Rejar (17 page)

Like her aunt, Rejar smiled wryly. “Be that as it may; it changes nothing. What say you to this arrangement?”

Impertinent! The man was impertinent. Agatha peered at him through her lorgnette again. And damned handsome ... Of course, it would be Lilac’s decision—she wouldn’t take that away from the girl. If the twit refused this magnificent specimen before her it would be her business!

In her personal opinion, such would be the act of a Bedlamite.

She reluctantly dropped her looking glass. “Your Highness, I’m afraid the decision is up to Lilac.”

Rejar frowned. This was not what he wanted to hear. Jackie had told him that as Lilac’s guardian, ultimately it would be Lady Whumples’s decision, which suited him fine. He knew he could win over the aunt; it was Lilac who was going to prove more difficult. That is, until he could show her how loving a Familiar man could be.

Before he could respond, there was a brief commotion in the foyer, followed by the angry swish of skirts and the purposeful stride of pounding shoes. He guessed correctly that Lilac had returned early from her outing and the butler had informed her of his presence in their drawing room. She would be annoyed over his unannounced visit.

Lilac entered the room, all blazing eyes and clenched fists. Rejar briefly glanced at her, then purposely turned his attention to adjusting the cuff of his jacket. He knew his insolent action would so aggravate her that she would be speechless for a moment. A moment he needed to press his advantage.

He gave Lady Agatha a bland look. “I’m afraid it has gone too far for that.”

Lady Whumples sat straight up in her chair. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I have compromised your niece.” The absurdity of the statement suddenly struck him. A Familiar compromising a woman! It was difficult for him to contain his laugh, but he managed it.

Lady Whumples did not see anything humorous in the statement; on the contrary, she was aghast. “What?”

“What?” Lilac said at the same time. She threw him a furious glare and started walking over to her aunt, who was fanning her face, her shallow breath coming in short gasps.

“I’m afraid I did not hear you correctly, your H-highness,” the old lady stuttered, “wh-what did you say?”

Rejar cleared his throat and succinctly repeated in a loud voice, “I said, I have compromised your niece.”

“He’s lying!” Lilac hissed. She knelt before her aunt. “The despicable rogue is lying! He’s made no secret of the fact the he wants to ... well, you know, Auntie.”

Agatha brushed away Lilac’s words, turning to the Prince. Her low authoritative voice bellowed throughout the room. “What is the nature of this compromise?”

Rejar’s gaze flicked to Lilac’s furious expression. “We have been intimate.”

Lilac stood, her fists clenching. “Oh, he lies!”

Agatha looked back and forth between the two of them. Her sharpened gaze rested on Prince Nickolai. She relaxed. He was clever, she’d give the young blood that.

“What am I to do, young man?” Agatha slyly said, stressing certain words so the Prince would get the point. “She denies your statement. Quite vehemently I might add.”

Rejar rubbed his jaw in thought, suddenly piercing Lilac with a smug look. “She has a kitten-shaped birthmark on her thigh.” His eyes flashed with devilish mischief as he whispered, “Her inner thigh.”

“I shall faint!” Aunt Agatha began fanning herself vigorously. This was a bit much!

Lilac flushed. How had he known?

Sensing that the chase was all but over, Rejar artfully sprung the trap. “Yes, I have quite ‘ruined’ your niece.” As if a woman could be ruined by such a thing. Again he tried not to let the vagaries of this race make him laugh out loud.

He turned to Lilac, blinking slowly, as if something of momentous import had just occurred to him. He recalled a line from a joke Byron had once told him. “And there could be a child to think of, sweetings.”

“I shall faint!”

Aunt Agatha had said it, but Lilac did it.

* * *

“I shocked her.” Rejar took the moistened cloth from Lady Agatha and gently laid it across Lilac’s forehead. After she had fainted, he had scooped her up, carefully laying her on the settee. She still had not come to.

“She’s not the only one whom you shocked, your Highness. Tell me, was it unwise of me to place my trust in you? Did you debauch my niece?”

The Prince was seated on the edge of the settee, observing Lilac, concern etching his features. He stopped watching her to look past his shoulder at Agatha. Smiling faintly, he shook his head no.

