The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (12 page)

   The girl giggled. "So they do. But what if I cuts them into shapes? Per'aps a star right near yer cheek? Won't that look grand?"

   His wife's soft brown eyes met his in the reflection of her mirror. "I'm not sure. What do you think, sir?"

   Dominic could do naught but stare. She looked lovely in her dressing gown of pale satin, her hair woven into an intricate design that layered in strands of champagne pearls and gold ribbons. Her loosely belted gown revealed the swell of her breasts and the brocade fabric of her stays.

   She continued to gaze at him, a smile playing about the corners of her lovely mouth. Dominic had had enough experience with women to know she should have greeted him with pique, if not downright hostility. He had dismissed her person as unimportant to the king, had not slept with her since she'd been captured in Devizes, and had left for weeks with nary a farewell.

   Any other woman would have thrown something at him, hoping for some kind of emotional response. Women had always tried to goad him into some acknowledgment of their
feelings. Dominic ha
d become quite adept at dodging glassware.

   Cassandra worried him. And he'd vowed not to let her affect him in any way.

   "I don't care. I need a bath."

   Her delicate face collapsed into a frown. "Of course, how thoughtless of me. I'd heard you've been riding the borders for days, making sure our people are protected." She turned to her two helpers. "May, dear, I believe my hair holds enough pearls; you may stop now."

   The slave pulled her fingers out of his wife's silken hair, the girl's hazel eyes still fixed upon Dominic. The younger girl stared at him in terrified fascination as well. A swarm of flies could make their way into such open mouths.

   Except for their hazel eyes, they could have been his sisters, with their silver hair and flawless complexions. He couldn't tell which elven lord they might be descended from because of the mix of color in their eyes, nor could he recall which battle had brought them here as slaves. But obviously no one had paid their ransom to return them home.

   "You have dressed them as fine as any noble's servants," said Dominic. "No wonder the court is in a huff."

   "Does your father care?"

   "No more than I."

   "Then it doesn't signify. Gwen, fetch the kettles off the fire and pour them in the bath. My husband eschews fashion and likes to soak, do you not?"

   He nodded, wondering how long she'd stared at his wooden tub before she had figured out what he did with it. The two girls disappeared behind an oriental silk screen painted with red-plumed birds.
That
hadn't been there before either. He hadn't needed a privacy screen.

   Dominic began to undress. By the time the slaves reappeared, he'd stripped down to his breeches.

   "Does he need our help bathing, my ladyship?" asked the younger one with a terrified warble in her voice.

   "Gwen," replied Cass before Dominic could reply, "remember what we discussed?"

   They both blinked at her then rounded their eyes to him and with a quick curtsy, they disappeared.

   Dominic shed his breeches. "I take it you told them you completely disregarded my wishes by hiring servants who will only be a nuisance to me?"

   Her gaze ran up and down his body with appreciation. "Don't be odious, Dominic," she replied a bit breathlessly. "Why frighten them any more than they already are?"

   He liked the sound of his name on her lips. He liked the cheeky way she spoke to him, as if, unlike the rest of the court, she didn't fear him a whit. Indeed, he found that instead of being annoyed by having his routine interrupted by a new wife and servants, he rather… enjoyed the attention.

   When he stepped behind the screen and saw the steaming tub, the cake soap laid out neatly atop thick drying cloths, and rose petals floating atop the water, he decided he could get used to this. "You'll make me soft," he mumbled.

   "Pardon, sir?"

   Dominic lowered himself into the tub and closed his eyes in rapture. "I said," he replied, raising his voice, "that I need my back washed."

   A moment of silence and then her dainty face peeked around the screen. "But I thought you liked to do for yourself."

   "I've changed my mind."

   Her eyes closed for a moment, and her lips moved as though she whispered a prayer. Then she gingerly walked over to the tub, grasped the soap with a trembling hand and dunked it in the water.

   Dominic smiled and leaned forward. The first touch of the soap sliding across his skin made his member swell. "I've been weeks without a woman."

   He heard her swallow. "Indeed, I am most surprised, sir."

