Dragon Lord (2 page)

Not fat.

He wore black like everyone else in this bizarre household, but it hadn’t been a suit. The slacks had been tailored to fit narrow hips and long, lean legs. The shirt, almost ‘blousy’ and old world looking, had been open at the neck, but his shoulders were broad and straight and the silk-like fabric had draped what seemed, in retrospect, hard, bulging muscles a body-builder would envy.

The men were halfway down the stairs before her hearing picked out the sound of their footsteps over her drumming heartbeat. Inwardly, she cringed, wishing she hadn’t stopped by the stairs. She’d been lucky to make it as far as she had, though, without her legs completely losing muscle tone and dumping her in the floor. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t have made it down the hall to the service area without embarrassing herself.

Sweat beaded her brow when the contingent reached the foot of the stairs and paused. The housekeeper was still watching her. She wasn’t going to look, even though it was eating her alive to glance in that direction just to see if
he
was looking at her.

She wasn’t going to.

She slid her eyes in his direction. She couldn’t see anything but black shoes and calves clad in dress pants--and a pair of knee high black boots. The toes were pointed toward the door. For some reason, though, she had the impression that he’d glanced in her direction.

Paranoia?

After that brief hesitation, the entire party went out the front door.

Raina expelled a breath of relief when they disappeared.

She counted to ten, expecting to hear the crisp footsteps of the housekeeper. She knew the woman wasn’t going to bellow at her from down the hall.

“Mr. Draken will be back in an hour,” Mrs. Higgenbottom said finally, her voice sounding almost mild for her. “Be certain you’ve finished with the balustrade and moved into the dining room by then.”

More than a little stunned, Raina nodded, but the soft click of the door told her the woman hadn’t waited for any kind of response.

Her entire body slumped as the tension went out of her. Feeling dazed and more than a little confused, Raina moved away from the wall when the weakness finally subsided and strength slowly began to return.

She hadn’t been dismissed.

Yet.

The old bat was probably going to wait until she’d finished cleaning and
then
fire her, Riana thought morosely.

And how the hell did
she
know he’d be back in an hour? Where would he go on the island that would take him an hour to get there and back? He wouldn’t be
leaving
the island. It was a fifteen minute ride around it to the dock and another ten to fifteen from there to the mainland, twenty or thirty to the city limits ….

Shaking that puzzle off, Riana hurried up the stairs and hustled to finish the seemingly endless task in the time allotted. It wasn’t just that she was concerned about the housekeeper, either. The entire episode had left her feeling strangely disoriented and jumpy. The man
exuded
cold and dangerous. As scary as she’d thought his watch dogs were, the main man made them seem warm and cuddly in contrast.

That
was the impression that had made her heart stop and her breath freeze in her lungs, she decided.

The image of his strange eyes hung in the back of her mind as she worked furiously to finish the cleaning and polishing so that she could play least in sight when the man came back.

Emotionless, she thought, not just cold in the sense that he might have been looking at a roach that had had the audacity to creep out from under the rug. His eyes, his expression, had been as cold and distant as if there was no soul in the body.

She’d seen a flicker of …
something
, though, she realized after a while. Fleetingly, so briefly she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been staring into his eyes, she’d seen something pass through them, an acknowledgement of her presence, she supposed. Surprise, maybe? As if it had been so unexpected for him to discover an actual living, breathing being cleaning his house that it had jolted him out of that faraway place where his mind ordinarily dwelt.

* * * *

Such turmoil churned through Simon as he left the house that it was only habit that guided him down the path he’d worn over the years from the house to the sea. He found he could not sort the confusion of thoughts and impressions, even though he felt a need to do so, and that disturbed him almost as much as the fact that he was in a state of disorder at all.

He had not expected to encounter the woman--his people
knew
he did not like to deal with outsiders--but he was not unaware of the woman’s presence in his house. As little interest as he had in such things, he was kept informed of everything that went on around him. That was a given. Whether he was interested or not, his rank placed as many obligations upon him as it did his people.

And that being the case, he should not have felt such a jolt of … shock upon encountering her. Should not have felt even a great deal of surprise, let alone stunned to such a degree that it seemed to suspend him in time so that he’d found himself unable to move, or think, or even breathe for a seemingly endless time.

It
was
shock that he’d felt, though, he finally acknowledged, an unpleasant jolt of stunned … what?

He still was not sure, but his mind obligingly recalled every image it had recorded in those moments, every impression, and tumbled them around again in an effort to find some explanation, some logical reason for the disturbance.

A small, pale face surrounded by untidy locks of dark, reddish brown hair emerged dominate, and most strongly of that impression was the eyes--because they seemed larger than anything else about her face. More vaguely, he had had the impression of clothing that had seemed far more suitable for a man--at least the men of his culture--fitted, though there had been nothing at all mannish about the body the clothing so faithfully conformed to--large, soft breasts, a narrow waist, nicely rounded hips and shapely thighs.

He had noticed
everything
about her body, he realized with a mixture of surprise and irritation. Without any actual intention of doing so, without even a conscious awareness of it, he had catalogued every pleasing curve, could remember very clearly every detail of shape and size, even a calculation of firmness and softness.

Arousal, he realized as he felt his body stir again only at the memories. Part of it, at least, had been desire.

He examined that with suspicion, searching for a reason to dismiss it, and realized that he could not. The potent attraction, unwelcome as it was, unfathomable as it was, had been the greatest part of the jolt to him.

He had not been with a woman in …. He could not exactly remember the last time. He had a vague memory of expending himself on some nameless, faceless female, but nothing beyond that--no perception of time. In truth, he had ignored his physical needs so long he rarely felt it to any great degree anymore and he could not even recall when he had managed to quash even the call of his manhood.

