooly replied.
“Here to see our famous museum? And with our lovely Lilac Devere.” Leona Harcorte gave Lilac a brilliant smile, completely winning the younger woman over. Agatha, being older and wiser in the ways of the world, stuck her Whumples nose in the air and sniffed haughtily.
“Agatha.” Leona purposely used the grand dame’s first name to irritate her. “You do look marvelous today—for your age.”
Agatha, never one to be outdone, immediately retorted, “I was just thinking the same of you, Leona.”
Only the slight blink of Lady Harcorte’s right eye let Agatha know she had hit her mark. It was well known that the Cyprian was impossibly vain and consumed with the fear of losing her looks. Although, Agatha grudgingly admitted to herself, the woman had no real concerns in that area—she was truly a beauty. A hungry beauty.
Agatha shrewdly edged herself between Rejar and Leona, placing a proprietary hand on the Prince’s arm. “Come, your Highness, let us view this exhibit.” She wisely left Lilac and Lady Harcorte to follow.
Leona resigned herself to enjoying the view. She eyed Rejar’s backside appreciatively. “He is really the most stunning man.” Lady Harcorte spoke to Lilac as if they were the best of friends sharing confidences.
Lilac had no idea what Lady Harcorte found so interesting. She raised an eyebrow, carefully examining what Leona appeared to be examining. Mmm. It was rather nicely shaped. She cocked her head to one side—firm-looking yet round and tight. “You really think so?”
“Oh, yes. Let me give you a clue, my darling; the more he reveals, the better he gets.”
The meaning behind Lady Harcorte’s scandalous words registered abruptly. Lilac’s face flamed. “You don’t mean—”
“Of course I do. He’s quite gorgeous in a bathtub, nearly took my breath away. We met at Byron’s country estate; need I say more?”
So, he was a libertine and a rogue as well as a mutton head. Did she doubt it for a minute? It was obvious to her that Lady Harcorte knew the Prince intimately. Very intimately.
Not that she cared. She didn’t care one whit. Not at all.
Rejar choose that ill-fated moment to speak to her. “Lilac, look at this,” he gestured to the exhibit of tweeting mechanical birds, smiling boyishly.
Just look at that innocent face! At once, he represented to her everything duplicitous she found vile within the ton. Oh, how she detested him! “Go to the devil, you scapegrace!”
Rejar’s mouth dropped. What had brought this on? He glanced over at Lady Harcorte who was smiling like…well, like a cat. It was a smile he understood very well. He took Lilac’s arm, drawing her aside.
“What did she say to you?”
“Let go of me!” Lilac tried to squirm out of his hold.
Rejar had no intention of letting her go. “Tell me.” He speared her with a very serious look.
“She just told me the truth, so you needn’t be surprised. I certainly wasn’t! I know you for the scoundrel that you are! What I don’t understand is why you persist in annoying me; I have already told you I am not interested in your pursuit.” She stuck her stubborn chin in the air.
Rejar raked a hand through his hair. Somehow—he wasn’t quite sure exactly how—he was snarling up with her again. “Whatever she told you, Lilac, it was not the truth.”
“You didn’t meet with her at Lord Byron’s country estate? In your bath?” Caught, Rejar opened his mouth to explain but she cut him off. “I thought so! You look as guilty as sin. In fact,” she said, eyeing him insultingly up and down, “you look like sin.”
“This is foolish! I tell you, there was nothing!” As if he had to explain to her what he did! Or didn’t do. The thought of it alone was enough to trigger his annoyance. Not to mention his restlessness. “And why do you show such an interest?” he shot back. “If you are not, as you say, interested in my pursuit?”
His smug expression really aggravated her. “Oooh, I detest you!”
Standing tall above her, his heated gaze focused on her delectable mouth. “That is unfortunate, souk-souk, since I intend to have you.”
Under his burning regard, her lips parted; she was suddenly quite breathless. “Wh-what do you mean by that?”
His flashing dual-colored eyes silently spoke volumes to her: Exactly what you think.
Lilac blanched. Placing a hand on her heart—which had suddenly begun beating erratically—she said in a reedy voice, “Never.”
That slow, feral smile inched its way across his utterly sensual features. “Soon,” he promised.
Their gazes locked and held.
Lilac swallowed; the rogue meant it! She could see it in the determined thrust of his jaw, the set expression on his face. What had she ever done to get this man so—so excited over her?
She couldn’t think of a single thing. It had to be an aberration on his part. Lilac was about to try to get through to him one more time when feminine screams from the next exhibit interrupted her line of thought.
What foolish thing was causing this ruckus?
Lilac poked her head around Lady Harcorte’s elaborate hairdo to get a better view. It was the large mechanical spider!
