The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (21 page)

   "Be careful not to tell anyone about this, Gwendolyn. You have a unique gift and if it were known… others might want to use it for ill. Can you understand that?"

   "Aye. There's some things that shouldn't be found."

   Cass nodded and spread her palms across the map. "What lights do you see?"

   "Mor'ded's." A frown. "The champion's. And yers and mine"—she stabbed her finger on the paper—"right here. And May's, in the other room. And Cook's, here in the kitchens. And May's stable boy, outside, here."

   Cass glanced up with a smile.

   Gwen shrugged. "He likes May. And he's got a gift with the horses. I like horses."

   Lady Cassandra sighed. It seemed Gwen could focus on the people she knew well, or who were important to her, easier than the others. "Can you see the lesser lights of the nobles?"

   Her brow wrinkled in concentration, her pink tongue appeared briefly at the corner of her mouth. "Oh aye, but they're so faint, it's very hard. Except for this here blue one."

   Hadn't Sir Robert said the girl was one of Breden's nobles? He ruled with the blue scepter of sky and water! And if she held as much power as the Rebellion guessed… "Where?"

   Gwen pointed to a tower near the western end of the palace. "That's an old part of the building and the stones of the tower are so ancient and crumbling, no one dares climb it. Why would they keep one of the children there?"

   "Indeed." Cassandra's suspicions had proven right. They'd kept the girl in a different location than the other children, in a place no one would think to look for her. Thomas might already know this, but if he didn't, she'd just increased their chances of rescuing the girl.

   Cass leaned down and hugged Gwendolyn. She was so young, and yet… "You must speak of this to no one. And if you hear any gossip, don't question anyone about it. Just understand that I'm doing what's best. I'm counting on your loyalty, my dear. My very life may depend upon it."

   Those hazel eyes widened to alarming proportions, and Gwen practically whispered her next words. "Of course, my lady."

   Cass folded the map and tucked it back into the drawer. "Now you may call May to arrange my hair. And while she's about it, tell me about this stable boy of hers."

Thirteen

Dominic felt a keen sense of disappointment when he entered his empty apartments. He'd thought of his wife all day and had anticipated the sight of her lovely face. Now he would have to wait to see her at the theater and be doubly cautious in guarding his reaction. But he'd had to stay late with his men, for his distraction had caused several of them to deliver some lucky blows in hand-to-hand combat, and he'd been honor bound to trounce them to prove his ability to lead.

   And then it had taken some time to change the guard assigned to protect the tower holding Breden's half-breed. Mor'ded did not know the men the way his general did, would not recognize that only the most bumbling of his fighters had been chosen for the task. It would just make freeing the girl tonight that much easier for Dominic.

   Then he'd had to secure some extra mounts and make sure they were stabled in the farthest paddock away from the palace. And while he'd gone about it, the stable boy had told Dominic that he'd finally discovered who had ordered the black stallion be given to Cassandra on the day they'd ridden to fetch the king.

   Dominic entered his bedchamber and sat in the sturdy oak chair next to the hearth, pulling off his dusty boots while glancing about the room. Cassandra's feminine touch now permeated the very walls, and to his surprise, he found himself most comfortable among the frippery. It made him feel even more masculine by comparison.

   His court clothes had been laid out neatly on the bed, and a cold bath awaited him with a bucket of hot water over the fire to warm it. He grudgingly admitted to himself that servants could be useful in preparing for the constant amusements one had to endure in the palace. While he quickly cleaned and changed, he wondered who had suggested
Romeo and Juliet
. It bored him to tears. He much preferred
Hamlet.

   Although tonight it really didn't matter what amusement the court had planned, for his sole purpose in joining them would be the opportunity to see his wife.

   He took the stairs two at a time, grateful that his position as general allowed him the freedom of boots instead of heeled shoes. Gwen had a flair for fashion though, and he had no doubt the girl had chosen his coat of elaborately embroidered red birds with wings of flame and the matching dark red breeches. But his black shirt of ruffles at the throat and sleeves toned down the color, and it suited his fiery mood, and damn if he didn't care what he wore, as the only thing that concerned him was his desire to see…

   A woman stood in the doorway to the antechamber of the theater. Dominic's heart sank while his face stiffened, and he bowed with fierce precision. He supposed it would be best to get it over with. "Lady Agnes."

   She looked flamboyant in a gown that matched the color of her eyes. "La, my champion. I have missed you." She glided to his side and linked her arm with his. "I would ask where you've been, but rumor has already told me."

   They entered the antechamber, with its pastelpainted murals of fairies and fauns covering the walls and ceiling. Gilt molding surrounded the artwork and crystal chandeliers exploding with yellow fire made the gold gleam with molten color. Linen-covered tables lined the room, a riot of food overflowing silver platters and china bowls.

