Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1)

by Jaycee Jarvis

  He moaned and grasped her shoulders, lacking the will to push her away, though he knew he should.

  She gripped the fabric of his kaftan and hauled the edge past his hips. Her hands slid under his clothes, caressing his back, his sides, his stomach. “How did an air-gifted auditor end up with such a perfect body?”

  “I was a sickly child,” he began, hoping to distract her with words and distance himself from the pleasure of her warm hands against his flesh. “Scrawny, prone to chills. When I came into my gifts, I was all air and water with nothing left for earth. Such an imbalance isn’t healthy. My instructors insisted I strengthen my body to compensate. I work hard every day to keep my body strong.”

  “And then you hide all your efforts under a shapeless kaftan.” She lifted his clothing out of the way to feather kisses over his stomach and chest. “I like knowing your secret strength. Others might see a scrawny auditor, while I know the truth.”

  She swirled her tongue over his nipple.

  He arched his back and moaned. How could one touch send pleasure reverberating all the way to his toes? “Ferel’s breath, that feels good.”

  “I can make it even better.” She hooked her fingers into the top of his trousers.

  “No.” He gripped her hands. He could imagine Violet returning to find him with his trousers around his ankles. Her caustic laughter would be the least of their troubles, but that vision alone ruined the mood.

  He raised Em’s knuckles to his lips. “I’m not going to lose my virginity to a Lady of the Realm in a cacao vault while on an audit. The Troika would take turns roasting me alive.”

  “I know. You’re right.” Smiling sadly, she squeezed his fingers. “It’s impossible to think when I’m touching you.”

  To avoid kissing her again, Quintin dropped her hands and backed away. He focused on straightening his kaftan and fixing his queue.

  She adjusted the feathers in her hair. “Are you truly a virgin?”

  His ears burned. “Yes.”

  “What about the friend you mentioned?”

  “I was only twelve at the time. She’s a few years older. Our age difference is unimportant now. It seemed vast nine years ago.”

  “Surely in the time since then you’ve had opportunities—”

  “Opportunities, yes. Inclination, no.” He had tried visiting a brothel once with Ulric. Reeling from some falling out with a woman, his year-mate had taken to drinking and whoring nightly. Finally, Ulric’s agitated waccat refused to accompany him on his destructive path to the stews.

  Quintin had gone instead, his head turned by a half-baked plan to keep Ulric out of trouble and maybe gain a little experience with women for himself. But the whores had not been what he expected. Harsh and jaded, they had filled him with pity, not desire. They reacted to his discomfort like piranhas on a dying fish, their crude flattery shifting to cruel mockery in a heartbeat.

  Always on edge those days, Ulric had exploded in his defense. Quintin barely managed to drag him from the brothel without bloodshed. After that his inexperience seemed more a blessing than a curse.

  “Being slightly younger than my friends has given me a unique perspective on all their wretched attempts at love. It has not been hard to resist temptation.”

  Until now.

  He crossed his arms over his chest to stop himself from reaching for her. “What about you? Are you virginal?”

  She tucked and straightened her sari, restoring her appearance as a proper lady. “I’m not as strong as you, able to turn away from a moment’s release and a spot of comfort when it’s offered.”

  He felt a pang. “I didn’t mean to deny you comfort.”

  “Have no fear, you’ve been a great distraction in this vile place.” She smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m always jumping on men in the dark. As a Lady, my opportunities have been somewhat limited.”

  “Not all of your suitors are to your liking?”

  She snorted. “I never touch potential suitors. I wouldn’t want to raise their expectations of marriage.”

  He twitched, stung by her blunt assessment. She was far above his station, undeniably so. Yet it hurt to be so summarily dismissed from the ranks of possible suitors.

  “My first lover was a street urchin and a longtime friend.” She smiled fondly. “He was the one who taught me how to pick locks after I conceived a terror of enclosed spaces. He thought it might calm me to be able to break my way out whenever I wished.”

