The Fire Lord's Lover Part 19

"What are you talking about, Aggie?"

"You. In my bed."

The very subject he'd been meaning to talk to her about, although in a more oblique manner. With a sigh of impatience, he folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against a faun making indecent advances upon a fairy. "I succ.u.mb to your skill at provoking my curiosity. What is the gossip?"

His position made his groin jut a bit away from his body. Agnes leaned her skirts up against him, but she didn't stir him in the least. Indeed, he found it most annoying.

She lowered her voice, for they had managed to acquire a few onlookers. "That you have managed to get your bride with child. And now that you have accomplished the formidable goal you shall be free to return to my bed."

Ah. So the hastily uttered words of Viscount Althorp had managed to circulate among the court. Ca.s.sandra's supposed headache had accomplished more than he had planned. He almost smiled when an unsettling thought occurred to him. Could it be true?

No. Ca.s.sandra would have told him.

"I had an interesting conversation with a stable boy this evening."

The sudden change of subject set her aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered with her usual aplomb. "La, General, why would that interest me, when we were having such a... promising tete-a-tete?"

"Because the conversation concerned you, my pet. Regarding a certain black stallion you insisted the lad give to my wife as a mount."

Aggie waved her silk-gloved hand in a dismissive gesture. "What of it?"

Dominic pushed his shoulders off the wall, grabbed those slender fingers in a painful grip. "Lady Ca.s.sandra could have been killed, or at the very least, injured."

Her eyes widened as she stared from his black eyes to his tightened hand. "For which you would have been grateful."

"She belongs to me. You should have respected that."

"Fiddle!"

Dominic dropped her hand, afraid he'd crush her fingers. People had started inching their way toward the shadowed corner, their ears p.r.i.c.ked to the discussion. He kept his face very calm, his voice smoothly composed. "If you ever threaten to harm her in any way again, you shall regret it."

She sniffed, tossing her blonde curls, completely unruffled by his threat. "I knew it. After all the years I've invested in you, you... b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You've fallen in love with your wife."

"I'm incapable-"

"So I thought-"

"Shut up, Aggie." And he could think of only one way to do that. One way to silence her accusations that he'd fallen in love with Ca.s.sandra. He kissed her. Hard. Without pa.s.sion or consideration for her bruised lips. If Dominic hadn't had such iron control over his facial expression his mouth would have twisted with disgust.

She melted against him, throwing her arms eagerly about his shoulders. He heard a few startled gasps from their onlookers at such a public display, and then a few t.i.tters of amus.e.m.e.nt. When he broke the kiss, he looked up and stared at the few brave souls who'd dared to venture so close. They hastily backed away.

When Dominic looked back down at Aggie, her eyes told him she saw through the lie of his kiss. And when he glanced over her head, he spied Ca.s.sandra.

Her face flushed a bright red and she appeared to stumble, throwing out an arm to the man who stood by her side. Viscount Thomas Althorp smoothly caught her and turned her away from Dominic and his mistress, leading her to a table sparkling with decanters of brandy and port.

"He dares," hissed the general. "I told Althorp to stay away from her."

Lady Agnes looked over her shoulder, turned back to him with more expression on her features than he'd ever seen before. Such an ugly look on so beautiful a face. "Go ahead. Call him out. It will only confirm what I've told your father."

The fury of seeing his wife in the arms of another man faded at her words. He focused his complete attention back on Aggie, and she blanched.

"What, exactly, have you told Mor'ded?"

She shrugged but refused to meet his gaze. "I told him the truth. That you haven't shared my bed since you married."

"And why would you tell him that?" His voice dropped dangerously low. She took a step back from him. He followed. But she didn't need to answer, for he knew her ambition. "Did you succeed in getting into his bed?"

She shrugged.

"Listen to me, Aggie. You're playing with fire. Literally." He placed his hands on her narrow shoulders. "Stay away from my father. He's more dangerous than you guess. You would have a better chance with the king."

He'd spoken figuratively, but when she looked up a wicked gleam appeared in her eyes. "Do you think so?"

If he could have indulged in humor he might have laughed. "That's something you'll have to find out for yourself, now isn't it?"

