The rest of the week, they met every night, usually made love in her house, though once it was at the pavilion and once on the beach itself. She was achingly happy at the newness of an attentive lover.
On the morning of Playday, when she was talking to customers in Darjeeling’s Teahouse, her perscry in her sleeve pocket jingled the small lilting tune she’d assigned to Laev. She excused herself to return to her office, closed her door, and sat behind her desk.
She knew she was wearing a silly smile when she answered, “Here.”
“Greetyou, dearest.”
The affectionate term warmed. No one had ever called her one with true affection.
“Greetyou.”
“I called to ask you to the Birches’ party tonight.”
A FirstFamily party. That stopped her lungs. But she pushed enough breath out to say, “Discreet?”
He smiled and his eyes sparkled. “That’s the fun of it. A masquerade party.”
All the romantic images such words conjured tumbled through her head. Scented gardens under a sky of glowing twinmoons and blazing stars. Laev as a handsome stranger who made the blood pulse hot in her veins . . . her lover masked and dangerously seductive.
Fun, eating, dancing, and more. It was the more as well as the mystery that appealed the most.
He looked so pleased! Was being around people as a couple important to him? She wasn’t even used to being a couple. That would take a few months. Sadly she realized she’d never been a couple with anyone, only a part of a good-friends trio.
Even as she watched, the pleasure was dimming from his eyes, the lines in his face getting more serious. Had he offered amusements to Nivea and she’d turned them down? Of course.
Hurt slithered through Camellia that he’d been with another woman. That Camellia kept thinking of Nivea. That Nivea had hurt Laev.
Camellia had just better get used to accepting there would be twinges of pain as they tried things as a couple for the first time. Did things they might have with other lovers.
“You surprised me. Thanks for the invitation,” she said, beginning to think of what she could wear.
“But?”
“But nothing. I want to go.”
Delight flashed in his eyes, but his smile was slower, approving, lingering. “Wear something sexy.”
She raised her brows. “You, too.”
“I’ll come by with a glider—”
“No, I’ll meet you there. I’d like to arrive separately . . . your mysterious date.” She bobbed her eyebrows but was thinking rapidly. Noble Country. The public carriers didn’t go through that part of town very often.
His smile moved into a grin. “I’ll send a glider for you.”
“What?” She stared.
He shrugged. “I bought a couple of new ones. No coat of arms on the doors. Smallish, two seaters. Pretty much fully automated.” He lowered his lids and smoldered. “I am at the Birches on the portico when a masked, beautiful woman steps from the glider . . .”
Oh, they were into the game of the masquerade already.
“. . . I am dazzled. For the night. Forever.”
He was moving pretty damn fast, being swept up in the romance of dreams. He’d had such dreams once, she knew, had tried to fulfill them. For her, relationship dreams had always been illusions and fantasies.
“All right,” she whispered. “What time?”
“The glider should reach your house by DinnerBell. The ride to the Birches will take twenty minutes.”
“Where you’ll be waiting.”
“Oh, yeah.” He picked up a piece of papyrus. “I have the invitation.” His lips pursed in a small kiss. “Later.”
“Later.”
Ooooh, the Birches. Mica grinned wide and slicked a paw over her ear. Brazos is going, too. Invitation only for Fams. She flexed her whiskers, groomed them. We don’t often get to explore Birches. They have spellshields against Fams.
“Is that so?”
Yes. There was an unfortunate incident with a dog.
“Ah. Want me to make sure Laev knows that you’ll be coming?”
Brazos will tell him.
“All right.”
I think there is a fishpond.
“High excitement.”
“Yesss.”
Throughout the rest of the day, Camellia had to forcibly wrench her mind back to her tasks—and she had a conference with her managers telling them that she was working on a new project and would be in the teahouses less.
