"Did you tell anyone of your suspicions?" he asked.
"By the time I realized, things were already bad. I included my thoughts in my report when we returned, but I had no evidence of any wrongdoing. And Captain Berain had so thoroughly made a mess of it all that no one seemed to want to go digging for any other problems."
"The Ashmeiser has been polite enough, so far," Jean-Paul said. "Reminds me somewhat of a human icicle, but he hasn’t done anything untoward."
"That's good." She chewed at her lip. "I think I heard him talking earlier. There was a group of Andalyssians talking in one of the niches." She nodded to the side of the ballroom. "I couldn't see who they were, but I knew one of the voices sounded familiar. I couldn't quite place the voice then, but I'm sure it was him."
"Did you catch anything of what they said?" Jean-Paul asked.
She shook her head, light sparking from the jewels in her ears. "My Andalyssian is very rusty. I've had no need to use it in months. Plus, they were speaking softly. There was something about time and perhaps patience, but that was it. They mentioned the capital, Deephilm, several times. They sounded..." She hesitated. "Cautious," she said at last. "Or wary, perhaps." She frowned.
"Perhaps that's not unreasonable when they're in a strange country. Face-to-face with the emperor rather than dealing with diplomats in their own territory." Still, the Ashmeiser had not struck him as a man who was easily cowed. Was he bold enough to try something foolish?
"An emperor who perhaps some of them are not reconciled to?"
"Andalyssia has been part of the empire for nearly fifty years," Jean-Paul said. "It seems a little late to be staging a rebellion."
"Perhaps," Imogene said. "But men seem to have a strange fascination with land and power."
"And women don't?"
Her mouth quirked. "I'm sure some of them are obsessed, too. But I didn't notice any women in the Andalyssian party."
She was right about that. The Andalyssians had brought no women. Which was a point against them in his book. Either they were foolish in the attitudes to women and failed to understand the information women could access that men could not in a court or they were not willing to risk their women on what was supposed to be in a peaceful mission. But that was a worry for another time. He was tired of thinking about the Andalyssians. He wanted to focus on Imogene. "What about you?"
She shrugged, which was something of a feat given the position of her hands and arms. "I have no need for vast lands or vast wealth. Do I have dreams of a successful career? Yes. But that is not the same as conquest."
Jean-Paul wasn't so sure. He was beginning to feel somewhat as though she was conquering him. He took a deep breath, turning her again, and caught her scent. She wore a perfume that was unlike the heavy florals currently in fashion at court. Hers was greener, with a hint of spice and sweetness and a tang that reminded him of lemons. Had she bought it somewhere far away on her travels? Not that it mattered. He was near certain that she could wear no perfume at all and he’d still be fighting his every instinct that told him to pull her closer. To claim her.
He would take her to bed tonight. And tomorrow, well, as skittish as she seemed, he was hoping there might be something more to explore between them.
Her gaze had strayed again to the emperor.
"If it would ease your mind, I could mention to Aristides that the Andalyssians are whispering in corners."
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"
"No, Lieutenant. You're the diplomat. I trust your instincts."
"Perhaps you should tell Major Perrine. He could set a watch."
"You mean set a sanctii?" he said. Sanctii could move invisible through a room. Part of what made them so valuable to the mages who had them. "You know that's not allowed when it comes to diplomats." Aristides had signed an agreement with the Andalyssians that set the terms of their visit. That included the provision of bags of salt to guard their rooms. He didn't know a lot about sanctii-he'd never shown any talent for water magic, so he had only received the basic knowledge of it that most Anglions did during his schooling, supplemented by somewhat more on the tactical use of the creatures during his service in the army—but he knew salt was their weakness. Too much of it hurt them and, more importantly, could snap the bond of magic between a sanctii and the mage controlling him. At best that meant the loss of a sanctii. At worst, it meant a dead mage if the sanctii had been displeased with his treatment while bonded. "But I can tell both the emperor and the major if that would set your mind at rest."
Chapter 15
The smile that flashed over her face was lightning bright. He felt the weight of her delight in him like a physical blow that ignited a heat low in his belly. The musicians had reached the end passages of the dance. He didn't want to wait and linger through another.
"I will tell them now, after the dance. And then?" If he hadn't been dancing, he would have held his breath, waiting for her answer. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had him so hungry for her. Perhaps never.
The color had returned to her face, her cheeks flushed a shade that was a paler echo of the satin of her dress. Her lips were somewhere between the two colors, and imagining them darker and swollen from kisses did steal his breath.
"Then I believe you should call for your carriage, my lord. And take me somewhere we can be alone."
"As my lady wishes," he said and had never been so glad to hear the music come to an end. He escorted Imogene off the dance floor, told her sternly not to vanish anywhere, and headed for Aristides.
Unfortunately, he found his father first. The duq was standing with some of his friends—talking politics, no doubt—but he broke away and beckoned to Jean-Paul when he spotted his son.
Jean-Paul gritted his teeth but obeyed the summons. His father would only bellow at him across the room if he pretended not to have seen. He bowed impatiently as his father studied him.
"In a hurry, Jean-Paul?" the duq asked.
