Pleasure and Purpose (12 page)

"Nothing," said Edward. "It died, along with the girl." Then he opened up the double doors and rejoined the others, leaving Cillian to stand alone behind him.

Nessa watched from the window for Edward's return. The little party, five men including Edward, and three women, had spent the day picnicking in Edward's far field, where a small, clear pond allowed bathing. She'd already filled the bath for him and laid out his clothes. She hummed to herself as she puttered around his sitting room, thinking of how much she looked forward to this time of day. The time when he returned to her, if only for an hour or so before returning to his guests.

The nights she liked even better, for then she had him for hours on end, and her service to him no longer meant serving tea and running a bath. She smiled. At night it meant a completely other world.

"I see now why he keeps you locked away. You're too lovely to share with the rest of us." The voice from the doorway made her turn, but Nessa was quick. She bobbed a small curtsy. "My lord prince."

Cillian laughed as he entered the room. "I'm not your prince, Handmaiden. Am I?" Technically, he wasn't, as she wasn't a citizen of Firth. Nessa smiled anyway. "When in the home of another, obey another's laws."

He moved into the room with fluid grace, each movement almost like a dance step. "You may call me Cillian. I'd prefer it, in fact."

She had to keep turning her body to follow his movement through the room. Cillian pretended interest in the rows of books, the desk, even the windows before finally turning his gaze back to her. He had bright green eyes, the color of summer grass. They were not soft eyes, and she stepped back upon instinct when he speared her with his gaze.

"My lord Edward has not yet returned. I expect him at any moment. Would you like to wait for him, or perhaps I could give him a message?"

Cillian came closer, that sharp gaze studying her closely. Nessa didn't back away, even though he stood close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. He wasn't as tall as Edward, his form slighter, but she had no false beliefs that his lesser stature made him less strong. Cillian Derouth made her wary, but not anxious.

"Cillian," she said steadily. "When in another's house—"

"Obey its laws. This I know." His charming smile was at odds with the calculating gaze.

"He has you adorned."

Not a question, and before she could answer he'd reached to run a thumb over the fabric of her gown, just over her nipple. The tight flesh responded at once.

"Here," he murmured, and rubbed the other. "And there. Aye?" She didn't have to nod. His touch would have told him the answer. On fire with sensation, her nipples poked the front of her gown.

"And one on that sweet slit, too, I daresay."

For one moment she thought he meant to touch her there, too, but Cillian only used his gaze to caress between her legs. Nevertheless, the scrutiny made her acutely aware of the clip on her clitoris, and how the weight of the gem dangling from it tugged with every step.

"And inside you, as well?" He breathed, voice a little hoarse. Cillian's eyes narrowed in speculation and he leaned even closer, to whisper in her ear. "I taught him how to do that."

She had no answer for that, but he seemed to expect none.

Cillian drew back. "You smell good. Is that for him, too?"

"Everything I do is for him," she managed to say.

She couldn't read his expression. After a moment, he gave a small nod, as though he'd expected her answer. He stepped back. Nessa let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Tell Edward it would please me if you were to join us for supper." Cillian smiled and gave her a half bow, then left the room without waiting for her to answer. But then, she mused, watching him go, he was likely so accustomed to being obeyed he didn't need to hear her agree.

When she told Edward what his prince had requested of him, her patron was rather less than pleased.

"Damn him to the Void," he muttered. "He knows a Handmaiden is not required to serve any but her patron."

"He didn't ask it of me, Edward. He bid me ask it of you."

"Knowing I can hardly refuse him, the bold bastard."

"If it doesn't please you for me to attend the supper, than I shall not." The answer wasn't quite that simple, and she knew it.

Edward cast a glance at her. "And that would grieve my prince, who might take it upon himself to be less than diplomatic in his response to not being obeyed."

"He has no rule over me, but he has over you. And therefore, though it might not please you for me to attend supper at his command, it would surely please you less to make him angry." Calmly, Nessa checked his clothes for stains and tears as she folded or hung them neatly.

"He seeks to plague me. Cillian is a malicious bastard, when he wants to be, which is sadly more often than not."

