Lennox, Mary - Heart of Fire.txt
Page 35
longer. Tomorrow morning I return to Arkadia, and you will go
with me. Otherwise, you’ll never see home again.”
“Jacob.” She clung to his hand. “If I go, I shall never see
Nicholas again. You have to understand, to tell Grandfather.”
Jacob drew her back into the streets filled with merchants
closing their shops and hurrying home, heads lowered against
the wind.
He walked beside her through this crowd of humanity until
they reached the square leading up to the palace. Drawing her
aside beneath an archway where they couldn’t be seen, he said,
“I shall come to the palace tomorrow at dawn. I shall wait
beneath your window. Come to me then, Sera.”
She nodded stiffly and hurried across the square and past
the gate. She ran up the stairway and through the great doors,
into the light and the warmth of Nicholas’s home.
***
Someone rapped sharply on his chamber door an hour
before the ball’s opening. As Nicholas finished fastening a ruby
stickpin into his white cravat, Simson, the valet, opened the
door and Andre burst in. Simson returned to his side with the
long brocade court vest.
With a sharp look at Andre, Nicholas took it from him.
“Thank you, Simson. That will be all.” The valet bowed and
slipped quietly out the door.
“Nicholas, I must speak to you at once.” Andre’s face was
red and his hair looked even more windblown than usual. He
had obviously just ridden hard from wherever he had been. “You
do remember our conversation about the possibility of a superior
society.”
“Of course.”
“It’s true. I’ve just run into one of them, and the experience
was not pleasant.”
Andre opened the door and called to a footman. “Brandy
and two glasses. Hurry, man.” Nicholas sat down slowly and
motioned Andre to a chair. The footman arrived and poured
both glasses. Andre took his at a gulp, motioned for more, and
dismissed the servant.
“You’d know him right away. A veritable colossus of a man,
and absolutely perfect in form and feature. I swear to you, he
could have posed for those damned statues in the hall. Long
blonde hair in a que over one shoulder—very broad shoulders,
indeed. Tall, taller than you. And as beautiful as Sera. His eyes
are the same dramatic blue as hers.”
Nicholas raised the glass to his lips and swallowed the
burning liquid down. “What was he doing here?”
“Looking for Sera. He came into the draper’s and stood
there for a minute. They looked at each other, and then he left.
Afterwards, Sera was almost giddy with excitement and eager
to be off. I followed her as soon as I got her and Katherine back
to the palace. She rode out to the bluffs, halfway into the park.
He was waiting.”
“And then?” Nicholas felt the dread rise in him. He poured
another brandy. Andre took the bottle and filled his own glass.
“I came close enough to watch them. I hid in the brush.”
Andre looked away. “She—she embraced him.”
Nicholas tightened his hand on the glass until his knuckles
turned white.
“They talked, got into some kind of argument, I think, but
one of those very civilized ones, where there’s no shouting. I
couldn’t hear a word of it. Then Sera rode away.”
“She didn’t embrace him again? Or did she. . .” He choked
on the word. “Did she kiss him?”
“No. He watched her go. She returned her horse to the
stables and slipped past the guards into Montanyard, where she
met the man before.” Andre cleared his throat and stared down
at his dusty boots. “They went to an inn together,” he said
woodenly.
Nicholas felt something icy and sharp slice through his belly.
“How long….” He swallowed hard. “How long did they stay?”
“Barely fifteen minutes. She looked white as a sheet when
she came out, and the man’s face was grim. They hurried back
to the palace. I followed, and I got close enough to hear their
plans when they paused at the stone wall beside the gates. He
plans to meet her tomorrow. At dawn. Then she left him and
glided back inside the gate without attracting notice.”
“I trailed the man back to the cliffs and made myself known
to him. God, you should have seen the look on his face. A bit of
amusement, a lot of contempt.
“‘What do you want with the king’s betrothed?’ I said. He
just smiled, a sort of flicker of the lips and the brows, as though
he was considering whether to lower himself and reply.
“He looked me over from head to toe the way one does an
unruly child. ‘Let the king try to wed her,’ he said. I drew my
sword, Nicholas. I thought to protect her, to protect you. And
he laughed. He actually laughed at me.
“‘Such a pity about you Outlanders,’ he said. ‘Violence is
always the first choice, is it not?’”
Andre shivered and rose to stand by the fire, rubbing his
shoulders and arms.
“And then?” Nicholas demanded.
“Somehow, I—I dropped my sword. My arm went numb,
and my fingers must have opened. The sword just slipped out
of my hands.” Andre’s hand trembled as he looked at it. “Then
he raised the hood of his cloak. And he disappeared. I swear by
all that’s holy. He disappeared.”
