by M. J. Scott
She tried to keep a scowl off her face. Goddess curse it. Had Jean-Paul known about this when he'd invited her? And if he had, did that mean he didn't know she was one of the junior officers on that mission? Granted, he was in the cavalry, not the mages, but the army was the army, and the speed at which gossip and bad news traveled was faster than anything other than perhaps a sanctii. She'd suffered through weeks of pitying looks anywhere she'd gone within the barracks before she'd been sent off to the first of her courier jobs to start earning back some trust. She'd gritted her teeth—after all, she had done nothing wrong on the mission—and kept her nose clean and lived it down. Or so she thought. But if any of the Andalyssians recognized her here tonight, goddess only knew how they might take it. "I should go."
"You can't leave now," Chloe hissed back. "That will only draw more attention."
She had a point. No one in the ballroom was moving, all eyes turned attentively toward the emperor. If Imogene tried to retreat now, it would cause a commotion. And possibly draw the focus of one of the Imperial Guard.
"Fine." She gritted her teeth and tried to look as though she was paying attention as the emperor began to speak. His voice, enhanced by magic, carried over the crowd. Imogene only half paid attention, her mind racing, trying to think of the fastest way to get out of the ballroom once the emperor finished his speech. Anxiety twisted with disappointment in her stomach. It seemed she and Jean-Paul would be thwarted again. Maybe that was just as well.
The Andalyssians’ presence was a sharp reminder that she couldn't afford any hint of scandal right now. And no matter how temporary a night in Jean-Paul's bed might seem, it would only take a slip of the tongue on his part or for someone to see them and put two and two together for the rumors to spread.
The emperor's words continued rolling over the crowd. The diplomat in Imogene translated the tone of polite phrases as conciliatory, but also a little impatient. The emperor wanted to get the relationship with Andalyssia back to stable ground, and quickly.
But even the analysis of the meaning beneath the message didn't distract her from her desire to leave. Nor did the emperor do anything that might have eased her concerns by naming the Andalyssians. That much at least would have told her if there was anyone amongst among them who might recognize her. She'd been very junior in the mission, but she'd spent time at the Andalyssian court and in the meetings that went along with any mission.
True, she'd always been seated in the rear of the room, bent over a sheaf of papers, taking notes, or running messages. They'd only been in the country two weeks before they'd been asked to leave. Long enough for her to have grown familiar with all the immediate members of the court they'd had dealings with in their talks, and quite a few more who'd been present at the social gatherings she'd attended.
Most Andalyssians were pale and blonde and green eyed. They had female mages, but the unusual kind of earth magic they practiced seemed to tint their hair more copper than the deep scarlet that streaked through Imogene's natural dark brown. She'd been noticeable at the Andalyssian court even when trying to fade into the background. And surely the Andalyssians would have sent experienced courtiers to Lumia. Exactly the sort most likely to remember her.
By the time the emperor finished and the court broke once more into conversation as the music began, she was desperate to leave. She took Chloe's hand and tugged her toward the nearest door.
"Is this really necessary?" Chloe protested, though she was well schooled enough to do so with a smile pasted on her face.
"I'm sorry," Imogene said. "I know you were looking forward to this." She didn't slow her pace.
"What about your mystery man?" Chloe said. "I thought you wanted to meet up with him?"
Chloe had somehow missed Jean-Paul's dance with Imogene at the first ball, being too caught up with her group of friends, and so had no idea who had secured their invitation for tonight. Imogene hadn't told her anything more than she'd met someone perhaps worthy of a dalliance. It had seemed safer. Chloe would only get overinvested if she realized who Jean-Paul was, and there was nothing to get invested in.
"I think the goddess is sending me a sign that he and I are perhaps not a good idea." Imogene tried to sound less disappointed than she felt. A large part of her body thrummed with annoyance and frustration, even though her brain so far had kept control and remembered the sensible reasons why she needed to leave the palace before she could cause any problems for the emperor.
