Fellows came down the path toward them, champagne glasses in hand, braying like a pack of wolves. “Then you’re not Dagny’s true brother?”
Hearing the men, Sal stood, edgy. He leaned down and whispered urgently, “No, I’ve been as a true brother to them, but I only just met them in ‘12. I was introduced to them in New York.”
Strolling casually away from the cloud of papaver somniferum,
with their hands locked behind their backs, Tomaj and Sal talked in low voices, nodding to passing acquaintances.
“The next dance is the first waltz,” Sal told Tomaj.
Tomaj tried to seem unhurried. “Eighteen-twelve? Dagny must have been a young girl in New York, then.”
“Yes, she was all of fifteen when I met her. An innocent young girl from Pennsylvania, unaccustomed to the hardships of a big city. Their hearts were so big, their spirits so loving, that even when they had little money of their own, they welcomed me, took me to them as their brother, and for that I’m forever in their debt.”
Elbowing their way through the smoking room, Tomaj saw Boneaux lighting a pipe as he talked with Monsieur Launois, and Tomaj became heartened the boring squib hadn’t claimed the first waltz with Dagny. “Big hearts? While I can easily see that in your sister, in your brother I see nothing but a big head.”
Laughing, Sal said, “You will like him when you get to know him better. He’s very cynical of strangers, that’s all.”
“A cynical big head who forced you to live in New York in sordidness …”
They gained the ballroom, and Sal cringed back against a wall.
“Why don’t you dance?” Tomaj asked, scanning the room for Dagny.
“Ah. It’s just that … lately, I haven’t been much for—”
“Salvatore Ravenhurst!” cried a young woman Tomaj knew as Mademoiselle Catherine LeClerc, daughter of one of the finest Merina families, and a desirable beauty. “Where have you been hiding tonight? Did you just arrive?”
Sal bowed low, and did not muss the girl’s white glove with his lips. Tomaj saw Dagny by the fresh air of the garden door, standing up on the balls of her slippers and bouncing a little, her eyes trying to see over the milling heads of routers, fanning herself with her dance card. Her aigrette of birds of paradise trembled, Tomaj could see even from this distance, as though she were overcome with heat.
Her eyes locked easily onto Tomaj as the tallest man in the room. Instantly a smile bloomed on her plush mouth, and Tomaj leaned toward Sal.
“Mr. Ravenhurst. Mademoiselle LeClerc dances the waltz divinely!” he said loudly, before striding across the ballroom.
“Thank you, Count Balásházy!” Sal cried after him.
Ah, yes, she was waiting for him, she had to be ….
Several governors and tipstaves, courtiers of the king, attempted to intercept him with greetings or business questions, but Tomaj brushed them off with his customary detachment.
“Count Balásházy,” Dagny said giddily. She did not curtsy, as they’d already greeted one another tonight. “I’ve been hoping you would remember your earlier request.”
How he longed to touch her hand, to put his palm on her pink waist! Merely standing three feet before her, closer than was warranted in the circumstances, had a distinctly warming effect upon him. “Yes,” he replied in his coolest Hungarian voice. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about all night.” An erotic efflorescence began on the arches of his feet and rose with a spidery tingling up the backs of his calves and thighs, with the unfortunate effect that his cock distended in an alarming manner, and he was glad he had buttoned his dress coat.
“Count Balásházy dances most superbly,” said Elaine Townshend, the sergeant’s wife. She sounded a bit miffed. “But he does not usually bound across the ballroom like a stag at a hunt in his eagerness to do so.”
It was fascinating then, the frigidity that overcame Dagny’s lively face. Casting a sideways glance at the older woman, Dagny said lightly, “Oh, do you think he bounded?” Returning her ardent smile to Tomaj, she added, “He looked to me more like a gently loping panther that is rushing to play in the warm sun.”
“A panther …?”
How he wanted to paste his open mouth against her throat and suck on the divine herbal taste of her perspiration! Tomaj’s balls throbbed, he was certain his prick had elongated nearly down to his knee, and the thought foremost on his mind was where he could spirit Dagny away once the waltz was complete.