Nicholas took a long swallow of brandy and rose, staring
at the fire. “Whatever she did with this man, she’ll tell me
about… eventually.”
“Unless she leaves with him first.”
The glass crashed into the fireplace. “She won’t leave me!
She gave me her word.” He closed his eyes and gathered himself
together. “She’s never gone back on her word. Never.”
Andre’s eyes flicked to the silver jeweler’s case sitting on
Nicholas’s desk. “Don’t give her the ruby tonight.” Andre’s
mouth, usually so apt to smile, was set, stubborn.
Nicholas grabbed up the case, holding it so tightly that the
edges pressed painfully into his palm. Fifteen minutes. Enough
time for the man to—to….
He’d said it, himself. What was love without trust? She had
said she loved him. He had to at least try to trust her.
“I see no reason to alter my plans.”
“Postpone the wedding for a week or two. You want to be
sure of her.”
No, no, no. Nicholas’s heart beat out the rhythm in his chest.
“No matter what you believe, Andre, I know she is faithful. In
two days, she’ll be my wife.”
Thirteen
In a turmoil of gnawing anxiety, Sera bathed and dressed.
She tried very hard to keep the horrifying image of the dead
thief out of her mind, but it kept returning and, with it, Jacob’s
warnings.
But Jacob was not using right reason. Nicholas would never
brutalize another man.
Except for Dawson, something whispered in her mind.
Dawson’s face had been battered and bloodied at the e
nd of the
fight between the two of them.
She clenched her hands together, straining against the
niggling doubt that Jacob had placed in her mind. Dawson’s
case was different. Nicholas had gone a little mad seeing Dawson
in the process of raping her. It was understandable, even though
no Hillman would react with such violence. But a Hillman would
have other means at his disposal to stop violence. All the
Outlanders had by way of defense was more violence.
She went to her window and looked out at the stars, seeking
peace. Her fan’s staccato rhythm tapping against her hand told
her she had not found it. A soft knock sounded at the door to the
secret stairway, and it slid open. Then Nicholas stood behind
her, pulling her against him. She let go of all thought, all struggle,
and felt only his warmth, the strong arms encompassing her,
the rise and fall of his chest at her back. She leaned back and let
herself relax against him.
After a long moment, she turned in his arms and looked up
at him, hoping for reassurance in the form of a kiss. He did not
disappoint her. It was soft and sweet, as though he, too, had
decided to savor every moment and leave thought until the
morrow.
“You look very beautiful tonight. This gown…” His fingers
slid over her shoulders above cream-colored silk and lace, and
her whole body responded blindly. It had been thus for her since
their return from Nicholas’s hunting box. She walked about in
a haze of heightened sensuality, remembering the secret, wicked
things he did to her in the dark, where no one could see. Now
all he had to do was touch her, and her body readied for him.
She was in thrall to Nicholas like the most bespelled lady in a
fairy tale.
She didn’t want to think about Jacob now.
She concentrated on Nicholas’s smile. Oh, his smile made
his whole face change. Everyone said that Andre was the
handsome one, the golden, careless Adonis. But Nicholas was
beautiful, in the way the paintings of Renaissance princes were
beautiful. Dark, brilliant, passionate.
He held out a silver jewelry box wrapped with a gold ribbon.
“Open it,” he said.
She held the box in her hand, and Jacob’s words came back
to her, wringing her heart. “Look at you, dressed in lace and
furs.…” If he could see her now, ready to don jewels as well, he
would turn away from her in sorrow.
She fumbled with the ribbon, and Nicholas took the box
from her hand.
“Come.” He led her to a mirror.
“Shut your eyes,” he said, and she heard both gaiety and
something slightly fevered in his voice.
A chain slipped round her neck and a heavy jewel hung
against her collarbone. Nicholas’s hands were warm and gentle
at the back of her neck as he fit the clasp together.
“Now open them,” he said.
She opened her eyes and stared at the woman in the mirror.
That woman wore a necklace of fine craftsmanship, a chain of
ruby flowers and diamond leaves from which hung a single,
priceless jewel circled by diamonds.
The key to a kingdom of riches and magic.
The Heart of Fire.
The murdered thief’s treasure.
“Where did you get this?” she whispered in a voice so thin
she didn’t even recognize it as her own. She had to hold her
hands together to keep them from fluttering like parchment in
the wind.
His eyes held only confusion at her question. Above the
turmoil rushing through her brain, Sera realized that this was
not the reaction he had hoped from her.
“A merchant asked for an audience while we were gone. I
saw him this morning, and he showed me the ruby.” His fingers
lifted the stone, and he looked into its depths, smiling. “It’s
warm, ever changing, brilliant and alive. It reminded me of you.”