Chloe made a dissatisfied noise that suggested she thought the goddess was a spoilsport, but she followed Imogene without further protest.
Until they pushed through one of the side doors near the rear of the room, made it about twelve feet down the corridor outside, and nearly barreled into Jean-Paul striding in the other direction.
Chapter 11
"Lieutenant," he said with an unmistakable thrum of pleasure in his voice as they righted themselves and regrouped in such a way that Chloe stood next to Jean-Paul facing Imogene. "We have to stop meeting this way."
Chloe's brows flew upward.
"Major," Imogene replied, avoiding using his name. "We were just leaving."
"So soon?" His expression fell. "But the dancing has only just begun. And you and—Mamsille Matin, is it not—are far too beautiful tonight to go before you grant some of us men the pleasure of your company on the dance floor."
He turned toward Chloe and bowed shallowly. "Mamsille Matin, I will introduce myself, as the lieutenant seems to have neglected to do so. Major Jean-Paul du Laq, at your service."
Chloe's brows flew higher, and she mouthed, "du Laq?" at Imogene before schooling her face back to a polite smile as Jean-Paul straightened. "A pleasure, Major du Laq."
Jean-Paul smiled at her, but then his attention arrowed back to Imogene. "Can I not persuade you to stay, Lieutenant?"
Chloe smirked at Imogene. Cleary her friend had made the connection that Jean-Paul was Imogene's mystery man. And worse, it was obvious that Chloe knew who he was.
Now she would never hear the end of it. Even if they left right now, Chloe wouldn't let Imogene get away with avoiding the subject of why the son of a duq was interested in her. Worse, the uncomfortable truth was that Imogene, faced with Jean-Paul again, didn't want to get away.
But as much as she wanted nothing more than to let Jean-Paul take her hand and lead her where he would because, really, she kept forgetting just how handsome he was, she maintained a semblance of control. "I'm afraid not. Circumstances have altered, it seems."
"Circumstances?" He looked confused. "Do you have a more pressing engagement elsewhere?"
"No, she doesn't," Chloe said cheerfully, grin widening.
"I do," Imogene insisted. "Chloe is just trying to be polite, Major, but we really must go." She narrowed her eyes at Chloe.
Jean-Paul's eyes narrowed, too. "I do not wish to keep you, Lieutenant, but I would appreciate it if you would grant me a minute of your time first. Alone," he added.
"I don't—"
"Think of it less as a request and more as an instruction from a superior officer," he said, voice rumbling through her.
There was no way to refuse that. He outranked her. "Sir," she said stiffly.
"I'll go arrange for our carriage to be summoned," Chloe said, making it clear that she was not going to come to Imogene's rescue. She hurried away down the corridor, leaving Imogene with Jean-Paul.
"Well?" she said. "Do you have any more orders for me, Major?"
He rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic." He jerked his head toward a door a few feet behind her. "We can talk in there."
She should say no and go after Chloe, and then this mad temptation would be done with. But he did outrank her and could cause problems if she ignored him. Of course, if he was the kind of man who would cause her problems over this, then she was well rid of him.
But despite all of that, she wasn't ready to step away from her fascination. So she followed him into the room and let him close the door behind t
hem. It was one of the many rooms used by the court for meetings and business and politicking in the polite-on-the-surface aristo fashion. Furnished with a table just big enough for the four chairs tucked against its edges, plus a small sofa and pair of armchairs closer to the fireplace. Which was lit despite the unlikelihood of anyone seeking to use this room tonight.
She moved toward the flickering light of the flames, sending power into the earth-lights as well. The room brightened.
Good. Better for them not to be alone in the dark just now.
Jean-Paul followed her over to the fire, standing silent beside her.
Imogene resisted the urge to step closer as she took in his scent. "You wanted to talk to me, sir?"
He winced. "I apologize for pulling rank. That was wrong of me. But I didn't want you to leave. Not without knowing why."
