The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (7 page)

   "Ye worry too much, May."

   "But when he finds us in his rooms… Ye know he doesn't like servants about."

   "But I do," interjected Cass. "And I've quite made up my mind. Now, if you've got your things, we shall call a coach."

   Gwen clapped her hands. "I've never ridden in a carriage before. Where are we going, my lady?"

   Both of their hazel eyes widened when Cass replied.

   "Shopping."

* * *

When Cassandra joined the court at dinner later that evening, she felt exhausted but entirely pleased with herself. Gwen and May looked lovely in their new gowns—although Gwen had stubbornly fought the need of stays. But they both vowed they would happily get used to their uncomfortable new shoes, and admired the shiny buckles at every opportunity. New feather mattresses and linens for their beds had sent both girls into complete rapture, and Cass had made all the rooms much more comfortable with the addition of mahogany tables and plush velvet chairs and soft tapestries to adorn the walls.

   With a sigh of satisfaction, Lady Cassandra entered the dining hall, smoothing the folds of her satin dress and knowing she looked her best. May did indeed have magical fingers, arranging Cass's hair into curls and weaves without benefit of an iron or a single hairpin. Her lace cap had long lappets that trailed down past her shoulders and matched the trim on her skirts and sleeves. She missed the comfort of her wool gowns but decided the look on her husband's face when he saw her would be worth the trouble.

   She'd been entirely wrong.

   When the general looked up at her standing in the doorway, he looked right through her. Cass's own heart did a leap at the sight of him in a white satin coat trimmed with silver, his pale hair brushed in a smooth fall about his broad shoulders. His handsome face looked hard and implacable, but she remembered the gentle softness of his lips on hers and started toward him as if pulled on a string.

   She wanted to be near him. She yearned for just the touch of his hand upon her skin.

   He stood. She sucked in a breath as he headed in her direction. And then let it loose with a gasp as he strode by her and picked up the hand of the Lady Agnes, leading the woman over to his chair to sit beside him.

   Cass heard the titters of the other nobles at the blatant rebuff. It took all of her courage to settle into the same chair she had the previous day. Across from her husband and mistress. Next to the smiling Lord Mor'ded.

   Had she truly given some human attributes to her husband's character? If he'd shown some gentleness in his lovemaking it had been only a ruse… or her own imagination. He had awakened her body to pleasure and she'd overreacted, thinking some feeling must lie behind the act. She felt like a fool for thinking he'd allow her to rush into his arms this evening. That he'd been as enchanted with her as she had been with him. She'd even thought he had some generous motive to his visits to the kitchens.

   His blood ran as cold as his father's. She'd best get over her attraction to his angelic beauty and remember that he was the devil in disguise.

   "You've barely touched your plate," said Lord Mor'ded, leaning close to her. "You'll need your strength, dear girl."

   Cass fought the urge to move away from him. Two devils sat at the table, and she'd best not forget it. With a nod, she lifted a spoonful of pudding to her mouth, trying not to choke as the greasy mass slid down her throat.

   "That's better." He sat back, those black glittering eyes studying the guests, his mouth twisted into a mocking smile. "Lords and ladies," he began, barely raising his voice. Yet they all turned to him as one, even those at the end of the long table. "On the morrow your champion will fetch the king and his ministers. A toast to General Raikes!"

   They rose, a clatter of screeching chair legs and clinking glasses. Apparently Cass didn't stand fast enough, for the gentleman at her side scowled and hissed at her, "Get up, you fool."

   Lady Cassandra bristled at his tone. How dare he speak to her that way? And yet, what better treatment could she expect when her husband set the example for the court? She rose and pretended to sip her wine until the full implication of the elven lord's words hit her; then she drained the glass.

   Not that she cared a whit about the king's coming to Firehame. But his prime minister, Sir Robert Walpole, would be with him. Even to speak to the leader of the Rebellion would bring her a great amount of comfort, which she most assuredly needed right now. And it might be possible to have a private moment alone with him on the road, something she might not manage within the walls of the palace.

   Cassandra suppressed a smile. She could turn her obvious fascination with her new husband to her advantage. She looked over at Dominic, who had studiously avoided her gaze, and allowed the newly awakened lust of her body to show in her brown eyes. "But surely you won't leave my bed so soon?"

   A startled silence followed, and then Mor'ded chuckled and the entire assemblage broke into mocking laughter.

   "Egads, you broke her into her traces good, eh, Raikes?" said the man who'd made the wicked smoke creatures, leering at Lady Agnes. "Now you've got two of them panting after you."