“Come, Miss Ravenhurst.” He lifted her hand to the height of her shoulder. “It’s simple, really, all you have to do is follow exactly what I do.” He led her to the floor, their eyes locked on one another.
“I touch you here …” He squeezed her hand lightly. “And here.” He set his hand properly on her waist. “You have only to follow the slight suggestion of my lead. The steps aren’t complex, and if you remain looking at me, you won’t become dizzy.”
CHAPTER NINE
EPILEPSY IN THE CARDEN
THAT SWINE IS LOOKING AT YOU, PAUL HAD HISSED AT her when they had stiffly walked beside each other in the sedate movements of the quadrille.
What swine?
That Balásházy porc. He is dancing with Holy Eleanora Brown,
yet he looks at you as though you are his next piggish meal.
It’s your imagination, Paul. I barely know that man.
Paul had kept his eyes on her when they switched to other partners. What had he against the count? Perhaps he was jealous of Tomaj’s power in the coastal regions. Paul did seem to want absolute power in the island. That must be it, some mercantile rivalry. Yet Paul’s eyes burned at her because Tomaj kept flashing his resplendent tourmaline green eyes in her direction. Tomaj was probably only looking at one of the other beautiful, young slender women who danced behind her, over by the orchestra. Oh, his eyes were luminous, shuddering depths of sorrow contained in them; one could fairly see the glimmer reflected from across the long ballroom …
Why do you not like the count, Paul? For I have done nothing…
He is an impudent pig! He has many illegal dealings in the Indian Ocean, he deals in contraband that is stolen, and then he refuses to sell it to upright men of business!
Ah, I see. You are just jealous …
Jealous? Bah! What is there to be jealous of a man who is only a nose on a stick?
He is not looking at me, only at Catherine LeClerc, over by the violins.
Be quiet now. Your wife sees us.
Here Tomaj was, his hand on her waist sending a flare of flames through her torso, burning her breasts, causing her nipples to stiffen pleasantly. That shuddering of her quim she’d tried to quiet since the day they’d kissed on the Stormalong, it now came rushing back down her abdomen full force as Tomaj swept her into the sudden twirling motion of the Viennese waltz.
Oh! This was glorious! From the onset they sped across the floor, somehow never touching another couple. People were quite correct, it did involve a scandalous swiveling of the hips in perfect timing with one’s partner, yet one seemed to float inexplicably almost above the floor so that there was no ungainly bumping of the elbows or wrists. He didn’t yank, or hop, or sway her too energetically so that she stumbled or bruised a backbone—no, Tomaj was correct, if she kept her eyes on his exotic face she did not get dizzy at all, did not have to look down as she stepped effortlessly between his nimble feet, her having no foreknowledge of verbal beat, or dance instruction to dictate where her feet must descend next.
It was odd and invigorating, the way their bodies moved together from the waist down, yet their torsos remained immobile as though a school ruler dictated to the centimeter precisely how far her bosom should remain from his splendid chest, how far apart their shoulders should remain, how erect their chins as they shined their eyes at one another. When just the tip of his tongue peeped out from between his lips and his eyes narrowed lasciviously at her, she nearly thought she might stumble for the first time due to a sudden weakness in the
knees, but she drew a deeper breath that encouraged a vast wave of humors to rush up her spine. Her breasts were about to burst, her nipples shivered with a lust that sent the flow down her backbone and into the lips of her quim, where she shuddered with a gelatinous power that made her wonder about muscles she’d never known she had.
What a glorious man he was, a man of substance, refinement, and vast exotic beauty. He was humble, not arrogant as Paul had claimed, quite the opposite! Oh, how would she ever prevent herself from flinging her body upon his, and beseeching him to fuck the daylights from her?
A slight frown came to her brows. She must get away from him, as soon as this waltz was over …
“Oh, Tomaj!” she gasped, without meaning to.
“Do you like it?” It was wonderful, how he could speak so low and seductive, while two dozen other couples swirled around them, and she could hear every word of his beguiling patois.