   "How so?"

   "I assumed you had more than one mistress scattered about the sovereignty."

   "If that were so, it wouldn't matter now. It seems I must save myself to get you with child."

   "How… disagreeable for you." She dunked the soap and slapped it across his back, rubbing vigorously.

   "Mm. I assume you want a child as quickly as possible, madam?"

   "Naturally."

   "Then take off your clothes."

   The soap plopped into the water. "I… I cannot muss my hair. It took May hours to weave it."

   "Faith, woman, I shan't touch a hair on your head."

   For a moment he could hear nothing but the crackle of the fire.

   And then she rounded the tub to face him, hands on hips, brown eyes flashing. "I have tried to make myself agreeable to you, sir. I have done my best to please you. And yet you still treat me with little respect, ordering me about as if I were some lackey. I care naught for your feeling but I demand at least a little consideration."

   Ah, so Lady Cassandra did not scream and throw things, she silently simmered to a boil. Interesting.

   Dominic studied the controlled rage on her face, and his admiration for her grew. But what could he say? That he could not afford to show her any consideration because it might lead to an affection that could be her doom? That he did it to protect her?

   But even if he trusted her enough to confide in her, he would not risk getting any closer to her by exchanging secrets, for therein lay disaster. No, he would hold himself as aloof from his wife as he did with everyone, no matter what Ador had said. For Lady Cassandra was a danger to him. As soon as he got her with child, he would avoid her like the plague.

   So Dominic ignored his wife's words and slowly stood, revealing the firmness of his arousal. The water sluiced down his skin, dripping over the muscles in his chest and the ripples in his abdomen. Elven blood made him physically perfect and he knew that with a crook of his finger, no woman could refuse him.

   Lady Cassandra's brown eyes widened, and she turned her face away and then just as quickly spun back around to stare at him, her eyes glazing as they traveled over every softly ridged curve, every glowing inch of his skin. Her feet stayed rooted to the floor, but her upper body swayed toward him at an almost perilous angle.

   Dominic held out his hand.

   Cassandra's fingers twitched. And then she spun again, disappearing behind the screen. He heard the bedroom door slam.

   Dominic stared at the empty space where she had stood, utterly bewildered. A woman had never rejected him before, much less run away from the sight of him. He stood there for a long moment, not quite knowing how to react, while the water dried on his skin.

   And then a wicked smile spread across his face, an expression his father would heartily approve of. So the wench had tossed him a challenge, had she? The thought so inflamed him he felt hard-pressed not to shout a battle cry.

   She would see who could hold out the longest. Her resistance would fall long before he allowed his to.

* * *

Dominic's resolve lasted until he glimpsed her at the ball.

   He had dressed more carefully than he ever had before in his life. He chose all black to suit his mood, in the style of his uniform. But this outfit had been crafted of velvet, from his coat to his waistcoat to his breeches. He wore new cuffed boots, polished to a high sheen, and a dress sword lay at his hip, the sheath and pommel encrusted with diamonds. He left his hair loose to flow down his back and shoulders, the silvery white a stark contrast to his black attire.

   When he strode purposefully into the ballroom, his fur-trimmed velvet cape fluttered behind him like the wings of some predatory bird.

   His father had outdone himself this time with his display of power, whether to impress the king or the nobles visiting from other sovereignties, Dominic couldn't be sure. White fire formed columns of glittering swirls of harmless flame. The mellow warmth of yellow fire danced atop the ceiling, creating starbursts that splintered every few seconds, scattering harmless embers onto the heads of the crowd, falling on shoulders and wigs to sparkle like diamonds.

   A glowing carpet of red lava made a path through the throng and Dominic stepped upon it, hoping the soles of his boots wouldn't melt. But his father had tempered the heat in the same way Dominic could temper the fire magic he summoned. Yet it seemed that the rest of the nobles didn't care to test the path, for he trod it alone.

   As he made his way to the dais where Mor'ded and the king sat, conversation stopped around him. He felt desire emanate from the crowd as hot as any flame. Women sighed and men murmured in admiration, and that wicked smile formed on his lips again. Several young girls swooned.