   "Rumors are often untrue, Aggie," he said, leading her to a private corner of the room. "Beware what you believe."

   She went willingly, her eyes shining as she assumed the wrong reason for his want of privacy. "Oh come now, General! Surely you can't deny this rumor, when it would only lead to your… satisfaction again."

   Dominic tried very hard to keep his attention centered on Lady Agnes, but his eyes kept sweeping over the top of her coiffed head for a glimpse of dark brown hair and a smile that could make his chest ache.

   "What are you talking about, Aggie?"

   "You. In my bed."

   The very subject he'd been meaning to talk to her about, although in a more oblique manner. With a sigh of impatience, he folded his arms across his chest, leaned back against a faun making indecent advances upon a fairy. "I succumb to your skill at provoking my curiosity. What is the gossip?"

   His position made his groin jut a bit away from his body. Agnes leaned her skirts up against him, but she didn't stir him in the least. Indeed, he found it most annoying.

   She lowered her voice, for they had managed to acquire a few onlookers. "That you have managed to get your bride with child. And now that you have accomplished the formidable goal you shall be free to return to my bed."

   Ah. So the hastily uttered words of Viscount Althorp had managed to circulate among the court. Cassandra's supposed headache had accomplished more than he had planned. He almost smiled when an unsettling thought occurred to him. Could it be true?

   No. Cassandra would have told him.

   "I had an interesting conversation with a stable boy this evening."

   The sudden change of subject set her aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered with her usual aplomb. "La, General, why would that interest me, when we were having such a… promising tête-à-tête?"

   "Because the conversation concerned you, my pet. Regarding a certain black stallion you insisted the lad give to my wife as a mount."

   Aggie waved her silk-gloved hand in a dismissive gesture. "What of it?"

   Dominic pushed his shoulders off the wall, grabbed those slender fingers in a painful grip. "Lady Cassandra could have been killed, or at the very least, injured."

   Her eyes widened as she stared from his black eyes to his tightened hand. "For which you would have been grateful."

   "She belongs to me. You should have respected that."

   "Fiddle!"

   Dominic dropped her hand, afraid he'd crush her fingers. People had started inching their way toward the shadowed corner, their ears pricked to the discussion. He kept his face very calm, his voice smoothly composed. "If you ever threaten to harm her in any way again, you shall regret it."

   She sniffed, tossing her blonde curls, completely unruffled by his threat. "I knew it. After all the years I've invested in you, you… bastard. You've fallen in love with your wife."

   "I'm incapable—"

   "So I thought—"

   "Shut up, Aggie." And he could think of only one way to do that. One way to silence her accusations that he'd fallen in love with Cassandra. He kissed her. Hard. Without passion or consideration for her bruised lips. If Dominic hadn't had such iron control over his facial expression his mouth would have twisted with disgust.

   She melted against him, throwing her arms eagerly about his shoulders. He heard a few startled gasps from their onlookers at such a public display, and then a few titters of amusement. When he broke the kiss, he looked up and stared at the few brave souls who'd dared to venture so close. They hastily backed away.

   When Dominic looked back down at Aggie, her eyes told him she saw through the lie of his kiss. And when he glanced over her head, he spied Cassandra.

   Her face flushed a bright red and she appeared to stumble, throwing out an arm to the man who stood by her side. Viscount Thomas Althorp smoothly caught her and turned her away from Dominic and his mistress, leading her to a table sparkling with decanters of brandy and port.

   "He dares," hissed the general. "I told Althorp to stay away from her."

   Lady Agnes looked over her shoulder, turned back to him with more expression on her features than he'd ever seen before. Such an ugly look on so beautiful a face. "Go ahead. Call him out. It will only confirm what I've told your father."

   The fury of seeing his wife in the arms of another man faded at her words. He focused his complete attention back on Aggie, and she blanched.

   "What, exactly, have you told Mor'ded?"

   She shrugged but refused to meet his gaze. "I told him the truth. That you haven't shared my bed since you married."

   "And why would you tell him that?" His voice dropped dangerously low. She took a step back from him. He followed. But she didn't need to answer, for he knew her ambition. "Did you succeed in getting into
his
bed?"

   She shrugged.

   "Listen to me, Aggie. You're playing with fire. Literally." He placed his hands on her narrow shoulders. "Stay away from my father. He's more dangerous than you guess. You would have a better chance with the king."

   He'd spoken figuratively, but when she looked up a wicked gleam appeared in her eyes. "Do you think so?"

   If he could have indulged in humor he might have laughed. "That's something you'll have to find out for yourself, now isn't it?"