She hesitated. He sounded sincere enough, but this felt like more than she had bargained for. Explanations and misunderstandings, and they hadn't yet so much as kissed. For a brief liaison, it was rapidly growing complicated. A wise woman would make an excuse and then hurry to find Chloe as fast as she could. But she was discovering that, when it came to this man, perhaps she wasn't so wise. So perhaps she should just be honest. It was simplest in the end.
"It isn't you. It's the Andalyssians."
He looked confused. "Why should a group of foreign northerners with their noses out of joint upset you? Granted, their fashion is somewhat eye-watering, but..." He raised an eyebrow at her, inviting her to fill him in.
"Because I was part of that mission to Andalyssia that went...wrong. The reason their northern noses are out of joint, as you say," she said, bracing herself for his reaction. "You didn't know that?"
He frowned, head tilting. "No. Why should I?"
"Because everybody knows about that mission," she said. Because it had taken her this long to overcome the blot on her record and earn another chance. But maybe the son of a duq didn't know much about having to fight for each step forward in a career. Or having to overcome setbacks. She doubted he'd faced many of those.
Jean-Paul shrugged. "I'm cavalry. You didn't cause a war, so we don't get involved." He held up a large hand. "I knew something had gone wrong and that Alexei Berain resigned, but I never heard the details or any gossip about the junior officers."
Making him one of the few people in the army who hadn't.
"Well, there was plenty of gossip. And plenty of recriminations to go around. So I don't think it's a good idea if they see me at the emperor's ball."
"Why, Lieutenant, that sounds like you're running from a fight."
"I'm a diplomat. I'm supposed to avoid fights. In fact, that's my entire job."
"Not exactly. It's more that you're supposed to win the fight without getting blood on the ground. Or the carpet, I suppose." He grinned down at her. "I promise you there will be no bloodshed in the ballroom. Major Perrine has the place crawling with his men."
"And doesn't that tell you the situation is precarious?"
"Perrine is cautious. It's his job. But he didn't strike me as a man on high alert. Well, no more than he usually does. Given I've spent half my time with him the last few days, I would hope he would have told me if he was expecting any real trouble."
"If he's not expecting trouble, then why are the cavalry involved?" Imogene asked.
Chapter 12
Jean-Paul pulled a face. "Not so much the cavalry as just me. And I'm mostly being decorative."
He certainly glittered in his black dress uniform, with medals and ribbons of honor arrayed across the impressive expanse of his chest. Some were marks of his regiment and rank, but others were from actual fighting. He hadn't just stayed safely in the capital, it seemed. "Decorative? Did the emperor think his ballroom would lack for handsome men tonight?"
His smile grew wider, his expression delighted. "Handsome, am I?"
She shook her head. "Some might think so. Those who weren't waiting for an answer to their question."
He laughed. "A point, Lieutenant. Very well. No, not that kind of decorative. Even if Aristides was inclined to admire men's faces, not women's, I doubt I would be high on his list. No, my value comes in my rank. If dealing with disgruntled diplomats from the outer reaches of the empire, it can be useful to have the son of a duq or someone equally impressive-sounding to dance attendance on them. Make them feel important."
She understood that much. "I see. But if that’s your role here tonight, then shouldn't you already be at the ball doing whatever it is dancing attendance involves? Not consorting in dimly lit rooms with women who would probably not please said disgruntled diplomats."
"Consorting? That hardly seems a fair assessment, Lieutenant. We've barely touched." He brushed his hand over hers, then pulled it back.
For a moment she forgot what the point of their conversation was. Something about...Andalyssians. Right. Bloody inconvenient Andalyssians. Because if not for them, his hand could be doing more than just wafting over her fingers right now.
"Let's not argue about terminology. You should be back in there"—she jerked her head in the direction of the ballroom—"doing what you’re here for today." She tapped a finger on the biggest and the brightest of the medals on his chest. An imperial commendation, she thought it was, though she had never seen one up close. A golden star with a spray of tiny sapphires embedded in each point. "You're in uniform. You have a job to do." She peered up at him. "And you must have known that when you invited me here tonight. So how exactly were you expecting this evening to go, Major?"
