The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (13 page)

   Dominic blinked, lowering his head. He'd forgotten about her.

   "Indeed," he muttered, raking her with his gaze. She looked like a flame, the color of her dress shifting from yellow to red, triangles of cloth floating about her neck and shoulders, lapping at her skin like true fire. "Very nice."

   "Nice? I'll have you know that this cloth came all the way from Dreamhame. It's been woven with an illusion of your magic and cost me—well! You can at least offer me a better compliment than that, sir."

   "It suits you."

   "Hmph. The Duke of Claridge offered me a much bolder compliment. He said—"

   They slid sideways in the pattern of the dance. "I care naught what other men say to you. And don't expect such flattery from me."

   Agnes rolled her eyes. "I'm quite aware you haven't a romantic notion in your head. But you could at least
try
, Dominic."

   His lip twitched. Perhaps she was right. He bowed and she curtsied. "You must know you're the most desirable woman in the room. I chose to dance with you, didn't I?"

   She flung back her head and laughed, drawing several envious gazes their way. "La! Be grateful for the amount of elven blood that runs through my veins, General. For otherwise I would have despaired of you long ago."

   Dominic took her hands again, chafing at the mincing steps of the dance, remembering the one he'd performed at his wedding. An old elven dance, his father had called it. He only knew he'd followed his wife in a rhythm that had set his blood afire.

   Aggie laughed again, bringing his attention back to her perfect face. He appreciated the distraction she always provided him. The way she never took offense to anything he said. She was as arrogant and vain as he appeared to be. And he hoped that others thought him as shallow of feeling.

   They turned direction and he glimpsed another couple across the floor, almost losing his footing in surprise. Agnes widened her eyes at him in shock. The elven did not stumble.

   "It cannot be," he said as he held her hand high and they minced steps to and fro.

   She followed the direction of his gaze. "What do you mean?"

   "The elven lords don't often leave their sovereignties. What would an Imperial Lady be doing here?"

   Aggie snorted. "You aren't speaking of your wife, are you?"

   "My wife?"

   "Well, that's who you're staring at. And she doesn't look anything like an Imperial Lady."

   Dominic stilled, hiding his surprise with an excessive force of will, staring over the heads of the other dancers at Cassandra. She wore a dress of honey gold, with jewels sewn into the cloth that winked with her every movement. Gold chains encircled her slim throat and elegant wrists. Her hair had been caught up at the sides and left to spill across her back, layered with pearls and ribbons as he'd seen it earlier this evening, but her little slave must have talked her into powdering her hair for a silvery white layer covered the warm brown.

   With the silver hair of the elven she could easily pass for an Imperial Lady, the fine bones of her face more pronounced, the perfection of her skin accented by the color.

   He preferred the warm brown of her hair, though. It made her look more human.

   Agnes caught his hand and towed him back into the pattern of the dance. "Egads, Dominic, have a care—"

   "Who is he?"

   "Who is—oh, the handsome gentleman dancing with Lady Cassandra." She licked her red lips as she stared at the golden-haired man. "He's just returned to court. Something about caring for his sick mother… but apparently she recovered. Charming man, that one. Beautiful too, despite his rugged human features. If he held more than one tiny manor in the country, I might even be tempted—"

   "His name, Aggie."

   She tittered. "I do believe you're jealous! Look at the way your jaw has tightened. But have no fear, darling, I would never prefer him over you."

   Dominic caught the inflection in her voice, the way she swept her eyes over Cassandra with an accusatory look. Indeed, his wife appeared to be captivated by her partner, often breaking into laughter, their faces pulling too close together as if they exchanged private confidences. The man treated her with too much easy familiarity.

   The general took eight steps instead of four, flustering a few dancers as they tried to adjust their positions to accommodate him. But it brought him closer to Cassandra and her partner. Yes, the other man gazed at his wife with adoring eyes. With a yearning that spoke of more than admiration. The fellow looked half in love with her.

   "Name," choked Dominic, his fingers squeezing Agnes's.

   "Ouch. Althorp. Viscount Thomas Althorp. Why is it so important to you?"