Aquilaria retorted that she hoped the project was male, it was about time. And her other manager stated that having a gallant looked good on Camellia. She flushed but said nothing more, just smiled through the rest of the discussion about scheduling. Then, her worries eased about the functioning of her business, and on a surge of exuberance, she and Mica teleported to Clovers’ Fine Furniture.
Once there, they swept into the shop and over to the wardrobes, and stopped. The one Camellia had liked in the window was still there, but it had an additional box attachment specifically for Fams along with a quilted pillow on the top. She and Mica oohed and aahed together, and a salesman convinced them to special-order one. They settled on a different piece with a bit more fancy carving. Out of Mica’s hearing, Camellia ordered special knobs that stymied FamCats. She had no intention of coming home one day and finding Mica settled on an inner shelf where she intended to keep her silkeen shawls.
That evening she ate sparsely, wanting nothing too heavy in her stomach, her excitement was so great. She’d considered various different costumes and finally decided to wear an outfit that she’d purchased for a Bright Brigid’s Day fair a couple of years ago. It was a long dress with no trous and no long sleeve pockets. Instead, the sleeves were slightly bloused with tight wrists. Over the dress, she wore a traditional cook’s apron that was rarely seen outside any kitchen. It had a large bib, was tied in the back with strings, and had a series of different-sized pockets around the waist. The dress itself was a light beige, the apron a darker brown. She also had an ancient chef’s hat in dark brown.
At the fair, she’d brought packets of blended teas and various flatsweets that would complement the drinks. It had been a month after she’d opened up Darjeeling’s Teahouse, and giving away the tea and flatsweets had been extremely good advertising.
From a drawer, she’d riffled through the few masks she had and found a simple black one that covered her upper face and molded over her nose. Perfect.
She was bathed and dressed and sitting in her mainspace waiting for the glider to come when Mica gave a little cough.
Camellia looked down at her Fam. “Yes.”
I have no costume.
Twenty-four
You’re a calico cat,” Camellia said to Mica. “You always look like you have a costume on.”
Mica sniffed and Camellia knew that her answer had not been sufficient. She could be dramatic, too. She let her breath out in a long-suffering sigh. “What do you think would be a costume for you? Especially if you consider that you might be fishing in a pond?” Camellia narrowed her eyes. “I’ve seen some really cute little FamCat hats.”
No. Collar.
Camellia indulged in another sigh. “We’ve had this conversation. No Fam collar yet.”
I would like a collar with a feather.
A small sense of warning had Camellia’s neck tingling. “Have you already found this collar?”
It’s almost made. With a whistling breath, Mica translocated a glittery gold garter and a fat blue feather. She’d been observant when Camellia had opened her small costume chest. The garter would never grace Camellia’s thigh over leggings again. She glanced at the timer. “We might just get this done for you before the glider comes.” Working fast, she measured the gold sequined garter around Mica’s neck, attached the blue feather that curled over the cat’s head, and mended the edges with Flair.
Then Camellia referred to D’Ash’s instruction holosphere, met Mica’s gleaming eyes, and sai
d, “If the collar gets caught on anything, it will fall off and you will lose it.”
Mica smiled wide, showing pointy teeth. You are the BEST FamWoman EVER.
“Thank you.”
A few loud notes sounded from outside the front door and Camellia picked her cat up, opened and closed the door with a few Words, and set the spellshields. The glider gleamed an elegant dark blue and the door lifted at the touch of Camellia’s fingers. There was only one cushiony bench, and she put Mica in first, slid in, and pulled the door closed.
The glider smoothly accelerated and they were off to adventure and romance!
Dark fell as they rode to T’Birch’s estate. Camellia had second thoughts about her costume. It wasn’t sexy . . . unless she took off the dress and only wore the apron, and that would be scandalous. But once they were alone after the party, that might be an option. She had the feeling that Laev might think so.
When they arrived, the greeniron gates were open and the glider continued to the front portico of the Residence. Camellia got more nervous. She definitely was dressed as a middle-class or lower noble would be. Which she essentially was. She had no idea how richly others would be dressed, except she knew that appearances were always important to the Birches.