She smiled broadly. This was the exhibit she had so wanted to see; she had heard it was very lifelike and that the craftsmanship was extraordin—What was that sapskull doing now?
Rejar, alerted by the feminine cries of fear, chivalrously placed himself in front of the ladies and tried to send a mental flicker-warning to the multi-legged creature coming towards them.
The creature did not respond to his signal to back off in any way, just continued to advance. It was strange, but he could not sense any life within it. How could that be? Was it a sorcerer’s animus? If so, it could prove to be deadly.
He quickly scanned the room looking for something to defend themselves with should the creature continue its aggression.
His sights lit on the old swords tacked to the wall by the battle exhibit. They were crude, but they would have to do. His power to call to all beasts was failing him here; he needed a more conventional protector.
He strode directly over to the wall. With a powerful twist of his arm, he yanked one of the swords free of its mooring. Testing its heft and balance within his grip, he pivoted about. Without thought, he placed himself as shield and protector before Lilac and her aunt. In battle
stance, he confronted the multi-legged beast.
For that moment, he became an Aviaran warrior. His father’s son.
Expertly, he scalloped the sword about his hand, carefully monitoring the track of the creature. With the lithe grace of movement characteristic of his kind, and the warrior skill honed into him by Krue, Rejar challenged the aggressor with circular, taunting movements of his blade.
His aim was to distract the beast away from the women. If it should prove to be an animus, an instrument of a maligned spell, it could change form at any moment, becoming a towering, deadly menace.
Lilac could not believe her eyes. “What is that long-haired idiot doing?” she hissed to her aunt.
“Hush, dear.” Auntie trained her lorgnette on the Prince so as not to miss this thrilling Theatre of the Absurd.
The Prince engaged the spider.
The spider backed off, spun around on its clicking legs three times and advanced once again.
The Prince made a quick lunge with the sword.
The spider jumped back a couple of feet, faltered slightly, but stoutly advanced.
Several of the women spectators were still issuing little shrieks of alarm as befitted ladies faced with such a horror as a mechanical spider; although most of them had paused to watch the dashing Prince wield his blade with such a fluid line. The supple masculine movements distracted even the faintest of hearts from the dire threat of the automated arachnid.
On the other hand, the men, who at first wondered what Prince Azov was up to, were now kicking themselves because they had not thought up the amusing prank themselves. This innovative, dashing act would be talked about and toasted for days throughout the gaming hells and private clubs of the beau monde. Prince Azov was a buck of the first head! They avidly watched his movements.
The Prince made a bold lunge; catching the spider on the tip of his skilled blade, he adroitly flipped it onto its back.
The spider, legs whirring ceaselessly, let out a hideous shriek of grinding gears.
A Hessian boot came stomping down with powerful force. A loud crunching sound was followed by bits and pieces of metal rolling across the floor.
The spider walked no more.
A huge cheer went up from the male members of the viewing audience, eager to get in on the fun. They eagerly surrounded the Prince with huzzahs all around, slapping him on the back.
Lilac watched the scene in total disbelief. The mutton head! Did no one, save her, see that he was not acting a charade? The birdbrain actually thought he was in a duel with a windup toy! She scanned the adoring crowd in disgust, her sights meeting her aunt’s.
Lady Agatha knew.
The sharp look she returned to her niece was proof of it. Lilac raised her eyebrow in a mocking gesture meant to tell her aunt she had been right about the man all along.
Agatha shook her head slightly, her steel grey eyes piercing into her niece’s. “You’re wrong, you know. ’T’was a very gallant thing to do. This I tell you, Lilac—were it a small menace or a fifty-foot beast, he would have acted the same. He is a courageous man; one who would willingly give his life to protect those he cared for.”
Lilac disagreed. “Nonsense! He is a buffoon.”
“No.” Agatha slowly lowered her viewing glass. “Every time we have met, I have watched his demeanor very closely. He is not like these shallow-pated bucks of the ton—disrespectful, empty, stiff collars hiding behind their dandy ways. His outward appearance cloaks a man of substance. Mark my words.”
Lilac regarded the Prince consideringly. Her aunt was a very astute judge of character; it was the main reason she had never wed—she had refused to compromise on character. Had she been wrong about him?
Unfortunately, at that precise moment, Rejar threw back his head, laughing at something Lady Harcorte had whispered in his ear. Lilac’s brows lowered. In this case, Auntie Whumples had judged wrongly. She stood by her initial impression: There was a lamp burning in the belfry but no one was home. The frosting was sweet but the cake beneath had no flavor.
A great wail of dismay interrupted her ruminations. Apparently Mr. Weeks had just discovered the fate of his beloved spider. In a rare display of pique, he tossed everyone out of his museum and slammed the doors shut, presumably to weep over the destruction of his star creation.
Lilac was just happy to be released so expeditiously from the Prince’s company.