"I want to speak to the emperor before I leave."
"It's early to be leaving." His father's eyes—the same gray as his own—were cool.
"I've been with the Andalyssians all day. And I will be again tomorrow. I think I've done my duty for the day."
"If you'd done your duty, you would have been dancing with Celadin or one of her friends."
Jean-Paul had caught sight of Celadin during one of his waltzes with Imogene. She'd nodded approvingly in his direction, then turned rapt attention back to her partner, the Marq de Illsien.
"I believe Celadin has plenty of partners to fill her dance card."
"If you're not careful, she'll marry someone else."
"And I'll be delighted to toast her at her wedding," Jean-Paul retorted. "Trust me, Father, Celadin and I will never make a match."
"Then choose some other suitable girl. There are plenty of them here tonight. You should be dancing with them, not wasting your time on a mere lieutenant with no name to speak of."
Goddess damn it. The duq had noticed. Worse, he knew who Imogene was. A smart man would dissemble. But when it came to Imogene, he clearly wasn't that smart. But he was smart enough not to let his father think he would succeed in choosing Jean-Paul's wife for him.
Aristides had married at eighteen, when his father had fallen ill. He'd become a father for the first time when he was still only eighteen, the need to do his duty to secure an heir for the empire more pressing than any personal preference. Jean-Paul had been ten when Aristides had wed, but he'd watched the emperor grow serious and stern near overnight, the hints of the younger man who'd seemed, despite their age difference, to be lighthearted and as eager to take part in whatever nonsense the boys of the court were getting up to buried under the weight of a crown and a family. Jean-Paul would do his duty, and he wanted sons and daughters of his own, yes, but he had promised himself that he would not be rushed or forced to the decision.
He had rarely been tempted to contemplate marriage before he had met Imogene. Bu
t he wanted to explore that temptation now. And he wouldn't let his father dissuade him.
"She's young. Who knows what she might become."
"I'm surprised Perrine let her in. She was part of the mission that is the reason we are here wining and dining those dull Andalyssians tonight."
He didn’t take the bait and argue. That would only prolong the time away from Imogene. "Did you have something else you wanted from me, Father? Rather than telling me facts I already know and trying to arrange my life?"
His father's eyes narrowed. "It's my job to ensure that the estate lies in safe hands."
Jean-Paul snorted. "Don't try that angle. At this point you need to either accept that you did your job in raising me to be a duq or throw me over for one of my brothers."
His father humphed. "I raised you to be smart. To see beyond the lure of a pretty face. Bed her if you must. But just remember where your true duty lies."
Chapter 16
Jean-Paul's apartment was not so much an apartment as a small jewel of a townhouse in Coteau-Arge, one of the wealthy areas of the city that shared a boundary with the palace grounds. Nowhere a mere major could afford to live. A reminder instead that he was a duq to be. Wealthy and powerful. And not hers. At least not after tonight.
He certainly hadn't wasted any time bundling her into a carriage once he had returned to the ballroom. There had been a certain tightness to his expression when he'd found her, but it eased when she had taken his arm to let him escort her away. The ball was still in full swing, and it was too early for the court to be leaving. But Jean-Paul didn't seem to care about that. As soon as the carriage had gotten well away from the lights of the palace forecourt and reached the dimly lit road that led through the grounds to the main gate, he'd lifted her onto his lap and kissed her again.
Which had driven all lingering doubts from her head. It was only the shortness of the journey that had meant they hadn't progressed much further than kissing. She'd never had sex in a carriage, and Jean-Paul's was certainly large and luxurious enough that it would have been possible, but she wanted to savor him more if they were only to have one night.
They'd separated as the carriage had come to a halt, and the door to the townhouse had been opened by a manservant who had vanished when Jean-Paul told him he wouldn't need any more assistance for the night.
She had no idea if there were other servants. If there were, they didn't make themselves known.
And now she stood near shivering with wanting as she watched Jean-Paul pour them both a glass of campenois and wondering why he was wasting time with alcohol.
Still, she took the glass when he offered it and sipped politely. No doubt it was good—she hoped the son of a duq wouldn't serve bad wine—but her senses were too focused on him to spare the liquid bubbling over her tongue much effort. Jean-Paul rushing through her blood was headier than any wine she'd ever drunk.
Though she feared the aftermath may be as painful as the aftermath of an excess of alcohol.
But she'd set her feet upon this path, and no rational thought could stop her now.
Jean-Paul gestured at the wall, and the earth-lights there brightened.
She sent her magic searching down for a ley line. Of course there was one close to hand. A branch of the main line that ran below the palace. It answered her call, and power shimmered through her. She let go of the control of the sight and let herself see him with his magic. He didn't gleam bright as strong mages did. The light that shimmered over his skin, marking his power and his connection to the ley line, was subtler but somehow certain, as though rooted deep in the land. Solid. True. Earth magic and blood magic both, she thought. Which made sense for a warrior and a noble.
He would fight for what was his. And keep it close.
Well, she was never going to be his for long, but tonight she would savor him. She'd heard of strong powers that blended during sex and of mages using sex to deliberately combine their powers. She’d shared a bed with a strong mage or two in her time, but none of their kisses had ever made her feel like his.
