For the next several days, Rejar chose not to wake Lilac during the night. Nor did he attempt to seek out other female company when he joined his new “friends” in the evenings.
Despite his state, he decided he would wait until the soiree on Friday. There he would be meeting Lilac face-to-face, man to woman.
That night, he intended to allow her to appease his voracious hunger.
The short, choppy motions of Auntie Whumples’s fan indicated the old woman’s acute displeasure. “Good heavens! Here comes that shallow-pated twit Eleanora Vandershmeer. ’Tis too late to escape her now—she’s spotted me.”
Lilac tried not to smile at her aunt’s irritation as a large overbearing woman bore down on them with a dedicated precision. If Auntie hadn’t insisted they attend this boring outing, she wouldn’t have had to put up with Lady Vander-shmeer. The two of them could be spending a nice quiet evening at home, where they should be!
The only bright spot of the evening had been when she had learned that that idiot Creighton was plagued with a bad case of sniffles and would not be in attendance that night. The fop had probably snuffed himself silly! She giggled to herself.
“Oh, but the woman’s constant tiddle-tattle will drive me mad!” Auntie spoke to Lilac from behind her fan, before pasting on a false smile for the ton’s nosiest woman. Lady Vandershmeer spread gossip as if she had been divinely called to the task.
“Agatha!” She waved an amaranthus-colored hanky at Auntie Whumples. The cloth had been heavily soaked in jasmine water. Lilac knew Auntie loathed jasmine water.
“Eleanora.” Auntie gritted her teeth, trying not to breathe too deeply of the cloying scent. “How good to see you again.”
The two women embraced, kissing the air next to their cheeks. Lady Vandershmeer then turned a discerning eye to Lilac, minutely examining her gown and hairstyle before saying, “And here’s our little Lilac!”
“Good evening, Lady Vandershmeer.”
“How lovely you look tonight, my dear. Why, no one would ever suspect you were past twenty now.”
Lilac sighed at the woman’s snippety implication regarding her unwed state; but Auntie was not inclined to be so passive. “Yes, the Earl of Roxton thought so as well when he complimented her earlier; didn’t he, Lilac? Such a refined gentleman. You do know the Earl, don’t you, Eleanora?” Auntie expertly pinned her adversary to the spot.
Two blotches of color managed to stain Lady Vandershmeer cheeks even through the five coats of rouge the woman wore. To avoid answering Auntie’s question (and thereby admitting to such a social dysfunction), Lady Vandershmeer grabbed Auntie Whumples’s forearm, leaning closer to her as if she were her dearest friend. A friend with whom she simply had to share something of momentous import.
Her irritating voice rose considerably.
“Have you heard the latest on-dit?” Too eager to spread the gossip, she did not even wait for a response. “There is a prince here from Russia!”
Lady Whumples did not react in any way to the enticing news, which meant that she hadn’t yet heard the rest of the story. Lady Vandershmeer was in Gossip Heaven. In her glory, she breathlessly babbled on.
“Agatha, I simply must tell you! From Tattersall’s to Vauxhall—everyone is talking about him! Why, there was even a story about him in the Morning Post the other day. It was implied that a certain Russian prince made a stunning appearance in a drawing room…”—she savored the denouement—“sans clothes! And by all accounts not the least bit concerned about it. Can you believe it? Well, what should one expect? Apparently he’s a good friend of Baron Byron.”
At the mention of Lord Byron’s name, Auntie bristled. She did not favor the young profligate. “And why should that story be of interest to me?” she haughtily replied.
“Because, my dear Agatha, they say he is wildly attractive, rich as Croesus, exceptionally witty, and totally daring. Brummell already adores him! Lady Harcorte, that cyprian, is drooling for him, and rumor has it”—Lady Vandershmeer looked pointedly at Lilac—“he is unwed.”
Auntie’s eyebrows lifted contemplatively.