They could talk while they danced! They did not have to break their partnership and walk with the other stolid moth-bitten dancers, discussing imports of silk, or how the coffee crop was coming what with all this rain. “Yes, I like it very much! You wouldn’t believe how many other men hold me stiffly, or with slack hands, or hands too tight. Or they look at their stomping feet, like Monsieur Gratton, who smells as though he has not changed his bedsheets in ten months—or they make cruel remarks about other dancers, as if to enhance their image in my eyes.”
For the first time, Tomaj took his eyes from her, glancing at her shoulder and shrugging. Looking back at her, he said, “They are of small minds, and small bodies. They don’t know how to hold a woman properly.”
Dagny threw her head back and laughed freely, enlivened to feel the bird’s feathers tickling her shoulder. “Now it’s you who are making cruel remarks, Count!”
He shrugged slightly again, as if to say that’s true, but his hand that hovered about her waist squeezed her slightly, with affection. Perhaps it was the champagne, but Dagny burst out, “I’ve heard it told, Count, that you’re quite the infamous man in these parts! I’ve heard that you deal in illegal contraband …”
Oh, why did she say that? For the first time since they’d started dancing, a shadow of annoyance came over his elegant features. The nostrils of his exquisitely aquiline nose twitched ever so slightly, and she was instantly sorry she’d made such a frivolous remark. Yet he didn’t look away from her, but seemed to be searching for the reason behind her cutting question. He snapped, “What if I do deal in contraband?”
“Oh, it could not concern me less, Count. How you get your money is no concern of mine …”
She regretted her remarks. How could she be so thoughtless? Now they danced without any of the wonderful exuberance she’d felt before. Although the count remained nimble on his feet, and continued to look into her eyes, he was overcome by the sadness she’d seen in him upon occasion. A great flood of sorrow backed up against his brain, and if one could only find the right way to touch him, it would all come pouring forth.
As the orchestra played the final screeching movements of the waltz, Tomaj smiled sadly. He slowed them in perfect composure, though the train of her skirts brushed against the skirts of someone else. “Did you see your brother dancing the waltz?”
They were done now, so Dagny took her hand from him, and touched her breast, looking about the ballroom. Indeed, Sal was pretentiously leading Mademoiselle LeClerc about on the promenade, seemingly happy as she hadn’t seen him in ages. “Oh, I am so glad!” Twirling back to face Tomaj, she asked, “And how did you get him to do that? It makes me happy to see him dance …”
“I asked him to.”
“Yes, I’ve seen the effect you have on him. He seems to worship you.” They were compelled forth upon their own promenade around the ballroom. “I must say I approve of the two of you being together. I think you might have a mutually acceptable effect upon each other. He does so need the beneficial graces of another man, endowments Ezekiel isn’t able to give him.”
“I rather cherish your brother. He’s something of a poet.” Tomaj’s former happiness was back upon him, and it was heartening to be allowed to touch the inside of his elbow again, if even through several layers of fabric. Caressing her hand in his, he looked down at her and said, “Noana aho.” I’m hungry. “I should take you to the buffet to eat, but I’d rather eat you.”
This time Dagny did stumble. Tomaj caught her forearm more firmly, and she looked down to see a threadbare trouser leg and a large boat-like boot that refused to move. Her free arm was jerked unceremoniously.
“I do believe the next dance is reserved for me.”
Their march was stopped so abruptly the couple behind them had to go around, fanning themselves and looking down their noses.
Dagny yanked her arm away. “Leave me alone.”
“Yes,” Tomaj agreed calmly. “If I have my way, she’ll be back in plenty of time for the next dance.”
To Dagny’s surprise, Zeke let her arm go, and they continued not to the buffet, but to the garden doors. They walked outside, uncaring who was looking and staring daggers into their backs, but their pace speeded up a bit when they cleared the doors, and they strode down a flight of stone steps, where Tomaj placed her gently against a low wall. He didn’t touch her, but just his fiery glance made her quim bloom again with something foreign she supposed was desire.
She had not been able to quiet her quim since the day aboard Stormalong. How could the mere touch of a man’s mouth have such a powerful effect upon her? She had even tried touching herself to see if she could duplicate the sensations Tomaj’s kiss had had upon her. In tears of frustration, she had lain in bed, almost afraid to touch her saturated petals, because she didn’t really know how they were composed, terrified by the strange bumps and contours.