Power wasn't what she wanted from him anyway. Tonight, she was more interested in passion.
She pushed the magic away, sending the lingering excess she'd pulled up from the line through the earth-lights, making them flare momentarily brighter. Careless of her. She knew how to shift power gracefully. But it seemed he had her off-balance.
Jean-Paul's brows lifted. "Did you like what you saw?"
Ah. She was discovered. He'd known she was looking at his magic. Had he sought hers as well? "Did you?"
"I don't need magic to like what I see when it comes to you, Lieutenant."
"Imogene," she corrected. She liked the way he used her rank. Teasing, yet respectful. But she wanted her name on his lips now. Wanted him to say it again, the way he'd said it when he'd first kissed her.
"As my lady wishes," he said. "Come here, Imogene."
That voice. It stroked her like rough silk. Commanding and enticing. She moved to him without thinking.
He took the glass from her hand, putting it and his aside. "What shall we do now, Imogene?" He brushed a curl back from her face.
She turned her head, nipped at his fingers. "I'm going to kiss you again. And then you're going to take me to bed."
"I like that plan."
"Good." She rose to her toes and put her hands around his neck, tugging his head down to hers. She wasn’t short, but he was tall enough that she needed his cooperation if she was to avoid having to find a footstool to climb on to kiss him.
She smiled at the thought and he paused, his face close to hers.
"Something amusing?"
"I was just thinking of ways to get around you being so tall," she said.
His mouth curved, too. "Well, as to that. I find the best way is for you to get me to lie down."
"Do you respond to commands?" she asked.
"Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes I give them. Kiss me, Imogene. And we'll see who winds up on top."
"Is it a battle, then?" she breathed.
"A skirmish, perhaps," he said. "If we do it right."
A skirmish. She could handle that. A good way to think of it. A limited engagement. Not serious. And she would be the one to fire the opening shot. "Stop talking now," she said and kissed him.
As soon as his lips touched hers, she knew she was lost, though. Hopefully he would be, too. The best she could hope for was a draw, perhaps. Mutual satisfaction before they had to part. His mouth was warm and firm on hers, and she made a noise of pleasure.
That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He lifted her as easily as she might lift a child and carried her through the darkened house, earth-lights flaring to light his way. She dimly registered the lights and the fact that they were moving upstairs, but as Jean-Paul apparently had a goddess-granted ability to walk, carry her, and kiss her at the same time, she paid little heed to anything but his mouth.
She made another murmuring sound of protest when he stopped kissing her to set her down at the foot of his bed, but given that letting go of her gave his hands freedom to roam over her body, she quickly became distracted again.
His fingers found the buttons at the back of her dress. "Buttons," he muttered. "Why do clothiers enjoy tiny buttons so much?"
She laughed. "Perhaps they wish to remind you men to take care when you have a woman's buttons to hand." Then she recalled the size of his hands and the size of the particular shimmery round buttons that graced this dress. It had taken Dina a few minutes to do them up, and she was well practiced with women's clothing.
"Do you need some assistance, my lord?" she asked.
"I can manage buttons," he muttered, but he did sound a little exasperated. "Or I have a pocketknife."
"This dress cost a small fortune," Imogen said. She clutched the bodice as it started to loosen. Obviously he had made some progress. "If you come at me with a knife, you'd best be prepared to defend yourself.”
"Savage little thing, ar
en't you?"
"When it comes to defending the honor of my wardrobe, yes," she retorted. "I spend enough time in uniform that I appreciate wearing something pretty now and then."
"And I appreciate seeing you in something so lovely. But right now, I'm rather eager to see you out of it. Ah!" He made a pleased sound as his fingers stilled. "All done."
"Good." She let go of the bodice. The dress, with some small assistance from a wriggle of her hips, slid to the floor. Jean-Paul tugged at the ribbons that fastened the layers of petticoats to her waist, and they slid down to join the dress.
She took a breath, her heart pounding hard enough that she was somewhat surprised her corset strings didn't snap. But before she could worry too much about that, Jean-Paul's fingers skimmed down her back, and then he set to work on her corset as well. It took him less time than the buttons before he eased it apart, leaving her with only a shift and her underwear.
"So many layers," Jean-Paul murmured from behind her. "You are like a gift to be unwrapped, Imogene."
Right then, she felt more unraveled than unwrapped. As the heat of his hands grew more palpable with each layer of clothing he removed, she felt as though she might just melt down to become a puddle on the floor like her clothes.
She wanted him. Wanted him under her mouth, beneath her hands, wrapped around her. Wanted skin and sweat and sensation.
"I was never much good at unwrapping gifts," she said, turning to face him. "Too impatient. My mama used to call me greedy." She tugged her corset away from her body and shimmied it off. "Right now I'm greedy for you."
She'd never known that gray could be warm. But his eyes were, their depths inky and deep. His chest was rising and falling fast, too. It was still hidden from view beneath his shirt—he'd taken off his jacket when they'd arrived—but it seemed he was impatient, too.
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