She ever-so-slowly smiled at Lady Vandershmeer, lacing her arm through the bothersome woman’s. “Come, Eleanora, let us get some refreshment together and you can tell me all about this fascinating prince.”
Lilac crossed her arms over her chest, exhaling noisily. Bother it! Another sapskull to pester her! Would it never end? A Russian prince. She tapped her foot angrily on the parquet floor. What manner of beast would they throw at her next?
Engrossed in her irritation, Lilac did not pay the slightest bit of attention to the buzzing of voices suddenly increasing in volume as a tall, elegantly dressed, devastatingly handsome man entered the ballroom. The words “prince” and “Russia” got whacked about the room like Prinny’s croquet balls.
All sights turned to watch the stunning man as he strode purposely across the floor, his lithe, commanding gait causing female hearts to flutter with every step he took.
A hush fell over the crowd.
That the man had an agenda was obvious. He was heading toward someone, but whom? The room quieted, breathlessly awaiting the answer. Who had attracted the Prince’s attention?
The Familiar stood directly behind Lilac Devere and cleared his throat rather noisily.
A groundswell of sound gathered about the room as his choice became apparent. The Prince was apparently intrigued by the bluestocking, Miss Devere!
This was a juicy tidbit, indeed! He was watching the chit as if nothing on this Earth could distract him. It would be remarked the following morning that the Prince’s intensity was almost…predatory.
Several of the men, who just moments ago had ignored the young miss, began to eye Lilac Devere speculatively.
With one gesture, Rejar had made her the talk of the ton.
Rejar’s glittering eyes took in everything about her. She was dressed all in white in a high-waisted gown of simple design with short, puffed sleeves. Her long hair had been pulled up into a topknot. Several drooping curls framed her rebellious little face.
Rejar could not help the smile that inched its way across his face as he recalled how the intrepid Emmy had had to chase her around the bedroom earlier, brandishing that thing called a curling iron, with Lilac complaining all the while. It had been most entertaining.
He had spotted her the instant he stepped into the ballroom.
In truth, he saw no other.
He cleared his throat again and, true to his nature, waited ever so patiently for his prey to face him.
Lilac’s shoulders bunched in annoyance as soon as she realized that some man was standing expectantly behind her. What twiddle-head was bothering her now? Lilac whipped around to confront the pest.
And stopped dead in her tracks.
Much to her dismay, her mouth actually fell open.
Sink me.
Her second thought was—
He’s gorgeous…
Followed quickly by the voice of reason.
He’s trouble!
The incredible creature made a sweeping bow. Before she could gather her composure, the most sensual voice she had ever heard in her life purred, “Prince Nickolai Azov.”
When he looked up, sharp eyes rimmed in a thick fringe of jet-black lashes fastened on her. She gasped. They were two different colors!
Those eyes…
They were positively beautiful. Enticing. Beguiling. With more than a hint of mischief.
She swallowed. He had the very same eyes as her cat.
How odd.
Curious, Lilac stared at his eyes, instantly falling into their rich allure. He returned her stare and Lilac swore she saw something wild leap into their depths. Reflexively, she stepped back from him, breaking the strange contact.
So this was the Prince. The man the ton couldn’t stop talking about. And no wonder. Just look at him!
The man unnerved her.
Lilac instantly made up her mind: She wanted nothi
ng to do with him. The way he was staring at her made her feel very uncomfortable. Besides, he was so…Well, she just didn’t want anything to do with him, that’s all.
Her response was intentionally curt. “I don’t think this is a proper introduction, your Highness.” It was meant to shut him out. It was meant to show him there was no hope for him as far as she was concerned.
So why was he still standing there with that beguiling half-smile on his handsome face?
“Does it matter?” he asked in lazy drawl.
Lilac flustered. What kind of a response was that? This Prince was decidedly spoiled, she reasoned. Well, he’d have to be. Just look at him. Standing there beyond devastating, as if he ruled the world and everything in it!
She changed her mind; she didn’t just want him to go away—now she also wanted him to know she disliked his attitude intensely.
