“Watch my feet and do what I do. It’s the same simple steps for everyone. Here we go.”
She looked out at those who were watching her and called out, “To the right, to the right, to the right, to the right.” She took four steps to the right, and then reversed direction to the left, calling out four steps. “Now kick, now kick, now kick, now kick.”
She gave simple low kicks, demonstrating for the audience how easy the dance was for any age to do.
“Now walk it by yourself. Now walk it by yourself,” she called out as she took four shuffling steps to the right, so she faced the dais.
The bass drummer gave his drum a hard beat and one of the horns gave a blast, denoting the turn, and she repeated the simple movements all over again, holding up her skirt so everyone could see her feet.
Leandre was laughing, and even Regine was clapping along to the catchy tune. The rest of the orchestra found their place in the melody and beat of the song, and before long the entire crowd was clapping and nodding as they watched her feet.
Keeping his eyes on her, Sebastien began doing the steps with her, enthralled by her joy as she laughed out loud when he stumbled and extolled him to keep up.
On the fourth turn of the simple dance, she called out “You got it?”
“Yes! This is most excellent!”
“Just wait, baby!” she replied, beckoning to the bobbing observers to join them.
Unable to resist, several groups parted from the growing crowd and came near, watching her feet and picking up the simple moves and turns for themselves.
She dropped her skirts so they fluffed and ruffled around as she kept dancing.
On the next round, she began swaying her shoulders and rolling her hips through the turns in a playful display that was also erotic, especially dressed as she was in a gown that molded so closely to her curves.
With each turn on the floor, she drew more dancers from the periphery. Laughter, giggling, and lively conversation filled the ballroom, where before it had been relatively quiet, except for the music and the hint of desperation straining the conversations.
She was helping them have fun.
They turned so she faced the dais again, and she brightened up when she saw Leandre prowling through the crowd toward her.
The crooked grin on his face and the fire in his eyes as he glanced at her and then at Sebastien communicated exactly how much he wanted to do blatantly erotic things to her later on that evening.
His mother seemed tremendously pleased as she swayed to the beat, still seated on her throne on the dais. Desdemona sat motionless and looked furious.
Excellent.
Leandre took position on Caresse’s other side, challenge in his eyes. She bobbled her head and gave him a challenging grin as she eyed him up and down in his formal suit.
Matching steps with her, he added his own sensual flare to the movements, and Sebastien quickly ascertained that Leandre already knew the dance.
His cousin loved pop culture and had mentioned that the music and dance of her world was particularly to his liking. He’d never made contact with Caresse while he was in her world, limited to simply watching over her and making sure all was well. Evidently he’d taken time to absorb some of that culture.
As Sebastien observed Leandre, his body loosened further, dancing and turning, knees slightly bent, hips gyrating, chin bobbing.
“Oh, that’s what I’m talking about!” Caresse called out as she watched them both.
She nodded in approval as one of the aged court officials inched over, dressed in his ministerial robes, walking with his cane, and began following along with the steps, looking rather dapper and like he was enjoying himself, his monocle falling from his bushy brow to bounce on his gold-embroidered vest. At the next turn, he moved in the opposite direction of the crowd and burst into laughter at himself.
After a few more go-rounds, the orchestra managed a neat end to the tune, and wild applause broke out across the ballroom.
Not according to his plan, Caresse was suddenly swamped with admirers, and among them were Poutina and Niebleht fawning over her without even realizing who she was.
When Caresse had walked in, they’d all stared at her as if she was just more competition. Now they were actually jostling him and Leandre aside to introduce themselves and to talk to her, offering invitations on the spot to come to tea, to dinner. They all loved her.
How could they not?
The question was in his mind but also seemed to come from his cousin standing beside him.
Leandre grinned and tilted his head to follow him as they made their way to the corner where an ornate punch fountain and hors d’oeuvres had been set out.
“She might be thirsty. Let’s get her something while she chats with her admirers, and then maybe they’ll let us reclaim her.”
“Not likely,” Sebastien said, unable to feel too put out as the laughing, panting, jubilant group got to know her. She met his eyes through the crowd and smiled.
A glance across to the dais assured him that his mother was feeling satisfied with developments. Desdemona was not on her seat, but he noted a fluff of black taffeta as she exited the room in her usual huff when attention wasn’t centered on her or her girls. Poutina and Niebleht probably would’ve been fine company if they hadn’t been raised to believe they deserved special treatment, better than everyone else.
Regine caught his eye and beckoned to him.
“You’d better go,” Leandre said. “I’ll take care of bringing refreshment to our lady.”
Sebastien went to Regine and took the seat beside her that Desdemona and her malevolent presence had vacated. “Mother, there’s lovely color in your cheeks that wasn’t there before,” he murmured.
“Is there?” she replied, patting her cheeks and chuckling. “You know, your father and I used to love lively dances when we were your age.”
“Speaking of father, when will he return?”
“He and Charles are both due back from their trips by tomorrow afternoon. Your father promised me he’d be here for your big announcement. Nicola is certainly vivacious and seems to share a rapport with the two of you. It’s almost as if you’ve already spent time with her.”