He slanted a shy look at her. His eyes couldn’t hide the
vulnerability, the worry and, above all, the innocence that lay
within their gray depths. “The jeweler has been working on it
all day. I know it’s not the custom for your people to wear such
things, but I thought…I wanted you to have something good
enough. Do you care for it a little?”
He stood there, something endearingly hesitant about the
way he looked at her. She took a deep breath, the first she’d
taken since that unworthy suspicion entered her mind. He would
never torture and murder a man, she thought.
He only hoped to give me a treasure.
And, she realized with sudden shock, to make good his
promise and quiet the cruel speculation and lascivious gossip.
He had given her a necklace so valuable that none would doubt
he meant to make her his wife. That calculating Rostov brain,
hard at work again.
She wanted to laugh—a high, wild, hysterical bout of relief.
Yet her heart wrenched at the irony of it all. The Heart of Fire,
the very key to her freedom, was now the lodestone that would
bind her to this man, and this world, forever. She stood on tiptoes,
threw her arms around his neck, and, as it was all she could
reach, brushed kisses on his chin. Nicholas gave a faint, relieved
exhalation, like a man who wanted to believe his luck but could
not quite do so. He lowered his head and covered her lips with
his.
Sera threw all of her love into the kiss and felt his joyous
response, the warm mingling of breath and spirit as his mouth
played over hers. He deepened the kiss, and as his tongue slipped
into her mouth and tasted her, she accepted his claim on her
soul and lost herself in him. Her body opened and hungered as
she clung to him, forgetting the expectant courtiers gathering at
this moment. The passion he aroused was so sharp and deep
and joyful.
When at last he lifted his head, he was smiling, and his face
was young and beautiful. “You do like it!” he said.
“More than you can imagine.” Her path was clear now, and
if fear and violence were the price to pay for this deep a love,
then so be it. She would never doubt—she would never fear—
Nicholas again.
He traced the curve of her cheek with his fingers, and she
leaned into the palm of his hand.
“Sera.” Nicholas looked at her most gravely. He seemed
about to ask her something of serious import, but then he took
a deep breath. Fast as quicksilver, his expression lightened, and
his lips quirked. “Have you been working with Monsieur
Gallopet as I begged you?”
She smiled up at him. “Once I give a promise, Nicholas, I
never break it. I have seen that effete, self-promoting humbug
of a dance master every day since we returned to Laurentia.”
“Have you learned the steps of the Quadrille?”
She gave him a grimace. “Each and every one.”
“Excellent.” He held out his hand to her. “Then, my most
diligent lady, may I have the honor of the first dance?”
Nicholas wished to open the ball
with her as his partner, as
sure a sign as the ruby around her neck that she was his
betrothed. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and a giddy
excitement filled her. She gave him a deep, graceful curtsey.
“Most gladly, my king.”
Leave caution behind, she challenged herself. You are no
longer alone.
***
Late in the night, Nicholas took the stairway to Sera’s room
smiling. He was right to take the risk and trust her. She had
made him so proud and happy this evening. She glowed with
an inner fire that warmed everyone who saw her, and when she
looked at him he knew she burned for him, alone.
To see all of the courtiers bow deeply as soon as he entered
with Sera on his arm had been a singular satisfaction, for they
bowed not only to him, but to the woman who wore his necklace.
He had set about the rumor that Sera had saved his life in
the Brotherhood’s ambush, and the nobility had been suitably
impressed. Although he wanted to disclose his illness and the
fact that she had nursed him back to health, Sera had refused to
allow it. She had a terrible fear of Outlander mistrust, and no
wonder, given what her mother had endured.
All of it made sense now—her inexplicable abilities, her
fears, her nightmares, even her extraordinary beauty. He was
filled with excitement and dreams. Someday, when he rid his
country of the Brotherhood’s evil incursions, Sera might trust
him enough to tell him everything. Above all, he wanted to go
to the Hills with her, to meet the Mage, to learn everything he
could about this land of mystery. If the Mage found him worthy,
he might help find a way to keep his country safe from the
French.
He paused in the open doorway to her chamber. She stood
facing him. Above the graceful curve of her shoulders, the
necklace at her throat glittered in the light of the candelabrum.
But what held the eye was the ruby, its facets giving off living
fire like a beating heart. The ruby was Sera—deep, passionate,
resonating with life.
He walked into the room and pulled her into his arms. He
bent his head to her neck and placed a kiss on the creamy skin
above the necklace.
“You danced most gracefully,” he murmured, breathing in
her sweetness, and beneath that the sudden, intoxicating scent