The situation called for something special.
It called for the ultimate insult.
Lilac had never used it before and almost gleefully looked forward to testing it out on the overconfident jackanapes.
In a move that would do any Thespian proud, she turned her head away as if he didn’t exist and pointedly studied the intricate design on the wallpaper.
The cut sublime!
Several gasps filled the room.
A collective breath was held while the crowd eagerly waited to see how the Prince would handle the spurious insult. It was an outrage! How would his highness respond?
He laughed.
Heartily. Out loud. A rich, rolling sound of devilish amusement.
The ton was captivated. Thirty onlookers made mental notes to send immediate invitations out to the dashing Prince. One young woman swooned.
Lilac turned back to him, stunned. The man was laughing! What did he mean by laughing? It was the cut sublime; how dare he!
Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, you are nothing but a jacka—”
“Lilac Devere, your Highness.” A familiar, traitorous voice interrupted from behind her shoulder. “My niece.”
Rejar’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Two engaging dimples showcased his grin. “And you are, madam?”
Auntie held out her hand, which the Prince immediately took. “Lady Agatha Whumples.”
“I am honored. Might I ask permission to dance with your niece?”
Auntie briefly gave Lilac a very displeased look mixed with a good dose of exasperation before replying, “I implore you, your Highness.”
Lilac flushed red. They were treating her as if she were a naughty child! “Auntie, how could you—”
The Prince interrupted the heated flow of her words by holding out his hand. The simple gesture spoke volumes. He was going to be benevolent by allowing her to save face.
The entire room waited to see what Miss Devere would do. Several of the men watching commented to each other that they had never realized the quiet Miss Devere was such a spirited article. Several more made mental notes to send her their calling cards.
The music began as if ordered up. Which it probably was. Lilac had no choice but to take the rakehell’s elegant hand. Before she even had a chance to summon up a particularly nasty retort to him, he effortlessly swung her onto the dance floor and into a scandalous waltz.
There was a singular warmth which enshrouded her in his arms. A heady, sizzling thing that drew on her in some unknown way, tugged on her like a living, seductive magnet. It was if the man possessed some strange ability…
The peculiar feeling mirrored the powerful arms, which now lightly embraced her. This intoxicating essence of his seemed to envelop her; an unseen net drawing her inexorably into him. She caught a spicy scent—cinnamon and bayberry and something else, totally exotic.
It was most tempting…
Lilac suddenly panicked. What was she thinking?
“Let me go!”
He did not release her. Those incredible eyes, now half-shielded behind heavy lids, calmly regarded her. “Why should I?”
Lilac missed a step, tripping over his boot. No man of her acquaintance would dare act in such an outrageous fashion to a request by a lady. “You, sir, are no gentleman!” she gasped out.
The corner of the Prince’s mouth lifted in some private amusement as he gracefully swung her around in an intricate step.
Lilac fumed. How arrogant! Normally she was a very graceful dancer. All right, so maybe she wasn’t. What made him think he was so adept on a dance floor?
Lilac had no way of knowing just how fleet of foot a Familiar could be.
When it became obvious the man was going to ignore her words, she counted to ten and tried again. “Prince Azov, I must insist—”
“Call me Nickolai, souk-souk.” His low voice brushed her ear, sending vibratory tingles down the side of her neck.
Who asked him to send tingles down her neck? She didn’t want them! “I will not! Who do you think—souk-souk? What is that, Russian?”
Rejar gazed intently down at her. “Do you speak Russian?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then for your purposes, it is Russian.”
What did the Prince mean by that remark? Lilac gave him a strange look. “Well, what does it mean?”
“Where I come from, a souk-souk is a soft, little animal which nips at your heels at the same time it desires your attention.”
Her eyes flashed emerald fire at him.
He laughed—a low, sexy sound of enjoyment.
Never missing a beat, he turned her in his arms. “It is quite affectionate when stroked a certain way,” he murmured teasingly in her ear.