   "Three," the woman to his left said, laughing and coyly smacking Lord Blevin with her closed fan.

   Dominic sat stone-faced, not a blink of his thick lashes to acknowledge their words. Cassandra spoke again before the conversation could degenerate any further, transferring her gaze to Lord Mor'ded. "May I be allowed to go with him? Surely the more we… well, the quicker you will have your new champion."

   The elven lord appeared to be proud of his son's prowess, whether on the battlefield or in the bedroom, because his eyes showed no suspicion as he shrugged. "Go with him if you wish. I care not."

   "But that's preposterous," said the Lady Agnes, her voice at odds with her beauty, a nasally squeak to her words. "There's danger on the road. Bandits, wild magic. And I vow I will not sleep upon the hard ground."

   Cass smiled at her sweetly. "Then you need not come."

   Dominic turned to his father. "She will be a nuisance."

   Cassandra knew he referred to her and not Lady Agnes.

   Mor'ded rolled his black scepter between his palms. "So will the king. Surely you can protect them both?" His eyes searched his son's face, as if looking for something.

   "Of course. But I value the king more than I do her. Do not blame me if your breeding mare is harmed."

   Mor'ded smiled with satisfaction, as if some unspoken question had been answered, and threw back his head with a laugh. Cass couldn't figure out what had passed between the two, but she felt the silent battle of wills as if it were a solid wall. How would she ever discover the secrets between them?

   But she had gotten her way and counted that a small victory.

Five

Dominic entered his apartments later that evening, after having consumed a bit too much wine and fighting off the advances of Agnes. Demanding wench. She annoyed him most of the time—which was precisely the reason he kept her as his mistress. He never felt in danger of becoming attached to her.

   But at this moment he felt that his new wife annoyed him more. What business had she to invite herself along on this journey? It would be dangerous and most arduous for a lady, especially one as tiny and frail as Cassandra. Had she no sense of self-preservation?

   His shin met the edge of a table and he let out a startled curse. He didn't remember a table in the middle of the room. With a call to the magic in his blood, he lit up the apartments with cold white fire and narrowed his eyes.

   What had she done?

   Instead of the sparsely furnished rooms he had demanded, a confusing array of color greeted him. Red velvet chairs littered the floor, along with tables of assorted shapes and sizes. Colorful tapestries hung from the previously clean walls, with country scenes and fanciful creatures and flowers.

   "Flowers," he muttered, weaving his way through the room.

   He paused in the sitting room, his senses alert, the same ones that had saved his life amid many a war. He quietly opened the door to the servants' room, which he'd intended to stay empty. Owners often became fond of their servants and he couldn't afford for that to happen. Nor could he allow possible spies around him, reporting to his father and endangering anyone for whom he showed a weakness. So when he heard soft breathing coming from both beds his annoyance rose. He closed the door as softly as he'd opened it and quickly strode to his bedchamber.

   The curtains of the bed had been pulled back and Lady Cassandra lay in the middle of the mattress, arrayed in some gossamer gown that left little to the imagination. And made his groin stir in anticipation. He ignored it, strode over to the bed, and put his hands on his hips.

   "I forbid you to go with me tomorrow."

   She opened her eyes with a start, looking tousled and frightened and entirely delicious, damn her. "I beg your pardon?"

   "You heard me—and pray tell me the meaning of all this?" He spread his arms, his magic flaring to new life, lighting up the room to a white-hot glow.

   She sat up, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm not sure I understand."

   Dominic held back a growl of impatience. "You've ruined our apartments and hired two servants."

   She frowned at him and he forced his eyes to stay on her face. Her pert nipples thrust at the fabric of her gown and did their best to gain his attention. But the charms of a woman had never distracted him from his purpose, and so it didn't worry him overly much.

   "I didn't hire any servants," she said. "And I couldn't bear the coldness of these apartments. Isn't it enough that I must bear the coldness of the court?"

   Her soft brown eyes looked at him accusingly and he knew he was to be blamed for the way the court treated her. He shrugged. "It can't be helped."

   Her lovely full mouth curled into a frown. "I don't understand."

   Dominic spun, refusing to be sympathetic to her, knowing he couldn't afford to involve himself with any feelings his new wife might display. He shrugged out of his coat and then his waistcoat, amused that instead of looking away, his wife eyed him with eager curiosity. "It's not your place to understand, Lady Cassandra. You are to do as you are told and breed another champion; that is all." He sat in one of her velvet chairs and kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his hose from his breeches and rolled them down his legs. "You will disengage the servants tomorrow."