In the past, men had often plowed into her as though she were a cow, but she still had no idea of her own anatomy. What little she knew came from dissecting animals. But did women have the same parts as animals? Monkeys came the closest to humans, she supposed, in their facial structures, brainpans, skeletons, their five fingers, their ability to occasionally walk upright. Egad, if women were anything like that, they were complex animals, indeed! They were certainly more complex than men …
Moreover, she’d never desired any man. They were porcs, as Paul had just opined. Was this desire she felt, when this cruel, dangerous, sensitive man raised the back of his hand to her face? She braced herself upon the low wall, her fingers digging into the stone, panting against Tomaj’s beautiful tapered fingers.
“Your offer,” he said.
She was silent. What offer?
The tip of his truncated finger brushed against her hot, dry lips. His free hand cradled her cranium, massaging the occipital protuberance, a bone she’d often rubbed herself when she had a headache. With a pleasant shock, she realized she was leaning so far back against the wall that her hips were thrust forward and her legs were splayed slightly apart, and this time instead of straddling her, he stood between her feet. With the tip of her tongue she gently licked his amputated finger. It was warm and sensuous, and she lifted one foot, finding an agreeable toe-hold in the stone wall.
“Your offer to let me continue to paint you nude, in all of your brazen glory.”
Oh, my. Clamping her thigh against his, she felt the banded muscles of his taut slenderness, and although he unbuttoned his dress coat, she looked at his magnificent, haughty face. If she merely reached out, she could easily untie his cravat, and it would fall into her lap …
Leaning over her, he whispered, “I won’t take advantage of that. I heard tell you were an innocent, loving girl, raised in poverty, whose heart is open to other waifs on the street—” she sucked his finger into her mouth, and delicately tongued the stump of it, sending vast frissons into the upper reaches of her uterus—”but if you capture me one of your aye-aye monkeys, then I shall pay you five thousand dollars—” Dagny gasped, and the cool air against his finger inside her mo
uth made her clitoris elongate oddly, straining for something—”for the honor of exhibiting it at Pamplemousses in the Mauritius.”
He laid his shapely lips against her eyelid, and swayed his hips into her, so that she could feel the distinct, impressive length of his penis against her lap. How she wanted to slide her hand over it, and feel it pulse against her palm …
Oh, damn these layers of clothing! Her fingers scratched against the shoulder of her dress, like a monkey in distress ridding itself of lice-riddled fur. Tomaj lowered his hand and gently tugged down the shoulder of the god-damned tulle, the gros de naples, the pearls or whatever else Paul had foisted upon her, and socked his warm hand into her armpit.
He breathed cool air upon her eyelid. Heavily, he lunged his hips into her lap just as he moved her skull to plant his mouth upon hers.
His open mouth sucked tenderly—was this what he meant when he said he wanted to eat her?—just as he gently squeezed her pectoral muscle, then dipped one extremely long thumb into her bodice, sweeping it against her upraised, painfully stiff nipple.
He rubbed the hardness of it, and that’s when it happened.
She had an epileptic seizure.
That’s all it could have been.
All at once, without any forewarning at all, the entire mid-section of her body contracted in an excruciatingly ecstatic paroxysm of sensation, and Dagny lurched off the stone wall. Both her feet were lifted from the ground, her thighs wrapped around Tomaj’s hips, and wave after wave of queer painful ecstasy elevated her so highly that her body did things over which she had no control.
Strange seizures sent spasms down her inner vaginal channel, and she heard herself crying, gasping, uttering glottal sounds in unfamiliar languages. Her entire uterus was grasped with what must have been the pangs of childbirth, frightening in their stricture. Her abdomen rippled and flowed and contracted violently, the heel of her slippers dug into the mounds of Tomaj’s rump, and she realized later that, embarrassingly, she threw her head back like a dead deer run through by a hunter’s spear. Her pelvis thrust uncontrollably against his erection; her fingers were like a witch’s, scraping the silk from his strong shoulder, digging into the sinews of his trapezius, her body wracked in the weird forces of seizure.
The Strangely Wonderful: Tale of Count Balásházy Page 12