She ground her heel into the toe of his boot.
He smiled. “And quite venomous when it isn’t,” was the whispered response.
Lilac tried to break his tight hold. The man was infuriatingly playful. “Your Highness!”
“Nickolai.”
“Very well,” she snapped, “Nickolai. I must insist you release me at—oh!” His hot hand had dropped to her waist, singeing right through the thin fabric of her dress. Whatever she had been about to say flew from her mind when the large, masculine hand brought her possessively closer to him.
Lilac blinked, not at all sure how to respond to his blatant behavior. The Prince did not react in the expected manner at all. He was extremely unpredictable.
Prince Azov’s expert move did not go unnoticed by the avid onlookers. Speculative murmurs were followed by a frenzied round of wagering. The topic of said wagering was not a fit subject for mixed company.
“I will call upon you later, souk-souk.”
Lilac stumbled again.
Did this insufferable cad actually think she would allow him to court her? “Absolutely not!”
His left hand brushed her waist; a hint of a caress. Small frissons trailed down her spine. “Mmm, souk-souk, I agree; it is a waste of time. Your societal customs are exceedingly tedious. I will come to your bedchamber tonight.”
Lilac stopped right in the middle of the dance floor.
She stood there in utter stupor, staring in horrified shock at the crude lout. The man was a barbarian!
A sharp crack snapped the air with the slap she delivered to his arrogant face.
While leaving the dance floor, she almost laughed aloud at the dumbfounded expression on the Prince’s handsome face just after her open palm had connected smartly with his cheek. Lilac patted herself on the back. By his look, she’d wager the man had never been turned down in his life! Well, it was about time someone did.
Insufferable arrogance!
Whatever made the sapskull think she would welcome his attentions? Her of all people! His stunning looks? As if that would make a difference to her! She had no use for a man in her life, and she definitely didn’t want one in her home. Men had a most nasty habit of making demands.
Lilac had no doubts whatsoever that she had seen the last of the arrogant, albeit beautiful, Prince. The thought brought immense pleasure. It could have been a close call; Auntie had rai
sed her eyebrows—a sure sign of trouble.
Good-bye, your Highness, and good riddance!
Rejar watched Lilac storm off the dance floor and out of the room with a speculative gleam in his narrowed eyes. What was wrong with the woman? The thought that she might not be interested in him never entered the Familiar’s mind.
After all, women always wanted him.
It was not vanity on his part, but a fact of his life. And Rejar knew by his senses that this one did too. So why had she reacted to him like this?
It was…irritating.
But not beyond repair.
The night had just begun and he fully intended to make it a long one. For her.
He immediately left the soiree, heading back to his hotel room—a room specifically chosen for his cat self to be easily accessed by a series of outside ledges and windows.
When he left the room again a few minutes later, he was stalking on four paws.
And his difficult prey had the unlikely name of a flower.
He growled.
Chapter Four
Planet Aviara, Star System Tau Hydra, 5187 m.u.
Yaniff, the ancient wizard of Aviara, slowly stepped off the platform lift onto the limb of the enormous tree that his student Lorgin ta’al Krue called home. Deep in the Towering Forest, such trees were of incredible breadth and height, the flat intersecting limbs of this one forming entire levels.
Crystal chimes tinkled in the soft breeze.
In the distance, out of sight, he heard two distinct voices; one deep and coaxing, the other disbelieving—followed by the happy sound of mingled laughter. Lorgin and his wife, Adeeann.
Smiling, Yaniff reached up to his shoulder to stroke the feathers of his winged companion. “We did a good job with that one, eh, Bojo?”
The silent companion ruffled his feathers by way of answer.
“Now we enter into a most delicate time, my friend. A time of great discovery; a time of overflowing happiness and intense sorrow.” Yaniff looked off into nothing. “A time of awakenings.”
Walking down two levels, following the semicircular pathway, the old mystic stepped through tall, flowering plants into an open glen.
The sight he beheld made him chuckle.