Aggie gave him a tentative smile. Dominic had always thought Lady Agnes only pretended to be unfeeling, just as he did. But he now realized her shallowness might be a true part of her character. Had he so easily distracted her then? He could only hope, for the antechamber began to empty as the orchestra's opening song filtered into the room. He saw Althorp disappear into the king's box with his wife and quickly followed, Lady Agnes right on his heels. But when he entered the box Althorp had disappeared, and Dominic decided the man wasn't as witless as he'd thought.

The theater had been added to the palace years ago, when the baroque style had been the rage. Grand columns of marble circled the room and enclosed the boxes, a fresco of the sun's rays amid a sky of clouds adorned the ceiling, and the walls had been painted with trompe l'oeils of the English countryside, making the entire room appear to be open to fields of rolling hills and flowered meadows. A glamourist from the sovereignty of Dreamhame must have been a part of the theater troupe for the paintings moved, trees and gra.s.s swaying in the wind, the sun's rays s.h.i.+fting and sparkling, completing the illusion.

Only the elven lord's box, crawling with yellow flame, shattered the deception.

But it appeared that Mor'ded had decided to grace the king's court with his presence this evening, for he sat in the king's box on the older man's right. Walpole, as usual, sat at the king's left, and he rose and bowed to Lady Agnes, who quickly took a seat in front of the king, laying her arm on the back of the velvet chair and turning to bat her eyes at him. The rest of the court goggled at her. Dominic saw only his wife, who sat alone, just behind the king-the court shunning her as usual-her eyes rooted to the empty stage.

When he took the seat next to her a becoming blush heightened her cheeks. Ca.s.sandra snapped open her fan and placed it as a barrier between her face and his.

King George turned his head and nodded over his shoulder at Dominic. "Ah good, you have come. And this time I meet your wife. I see now why she wears the black, to complement the scarlet of your jacket."

Dominic raised a brow as he appraised his wife's understated gown, and shrugged. "Her servants are clever."

Mor'ded turned then, although he couldn't quite meet Dominic's eye, as the man sat directly in front of him, and instead settled his black gaze on Ca.s.sandra, who responded by fanning her cheeks. "It seems that congratulations are in order," he said as the house lights lowered with magical precision.

"Indeed," replied Dominic in a carefully neutral voice.

"It appears you have proven your virility."

Ca.s.sandra fanned herself even harder but did not waver from her concentration on the stage. Dominic did not respond either. Let the elven lord a.s.sume what he would.

"Your... dedication to your wife is commendable. Or so I have heard."

The curtain rose. Aggie quickly ceased her efforts in trying to gain the king's attention and turned to the stage. Mor'ded also turned and settled deeper into his chair, Ca.s.sandra letting loose a breath of relief. But the king continued to face Dominic, ignoring the actors as they entered onto the platform.

"I must demand the name of your tailor," blurted King George.

The opening music rose in a crescendo and Dominic leaned forward to catch the other man's words, brus.h.i.+ng his leg against Ca.s.sandra's. She slid away, smas.h.i.+ng her skirts into the opposite arm of her chair. A trickle of annoyance made the general lean forward and sideways even more, trapping her leg beside his.

"I beg your pardon," said Dominic, giving his wife a quick glance. He could see the color on her cheeks even in the dim light, but she pretended to ignore his presence.

"Your tailor," repeated King George. "I must have his name."

Dominic could not believe the man's obsession with clothing... although, since it appeared to be the only power he had, he supposed it was understandable. "I'm afraid it's not someone you would recognize, Your Majesty."

The lights on the stage lit with a brilliance that suggested magical fire, and he heard his wife gasp at the scene they revealed on the stage. The troupe must have more than one half-breed possessing the power of Dreamhame, for the set looked remarkably real. Italian towers eclipsed one another as they faded into the background; the river snaking its way across the right flowed with a sparkle atop its waves and birds winged their way across a gray sky that threatened rain. When blades clashed between the Montagues and Capulets, the blood that flowed not only looked real, but Dominic could swear he smelled the iron tang of it from his seat.

Mor'ded suddenly straightened in his chair and leaned forward. Did he fear that the power of the illusion might come from one too-powerful half-breed instead of the combined efforts of the smaller skills of many?