   The general twisted his lips and closed the distance between his wife and that fellow. This time the other dancers dared grumble a complaint at him for interrupting the stately flow, but one glance and they lapsed into silence, quickly reforming their ranks.

   Lady Cassandra's eyes widened and that Althorp fellow followed her gaze, wincing when he met Dominic's glare.

   Aggie tugged on his arm. "I know what you're thinking; but don't do it."

   Dominic looked down his nose at her. She scowled.

   "If you call him out, you will make a scene," she huffed. "And all because of injured pride."

   He nodded slowly, taking up Aggie's hands again to resume their pattern, catching glimpses of Cassandra's worried face. He appreciated his mistress more than ever. She'd stopped him from doing something extremely foolish, but she had it wrong. Pride did not prompt this sudden urge to run his blade through the viscount's flesh. Some other wicked emotion raged inside him, something he'd never felt before.

   Fortunately his father had left his dais, pursuing some lady or retiring in boredom, he knew naught. But calling out another man for dancing with his wife would eventually reach Mor'ded's ears. And the elven were not prone to jealousy.

   But his all-too-human heart appeared to be.

   With a speed only his elven physique could manage, he'd dropped Aggie's hand and caught up his wife's. Althorp appeared to be a wise fellow, at least. He stood only for a second before snatching up the hand of Lady Agnes and leading her instead.

   None of the other dancers appeared to notice the switch.

   "What are you doing?" hissed Cassandra.

   "Dancing with my wife."

   "You could have waited for the next round, sir."

   He raised a silver brow. "Why should I? Who is he to you?"

   They parted. He bowed, she curtsied. Unfortunately, it gave his wife time to gather her composure. "He is an old friend of the family. That is all."

   She lied. Dominic lowered his hand a bit in order for her to grasp it for the dance. The only reason he could think for her to lie was that the man had meant more to her than she wanted to reveal. Perhaps he still did.

   It had not occurred to him before this that she might have had a previous relationship with any man other than her father. Mor'ded had been assured the school that boarded her was very exclusive. Very secluded. And he knew her to be a maid when he'd bedded her.

   Yet why did his body fill with rage? Why did his fingers itch to summon fire?

   This went beyond her role as one of his possessions. This trod into dangerous territory. He could not truly be jealous. His human heart could not be that weak.

   And yet still the rage consumed him and Dominic found he could barely control it. He suppressed the urge to strangle her admirer, to sweep his wife up into his arms and carry her from the room.

   Instead he bowed over her hand. "I suggest that you retire, my lady. I fear you have the headache."

   Her brown eyes widened with confusion. "I have never felt better in my life, sir."

   "How long do you think that will last if I challenge your Lord Althorp to a duel?"

   "Whatever for?"

   "For daring to touch what is mine."

   She stared at him for a moment. The tune had ended and people started to watch them. "You would, wouldn't you?"

   Dominic's mouth twitched.

   The clever girl swept the back of her hand up to her forehead and swayed. The general caught her in his arms. Lady Agnes hurried over. "She will be fine," snapped Dominic. "She is overcome with exertion."

   Aggie raised a doubtful brow.

   Viscount Althorp, his golden hair glittering in the glow of the fire-washed ceiling, had the temerity to cock a grin. "Perhaps the general has already produced the child that his father so desires."

   Dominic faced the shorter man, his face frozen, his voice quite calm and pitched so only the fop could hear. "Come near her again and I will kill you."

   Cassandra stiffened in his arms. A flicker of something shadowed Viscount Althorp's pale eyes, but only for a moment, the smooth libertine quickly reappearing. "As you wish, General Raikes."

   And Dominic swept his wife from the room—if not quite in the manner he had originally planned. He ignored the concerned queries from the nobles, knowing Althorp would have spread the word about his lady's supposed condition soon enough. Although the falsehood would be revealed in time.

   He stopped for no one, including her two little slaves as they met them at the door. He ordered them to their rooms, tossed his wife on the mattress, and slammed the bedroom door.

   "Pray tell me what has brought on this fit?" asked Lady Cassandra.