She put her hand over his wrist, bringing his palm to her lips to kiss it. "It is no trouble for me to serve you at supper, Edward. I don't mind it."

Something worked in his eyes, the expression unreadable. "You're not here to be paraded about like a prize ewe, or to be gawked over like a rare flower, which is why Cillian wants you there."

"He seeks to shame you?"

"No."

Nessa raised a brow.

"Cillian and I were school chums, along with Alaric. We were something of a ... a pack if you will. Getting into trouble and such. I did things then I was too young and stupid not to understand that they were wrong."

She had an idea of what some of those things were. She passed a hand over her breast, the contact making her nipple thrust forward. "He told me he taught you the use of the adornments."

"Among other things. He wants me to be the lad I was. Not the man I am."

"And your friendship?"

"I'm loyal to my prince. And I fulfill my duties to him as best I can, upon the order of his father, our king. Beyond that, there is nothing."

"That must hurt him a great deal," Nessa said after a moment. Edward's eyes grew wide before narrowing. "I was ever his friend despite his crown, not because of it. Naught's changed in that. You know naught of what passed between us, Handmaiden. But I assure you, if you did you would not be so quick to jump to Cillian's defense!"

There it was. The damage done. Edward's secret. His reason for needing her. Now was the time to push him a little into revealing it to her, for ripping off the scab so the wound could at last release the poison beneath . . . but Nessa didn't push. She didn't want him to start healing. For the first time in all her years of service, Nessa wished to fail.

"I plead your mercy," she said in a voice more tremulous than she'd intended and turned her face from his so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

"You will attend me at supper. But not in service. You will sit at the table with us, as any guest would. I can at least balk him in that."

She looked at him. "I will gladly do whatever you want me to do. You know I will. For whatever your reason."

He softened a bit toward her and reached a hand to touch her cheek. "I know. Which is the only reason I will allow it."

Emotion blurred her vision and closed her throat. He embraced her. She felt the point of his chin atop her head and heard him breath in deep against her hair. But he said nothing, and after a moment Nessa gently broke free and set about laying out his clothes for supper table truly fit for a prince." Alaric lifted his chin toward the spread.

"And food fit for all of us, I daresay, and about half a dozen more." Edward turned to look at his friend. "You've appetite enough, haven't you?" Alaric grinned wolfishly. "Indeed, I have. A man must keep up his strength for all your brannigan's amusements."

Edward laughed and reached to touch the faint purpling mark upon Alaric's neck, half hidden by his cravat. "I think games of quoites and snap me are not quite so taxing as the other amusements in which you've been partaking."

Alaric laughed and danced out of his reach. "Shall I complain? I dare not. Fate brought my Lady Larissa here, and who am I to argue with Fate?"

"Cillian brought her here," corrected Edward.

"Because he knew she would be pleased to find me part of the party, old man. And a pleased Lady Larissa is one far easier to deal with than a grumpy one."

"And what of a pleased Alaric?" Edward asked, curious.

"Also much easier to deal with." Alaric's ready smile grew soft, his gaze a bit distant, in thought. "I find the lady's company most pleasing, Edward. I'm fair grateful for this chance to prove my . . . loyalties."

Edward grinned and clapped Alaric on the shoulder. "You don't mean to tell me—"

"I do. If she'll have me." Alaric made a half bow. "I'd be glad for you to stand beside me when we wed, if you would."

Alaric, married? And to Lady Larissa, no less? As Edward further congratulated his friend with another clap on the back, he couldn't help feel a faint sense of surprise and disappointment. If even flighty Alaric could wed, did that not mean there could be a chance for Edward, as well?

"Alaric," came the dulcet tones of Lady Larissa from the doorway. She nodded at Edward as graciously as a queen and held out her hand.

Alaric bent over her hand, his lips brushing the back of it, before straightening. "May I escort you to your seat?"

James showed up after that, with a pouting Persis a moment later still. Sentinell and Marvina cooed and fluttered while James paid them both a great deal of attention and Persis slouched in his chair.

