Rejar (12 page)

They all were silent for a few minutes as they each remembered that last, terrible day when they had gone to confront Traed’s natural father, Theardar, on a barren Rim world. Traed had suffered terribly that day. Finally Lorgin spoke.

“Traed is ... Traed. He has taken himself back to the land of Theardar’s people—back to the Sky Lands of Aviara. Yaniff despairs for him, although he claims Traed seeks to heal his heart.”

“How does one heal such a rent?” Rejar asked.

“I know not.”

Rejar knew it was time to tell his brother something that had been on his mind for a long time; he looked Lorgin straight in the eye. “Traed is our brother of the line.”

Lorgin surprised him by saying, “I know. Yaniff told me everything. When did you first sense it, Rejar?”

“When we were at his keep.”

Now Lorgin knew why his brother had acted so strangely when they had visited Traed on Zarrain. “Did you not sense it when you were a child? He was with us much then.”

“No. This particular Familiar ability develops later in life. It is hard to imagine sometimes—that father had a sister and Traed was her son.”

“It does take some getting used to,” Lorgin agreed.

“Blood of our line; now he is likened to a brother. I do not know if it is a good thing for him to remain long in the Sky Lands, Lorgin. Traed needs to come home.”

“I have thought the same. I suppose I will have to go and drag him out of there.” Lorgin did not seem happy with the prospect. “It seems I am destined to chase after the two of you.” He gave his younger brother a pointed look combined with a long-suffering sigh.

Rejar’s dual-colored eyes sparkled with mischievous humor. “Then I will be sure not ever to disappoint you, Lorgin.”

“That is what I am afraid of. Come, Adeeann, let us bid Rejar farewell for now.”

“Oh, Lorgin, couldn’t we stay here—just for a little while? I would really love to see what this time period was really like. Think of the fun we could have!”

Lorgin shook his head regretfully. “I am sorry, zira. We cannot.” Deana started to object, but he placed a finger gently across her lips. “Do not ask me to explain; you must believe me when I say we must leave now.”

Deana watched Lorgin closely. There was a reason he wanted them to go back to Aviara. Besides being a Knight of the Charl, her husband was also a holder of the fourth power, a mystic in his own right. If he thought they needed to leave, then perhaps they’d better leave. She sighed. She had so wanted to get a glimpse of this fantastic time period in her planet’s history.

As if he knew her thoughts, Lorgin took her hand and led her to the window. Pulling back the curtain, he opened the window, saying, “Look, then, zira, and see this world that was once yours.”

Deana stuck her head out the window and gazed in awe at the street below. It was like a museum exhibit come to life! The coaches and riders, hawkers and venders! The exquisitely costumed men and women! The sights and sounds and—

Deana wrinkled her nose. The stench in the streets!

She quickly popped her head in, holding her nose.

“My God! What is that awful smell?”

More than slightly nauseous, she turned to her brother-in-law. “Good grief, Rejar, do you ever get used to it?”

“No, you do not.”

“And you still want to stay here? Oh, Rejar, come home with us now.”

“It is not always this bad, Adeeann.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Deana fanned her face, trying to dispel the memory of those noxious odors.

“Sometimes it is worse,” he joked. At her crestfallen face, he added, “In certain areas it is not so bad.” He remembered the clean, fresh scent of Lilac’s home and garden, and the lovely countryside he had visited.

Lorgin took Deana’s hand once more. “I will return when I can, Rejar; until then—be well.”

“And you, Lorgin.” His gaze rested on Deana’s stomach, causing him to give a half-smile. “To all of you.”

With his ability to do so, Lorgin called forth the Tunnel. A small, circular light appeared in the room, growing larger and larger, until a great maw of pulsing, flashing light stood before them.

Deana ran to give Rejar one last hug before she stepped into the portal with her husband. Just before the Tunnel sealed behind them, Rejar heard Lorgin say to his wife, “Now, zira, you will tell me exactly what you meant by this Disney World ...”

He missed them already.

But he had a certain task to complete. A task of the utmost urgency.

He needed to be inside Lilac Devere.

With a vengeance.

* * *

Lilac stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She didn’t look any different. Same mousy-tan colored hair. Same overly large greenish sloe eyes. Same full lips. Her sights dropped to her chest, lavishly revealed by the square-cut collar of her garden dress. Same embarrassingly rounded curves.