“Mother, I—”
“Never mind. I was young once,” she replied with a wave of her hand. “Once upon a time, I danced in the midst of the orangery, as well.”
“I wish you’d joined us in the dance. You looked like you wanted to.”
“I did. But I was distracted by…never mind.” She looked over her shoulder to the exit Desdemona had taken.
“Forget about Desdemona. You know she won’t be happy until I’ve wed either Poutina or Niebleht—”
“Or both of them,” she quipped, nodding at his wide-eyed look. “Yes, Desdemona finally made the offer for both of them, assuring me they’re both healthy, willing breeders.” She gave a light shudder. “But watching you and Leandre with Nin—I mean Nicola, on the dance floor…I know that Desdemona’s dreams are not going to happen.”
“No.”
“Nor should they. Poor Desdemona.”
“Mother, do you remember when father told me I’d know when the right woman came into my life?”
“I do,” she murmured in a voice suddenly husky with emotion.
He leaned close when her eyes grew shiny and clasped her hand in his. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
“The slip of an old woman’s tongue, and suddenly I’m surrounded by memories,” she whispered roughly as she looked around the wide expanse of the ballroom. “This vast space has known so many happy times in the past.”
“Tell me.”
“Something about your young lady brought back memories, made me think of a friend I miss. Oh, now what is your cousin up to?”
Sebastien chuckled as he noticed Leandre talking and gesticulating with the maestro, probably setting up another dance like the last one.
There were only a limited number of men in attendance since this
affair was supposed to be all about him choosing his bride-to-be from the masses, but the group dances had been something all the attendees had enjoyed, male, female, young and old alike.
Caresse stood beside Leandre, gazing at him, listening as he spoke.
Regine said, “You know…there is something about Nicola.”
He plastered on a smile, wondering if she’d figure out their ruse before the time was right. His mother was wise, evident by the peace and wealth of the kingdom she ruled.
“Yes, Mother?”
“She seems to draw people. Even Poutina and Niebleht are attracted to her, though I would expect them to hate her. Her smile brightens the room. She reminds me of…”
“Who?”
Regine looked around, and her demeanor changed when she spotted Desdemona returning. “Never mind. Go see to Nicola while I find the strength for a difficult conversation.” She flapped her fan in a subtle gesture, indicating Desdemona, and said, “I’ll deal with this one. Just know that if Nicola has your heart in as firm a grasp as I think she does—”
“After only knowing her such a short time?” he asked, wondering if he was really that obvious.
“It was obvious, watching the three of you, that she’s won your hearts. I never thought I’d see the day, never dreamed to hope…”
“Hope what?”
Regine glanced back as Desdemona approached, a look of frustration and curiosity at what they were discussing showing on her face.
“Later. Just know that if she wants you as much as you want her, and Leandre feels the same, you have my blessing. There’s no need to feel rushed now that you’ve found her. Just enjoy this time. You never know how long it will last.”
The emotion in her voice told him there was more to what she was saying, but it would have to wait.
“Go, my love, and tell Leandre and Nicola that if they dance another…what did he call it? Shuffling Cupid? Tell them if they dance that again, I might join you for a round or two of it. If crusty old Jeremiah Fustbottom can dance with his cane in hand, then I should manage with a modicum of dignity.”
“You what?” Desdemona asked as she plopped down onto the chair he’d only just vacated, pouting as if he’d stolen her seat, before offering a simpering smile at his perfunctory bow. Exhausting woman.
“I’ll tell them, Mother. I think Nicola would love it if you did.”
“Love what?” Desdemona demanded, pique in her sharp tone. “Nicola? Is that her name? It’s appalling how quickly the courtiers lost all dignity at the behest of a stranger.”
“Don’t fuss now,” Regine murmured as she patted her friend’s arm. Sebastien wondered again how Desdemona had wormed her way into his otherwise discerning mother’s heart.
Caresse taught them another fun dance which she called a “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” It was more complicated, but judging by the yips from the orchestra and the laughter of Caresse’s students, the dancers all enjoyed themselves.
Proving she really did love to dance, Caresse remembered all of the steps he’d taught her out in the orangery, taking turns dancing with him and with Leandre.
“She’s simply divine,” a debutante’s mama said within his hearing. “What a lovely soul she has.”
“What? Wait? I thought you wanted me to marry the prince,” her daughter replied in a disappointed tone.
“I do, my dear, but she…she seems to fit here so well.”
A man who was evidently the girl’s papa said, “Sebastien has cousins galore spread out over the kingdom. We’ll find the right match for you, my girl. Never fear.”
“I do like the way that Leandre…gyrates his hips so.”
“Open your eyes, dear one,” the mama whispered. “Sebastien isn’t the only one smitten by the lovely Nicola de Rainier.”
“Oooh,” came the disappointed vocalization.
The mama was correct in her observation, Sebastien thought as he watched Leandre swoop Caresse up in his arms and whirl around with her in the dance.
Smitten was exactly what they both were.
Chapter Nine
Caresse had Sebastien’s full attention when she told them she wished to return home, with both of them, now that the guests were taking their leave for the evening.