  “Do you wish to break out now?”

  “I don’t have my tools.”

  “You have me.”

  “You’re too big to fit in the lock.”

  He chuckled, glad her humor had returned. “Well, I happen to be carrying a very precious gift from a beautiful woman.” He reached into a pouch attached to his belt and pulled out a worn pick.

  She threw her arms around him in a hug that made him stagger. “Oh, thank Fermena.”

  He clasped her to him briefly, before edging away. “I take it you don’t want to wait for someone to have mercy on us.”

  “My cousin’s sense of mercy is distinctly warped.” She snatched the pick and pressed it against her chest. “Or do you want to do it? To practice?”

  “I think we should let the best in the business get us out of here.”

  She nodded and faced the door. Head bent over the tool in her hand, she muttered, “You know all my secrets.”

  He almost laughed aloud. He’d never met anyone who surprised him as much as this woman. “Surely you have one or two left for me to uncover.”

  She cast an annoyed look over her shoulder before tackling the lock.

  Wispy black hairs curled around the exposed curve of her neck, tempting him to lean over and kiss her soft skin. He cleared his throat. “I must know a few more of your secrets than your cousin though, if she thought it would be a worthwhile trick to lock you in.”

  Em paused. “How will we explain the unlocked door?”

  “Your family doesn’t know about your street urchin friend?” No wonder she thought he knew her so well, when the people closest to her knew nothing at all. “Never mind. We can pretend your cousin fumbled and didn’t lock it properly.”

  In short order the door swung open, spilling light and fresh air onto their faces.

  “Thank Fermena’s Sweet Breath.” She stepped into the hall, her shoulders straightening.

  He plucked the pick from her unresisting fingers. Her smile made his chest ache. He pressed a kiss to her mouth so quickly he ended up catching more teeth than lips.

  She reached for him, but he ducked back into the cacao vault. “You stay out here, while I make my tally.”

  She followed him into the vault. “Quintin—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips as the sound of raised voices in the hallway caught his attention.

  “Really, Jonathan, I cannot believe you would play such a rotten trick on your sister,” an unfamiliar feminine voice remonstrated. “She has been the soul of kindness since we arrived.”

  Quintin shooed Em out of the cacao vault in time to see the woman Jonathan had identified as Mistress Catherine turn the corner and stop.

  “I swear to you, Em’s as up for a prank as anyone,” Jonathan said as he appeared next to her.

  “Or maybe the joke is on me.” Mistress Catherine crossed her arms. “Since you didn’t actually lock your sister in with the Han-Auditor.”

  Jonathan gaped at the open door. “How did you get out?”

  “You’re lucky Violet doesn’t know how to lock a door properly. Why did you allow her to try it?” Em planted her hands on her hips. “Do you have any idea of the trouble we’ll be in if word of this gets back to the Troika? Father will kill you—”

  “Calm down, Emmie.
We were coming to let you out. Where’s your sense of humor?”

  Quintin’s blood roared in his ears as all his anger at Em’s feckless brother flooded back. His hands twitched. He wanted to yank the air out of the pampered noble’s lungs until he felt as trapped and frightened as Em had in the vault.

  “Imprisoning a tax collector in the middle of an audit is not amusing, Jonathan!”

  “Apologize to your sister.” The words came from deep inside Quintin, from a place he scarcely recognized. A gust of wind swirled around Jonathan, ruffling the loose sleeves of his kaftan.

  Em stared at Quintin in openmouthed horror.

  “And me,” he hastily added. After putting a halt to her kisses in the vault, it would be the height of foolishness to expose his tender feelings to her family. “Make your bows and your apologies, and then you may go,” he told Jonathan, proud of his officious tone.

  The gentleman’s face puckered like a child facing a medicinal draught. “What?”