"Your mercy, my dear Edward, for our late arrival. But I found this lovely creature hesitating on the stairs and thought to escort her myself." Cillian's languid drawl drew Edward's attention to the doorway, where the prince had appeared with Stillness on his arm.

Edward found only silence at the sight of her. She'd insisted he go down ahead of her, saying she would need time to prepare herself appropriately for a social supper. He'd been expecting to see her clad in the gown of her profession, the high-necked, long-sleeved, floor-length gown that buttoned from throat to hem.

He would never have thought she could look lovelier to his eyes than she had already become, no matter what the gown, but the sight of her literally drew away his breath. The simple dress, unadorned with feathers or ribbon, nevertheless had a fashionable cut. It dipped low, cut square across her chest, and showed a generous amount of decolletage. The high waist bound her just below her breasts and the skirt fell in a straight line to her ankles. She'd pulled her hair up high on her head, revealing the graceful curve of her neck and throat. The sight of a small purple mark at one collarbone, the mark left by his mouth, was enough to stir his cock in memory of when he'd put it there.

"I do believe you've struck him dumb, my dear." Cillian laughed. "And the sight of our dear Edward without words is a rare one, indeed."

Edward gave them both a half bow, Cillian and then Stillness, and when she extended her hand to him he kissed it. His fingers held hers, squeezing gently as he looked into her eyes.

"You look lovely," he told her.

Cillian coughed and held out his hand, too. "And what of me, dear one? Don't I look lovely, too?"

At that, the room erupted into laughter, and Edward took Cillian's hand to shake but not kiss. "As always, my prince."

This made Cillian simper and grin, and they all took their places at the table, Edward at the head with Cillian on one side and Stillness across from him on the other. This supper ought to have been no different than any other they'd shared since the brannigan had begun, but Edward found the presence of his Handmaiden had changed it greatly. Not from anything she did, of course. Stillness was as cordial and spot-on perfect in her social manners as she was when alone with him. She knew the proper forks to use and how to fold her napkin. She was, in fact, better trained in etiquette than any of them there, and yet he watched her gaze follow the conversations around them and watched as she sipped her wine out of turn and realized she had done so deliberately so as not to embarrass Lady Marvina beside her, whose manners seemed to have been learned rather less than perfectly.

Pride filled him, though he had no right to feel it, for he hadn't trained her. He didn't own her. But watching Stillness make everyone around her feel comfortable with just the right amount of laughter, the perfect responses, by not being better dressed or spoken or mannered . . . yet at the same time being the epitome of a fine lady . . . yes, Edward felt pride.

Edward watched as Alaric gave subtle service to Larissa, making sure her cup was always filled, fetching a wrap for her shoulders without her having to ask. He could have been any devoted suitor, but there was more to it than that when viewed by a knowledgeable eye. Edward wasn't the only one to see it. Cillian noticed, as well. When the party moved to the library for coffees and cordials, Cillian pulled Edward aside by the elbow. "Yon Alaric is smitten."

Edward looked to where Alaric sat at his lady's feet, looking at her with clear adoration in his eyes. "I think it's a good match for him."

"Do you?"

Cillian's curious tone turned Edward's head. "I do. Don't you? He clearly adores her, and she—"

"She'll chew him up and spit him out again." Cillian spoke fondly, almost in admiration.

"She's a vicious witch."

Edward looked at the Lady Larissa as she bent to feed Alaric a bit of something from her dessert plate. Soft affection gleamed in her eyes, and they laughed together as she spilled cacao on his chin. "I must respectfully disagree with you, my lord. The lady and the gentleman appear to be in great accord."

Cillian snorted and pulled his tin of herb from his jacket pocket. He rolled a cheroot as he answered. "You can't convince me you're truly overjoyed for him." He held out his cheroot for Edward to light.

"Of course I am." Edward pulled out his silver matchbox. Cillian's hand closed over Edward's wrist. "I gave you that matchbox."

"Yes." Edward met his gaze without hesitation. "You did." Cillian stared into Edwards eyes without blinking, then bent his head toward the lit flame.