   She crawled to the edge of the bed, her gown shifting up over her knees. "I told you, they're not servants."

   "Then what, pray tell, are they? Creatures created by the elven lords?"

   He could hear the soft sound of her breath as it escaped through her lips. "Like the smoke beings at our wedding breakfast?"

   "Not hardly. Those were created by a courtier with but a hint of true power. Now answer my question."

   The daft woman completely changed the subject. "Did you enjoy our dance?"

   Dominic's mouth twitched. "Which one?"

   He enjoyed her blush. "The one at the ball."

   "I enjoyed the one in our bed much more."

   "As did I." She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if the words had escaped unthinkingly. Dominic tried very hard not to think it charming. Instead he concentrated on finding the buttons of his shirt through all the ruffled trim and began to unbutton them.

   She slid off the bed and stood, the light shining through her transparent gown. "And yet you ignore me in front of the court and prefer your mistress by your side."

   Dominic allowed his white fire magic to fade to shadow. "Of course. You would do well not to mistake duty with pleasure."

   She bristled at that. He admired her courage.

   "Duty? You consider it just an obligation to lie with me?"

   He removed his shirt, not bothering to stifle a yawn. Let that be her answer. He'd drunk too much tonight, and felt tired unto death of his father's games and the jostling of his minions for his attention. He had no patience for any further pretense, especially with this confusing woman. He'd thought he would marry a boring, biddable girl. At least, that had been his impression before he'd bedded her last night. The realization he'd been gravely mistaken worried him.

   "About those servants—"

"That's my magic, you know."

   Dominic rubbed his bare chest. She had the oddest way of confounding him. "What?"

   "I dance, General Raikes. That's my magical gift."

   "Oh." He yawned again, reaching for the buttons of his breeches. He preferred to sleep in the nude when not on the battlefield. It might take several days to fetch the king from the sovereignty of Dewhame. It wouldn't surprise him if Imperial Lord Breden made the task as difficult as possible. He'd sleep in comfort while he could.

   "I know many kinds of dances," she continued, her voice suddenly a bit unsure. "Shall I dance for you?"

   Dominic leaned back in the chair with a groan, reminding himself to dismiss the servants on the morrow. "There's no music."

   "I need none."

   And she began to dance.

   For the first time in his life, a woman distracted Dominic. More than distracted. Entranced.

   The first sway of her body held him frozen in his seat. The slight flutter of her arm became the most erotic movement he'd ever seen. She had a grace that far surpassed those of pure elven blood. The sound of his heart pounded in his ears, the rhythm a perfect accompaniment to her dance.

   Dominic could not take his eyes off her. She used her long brown hair as a cape, spinning and revealing parts of her body teasingly, then allowing the silky tendrils to cover her once again. Her brown eyes glazed to a dark luminosity, a fascinating mixture of sultry innocence. Her nightgown hid nothing and yet when she lifted the hem above a thigh, the sight of her smooth skin inflamed him even more.

   He had thought her pleasing to look at, exquisitely shaped. But as she danced, she became ethereally beautiful.

   Her complete innocence in his bed and genuine faith convinced him she'd been raised religiously, and yet somewhere she'd learned an elven love dance. What manner of woman had he married?

   Lady Cassandra ended her dance on her knees in front of him, her head thrown back, breasts thrust forward. Thighs parted and welcoming.

   Dominic didn't hesitate. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and covered her body with his. He'd never felt such lust before, such an overwhelming need to possess a woman. He couldn't even prepare her for entry… but he needn't have worried. She was wet and hot and oh so welcoming. As if performing the dance for him had excited her as well.

   When his senses managed to return he found himself flat on his back, staring at the engraving on the ceiling of the box bed, wondering how he would manage to avoid becoming infatuated with the little minx by his side. He quickly closed the curtains around the bed, reached out, and pulled Cassandra near.

   She wiggled against him and then gave a satisfied sigh. "Just duty, sir?"

   He smiled at her smug tone and refused to answer, his eyes drifting closed.

   "May I keep the slaves?"

   That brought him alert more quickly than the sound of gunfire. "What slaves?"

"Why, the ones I hired to help me."

   So that's what she'd meant by saying they weren't servants.

   He had worked in the kitchens as a slave for long dreary years. If she had purposely sought a way into his frighteningly human heart, she could not have done better than by caring for a slave.