She was not exactly what the ton would deem a “diamond of the first water.”

So why was she suddenly being pursued by every court card of the Beau Monde? Invitations were arriving by the hour. Would Miss Devere like to attend a little fete I am sponsoring on Thursday the next? Would Miss Devere be available for tea with Sir Geoffry on Tuesday? Would Miss Devere be accepting callers in the afternoons?

No, Miss Devere would NOT!

It was all his fault.

That irritating, insufferable, arrogant, spoiled Prince!

And to make matters worse, now she was dreaming of him. There wasn’t even an escape for her in the arms of Morpheus! For some strange, inexplicable reason, Lilac had dreamt she was in his arms last evening. And the things she imagined he had done to her!

She pressed her palms to her flaming cheeks as vivid, indecent images paraded across her mind’s eye. What on God’s Earth would make her imagine such shameful things? The Prince without his clothes on! Doing the most wicked things with his tongue. And when his mouth actually suckled on—

Did men really do such things?

No, it was too bizarre. What made her dream up such odd behavior? She must have eaten something that disagreed with her last night which had caused her to have the nightmare.

Only it wasn’t really a nightmare ...

Some of it had seemed rather enjoyable.

Foolish thought! Of course it was a nightmare; it involved that—that Prince!

Lilac took a deep breath to calm her rising agitation. No need to worry; she would never speak to him again. She had made sure of that at the soiree last evening. As for future encounters. Auntie would undoubtedly insist she attend at least some of the invitations she had received; in those cases, if the Prince should happen to be there, she would make sure she avoided him.

In all likelihood he had forgotten her by now anyway and had moved on to his next conquest. She would never have to look into that heart-stopping, beautiful face again.

Fate be willing.

* * *

Downstairs, the Face was already waiting for her in the foyer.

Determination was stamped all over its sultry features.

Chapter Six

Lilac’s steps faltered on the stairs when she caught sight of the gleaming black hair in the foyer below. It couldn’t be!

Sensual dual-colored eyes, lambent like a rare smoldering flame, came to focus on her.

It was.

Fustian! Did the man never give up? What did he think he was about? She had slapped him, for heaven’s sake! How much more subtle could she be?

“What do you think you’re doing here?” she hissed from the middle of the stairs.

“There you are. Lilac! I was about to send Emmy up to fetch you. Our nice Prince Azov has come to take you for a carriage ride in the park.”

Auntie hadn’t heard her, but it was obvious he had. He gave her that special little smile of his. The one that curled the hair on the back of her neck.

The one that said “we shall see.”

No, we won’t see. Behind Auntie’s back, she stuck her tongue out at him. It was a childish thing to do, but very satisfying.

The dynamic, commanding look he returned to her almost caused her to trip on the last step. Zounds, but he was a force when he did that! She needed to think up an excuse immediately. The one she came up with was a bit lame, but it would have to do.

“I am sorry, your Highness; I am not up to it.” She lifted a limp hand to her forehead. “I have a slight headache this afternoon.”

Amused at the thinly veiled ruse, Rejar raised one mocking eyebrow. “Bad dreams?” His deep voice murmured mischievously.

Lilac felt the color drain from her face.

The man was too close to the mark and she did not like his arrogant, knowing look one bit. “Bad memories would be more accurate. I thought I made myself quite clear on the dance floor last evening. If you have come to apologize to me, get on with it and then leave.”

“Lilac, your manners!” Auntie was clearly appalled; she immediately sought to placate the Prince for Lilac’s breach of etiquette. “Your Highness, please forgive her, I don’t know what has come over the chit. Normally she is the most even-tempered, docile, sweet—” Her aunt was definitely overcompensating to this irritating boor.

“Auntie Whumples, stop making me sound like some milk cow put out to pasture!”

The Prince’s lips twitched in barely suppressed amusement.

She squinted at the irritant through narrowed eyes. “You may leave.” In the event the nick ninny had forgotten his way out, she rudely pointed her finger in the direction of the door.

Lady Agatha, horrified that this prime candidate was about to escape her clutches, lost all decorum. As far as she was concerned, he was Lilac’s best hope. A prince, for Heaven’s sake!