Agatha nodded approvingly; her assessment of him as a man of honor had been correct. “I didn’t think so. Now tell me, my boy, how did you know about the birthmark?”

Lilac moaned as she regained consciousness. Rejar fixed the cloth on her forehead.

He gave Agatha an intriguing smile. “You would not want me to reveal all of my secrets, would you, Lady Agatha? I believe a woman such as yourself needs a mystery to solve every now and then.”

Agatha snorted at the silly statement; but she was chuckling when she said, “Better leave before she wakens to see you here. Best leave it to me to lay down the law to her. After all, what else can I do? She’s been compromised!” Grinning, she showed Prince Azov out the door.

Lady Whumples let out a sigh of relief. Lilac would be wed.

Through the years, the girl had always kept her company, but it had been a great fear of Agatha’s that, should something happen to her—as it inevitably would, she being an old woman—her niece would have no one to care for or about her. She would be all alone in the world.

In a society which could be extremely cruel to unprotected women, Agatha wanted more for her beloved niece.

Now her fear was laid to rest. By the look of the strapping Prince, Lilac would soon have her own family. If Agatha was any judge of character, Prince Azov would take care of her very well. She had not missed the look of tender concern on his sincere face when Lilac had fainted. The lad was besotted.

It was a better start than most marriages of the ton, she reasoned prosaically before steeling herself for an argument she had no intentions of loosing. Her niece would be wed.

* * *

She was engaged.

Lilac wasn’t sure how the bounder had managed it, but he had.

There wasn’t much she could do about it; her aunt had been adamant. She would brook no refusal. Lilac had ranted and raved, pleaded and begged. Auntie Whumples crossed her arms over her ample chest, flatly declaring that the honor of the family was at stake; the matter was closed.

Well, he may have tricked her into marrying him, but she’d be damned if he was going to get any satisfaction out of it!

She adjusted her leather glove with a short, angry pull. Through happenstance {and several coins passed to a bellman at the Clarendon”} she had been able to ascertain the Prince’s whereabouts this afternoon.

It had been reported that he was seen with the bow window set at White’s Club. Weeks later, Brummell was still delighted with the Prince’s lark at the museum and had invited the Prince to join him at his favorite pastime—being on display to the ton at the bow window of White’s.

Had the young lady heard of the Prince’s amusing prank? asked the kind bellman.

Gritting her teeth. Lilac assured him she had.

* * *

Lilac stood on tiptoe and peered through the bow window into the famous establishment. A man his size should be easy to spot.... There he was! Right between Brummell and Alvanley.

White’s was exclusively a male establishment; there was no way she could go in there and drag him out by his perfectly shaped ear. Lilac knew she would have to wait for him to look her way, then try to lure him out under false pretenses.

She had an itinerary. Not only was she going to tell him exactly what she thought of this farcical marriage of his, she also intended to set him straight on matters of the boudoir! At least, as much as she understood of such things, which admittedly wasn’t all that much since she lived with a maiden aunt who never broached such subjects.

While Rejar sipped his tea and chuckled over something Brummell said, his thoughts strayed to the love-mark he had discovered this morning during his bath. It was just above his left breastbone; a small darkened spot where Lilac had drawn on him with her mouth.

A little passion gift from Miss Devere.

He smiled with the memory. Women often gave him such marks but this one was special to him. It denoted a sensualistic passage.

Idly, he gazed toward the window, surprised to see the object of his ruminations smiling sweetly at him, gesturing for him to come outside. Excusing himself, he immediately went to her.

Like calling a puppy. Lilac thought.

As soon as he came through the door, she launched into her prepared speech, all pretense of sweetness gone. “I wish to speak to you, your Highness.”

Her sudden change of demeanor wasn’t lost on him. He viewed her obliquely. “Yes, Lilac?”

“Since it seems I am forced to comply with this farce of a marriage, I insist on a marriage of convenience.” There, that was to the point.

Rejar blinked slowly. “A marriage of convenience ... What, pray tell, is this?”

Lilac blushed; the man was irritatingly obtuse. Surely a man of his proclivities should have a clue. The sapskull. “A marriage of convenience sets aside ... intimacies.”