  Quintin closed his hand in a beckoning gesture, pulling enough air from the miscreant’s nose to trigger a coughing fit. “The words you are looking for are, ‘I humbly beg your pardon for dishonoring a Hand and through him the Luminary of Destin. Though I am unworthy, please have pity on me for disrupting your work and frightening my sister.’”

  Em’s lips curved in a polite smile, though her eyes flashed a warning. “The Han-Auditor is far too kind, to show such concern for the unseemly reaction of a stranger.”

  “You were terrified,” he snapped. “What’s unseemly is to have your own flesh, breath, and blood treat you so poorly.” He wanted to growl and snarl like a waccat protecting a cub. Jonathan reminded him all too much of his own noble brothers, who would do as they liked to anyone in their power and never suffer a consequence in their lives. Still, the intensity of his anger frightened him a little. He drew a calming breath, struggling to rise above the storm of emotions swirling in his heart.

  Mistress Catherine shoved Jonathan’s shoulder. “You are better than this, Jon.”

  Jonathan touched his throat and eyed Quintin before pressing his hands together and bending at the waist in a deep and respectful bow. “In the name of the Troika, please accept this apology from their most humble and unworthy servant. I swear to you, I meant no disrespect.”

  Quintin narrowed his eyes. “I should report you to the Reeve, you know. You and your cousin could use a day or two in the stocks.”

  “No.” Jon’s knees buckled. He knelt with his forehead nearly touching the floor. “Please, no.”

  “Have mercy, good and honorable Hand.” Catherine clasped her hands together. “What Jon did was thoughtless and cruel. He sees the error of his ways.”

  “If his sister can find the grace to overlook his grievous transgression, then perhaps I can be lenient as well.”

  Jonathan shuffled until he was on his knees at Em’s feet. The sight filled Quintin with an unholy satisfaction. “Dearest sister, please forgive me for my part in your distress. It was unworthy of me as your brother. I am sorry, Em.”

  She wiped at her eyes, her voice trembly with tears. “I forgive you, Jon.”

  “Next time,” Quintin warned, “you’d better risk getting on your cousin’s bad side instead.”

  Chapter 21

  A few hours later, Em waited outside while Quintin tallied the contents of a root cellar. Her stomach gurgled at the smell of frying onions from the nearby cooking area. The morning was nearly over. She turned her face up to the sun, enjoying the warmth on her skin, though the midday heat wasn’t enough to chase the ice from her bones.

  A chill had settled over her ever since speaking with Simon. She’d spent a restless night, worrying about the future of Aerynet, which left her raw and vulnerable to her fear of the dark storerooms. While kissing Quintin had been foolish and weak, at least she had felt warm for those few moments in his arms.

  “I’m finished.”

  She smiled as Quintin emerged from the underground storeroom. The morning had passed swiftly but uneventfully since their adventure in the cacao vault. “What would you like to see next? Do you tally our personal effects?”

  “Not usually, no.” He unrolled the quipu and stretched it out before him. Knotted strands dangled from a thicker cord down to his knees. His eyes moved up and down as he inspected the threads. A dark lock escaped his queue and curled over his cheek.

  She crossed her arms over her stomach to stop herself from pushing the errant curl back in place. He appeared so serious and self-contained, but she knew a dimple formed in his cheek when he smiled. She knew the planes of his body under his shapeless clothes. And the taste of his kiss. Her fingers bit into her elbows.

  He wrapped the quipu around his hand. Something, desire or despair, flickered in his eyes. “I am done with my audit. The new Merdale quipu is complete. It’s time for me to go.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips. “Can I escort you to the lane?”

  His mouth curved in a smile too small to bring out his dimple. “Please do.”

  She walked next to him through the gardens at the front of the house. Bees buzzed in lazy circles above flowers drooping in the noonday sun. A dove cooed in a fig tree, the mournful sound mirroring Em’s mood.

  Her lips tightened with annoyance at her melancholy. She should be relieved he had completed his task without revealing her secrets and be glad to see the last of him. Instead, a mantle of loneliness settled over her shoulders at the thought of saying good-bye.