“No, he will not!” Aggravated at her niece’s stubbornness, Agatha’s stern voice bellowed off the foyer walls, shaking the suspended chandelier in the process.

Lilac stared at her aunt, both amazed at her vehement response and infuriated at her meddling. It was obvious what she was up to—matchmaking. With the sapskull. Not in this lifetime! Auntie Whumples could just think that one over again!

In a rare display of rebelliousness, Lilac put her foot down. Or stomped it down, to be more accurate. “Yes, he will!”

Agatha clutched her heaving bosom, gasping in righteous affrontage. She was a dignified woman who did not put up with such nonsense; the Prince was instantly elevated to cause célèbre. “I’ve never! You naughty girl! He will not step one foot outside this house until I say so.”

Rejar avidly watched the scene unfold before him; it was in the tradition of great entertainment. As if he weren’t the perpetrator of the contest of wills, he calmly crossed his arms over his chest and patiently leaned back against a column in the foyer while the two woman fought over him. This, in various forms, he was used to.

Lilac flashed her eyes, lowered her voice, put her hands on her hips, and stared her aunt down. “He goes.” She stood firm.

Not bad, Rejar thought, admiring her technique. Still, if he were in a gaming hell right now, he would place his wager on the aunt. She was far more determined, far more bombastic, far more ... just far more. Not that he had any intention of leaving, no matter what the outcome.

“Lilac Prunella Devere!”

Lilac visibly winced at the sound of her hideous middle name—the usage of which rendered her temporarily immobile.

Ah! Rejar nodded approvingly. A very good ploy. The old woman had the skill of a brilliant tactician; first weaken your opponent with a dreaded allusion, then pounce. Prunella? He grinned outright at the awful appellation. It was so bad, it was on the border of being adorable.

“I am still your guardian, Lilac Devere! Your sudden display of disrespect—not to mention ill manners—brings great shame to this household.” Auntie paused before throwing her trump card. “What would your dear father say if he could hear you now?”

Lilac’s shoulders instantly sagged, her head dropping in defeat. Every time her aunt wanted to win an argument, all she had to do was bring up the name of her dear departed father. She sneaked a peek at her aunt. As Lilac suspected, the old termagant was already gloating with victory.

Sensing that the battle was over, Rejar stepped away from the column, chuckling to himself. The Aviaran warriors might learn a thing or two from this old woman. His passing wink to Lady Whumples said “well done.”

Agatha surprised him by winking back. “Make sure she does not catch a chill, your Highness. The late afternoons can still be quite brisk.”

“You need not worry; she will be in the best of hands—ask anyone.” With those cryptic words, he held out his hand to Lilac.

Reluctantly, she took his arm.

“Do not feel too badly, Prunella,” he whispered softly into her ear as he opened the door for her, “in any case, I was not going to apologize.”

Lilac glared up at him.

* * *

How could she not gape at the driver of the open-topped landau?

Instead of being properly attired as any decent coachman would be—in white leather breeches, striped waistcoat, and dark tailored coat—the man was entirely bedecked in bright, garish green. An unlit pipe dangled from the side of his mouth. Odd wisps of hair flew out from beneath a moldy cap, also green. He looked like a walking fir tree.

“In y’go, colleen.”

While she continued to gape at him in a stupor, the man actually had the audacity to place his palm on her backside and shove her into the vehicle! When the Prince settled himself beside her, she turned an incredulous face to him.

“Is that man in your employ?” she asked.

“Yes.” She is impressed, Rejar thought.

Lilac’s eyes widened in disbelief. Shaking her head, she stared pointedly out of her side of the landau, ignoring his Highness.

“Where to, yer princeship?” The green thing from the front asked.

“I believe it is called Hyde Park; is it not. Lilac?”

“I suppose so,” she muttered.

“Hyde Park, ‘tis! Gor, this oughta be a treat, seein’ them nobs strut about like they’s all fine and dandy!” He cracked the whip in the air and the horses bolted as if the hounds of hell nipped at their shins.

The sudden momentum caused by the forward movement almost toppled Lilac over the back of the carriage. Her derriere slid off the seat and her legs flew up in the air, sending her dress spiraling to her thighs. Several sections of her hair broke free of her ribbon to drape cozily over the Prince’s leather-clad thigh, sliding intimately down between his long, powerful legs.