It was a happiness that was to be short-lived.
The following weeks it seemed that no matter where she went, there he was. It was almost as if the man possessed some uncanny ability to predict her movements. How did he do it?
At the Pantheon, he coincidentally had a seat next to them.
At Hatchard’s Book Store, he just happened to run into them (although he didn’t seem the least interested in purchasing any books).
At soirees and fêtes and routs she attended, he was always there. Demanding a dance. Sitting by her side at supper. Monopolizing her company. His single-minded pursuit became the talk of the ton.
What’s more, small gifts started to appear outside her bedroom door each morning. Odd tokens, really; a length of pretty hair ribbon; a set of shiny carved buttons; an intricate lace handkerchief; and once, a choice selection of sweet meats wrapped in a napkin.
When Lilac questioned the servants, no one would admit to doing the Prince’s bidding; although she was sure he was behind it.
And if, by chance, she chose to remain at home on a certain day, he miraculously appeared on her doorstep to visit, to have tea, to bring her sweets, to insist she join him for a walk in the gardens, to beseech her to read aloud to him. Basically, to annoy her.
Thankfully, he had not repeated the embarrassingly forward behavior that he had displayed on their disastrous ride in Hyde Park.
Instead, he seemed merely to observe her as if she were some mysterious puzzle he needed to solve. She could only wonder when he would figure out whatever it was that so perplexed him.
Maybe then he’d leave her the bloody hell alone!
She did not make a very good enigma.
The sooner the man realized it, the sooner he’d be on his way.
Rejar gazed up at the underside of the canopy covering Lilac’s bed.
Not that he was really paying attention to the small winged figures of chubby, naked children who, for some unknown reason, cavorted across the bizarre fabric with tiny bows and arrows.
He sat back against the headboard, one arm thrown negligently over a raised knee, hair trailing down his back. There was much on his mind.
The hunt was progressing at the slowest of paces.
This was irksome to say the least.
Over his outstretched arm, he idly gazed at Lilac lying beside him. She was curved into his hip, sleeping comfortably away without a care in the world. He sighed disgustedly.
There was not going to be any relief from that quarter in the near future.
Why was it taking so long?
He had put his best effort forth to entice her into a liaison with him. Lilac was proving to be an extremely difficult quarry. He was frustrated with the hunt, among other things…
It had been too long for him.
Familiars did not go this long without their pleasures; at least, he did not think they did. Not having been raised on the Familiar world of M’yan, he could not say he was positive of it, but it seemed to be an accurate assessment. In the times when he had visited his mother’s people, he had not noticed anyone there depriving themselves of pleasure for very long.
This was especially true of his older blood relative Gian Ren, who appeared to be most proactive in seeking out his enjoyments. Indeed, one season when he was visiting with Gian, they had spent entire weeks doing nothing but carousing.
It was expected of younger male Familiars.
And when you found something especially enticing, it was good to play with it awhile. Every Familiar knew this.
His sights shifted to Lilac again. He had played here
a long time, yet there seemed to be no prize forthcoming.
He exhaled noisily.
The idea that he might give up on his quest with Miss Devere did not even enter into his Familiar mind. What he did ponder was why he wasn’t pursuing other women in the interim.
He drummed his fingers on the bed cover.
There had been plenty of likely candidates these past weeks; women who had made it quite plain to him that they would welcome his sexual advances. Yet, he had done nothing. Or more to the point, his body had done nothing. The uncomfortable thought caused him to impatiently toss his hair back over his shoulder.
Perhaps the reason he did not was that he could not.
It was a horrifying theory. Was there something physically wrong with him? Trying to overcome his apprehension, he gazed down at himself.
It looked normal, but who could tell?
Many strange things had happened to him since he had come to this wretched world.
There was only one way to be sure.
He nodded to himself, convinced he was on the right course. Difficult though it may be, he would have to test his theory out. The dual-colored eyes strayed speculatively to Lilac.
He had promised himself he would not do this again, but this was a dire situation. By Aiyah, he was grateful she had broken off from his kiss before he had entered her mouth! If she had not, he would not be able to attempt this now. Then where would he be?
How could he pleasure women if he was useless? And what good was a Familiar who could not pleasure women! It would be a most terrible thing. So terrible that even Lilac might approve of his decision if she could understand the great service she was about to render…
In the span of five minutes, the Familiar had not only made a case for a little seduction but managed to altruistically rationalize it as well. If his brother Lorgin had been there to witness it, he would have laughed his head off.
Before he could talk himself out of it, or, more accurately, see reason, Rejar quickly woke Lilac up with a nudge to her backside with his naked hip. As soon as her eyes opened, he entranced her.
“Your Highness,” she said sleepily, yawning, “what are you doing in my bed?” In her present state it seemed like a perfectly normal question.