Heart Dance (38 page)

“May I have this dance?”

She sent a discreet glance in Saille’s direction. He was watching T’Yew, T’WhitePoplar, and the Birches who were scowling at T’Holly. Those were the ones who’d vote against T’Holly.

But she didn’t want to think of politics, so she offered her hand to the man. “Thank you.” They made up the last couple of a set, and a fast tune and the need to watch her steps whirled her mind away.

When the dance ended, her partner bowed, glanced at his timer. “I need to move on to my brother’s soiree.” He pulled a face. “Vocal music, not dancing. I like to dance, and may I say that you are a wonderful partner.”

“Thank you. I like to dance, too.” That was the truth, she realized.A gift this forced social season had brought her, the knowledgethat she loved dancing, would always love it, especially with Saille.

Stepping closer and keeping his voice low, the Examiner said, “We have made a decision in the Winterberry case and will announce it tomorrow. I’m sorry.” With a brief nod of his head, he disappeared into the crowd.

Dufleur’s shoulders tightened. She didn’t know the full details,of course, but just that sentence from the Examiner was enough to understand her mother would not be pleased. Ructionsahead.

At that moment, thirteen-year-old Antenn Blackthorn bowed in front of her, wiggling his brows. “Help, that Arcta Uva Ursi is after me.” He took Dufleur’s hand with little short of a snatch, and placed it on his arm.

Sure enough, a girl not quite grown into her height was watching them with narrowed eyes.

“Antenn—”

“I’ve already danced with her, I swear. But this one is a waltz, and that means we’re together the whole time, and she talks too much.”

One more check of Saille. He lingered in the shadows close to T’Yew, ear cocked. Yew, his heir, and the Birches seemed to be having a quiet disagreement.

Dufleur looked down at Antenn and smiled. She definitely liked this option better. Antenn led her out on the floor and waltzed a little faster than the correct beat, turning often. Dufleur was proud that she kept up with him and neither of them trod on each other’s feet.

They ended a little out of breath near the door. A table with full water goblets was within easy reach. Both Antenn and Dufleur took one and gratefully sipped the icy water. Antenn bobblingthe drink a little. Right on D’Birch.

“My apologies,” Antenn said, bowing, and spilling more.

“You!”

“Antenn Blackthorn,” he said.

“I know who you are. That common Moss boy.”

"GreatLady, you’re overheated.” Dufleur nabbed a goblet and offered it to D’Birch, whose face and décolletage were certainlyflushed, though probably from anger instead of dancing. Dufleur shifted a little in front of the young man.

“I don’t want water. As for that Moss boy, he’s the brother of a murderer. I won’t have him in my house.” D’Birch’s penetratingvoice carried through the ballroom.

Dufleur flinched. Slick nausea coated her stomach, her throat, as she thought of those who’d tried to kill her. As far as she knew, all the relatives of the cult murderers had left Druida in shame. Several broken Family members had visited her, begging for forgiveness for their relatives. It had been hideous.

Behind her, she felt Antenn hunched as if petrified. He wasn’t associated with the cult at all. Then she recollected that Antenn’s brother had killed several people in a FirstFamilies council meeting. Of course only the FirstFamilies murders years ago would concern D’Birch, not the killing of children of lesser nobility a couple of months before.

D’Birch raised a hand to summon a footman. To show Antennout? How humiliating. Dufleur would not have been able to stand it. But here she was, in the middle of the scene. And where was Straif Blackthorn or Mitchella Blackthorn?

This time, she stepped back, forcing Antenn back, too, then placed the goblets down and moved to his side. She put her arm around the young man’s shoulders. She knew Antenn to be painfully honorable.

“D’Birch, please,” she said, not knowing where to go after that.

Mouth pinching, D’Birch glared at Dufleur. "GrandMistrys Thyme.”

There were two seconds of silence before D’Birch opened her mouth again and Dufleur rushed into speech herself, hoping the notion that came to her would work. “Thank you for inviting me,” Dufleur said. “But I must go now. I’ve realized I’m behind on my embroidery commissions and am certainly unaccustomed to the social season. Please give my compliments to T’Birch. Oh, and since my schedule is so full, I’m afraid I must tell you that I won’t be able to fulfill your commission.” It was a tapestry featuring the birch grove seen from the center of the great labyrinth.