"I'm on duty, but I'm not part of the guard itself. My job is to mingle and ensure that the Andalyssians meet the right members of the court. The ones who will make them feel valued. I was reliably informed that they will retire early, and then my time will be my own. Or all yours, Lieutenant." His gaze skimmed over her body. "And seeing you in that dress, I must tell you I am very tempted to go fetch a sleeping draught of some sort and pour it into their damned campenois to hurry their departure along."
"I'm not sure drugging a delegation is the way to repair relations." She tried to pretend she couldn't feel the weight of his gaze on her skin like the heat from the flames. Her skin prickled with the need to move closer to him.
"Andalyssia can rot for all I care right now," he said. He reached out a hand, settled it on her waist. "Stay."
"That wouldn't be helpful." It would be everything every inch of her body wanted, but not helpful to anything but her worse instincts. "This can only be a fleeting thing, you and me. It's not worth a diplomatic incident." But she made no move to shift his hand from her waist. Instead she stepped closer, unthinking as his fingers tugged her toward him.
"Fuck diplomacy," he growled and bent his mouth to hers.
And oh, his mouth.
She'd never had a man deploy a kiss like a weapon before, but his found her like an arrow flying true and shattered her defenses.
One taste of him and her common sense dissolved under a rush of lightning-hot want. It was like the first time she'd touched a ley line, back when her powers had manifested. A sense of the world being forever changed as power and emotion surged through her. A sense of wanting nothing more than to remain suspended in the sensation forever. If he'd been an illusioner, she would have suspected him of using magic to sway her senses, but she felt nothing magical flaring from him as he poured his kiss into her, only desire that was as intoxicating as any touch of magic she'd known.
She swayed into him, opening her lips and kissing him back just as fiercely. Let herself take what he was offering and offer something of her own in return. Lost in the moment and the touch of him. Until he pulled back, staring down at her with eyes that were black now, his pupils blown wide with only the faintest rim of gray around them. There was no mistaking how much he wanted her. His lips had left hers, but his hands still held her fast against him, and even through the layers of ball gown and petticoats, she could feel him pressing into her.
"Stay," he muttere
d again. "Please, Imogene."
Goddess. The way he said her name. She could cope with his teasing “Lieutenant,” but not with him speaking the three syllables of her name like they were half a prayer. Her blood was roaring in her ears, her pulse still pounding from his kiss, and she couldn't have moved away from him in that moment if the emperor himself had appeared and demanded it.
"I don't want to cause trouble. And I can't afford another blot on my record." Her invitation to bond a sanctii could vanish as swiftly as it had been extended.
He shook his head. "If there was any concern over you attending this ball, Major Perrine would have told me. He vets the invitation list thoroughly."
Of course he had. She felt foolish. In her surprise, she hadn't stopped to think that, of course, the emperor knew each guest who attended his balls. And she had been approved. Relief swept over her. Followed by a second rush of nerves. Not caused by the Andalyssians but by the awareness that if she did stay, if she went back to the ballroom with Jean-Paul, then... She stared up at him, wondering again if it was a mistake to give in to wanting him.
"Stay, Imogene. I will get the damned Andalyssians out of the ballroom as soon as I can. Then I will find you and we will dance. And then, unless you tell me no, I will take you back to my apartment and remove that delectable dress and we will finish what we just started."
It was just as well that he was still holding her because her knees wobbled a little at the words. Which was ridiculous. She wasn't a woman whose knees wobbled because a man announced that he wanted her. She hadn't been that way even when she'd been a virgin. She'd chosen her first lover—and everyone since—with care and deliberation. She'd enjoyed herself. She'd learned what pleased her and what pleased them, but she had never been at risk of coming undone from just a kiss. Never been more certain that she should walk away before he could do anything more. Never been more certain that she had no intention of doing so.