It took Rejar a full minute to completely comprehend what she was saying—so bizarre was the suggestion. When he did, he threw back his head and laughed; a rich, throaty sound. He grinned wickedly at her. “Do I look like the type of man who will set aside intimacies?”

No, he didn’t. Lilac swallowed. Somehow, her prepared speech was not going the way she imagined. Damn the man, anyway! He never did what was expected!

“I—I must insist—”

Rejar narrowed the distance between them.

Lilac froze as his hand came up to casually brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. As if he already owned her and had every right to do so! His fingers slid lazily across her skin, a smooth, sultry stroke.

Taking his time, he bent forward to lightly graze his chin against her cheek in an action that was almost feline.

Silent, he held her to the position.

His deep, silky voice teased against the folds of her ear. “I will not leave you alone, you know. Not for a minute.”

It was several seconds before the true meaning of his words pierced the lulling quality of his gentle actions. When Lilac grasped what he was actually saying, she stepped back from him in horror.

“You’re despicable! I will never allow—”

His powerful hands captured her. Clasping her shoulders, he brought her firmly against him. “Not for a minute. Lilac. I will be at you morning, noon, and night. In fact, I intend for you to forget what it feels like to not be entangled with me.”

She paled. “Let go of me!”

He ignored her, pressing his sensuous, velvet lips against her heated forehead. “And what is more, my Lilac, you will love every minute of it. You will crave my touch, my kisses, my ...” he paused meaningfully. “Well, I think you get the idea.”

“You delude yourself! You are arrogant beyond belief, your Highness—why, your conceit knows no bounds!”

“It is not conceit. My kind have no need for false promises.”

“Your kind? What—libertines, rakes, and rogues?” He only grinned the grin that never failed to make her nervous.

“You will find out.”

* * *

Aviara

Yaniff climbed the rocky pathway that led inexorably upward. For an old wizard such as himself, it was an arduous journey. Wind constantly grabbed at his crimson robes, pulling them this way and that, its sound a low, mournful dirge through the crags and peaks of the Sky Lands of Aviara.

Some journeys were not of one’s choosing, he acknowledged philosophically, and not for the first time. Nevertheless ... He rounded a bend in the path.

There on a promontory, perched on the edge of two worlds—sky and land—sat Traed ta’al Yaniff. His son.

Captured in silhouette, Traed seemed a part of this wild, turbulent land. Yaniff could see a certain symbolism in the way Traed gazed out over the horizon, his booted legs hanging dangerously over the edge of the cliff, his sights inward. Normally tied tightly back, his waist-length hair now flew unrestrained on the keening moan of this Sky Land wind.

The powerful emotions he kept under such tight control found some kind of ally here in these raw, untamed peaks. Even though Traed was not facing him, the old wizard knew his eyes were closed.

Yes, wild and turbulent. The real Tread kept well hidden from others. A man of deep passions.

It said much to Yaniff, who watched silently some distance away. This kind of son let the wind speak to his spirit.

By Aviaran law, Yaniff had claimed Traed to his line just before the disturbing death of his natural father, Theardar, a powerful mystic who had turned renegade. In his madness, Theardar had disowned Traed.

Not only had Traed been the victim of his father’s twisted desires and hatred, but Theardar’s rash actions had set into motion events which could well affect the lives of generations of his people.

They were headed for busy times.

Yaniff stopped to rest. He leaned heavily on his staff, his thoughts more weighty on him than the difficult journey. Traed would not yet know of his approach.

“Why do you come here, Yaniff?” Traed’s sure voice carried to him above the keening.

He sees.

Yaniff had suspected but now he knew. Traed’s power is strong. How long did he think to hide it from me? From the Guild. Traed’s sire had been a sixth-level mystic. There were not many who achieved that level.

Yet, Traed had always believed it was his father’s power which had driven Theardar mad.

And power often flowed in lines of descent.

So, too, Traed believed, did madness.

It was a gift that tortured him.

The situation was as complex as the man; Traed denied his heritage as well as his power. He condemned the Guild of Aviara for their actions against his father, actions that in turn had unwittingly punished him.