   "They will steal you blind," he finally said.

   "They shan't."

   His eyes drifted closed again. "Let it be your worry, then. Just keep them from my sight." And he realized he'd just given her his agreement. Against all likelihood, Lady Cassandra had bewitched him. His only recourse was to stay away from her and her new household. God forbid his father should learn he'd become fond of his wife or took pity on slaves. Not a one of them would be safe from fire.

* * *

Dominic awoke before the sun rose and realized with dismay that his wife had already left the apartments. The stubborn hoyden seemed bound and determined to accompany him to fetch the king. Or to stay by his side. He supposed that becoming pregnant with his child and securing her place as mother of a champion was more important to her than her own safety. But producing a champion would be no easy task; most children were born with either too much power and sent to Elfhame, or too little, like the nobles of his father's court. But he supposed he had a better chance than most of producing a child with acceptable magic.

   He parted the curtains and got out of bed, surprised to find his uniform laid out neatly atop his trunk and a kettle of tea warming on the hob. A small basket with fresh biscuits inside sat next to the pot, and he ate them quickly before getting dressed. He rarely broke his fast in the morning but he supposed it would be easy to get used to.

   Damn her.

   It would not be the last time he cursed her today, for when he entered the courtyard it appeared that half the court had also taken it into their heads to accompany him. The fools had brought carriages and trunks and servants. They had dressed as if they attended a festival, a riot of silks and garish color. Dominic fought back the urge to tell them all to return to their soft beds. Only a few of them had packed lightly and sat atop a horse, so he would lose most on the road anyway.

   Unfortunately, one of those who sat a horse happened to be his wife. His eyes narrowed at her sensible riding habit and jaunty hat, the way the rising sun caught the auburn in her brown hair and changed her eyes to golden amber. Had he once truly thought her ordinary? She held the reins with such delicate hands, her slight form straight and graceful in the saddle. His groin stirred as he remembered her love dance, and he realized with a start of alarm that if he'd had a choice, he would rather have spent the day in bed with her than riding out to fetch his prize.

   She caught his gaze and held it for a long moment. He felt sure his face revealed nothing—he'd trained it too well over the years—but he couldn't be sure whether his eyes showed a bit of his yearning. For Lady Cassandra smiled with pleasure while a blush of bright red crept into her cheeks. Then her mount snorted and reared, and her attention centered on the huge beast she'd been given to ride.

   Dominic frowned, wondering what half-wit had given her the black stallion, who was known for his volatile temperament. Even the best of riders had difficulty controlling the horse. He checked himself as he opened his mouth to demand another mount for his wife, feeling a pair of eyes upon him like a heavy shroud.

   Dominic turned. Mor'ded stood on the steps, his black gaze going from his son to Cassandra.

   Women always gazed at the elven lords with lustful admiration and he looked enough like his father to be given the same attention. But Dominic couldn't be sure what his own eyes revealed and if he should show the slightest concern for Cassandra's safety…

   The general turned his back on his wife, indeed upon all the court, and mounted his own horse, signaling his troops forward. Despite the shrill outcry of alarm from a few of the nobles, Dominic and his men pounded through the gates. By necessity they had to slow through the streets of London and many of the court managed to catch up to them. But when they reached the countryside Dominic set a brisk pace for his men, and as he had predicted, most of the fools fell behind.

   A sudden flash of black seething muscle galloped past him, Lady Cassandra clinging to the back of the stallion like a burr. Dominic leaned forward, fully intending to ride after the runaway horse, afraid his new wife would be thrown from the beast and likely break her neck.

   A shadow fell over him and he glanced skyward. Ador rode the winds, his father mounted on the dragon's back. So Mor'ded had come to watch the return of the king as well.

   He cursed beneath his breath and sat back in the saddle. Mor'ded would wonder if Dominic rode after the girl, wife or no. An elven lord should be concerned only with himself, and humans were but dumb creatures to be used at a whim.

   He would kill the half-wit who had given her that horse.

   The general continued the brisk pace he had set, perhaps increasing it a bit as he searched far down the road. When he saw the black speck, with a rider still astride, he grunted with relief. Lady Cassandra waited for them to catch up, patting the neck of the lathered, shivering beast. Somehow she had tamed the black stallion. As his troop passed her, she gently flicked the reins and the beast rode smartly along with the rest of the horses, his ears occasionally flicking back at Cassandra as if eager to comply with her slightest wish. He couldn't help but feel a trickle of admiration for his new wife.