Greed warred with insult on D’Birch’s face. “I promised the hanging to my husband as a Nameday gift.”

Dufleur shrugged. “I’m sorry. My schedule is too full,” Dufleur repeated. This was taking all her meager social skills, fancy phrasing was impossible.

“I’ll see you never sell another piece,” D’Birch hissed.

“You’ll have to speak to Quert Apple about that.”

“I’ll do that.” But caution appeared in her gaze. She glanced around at people observing the scene or studiously pretending not to. Apparently D’Birch didn’t mind circulating rumor but didn’t like to be the object herself.

“Shall we go, Antenn?” Dufleur said, dropping her arm from his shoulders and turning toward the room that held the teleportationarea. She thought he could teleport.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, ducked his head at D’Birch. “Merry meet,” he started the formal greeting, caught himself and flushed painfully.

Passiflora swept up to them with a bright smile. “I’m sorry we must leave so soon, D’Birch.” She turned to Dufleur and Antenn.“I’ve ordered the glider around.”

Dufleur stared, hoped her mouth wasn’t hanging open.

We do have a bond, Dufleur, and you’re my protégée. I wouldn’t abandon you
, Passiflora chided gently.

“You’re not leaving, Passiflora?” D’Birch sputtered.

Raising her eyebrows, Passiflora said, “You don’t seem to understand that you insulted my nephew.”

Dufleur blinked, looked at Antenn who lifted and dropped a shoulder. She couldn’t recall the connection, but all the FirstFamileswere a tangled mess of interrelatedness anyway.

“Your husband’s nephew’s wife’s ward,” D’Birch said tightly.

“My HeartMate’s nephew’s adopted son,” Passiflora corrected.She put her hand on Antenn’s shoulder.

D’Birch swallowed. “Stay.” She glared at Antenn. “You, too.” Then she switched her stare to Dufleur. “I’ll expect that tapestry on time.” She turned on her heel and walked away as cheerful, louder-than-usual dance music swelled from the musician’s platform.

“I’d like another dance, Antenn,” Dufleur raised her voice to be heard.

He nodded, grabbed her hand, and took her to the end of the line, which soon became the middle. She glanced at Trif Winterberrywho led the musicians.

“Trif Winterberry is my cuz,” Antenn said, as he made the opening bow and Dufleur curtsied. That’s right. Mitchella Clover Blackthorn, Antenn’s mother, was cuz to Trif Winterberry.Who was married to Dufleur’s cuz Ilex. Connections and connections.

“Mine, too,” Dufleur said. “On the other side. Small world.”

Antenn rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. Especially among the FirstFamilies, and they’re weird, too.”

Then they separated and went down the line of dancers. When the music stopped, Antenn bowed again, grinning. “Thanks, Dufleur.” He buffeted her on the shoulder.

“You’re welcome.”

He walked jauntily to the snack table, and Dufleur stared afterhim. He’d fight the stigma of his brother’s crime for the rest of his life. As she would never be able to shake the gossip that her father had blown up T’Thyme Residence. Not much they could do about their circumstances except hold their heads high.

“Very well done,” Passiflora murmured, handing Dufleur a glass of cold water.

“Thank you,” Dufleur said. She met Passiflora’s eyes. “I would have left.”

“I know.”

“It wouldn’t have been running away.”

“No.” Passiflora smiled, waved to a friend. “Your leaving would have been a statement, and the right thing to do.”

Dufleur tilted her head. “You would have left, too.”

“Yes.” Passiflora let out a little sigh. “D’Birch lives for gossip.She’s a bored, dissatisfied woman who likes to stir up trouble.I doubt Holm will get the Birch vote for Captain.” She shrugged.

“How’s that going?” Dufleur asked, suddenly curious.

Passiflora chuckled, patted Dufleur’s arm. “Very well. I’ve watched everyone tonight. I think we’ll only have two or three against, an excellent majority. Ah, here’s Saille.”

Saille bowed to them. He held no drinks and looked chagrined.“I’m sorry I was derelict in my duty.”

Dufleur was, too. He would have stood by her. But she hadn’t needed him to rescue her or Antenn, and that sent a spurt of satisfaction through her. “You’re going to vote for T’Holly to be Captain, aren’t you?”