   But the general did not look for
her in the crowd
. Not yet.

   He bowed to his father when he reached the dais. The Imperial Lord sat ensconced in his golden throne, the king in a smaller one a step below him. Yellow fire dulled to gold shimmered in a curtain behind the dais like a waterfall of unimaginable wealth.

   Mor'ded wore red satin, the skirt of his coat stiffened with whalebone to flare out dramatically over his seat. His black eyes studied Dominic with cold calculation. "You have dressed with care this evening. Do you honor the king, or is there some other reason for such a dashing display?"

   Dominic erased the smile from his face, turned, and bowed to the king. But carefully, making sure his head did not dip lower than the obeisance he had bestowed on his father. "My salutations, Your Majesty."

   The king gave him a regal nod, his brow beaded with perspiration. The room felt cool despite Father's magic, and Dominic thought the king would soon become accustomed to the suggestion of heat. Surely it would be a relief from the foul dampness of Breden's sovereignty.

   Several of the king's highest ranked courtiers stood to his left, although Dominic noticed that Sir Robert appeared to be missing this evening. The original court of Firehame stood on Mor'ded's right, a division that might soon create problems if the elven lord wasn't careful.

   Although knowing his father, Mor'ded had probably instigated the division. If it started to annoy instead of entertain him, he would call in Dominic to take care of it.

   The general sighed.

   "Good," pronounced King George, drawing Dominic's attention back to him. The king's protruding eyes surveyed Dominic's costume with enthusiasm. "Good for man who won the king to boast of it with a soldier costume. Fur is a nice touch, but you should wear shoes. High-heeled, yes?"

   The general nodded politely, his face rigid enough to hide his contempt for the subject of heels.

   "And your wife?" continued the king. "I still have not met this woman. She has not yet recovered from her ordeal?"

   Dominic couldn't fathom why the man wanted to exchange pleasantries with him. It would take him some time to accidentally run into his wife and he itched to get started. He stole a glance at his father, noting the interest that still shone in those cold eyes. Did the man guess Dominic had dressed to entice Cassandra?

   Father's courtiers leaned forward to hear his reply.

   "My pardon, Your Majesty, but I don't really concern myself over my wife's health."

   The old man's face twisted in confusion and his courtiers gasped in outrage. But his father's court nodded their heads, as if they'd expected no less from the elven bastard, and threw superior looks at His Majesty's court.

   "Come now," said Mor'ded, his black eyes almost twinkling. "You want the chit to bear you a healthy child, don't you?"

   "That is your desire, sir. Not mine."

   The Imperial Lord laughed, relaxing back into his throne.

   "I do not understand," mumbled the king.

   "Ah well," replied Mor'ded. "No doubt you're used to Breden's bastards, Your Majesty, who are weak with human blood. My champion has an elven heart."

   He said it with pride and despite himself, Dominic felt a thrill of pleasure course through him. And a sense of relief that Mor'ded did not suspect his… possessiveness of his wife.

   With impeccable timing, Lady Agnes chose that moment to materialize at his side. Dominic bowed. "If you will excuse me?"

   The king gave him a regal nod, his face betraying a hint of his fear of Dominic. Mor'ded dismissed him with a negligent wave of his hand,
his face already stif
f with boredom, his gaze roving the crowd, looking for another distraction.

   Dominic led Agnes among the dancers, as far from the dais as possible. He would have to be even more careful this evening. He'd had every intention of pretending to ignore his wife while dancing with every other woman in the room, reminding her that he could have his choice of bed partners. That she should be honored that he shared his bed with her. Then he would have centered his attention upon her, and she would have melted in his arms…

   But now he could not afford to be seen showing the slightest interest in Lady Cassandra. He would have to wait out the entire evening until she returned to their room in order to charm her. And once he got her behind the privacy of the bed curtains…

   As they clasped hands, Aggie looked up at him, her beautiful lips twisted in a pout. "You haven't commented on my costume, sir."