  At the edge of the garden, he pressed his palms together and gave her a deep bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Her heart swelled. A simple bow was not enough to convey the depth of her emotions. She dropped into a modified version of the welcoming pose. “You have honored us more than we deserve, good Han-Auditor. We humbly hope our tribute is a worthy reflection of our esteem for the Luminary.”

  Gravel crunched as he shuffled his feet. “You may tell your father I will return in the new year to collect.”

  She bit her lip and straightened. “After Allgoday, Mistress Isabel will return to the welcoming duties.”

  “It is probably for the best,” he said quietly.

  “Agreed. Good-bye, Quintin.” She fled before she embarrassed them both. The bells on her ankles jangled with her hasty steps. A pair of doves flew from the fig tree with a drumming of wings at her approach. She slowed as she reached the tree. When she returned to the house, she would be expected to join her family for their repast.

  Em leaned her forehead against the smooth bark of the tree. She should not have touched the Han-Auditor. Everything only seemed so hopeless because the taste of him clung to her lips.

  “Surely a Lady, so young and pretty as you, has no cause for distress?”

  She jerked her head up to find Lord Evan sitting on a bench in the nearby shade.

  He stood and moved close enough for her to see the concern in his watery eyes. “A taxman can chill the most festive atmosphere. Will he deny you the pleasure of your aestivation today?”

  She pushed away from the tree and straightened her sari. “No. The audit is complete.”

  “Good. It’s been a shame to have you occupied with other duties during our visit.” Lord Evan’s face crinkled in a smile. “I look forward to seeing more of your lovely face.”

  “It is an honor to serve.”

  “Are you headed in for the midday meal?” He offered his arm. “Let me walk with you.”

  As much as she wanted to politely refuse, Simon’s desertion forced her to consider marriage as a solution to her financial woes. She placed her fingers on Lord Evan’s elbow. Panic clawed at her throat at the thought of charming a proposal from the older man, but she dared not snub him either.

  He patted her fingers as he towed her through the gardens to the ho
use. “Give us a smile now. You’re so pretty when you smile.”

  She forced her face to obey, though her stomach twisted in rebellion. A lifetime with the old Lord would grind her soul into dust.

  He frowned as they entered the central courtyard. Two tables stood on opposite sides of the tinkling fountain, each with only one seat empty.

  Relieved at the reprieve, Em extracted her hand and pressed her palms together for a polite bow. “I’m sure my father will want you to sit with him. I’ll join the other young people.”

  Lord Evan returned her bow. “I hope you’ll walk with me again sometime.”

  She nodded in silent acknowledgment before approaching the table of her peers. Since the group included Violet and Jonathan, who had been joined once more by Curtis, she would rather eat at a table full of snakes. Unfortunately, she had no excuse to flee and couldn’t leave Mistress Catherine to face the vipers alone. Missing Quintin more than ever, she sat and filled her plate.

  “What did you do with your pet auditor?” Violet asked.

  “The audit is over. Han-Auditor Quintin has left the estate.”

  “So soon?” Jonathan snorted. “He dragged me all over yesterday. Why, we didn’t stop for a proper aestivation or anything.”

  Em tore a dumpling in half. “I think he found our hospitality somewhat lacking today.”

  Violet selected a date from the serving dish. “If he didn’t enjoy his time here, the fault is entirely yours, Emmie. We gave you the perfect opportunity to kiss him.”

  Curtis made a gagging sound. “Why would anyone want to kiss a taxman?”

  “Hush, Violet.” Jonathan glared daggers at his cousin. “He threatened to have us put in the stocks, and I think he would have done it, too, if I hadn’t groveled for leniency.”

  Curtis tossed a frown between Jonathan and Violet. “What are you up to now?”

  Laughter erupted from their parents’ table on the other side of the fountain.