The rest of the evening they’d never had a private moment. They’d danced until her feet must’ve hurt, though she never complained, and she hadn’t objected to them dancing with the other ball guests and had even accepted a few invitations herself.
At the appropriate moment, the queen had risen from the throne, declared the second night of the ball a grand success, and also announced that they should feel free to bring a guest with them for the third and final night and to dress in full costume and mask if they desired. Then she’d surprised even her son by requesting that Caresse teach the assemblage another of her group “folk” dances the final night. The guests within earshot had cheered at the idea.
Out of hearing of the crowd, Regine had also told Caresse that she desired to see her dance with both Sebastien and Leandre. She claimed it was simply to cap off a beautiful series of balls, but it was clear to Sebastien that his mother believed he’d found his intended. Desdemona had shadowed her from the room.
It wasn’t until they’d taken a walk to catch their breath on the same terrace where he’d met her the night before that Leandre told him what had transpired at the beginning of the night.
“She locked you in your room?” He thought that was a new low, even for Desdemona de Rochambard.
“She did,” Leandre said, disgust lacing his tone. “I returned to find Caresse soaking in the tub, at a loss for how she could show her face at the ball. She told me what was said, and as it happens, Desdemona herself provided the answer. It was a masked ball tonight, so we camouflaged her face.”
“Brilliant,” Sebastien murmured as he pulled the end on the bow at her temple and carefully removed the mask.
Caresse said, “And I have a feeling that I’ll be needed to help Desdemona out of her finery like last night. You know, tonight I almost enjoyed being around Niebleht and Poutina. Of course they had no idea who I was. They’ll probably treat me the same when I go to assist them tonight, too.”
“They won’t need your assistance,” Sebastien said, feeling proud of himself.
“Why not?”
“Because I mentioned to Mama how very haggard Desdemona seemed. She insisted that guest quarters be prepared for Desdemona and her girls for tonight. They’ll have servants to attend to their needs and won’t return home until tomorrow after they wake up. My courtly obligations for the night have all been met.”
Stopping in mid-step, Caresse gaped up at him and said, “Then what are we still doing here? I want to see what you look like out of this fancy suit.”
Leandre chuckled, and Sebastien kissed her forehead. “Aren’t you exhausted, princess?”
“No,” she said emphatically. “I’m full of energy.”
“For the moment,” Leandre said. “Plaisir D’Or seems to energize your spirits.”
Pausing, she nodded. “You’re right. I should be dead on my feet. Never mind. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
Clasping her in their arms, he and Leandre transported her in a shower of rose and orange blossom petals to her attic bedroom in Le Maison de Rochambard.
* * * *
Caresse gasped when she opened her eyes and looked around her room, not because they’d used magic once again to move her from place to place. Everything was exactly as it had been the night before when Leandre had brought her home from the ball.
Golden light flickered about the room from the candles in the rafters, and the bedcoverings had been pulled back to create an enticing haven, large enough for three.
Not for the first time, she thought of the online friend she had in Texas, who had not one, not two, but three husbands. Legally she was married to only one of them, but her heart was bound to all three. They didn’t just share a bed. They shared a full life, with tw
o children, a boy and a girl, and another on the way, the last she’d heard.
Gazing at Leandre and then Sebastien, she wondered what it would be like and how making love with both of them would feel—
“Caresse,” Leandre murmured, drawing out the syllables of her name. “Are you thinking naughty thoughts?”
Sebastien carefully removed a sparkling pin from her hair. “I thought it was just me.”
A bubbling feeling welled up inside her. “You so often know what I’m thinking, or at least you guess well. Is my face an open book? I’m that easy to read?”
Leandre shook his head as he, too, began drawing the pins from her hair and lifted a loose lock to his nose to sniff with obvious pleasure. “No, not easy. Let’s just say…I’m attuned to you. The more time Sebastien spends around you, the more it will be the same with him.”
“How?”
“Soon,” Leandre replied as he stepped around her full skirt and began undoing all the tiny buttons. “Why did I fit you out in a dress that has so many entrapments?” he teased.
“Why are you not using magic to remove the dress entirely?” she responded, feeling rather sassy about it.
Her online friend never complained about feeling inconvenienced by the needs or attentions of three men. In fact, Grace gave the impression of appreciating how spoiled she was. It didn’t hurt that all three men were hot and sweet.
Speaking of hot and sweet, Leandre kept teasing her, not taking her subtle hint to just dissolve the dress in a flash of sparkles like he had last time. To be honest, she was okay with that because she wanted to keep the dress.
She heard just a hint of laughter from Leandre behind her. Seizing the moment, she tugged at the shirt beneath Sebastien’s coat and then cooed as she discovered the waistband closure for his pants.
Sebastien held still for her, his rapt gaze adding to the heat building inside of her as he stroked his fingers through her loosened tresses. He groaned quietly as she reached in his pants and made a convenient discovery.
“You went commando. Yeah!” she chortled as she stroked his thick, hot shaft. Her pussy clenched in response when he bucked a little against her hand, gasping at the stimulation.
Midnight of the Fae Page 12