Then the glider pulled up to the front of the Residence, directly behind a huge old Family vehicle that sat rocking gently on its landing stands. Five men and women dressed in Birch livery a century out of date—Birch Family and staff members—helped the occupants of the first vehicle out. Both wore long, enveloping thin scarlet robes over their clothes in lieu of a costume and large feathered masks.
Ooooh, Mica said. I would like a feather or two from those.
“I thought you were more interested in collecting fish,” Camellia said.
Mica ignored her and leapt out the moment the door raised, slinking with cat sinuosity, and sped away into the night.
“Invitation,” grated a large man who appeared more guardsman than greeter, holding out his hand.
“Let me help you, lady,” said Laev, and handed the Birch guard the heavy piece of papyrus. “For the lady and the FamCat. Also my FamCat and myself.” His intonation was slightly archaic.
“As you say, sir.” The man bowed himself away.
“And what have we here, a maiden?” Laev asked, offering his own hand. “Perhaps in need of a gallant escort?”
He’d dressed sexy. Camellia’s breath caught. Light gleamed dully on his narrow-legged black leather trous and black leather vest, his hair slicked back in a style she vaguely recalled seeing in history vizes. He wore no shirt underneath the vest. The lack of it only emphasized the beauty of the body she’d seen naked. He wore a black half mask, too. On each hip were blazers in functional holsters. Something about the practical grips sent a chill down her. They weren’t toys.
Camellia extended her own hand to Laev, and he took her fingertips and placed them on his arm. A jolt of sensuality rushed straight to her core, and she suppressed a gasp.
He smiled as if he’d felt and welcomed the same sensation. When she got out, he didn’t move aside, so she brushed against him. His teeth showed white and even as his smile widened. She stepped away and he followed, still within millimeters of her body. With an arrogant jerk of his head, he signaled to one of the greeters to tend to the glider.
His aura surrounded her. He’d used a different fragrance, one with more musk, and she became aware that her clothes smelled of the honey she’d used when baking the flatsweets. Though only the tips of her fingers on his arm connected them, they moved up the stairs in step.
Once they were in the great hall of the Residence, the muscles under his arm shifted, and he took the lead, always keeping pace with her. He guided her down the hallway toward double doors, where two more members of the Family stood in Birch livery of white and vibrant spring green. Voices and the sound of musicians tuning their instruments floated from the room.
All the nerves Camellia had had about a FirstFamily ball vanished, muffled under the pure sensuality of being with Laev. Only he mattered, his closeness, his scent, the shadow of his body slanting over hers.
She tried to pull her mind from the daze, but being with Laev, in public, at a ball given by the highest sticklers of the FirstFamilies was a fantasy.
Then he was bowing before the Birches, and Camellia was sinking into a curtsey . . . one not so low as to give away her own meager rank. She was on Laev’s arm, after all.
D’Birch’s gaze was locked on the delineation of Laev’s chest. “What kind of costume is that?” She didn’t seem to hear her own rude words.
“Shooting costume,” T’Birch said, eyeing the blazers. No doubt he could tell they were real, too. “Two centuries ago, FirstFamily bucks liked to show off their muscles.” He flexed his arm and his wife, who had her hand tucked into his elbow, glanced from under her lashes to him. “I’d love to see you in something like that.”
T’Birch reddened a little but smiled. When his wife turned back to them, her gaze cooled as she looked at Camellia. “A . . . cook? How quaint.”
Camellia smiled mysteriously and responded, “Everyone knows that the original D’Cherry was a baker.” The Cherrys were prominent in the news because they and the Elecampanes were excavating the lost starship, Lugh’s Spear. And Camellia hadn’t actually claimed she was a Cherry, just stated a fact.
Laev’s hard arm went around her waist and she swallowed, focused again on him.
“The next dance is a waltz, I believe. I’d like to waltz with my prize.”