   "Be quiet. You will make your headache worse."

   She frowned but said no more as he pulled the ties from the curtains surrounding the bed, blocking off the glow of the fire in the grate.

   He pulled her into his arms and she allowed it, although her body felt stiff as a tree. Dominic placed his mouth very close to her ear and whispered, "How do you know that man?"

   "I told you—" He caught her face and brought her lips to his ear. "Why must I whisper?"

   Dominic turned her head and breathed in her ear. "It is… a precaution."

   She stilled for a moment and he could feel her mind working. Then he felt her soft lips at his ear again. "Spies?"

   How would she guess such a thing? He had sensed his innocent wife hid a part of herself from him and now he felt certain of it. Dominic clasped her hand, the pad of his index finger finding the carved rose of her ring, the petals twisted in a tight bud.

   He turned her head with his other hand. "You hired the servants who listen through keyholes. Answer my question."

   "May and Gwen would never do such a thing."

   She was probably right. But he never dropped his reserve within the palace walls, and his questions would not be those of an unfeeling elven lord's bastard.

   "We shall argue in whispers?" she finally said in the taut silence.

   This time she turned her own ear to his mouth and waited for him to speak. "So it seems."

   "I told you, Thomas is an old friend of the family."

   "You lie. He was too familiar with your person."

   She caught her breath, as if she could feel his sudden rage. "He would come visit me at school sometimes."

   Dominic waited, his finger stroking the still-tight bud of her ring.

   "When I was very young, I thought I might be in love with him."

   This sounded like truth and the slight unfurling of the rose ring confirmed it. He waited again.

   His wife huffed. "He asked me to run away with him but I refused."

   "Why?"

   "Because you were—you
are
my destiny."

   Despite his intentions for her to reveal something damning, he could not deny she spoke the truth, for the petals of the rose blossomed beneath his touch. Faith, he hadn't expected such an answer. He'd expected another lie—perhaps that she was in love with him, perhaps that she admired his features so much she wanted to be with him. He'd even hoped she might reveal the true reason she had married him.

   But. Destiny. That was a powerful thing.

   His rage faded as quickly as it had come.

   "Now it's my turn," she softly whispered. "Tell me of Mongrel."

   Dominic started. "How do you know of my dog?"

   "Cook told me—nay, do not be angry. She sought only to comfort me with a bit of knowledge about the stranger I married."

   He ran a hand over his forehead. Cook had known him since he was a lad, and although they treated each other with indifference, he'd always suspected that the redhead had a softer heart than she revealed. And Mongrel… just the name brought a memory of shared warmth and unquestioning loyalty. Words flowed from his mouth without thought. "The stable master tried to drown the runt, but he had more will to live than anyone credited. I found him on the bank of the Thames, weary and half-dead, and could only admire his spirit. I nursed him back to health and he shadowed me from that day on, until he died…"

   The vision of fire blackening fur and the sound of Mongrel whining in agony brought Dominic back to himself. But too late. For his wife held his cheek in one soft hand, and the sound of her sigh held too much empathy. "I'm so sorry. You must have loved him so."

   Dominic jerked away from her touch. This unpredictable creature had managed to warm his human heart, and he feared he'd revealed too much to her. Ador might be right. If he continued to spend time with her he might not be able to prevent himself from falling under her spell. Even now he felt… he felt… No, he would not admit it, even to himself. For if his father discovered the truth of his feelings…

   He leaped from the bed as if she had the power to burn him and stormed from the room, heading for Ador's tower. The general took the stairs two at a time, not pausing for breath until he burst onto the tower roof.

   The dragon snorted a noxious stream of smoke in his direction.

   Dominic coughed.

   Ador snorted again.

   Dominic paced the length of that large black body, his hands curling into fists. "Damn. Damn. What do I do? How could I have let this happen?" He looked up at the star-sprinkled sky. "I cannot care for her! I don't have the power to protect her! Yet I find myself drawn to her again and again. The scent of her hair, the touch of her hand, those warm brown eyes fixed upon mine. I want to tell her all my secrets… and therein lies disaster. For my selfish need will only imperil her life."