   Aggie gave him a tentative smile. Dominic had always thought Lady Agnes only pretended to be unfeeling, just as he did. But he now realized her shallowness might be a true part of her character. Had he so easily distracted her then? He could only hope, for the antechamber began to empty as the orchestra's opening song filtered into the room. He saw Althorp disappear into the king's box with his wife and quickly followed, Lady Agnes right on his heels. But when he entered the box Althorp had disappeared, and Dominic decided the man wasn't as witless as he'd thought.

   The theater had been added to the palace years ago, when the baroque style had been the rage. Grand columns of marble circled the room and enclosed the boxes, a fresco of the sun's rays amid a sky of clouds adorned the ceiling, and the walls had been painted with trompe l'oeils of the English countryside, making the entire room appear to be open to fields of rolling hills and flowered meadows. A glamourist from the sovereignty of Dreamhame must have been a part of the theater troupe for the paintings moved, trees and grass swaying in the wind, the sun's rays shifting and sparkling, completing the illusion.

   Only the elven lord's box, crawling with yellow flame, shattered the deception.

   But it appeared that Mor'ded had decided to grace the king's court with his presence this evening, for he sat in the king's box on the older man's right. Walpole, as usual, sat at the king's left, and he rose and bowed to Lady Agnes, who quickly took a seat in front of the king, laying her arm on the back of the velvet chair and turning to bat her eyes at him. The rest of the court goggled at her. Dominic saw only his wife, who sat alone, just behind the king—the court shunning her as usual—her eyes rooted to the empty stage.

   When he took the seat next to her a becoming blush heightened her cheeks. Cassandra snapped open her fan and placed it as a barrier between her face and his.

   King George turned his head and nodded over his shoulder at Dominic. "Ah good, you have come. And this time I meet your wife. I see now why she wears the black, to complement the scarlet of your jacket."

   Dominic raised a brow as he appraised his wife's understated gown, and shrugged. "Her servants are clever."

   Mor'ded turned then, although he couldn't quite meet Dominic's eye, as the man sat directly in front of him, and instead settled his black gaze on Cassandra, who responded by fanning her cheeks. "It seems that congratulations are in order," he said as the house lights lowered with magical precision.

   "Indeed," replied Dominic in a carefully neutral voice.

   "It appears you have proven your virility."

   Cassandra fanned herself even harder but did not waver from her concentration on the stage. Dominic did not respond either. Let the elven lord assume what he would.

   "Your… dedication to your wife is commendable. Or so I have heard."

   The curtain rose. Aggie quickly ceased her efforts in trying to gain the king's attention and turned to the stage. Mor'ded also turned and settled deeper into his chair, Cassandra letting loose a breath of relief. But the king continued to face Dominic, ignoring the actors as they entered onto the platform.

   "I must demand the name of your tailor," blurted King George.

   The opening music rose in a crescendo and Dominic leaned forward to catch the other man's words, brushing his leg against Cassandra's. She slid away, smashing her skirts into the opposite arm of her chair. A trickle of annoyance made the general lean forward and sideways even more, trapping her leg beside his.

   "I beg your pardon," said Dominic, giving his wife a quick glance. He could see the color on her cheeks even in the dim light, but she pretended to ignore his presence.

   "Your tailor," repeated King George. "I must have his name."

   Dominic could not believe the man's obsession with clothing… although, since it appeared to be the only power he had, he supposed it was understandable. "I'm afraid it's not someone you would recognize, Your Majesty."

   The lights on the stage lit with a brilliance that suggested magical fire, and he heard his wife gasp at the scene they revealed on the stage. The troupe must have more than one half-breed possessing the power of Dreamhame, for the set looked remarkably real. Italian towers eclipsed one another as they faded into the background; the river snaking its way across the right flowed with a sparkle atop its waves and birds winged their way across a gray sky that threatened rain. When blades clashed between the Montagues and Capulets, the blood that flowed not only looked real, but Dominic could swear he smelled the iron tang of it from his seat.

   Mor'ded suddenly straightened in his chair and leaned forward. Did he fear that the power of the illusion might come from one too-powerful half-breed instead of the combined efforts of the smaller skills of many?

   "Bah," said the king, "you just do not wish to tell me who the tailor is."

   If Dominic didn't have the distraction of Cassandra at his side, he felt sure the man's obsession would have driven him mad. She held her fan with one hand, but the other lay loose upon her lap. He laid his hand lightly over the silk of her glove. The stubborn girl didn't even twitch.

   "Nay, Your Majesty. I just fear you will be disappointed when I name her."

   "Ah. A woman. She does not have a shop in London, then?"