The GreatLord snorted and waved them away. The music changed, and within two strides she was in Laev’s arms, her body whirling as much as her mind. He held her close and felt incredible against her. “Ah, lady,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “I don’t want to spend much time in the light with you.”
Her pulse quickened and her heart thumped hard.
“Say you will walk in the gardens with me. Find a sacred grove, look at the stars.”
Around and around they went, entwined like dancers atop a music box. She couldn’t miss a step in this perfect dream.
“It’s warm in here, don’t you think?” Laev said.
She’d never really concentrated on the shape and fullness of his lips, but now that they were accented by the half mask, they beckoned. She wanted to nibble on them, test their texture, and pull the taste of his mouth, his taste at that particular point, deep inside herself. Learn all his tastes.
The taste of him would change through the seasons. The thought jangled distant warning, which she ignored as he danced her out the door and onto the terrace.
There were a few other people there—a clump of men talking, a couple swaying and whispering to the music instead of dancing, an older couple matching steps and swirling faster even than Laev and herself—Cratag and Signet Marigold.
Laev and she reached steep stairs. One minute they were at the top, then, with a small flex of Flair, they were at the bottom, still in step. The music faded from her hearing, replaced by the sway of top branches in a breeze, the rustle of leaves, and the distant song of a trickling stream, only faintly accented by the murmur of voices from the Residence.
One last turn and their arms were linked and they were walking down a path of crushed stone. The scent of cleansing herbs came from it and the gardens beyond the hedges. Fluting, haunting music wafted in the air. Camellia glanced at Laev, saw the small muscles around his mouth relax in surprise. He looked at her, tugged on her hand, and a few steps later, they strode into an open garden with other couples listening to the music. Again there was dancing, this mostly free-form by individuals. Around the circular space were rustic stone benches. Laev picked up his pace and ran his palm warm against her own and she followed. They slipped onto a bench just before another couple. Laughter erupted, and that was the best sound of all.
After a tapping toe and pouting lip from the younger lady of the couple, the older one drew her partner into the center of the circle to dance.
Laev brought Camellia’s and his linked hands to his lips, brushed light kisses over hers. “And so I have procured a seat for my lady, and not just any seat.” His free hand lifted and swept the horizon, and Camellia looked at something other than he. Her breath caught in her throat. Atop a low rise ahead of them was a sacred stone circle, large gray vertical plinths linked with horizontal slabs in sets of three.
Black against the night sky, the stars in the spaces between seemed to beckon as portals to other worlds. The twinmoons showed bright and waning silver crescents above them.
The hidden flautist wove eerie beats, the dancers blurred, becoming colorful sweeps of cloth and feathered masks.
She leaned against Laev and didn’t think a moment had ever been so perfect.
Finally, the last note sounded and the dancers collapsed in giggling heaps on the ground. Laev turned to her and kissed her lips, softly, gently, tenderly.
The taste of his mouth was more heady than the moons and stars, whirled her senses more than watching the dancers. Drew her into lands more tempting and mysterious than the starry portals embraced by stone.
His fingers brushed her jaw and his mouth opened and darkness seemed to envelop her until there was only the taste of his tongue sweeping into her mouth and the throbbing need of her sex.
As he withdrew, she sucked on his tongue and tasted wine.
Meeting her eyes, he said, “Lady, you undo me. Unravel my control.” His breathing was ragged. “I cannot do what I want with you here and now.”
She smiled as if she were primal woman herself, seducing a man.
With a hitched breath, he dropped her hands and shifted away, angling his body to the front.
A fiddler stepped into the circle and the dancers rose from the ground, shaking their costumes out, turning to face the sweet song of bow across strings.
Laev swallowed, then deliberately relaxed beside her, though a glance from under her lashes showed her that he was still aroused. Camellia smiled.
The tune became lively and couples on the bench flung themselves into the dance circle, trading places with those who wanted to sit and watch.
Heart Search Page 25