"Bah," said the king, "you just do not wish to tell me who the tailor is."

If Dominic didn't have the distraction of Ca.s.sandra at his side, he felt sure the man's obsession would have driven him mad. She held her fan with one hand, but the other lay loose upon her lap. He laid his hand lightly over the silk of her glove. The stubborn girl didn't even twitch.

"Nay, Your Majesty. I just fear you will be disappointed when I name her."

"Ah. A woman. She does not have a shop in London, then?"

"I'm afraid not."

Dominic curled his fingers between the top of the glove and his wife's warm skin, slowly peeling down the silk. She trembled. Sir Robert suddenly glanced back at them, his sharp eyes taking in their postures. He gave the general a smile laden with meaning before focusing back on the stage.

So then. Dominic had been right about Walpole's intelligence. Within the other man's expression lay an interest in Ca.s.sandra that surpa.s.sed the norm. And Dominic didn't think Walpole had revealed that without careful intent. Could he be a part of the Rebellion? There had been a certain smugness in that look, and Dominic felt sure he would be finding out soon.

The Rebellion would never have snared him if it hadn't been for his wife. He didn't think it had been a part of the plan; indeed, he felt sure they hoped to strike a lucky blow against his father using his innocentseeming wife. But the impossible had happened, and he'd fallen under Ca.s.sandra's spell.

"You must stop this torture, General Raikes! If you do not wish to name your tailor, tell me so this instant."

Dominic frowned at the king. "I had no intention of keeping it from you, Your Majesty." He'd just been too preoccupied with his wife. He'd completely removed her glove and now encased her small hand within his. "My tailor is no one more than a talented kitchen maid."

"Devil a bit! A slave?"

Dominic traced a finger over the rose gold ring he'd given his wife. The petals had uncurled just a bit. "She's a prisoner of war from Verdanthame. Imperial Lord Mi'cal's half-breeds possess extraordinary powers in weaving the plants that his magic has introduced to England."

The king's face brightened. "I have never been captured by that sovereignty. I hope-ah well. You must send this person to me, General."

Dominic unconsciously tightened his grasp on Ca.s.sandra's hand. Perhaps the king had misheard him. "She is a slave, Your Majesty." As he had been. A person with no one to care enough to pay their ransom. A person like him, without consequence- until he'd proven his worth to the elven lord. Because his mother had been nothing more than a kitchen maid, taken in war from another sovereignty. He could only guess that her incredible beauty had caused Mor'ded to bed her.

His wife gave his hand a small squeeze before going back to ignoring him.

"I still wish you to send me this slave, General."

Dominic nodded, hoping he would be doing the girl more good than harm. "As you wish."

The king finally turned back around to the performance and Dominic had no further excuse to lean forward. He settled back into his seat, missing the heat of his wife's leg against his own. He now couldn't bear being near her and unable to touch her. She had shattered his control with the confession of her love for him, and as he focused on the play he realized that in some ways it echoed the relations.h.i.+p he had with Ca.s.sandra. Love entwined with death and sacrifice.

Dominic slowly picked up the black silk glove that lay discarded on his wife's lap. He faced her profile, her eyes still riveted to the stage, but he felt sure she was aware of his every movement. He brought the glove to his mouth and kissed it, breathing in the scent of her skin. Never would he have thought he'd act the dandy in this way. But he took the slip of silk and put it in his inside coat pocket, so it lay against his heart.

The general hoped she would understand the gesture, for he felt... badly about kissing Aggie. The look on his wife's face when she'd witnessed it had twisted something inside of him. He could not abide bringing her pain, even in such a small way.

The rush of pleasure that swept through him when he saw the slight curl of her lips made up for the thought that he'd acted like some silly court fop. If it managed to make her happy, he felt determined to learn every gesture of romanticism with which humans displayed their affection.

The curtain fell with the end of the opening scene and Dominic stood to stretch his legs, his hand twitching to a.s.sist his wife when she started to rise to her feet. But the sudden glow from the magically created sun's rays above them would reveal his actions, and he stilled his body to indifference once again.

They milled about the box, the intermission too short to return to the antechamber for refreshments, although a liveried footman brought round a tray of wine and sweetmeats.