That explained it, though--need. It was not want. It was only nature demanding he remember that his body had needs besides the intake of nourishment and the need to rest.

That did not explain why, though, the eyes bothered him so much, why the expression on her face haunted him.

She had felt it, too, he realized after a few more minutes of thrashing the idea around in his head, feeling almost more stunned by that realization.
That
was why he had felt such a jolt. The look in her eyes, on her face--it had mirrored the same, inexplicably powerful force of attraction that he had felt.

Reflected back at him, he wondered? Overlain there by his mind’s eye only because it was what he felt? Or had she actually felt it, too?

Frowning, he examined that more carefully.

He did remember it correctly, he finally decided, but the attraction wasn’t all that he’d seen. It might not even have been the emotion that dominated that little face that he’d found so appealing, so strangely fascinating.

She’d been focused on his eyes, paled as she stared him, froze like prey that has sensed the interest of a predator.

He hadn’t been wearing his glasses, he realized abruptly, feeling anger and far more disappointment than he should have.

He had scared the hell out of her.

* * * *

The conflicting thoughts and impressions did nothing to settle Raina’s nerves. As tired as she was by the time she’d managed to finish, she was still jumpy. The faintest sound made her stiffen and cock her ears to listen intently until she’d identified it.

She was frantically polishing the last segment of the balustrade when she heard the sound she’d been listening for--the faint scuff of soles on the walkway outside the front door. For a split second, she froze like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. As she stared at the door, though, and saw the door knob begin to turn, she grabbed her cleaning tray and darted toward the formal dining room on tiptoe.

God only knew why she thought that would help anything. The cleaning supplies jiggled and rattled with each step, noisily marking her quick retreat. She almost spilled the thing in her haste to clear the doorway and close the door behind her.

Struggling not to pant for breath like an obscene phone breather, Raina, inspired by some insane impulse she couldn’t resist, paused before closing the door completely. Holding it with no more than a thin sliver between the door’s edge and the frame, she peered through the minute opening as the men entered the foyer.

He
was in the forefront again. Despite the panic that threaded through her veins, she allowed her gaze to take a full sweep of him before she focused on the hard planes of his face, studying his profile as he came into full view.

He hesitated fractionally as he placed one boot clad foot on the first stair. For a split second, she thought he knew she was there, that he was going to turn and look straight at her.

He didn’t. He mounted the stairs and disappeared from view, leaving her to wonder if she’d just imagined that slight hesitation.

When the last of his escort had disappeared up the stairs behind him, she very carefully closed the door, wincing as she heard the click as the door caught and wondering if it only seemed loud to her or if it actually had been loud enough to carry up the stairs.

After glancing around the vast dining room vaguely for a moment, she finally moved to one of the dining chairs that lined the wall nearest her and collapsed weakly on the seat.

Staring at nothing in particular as her mind focused inwardly, she tried to sort the unfamiliar riot of emotions inside of her. With a touch of surprise, she finally realized that uppermost was almost a sense of awe, giddiness--vague hysteria--as if she’d discovered herself in the presence of some rock star or god of the silver screen she’d lusted over and fantasized about for years--except this man was a complete stranger. She was absolutely certain she’d never seen that face before. She would
never
have forgotten it. So how, him being a nobody as far she was concerned, could he have had that kind of effect on her?

Chapter Two

Audric studied the prince surreptitiously as he followed in his wake, ostensibly scanning their surroundings for any sign of an assassin. He knew the others were alert for the possibility, though, and only half his mind was focused on that constant vigil. The other half was focused on the prince himself, searching for some outward sign that his ruse had been detected.

Simon had seen the woman. There was no doubt in his mind that, for the first time since he could remember,
something
had finally penetrated the shield of ice Simon had erected around himself. Unfortunately, since he’d been behind his half-brother, as was his place, he hadn’t seen what sort of effect it had had on him.

He was still heartened. Even a tiny fracture was welcome after all these years when he’d almost lost hope that he would ever again see the man he’d worshipped since he was child, guarded with his life since he was old enough to take his place in the royal guard.

When Simon stopped at last on the promontory where he always stopped, staring out at the sea, Audric motioned for the royal guard to take up stations and then moved to a position that would allow him to keep watch and still catch an occasional glimpse of Simon’s profile.

Uneasiness filtered through him when Simon turned his head and stared at him for a long moment before his gaze focused inward again and he turned to stare out to sea as he had ritualistically once a week since his exile from his homeland.
He
knew, if the others didn’t, that this was Simon’s penance for living when the woman he’d loved more than life had died, taking his heart and soul with her.

To everyone else, it might seem as if Simon was hardly aware of where his eyes focused. It was just
a
sea, not
the
sea that had swallowed Evangeline and taken away the light in Simon’s eyes.

He
knew, though. The very first time they’d come this spot and looked out at the sea the image that had been printed indelibly on his mind forever had surfaced instantly and he’d thought for several moments that he would throw up.

That was why Simon came here, not because this sea reminded him of home, but because every time he looked at it, he saw Evangeline’s long black hair drifting in the tide, saw her lifeless eyes staring back him.

He came to torture himself. For living? Maybe. Probably. But Audric thought it was also because he was searching for his lost soul, trying to figure out why he was still alive--or still breathing. What Simon had been doing since he’d been exiled didn’t actually constitute living. Existing more accurately described it.

Despite every effort he’d made himself to banish that nightmare, Audric felt it grip him again the moment he acknowledged it, felt the memories wash over him in a sickening tide.

He’d been afraid and struggling mightily with the effort to hide it and maintain his dignity when they’d been brought out, they thought, for execution after the months they’d spent in that stinking prison. He’d told himself he’d expected nothing less, that he was surprised they’d even waited as long as they had. He’d told himself it was better to get it over with than to die by degrees, slowly rotting in prison, becoming less of a man and more of an animal every day.