Passiflora’s eyes widened at the blunt question.

Putting his hand over his heart, Saille sent Dufleur an amused look then said, “Passiflora has only to smile at me, and I would do whatever she said.”

With a shake of her head, Passiflora said, “Flatterer.”

“That wasn’t an answer,” Dufleur pointed out.

“Yes,” Saille said. “I will be voting for Holm Holly Sr.”

“Good.” Dufleur nodded.

“Speaking of smiles,” Passiflora said, “you each have the most charming I’ve ever seen, male and female.”

They stared at her as she glided away. Then they stared at each other.

Smiled.

Dufleur sighed. “She’s right, your smile has impact.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “And your smile is just one of the reasons why I am so very attracted to you.” His voice was low.

Dufleur let him pull her close for the lilting waltz. She let a contented breath escape, then said, “I wanted to ask
you
to dance tonight.” Murmuring into her ear, she said, “Seduce you tonight.”

“You have. You do.”

“Later,” she whispered. “Let’s make love in your conservatory.”

Their bodies moved to the music, their gazes locked, and the distance that had come between them, that would undoubtedly return, was banished for the moment. As it was every night.

Even as prickles of desire slipped through her blood, Dufleur felt the fine tension of passion imbue his muscles.

“Let’s leave early,” he said, breathing a little roughly.

“Yes.”

Twenty-nine

“I agreed.”

“I need you.” His yearning, through words and their connection,went straight to her core. And with a wide, sweeping turn, he danced them out of the door, across the hall to the teleportationarea. The small room was empty.

She was still moving in his arms when he teleported them to the conservatory. Dufleur stumbled, was hauled close. They stopped.

“A little awkward,” Saille said. “I need to make room.”

“Awkward to dance,” Dufleur said, sliding a hand down his shirt and opening the buttons with a spellword, “not to love.”

His shirt hung open, and she ran her hands up and down his lightly haired chest, feeling the flex and play of his muscles undersmooth skin, the breadth of his shoulders, how his torso narrowedto his waist.

With every touch of him, she aroused herself. She aroused them both.

He caught her hands in his and kissed her fingers, a gesture he hadn’t done for five days, something she’d missed. But his mind and body was focused on her. He led her to an area of thick, soft moss, pulled her into his arms, then down. She had a brief worry about her gown, and then it was gone, and his hands covered her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples.

“Saille.” She could barely breathe it, moved to touch his lips with hers, seduce him into opening his mouth, probing with her tongue, sucking on it, receiving the pleasurable jolt of the taste of him that she seemed addicted to and needed every night.

The air around them was heavy and scented with growing plants and flowers. Sleet snow spit against the windows. The contrast was wonderful, as wonderful as his murmurs of soft loving words and the power of his body, his strong, hard erection.

She curled her fingers around him, and he shuddered, moaned. With a little push, she had him on his back, slithered over him, let his arousal prod at the needy entrance to her body.

Wait
, she said.
Savor. Us together.
And he quivered under her, his hands went to her bottom.

She’d never had a lover like him, ready to explore with her, to please her as much as she needed to please him. Yearned to come together mind and body and soul.

All her barriers against him, all her self-doubt, were slowly eroding.

When she couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, she raised herself and slid down on him and whimpered in pleasure at the feel of him filling her. Slowly she moved upon him, over him, enjoying the thrust of his hips upward, his fingers rolling her nipples, tugging gently with their movement together.

Then the blindness of ecstasy hit her, and he groaned, and they merged together.

When her mind cleared, she was held close, and her body was sated, but her heart ached. Neither of them had offered the HeartBond to the other. Perhaps they’d been caught up in the physical moment.

Perhaps.

She thrashed out of the nightmare to find Saille’s arms around her, soothing coming from his bond, holding her close and warm, lovingly. Yet alarm remained, tweaking every nerve. Finally her brain cleared enough for her to understand. She pulled away from Saille, jumped to her feet, gathered her clothes, and dressed quickly, using Flair shortcuts. “Something’s wrong. I feel the breaching of a spellshield.” Not the old T’Thyme Residence tonight. The new laboratory. Agave.