Halting the performance after each scene made the short play interminably drawn-out.

Sir Robert engaged the Imperial Lord in whispered conversation, leading Mor'ded to the far side of the box, both of them focused on the stage. Perhaps he sought to ease his father's fears over the magical powers of the troupe, or to incite them. Dominic could only feel glad his father's attentions were otherwise engaged.

Lady Agnes immediately jostled the king's mistress out of her way, capturing the older man's arm within her own. The king gave her a look of mingled surprise and speculation, and his wife watched the two of them with a puzzled frown.

Dominic bent over to reach Ca.s.sandra's ear. "It seems Agnes has set her sights on a n.o.bler conquest," he murmured.

She fluttered her hands, flushed at the sight of one of them ungloved, and quickly removed the remaining silk, stuffing it in the slit of her skirt along with her fan. "She's a fool," his wife replied with enough heat in her voice to please her husband.

"You aren't satisfied that my mistress has publicly declared that our affair is over?"

"Certainly not." She s.h.i.+fted from one foot to another, her hands still aflutter at her sides. "Now you will only have to find another one."

He didn't need to see her glance at Mor'ded for him to understand her meaning. Without the s.h.i.+eld of a mistress, his attentions to his wife would become suspect. But an idea had occurred to Dominic and he wished he could speak of it to her. Regretfully it would have to wait until they were alone.

His wife continued to fidget. Dominic accepted the gla.s.s of brandy handed to him by the footman and downed it in one swallow, then studied Ca.s.sandra with a frown. He had seen her so nervous only once before, when they had stood together at the altar on their wedding day. The ring on her finger had tightened into a stiff bud once more, and he wondered if his gallant gesture had completely erased her hurt over seeing him kiss Lady Agnes. Or perhaps she truly feared the loss of his mistress would set Mor'ded's sights upon her.

And with that thought flowed another. Did her feet move to some silent music in her head? Did she prepare her magic for a death dance, hoping to catch Mor'ded unawares when the lights lowered? Perhaps that's why she'd chosen to sit behind him. Dominic glanced at her waist. She wore a thin black girdle of st.u.r.dy-looking cloth. He glanced over at his father. "Do not even think it. Do you realize how many will die if you attempt such a thing?"

She followed his gaze and quickly shook her head. "No, Dominic. I wouldn't... I know you're right about..." Then she clutched her head and swayed on her feet.

It took every ounce of his self-control not to reach out and sweep her up into his arms. "What is it?"

She rubbed her temples. "I fear I have a dreadful headache."

Lady Verney, who stood near the rail of the box with a gaggle of ladies, noticed his wife's actions and approached. "Are you well, Lady Ca.s.sandra?"

"I... I don't know what's come over me. My head just started to pound like a drum."

The taller woman smiled with maternal indulgence, the feather boa wrapped about her thin neck fluttering with the sigh of her breath. "My dear, that's to be expected in your condition."

"Oh, but I'm not-"

"Now, now. I know how strong you are, but even the best of us can be weakened by the changes in one's body. You will need to take better care of yourself, my dear." And she punctuated her words with a sharp glance at Dominic.

He could only study Ca.s.sandra in bewilderment. They both knew she wasn't with child and that her first "sudden" headache had been nothing more than a charade. She felt fine but a moment ago, and other than her continued skittishness and a crease in her brow, looked exceptionally well. He called blue fire to his fingertips, ready to ease her head with his magic. But she hastily stepped away from him.

"Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I prefer to seek a more... natural remedy." She glanced between the two of them, seemingly annoyed by their concern. "It's naught but a head pain after all. I'm certain I'll be fine after I rest for a while."

"Shall I accompany you to your rooms?" said Lady Verney, again giving the general a pointed look.

But Dominic did not think his wife wanted him to escort her. Devil a bit, he suspected she had no headache at all. That it was just a ruse to escape from him. Despite his attempt to make it up to her, she must still be angry with him for kissing his mistress. His wife had revealed her love for him and it had changed everything. He must take more care of her feelings.

"No, please. I would feel worse if I thought I'd deprived anyone of the joy in seeing the rest of the play. I can manage to make it to my rooms with nary a worry."

"If you are sure-"