North took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “That,” he said, and Alison gasped, because laid out before her like a garment beaded with light lay all of Aurilien, girdled with walls of golden stone that glowed richly in the light of the Devices that burned all night long. The lights made patterns: long lines marking out the grid of the business districts, curves where the homes of the wealthy circled the palace, sprinklings of glittering dust nearer the walls where the less wealthy lived, still bright thanks to millions of inexpensive Devices keeping the darkness, and the crime, at bay. To the right, a moving blotch lighter than the surrounding area showed where the lake North had mentioned lay, just outside the city walls, and to the left, a break in the clouds let the moon shine on fields dull and stubbly after the harvest.
“Over there,” North said, pointing, and Alison looked at the palace, which seemed to burn white and gold from all the Devices lighting its roof and courtyards. “Can you see the front door? Look up and to the left.”
Alison looked as instructed and saw a tiny spot of light that was an actual flame, not a Device, glowing high above the palace. “What is it?”
“Willow North’s tower. They light the fire every night at sunset and it burns all night long. I don’t know why. Something she wanted, I suppose. That’s over two hundred years’ worth of fires.”
“Amazing,” Alison breathed. “This really is astonishing. So beautiful.”
“I hoped you’d like it,” North said. He was standing close beside her, and for the first time she felt no awkwardness in his company. “My father brought me here when I was…ten, maybe? Just the two of us. I’ve never forgotten it.”
Now she felt awkward. It was the most honesty she’d ever heard from him, and she shivered at it. “You’re cold,” North said, and put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry, it didn’t occur to me—my formal wear has a few more layers than yours—here.” He removed his coat and put it around her shoulders, over her thin wrap, and now she felt incredibly awkward, because it was such an intimate gesture and he’d done it with no sly comments or suggestions. “Thank you,” she said, and was certain her inner turmoil was evident in her voice. But he only said, “I think we can risk going back now,” and helped her into the carriage.
They rode in silence back down the hill, and North said, “I think I should be honest with you.”
Alison huddled further into his coat. “Yes?”
“That viewpoint…it’s usually where lovers go. I didn’t mean anything of the sort by it,” he went on hurriedly, “but I thought I should warn you, before you tell people what we did this evening.”
“I…thank you, milord,” Alison said, grateful that he couldn’t see how blotchy she’d gone. Of course it was a romantic rendezvous. But he hadn’t said or done anything romantic, or made any suggestive comments, or told her how beautiful her breasts were in the light of the city. She’d felt comfortable with him for the first time, and that made her uncomfortable. Don’t let him fool you, she told herself, he’s going to revert to form by tomorrow, and just think what would happen if you let him believe you really trust him when he doesn’t deserve it. But it was getting harder to believe the things she was telling herself, when all the evidence was pointing to a different conclusion.
“Still not Anthony?” he teased her.
“I don’t think so, milord. After all, we still have five months and two weeks to go before we can be so familiar.”
“Then I await that day with anticipation,” he said with a smile and a wink, and she smiled back at him before she could remember to be cautious. Not much longer, and you won’t have to spend time with him, that inner voice told her, so what’s the point? Her inner voice appeared to be grasping for excuses now. If he stopped flirting with her, and went on being as open and natural as he’d been even when they were arguing…maybe he wasn’t as lecherous as he’d seemed. Maybe they could be friends, after all.
“Thank you again for the view, milord, and for accepting my apology,” she said when the carriage returned to the palace and North had helped her out of it. She hesitated, then extended her hand to him. He looked a little surprised, but accepted it and bowed.
“And I’m sorry, for my part, that I took offense so deeply,” he said. “May I have my coat back, milady Countess?”
Alison blushed again. “I’m terribly sorry, I forgot,” she said, handing it to him. He draped it over his arm.
“Not at all,” he said. “I imagine you regret ladies’ fashion doesn’t include oversized men’s jackets. So much less restrictive than a corset.”
“I intend to remove mine as soon as possible,” she said, then heard her own words and wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Or him. North looked completely startled, then laughed and laughed until Alison had to either laugh with him or storm off in a fury. She chose embarrassed laughter.
“I want to point out, milady Countess,” he said between snorts of laughter, “that I said nothing in response to what I’m sure you realize now was a completely inappropriate remark.”
“I do realize that, milord, and I’m so grateful,” Alison said, and dipped a graceful curtsey.
“Just so you’re perfectly clear I mean to stand by my promise to respect your wishes,” he said. “I would like us to be friends, your ladyship.”
He was still smiling, but there was something about him that told Alison he was serious, and it startled her so much that she said, “I…think I would like that also, milord.”
Back in her suite and free of the corset—she blushed with memory as Belle loosened its laces—she sat in front of the fire with her arms wrapped around her knees and watched the flames dance. Could he have changed so much in not quite three weeks? She could never be friends with a self-absorbed flirt who couldn’t keep his eyes off her breasts, and now…it was just too big a change to be real. But was it changing, really, when he was simply revealing the person he was behind the swagger? You don’t know that’s true, her inner voice said, but she ignored it. You’re just lonely, it taunted her, and she ignored it again. If North really was something more than the shallow Prince, her refusing to acknowledge it was just petty and fearful. And Alison Quinn would never let fear rule her.
Chapter Eight
“Alison, can I borrow your green satin shoes?” Philippa said, bursting into Alison’s dressing room. She was wearing nothing but her corset and drawers and had a firm grip on her filmy stockings. “I changed my mind about what I’m wearing to the Berrises’ ball and now my shoes don’t match!”
“Go ahead,” Alison said, and went back to combing her hair while Philippa rooted around in her wardrobe. Her own gown, violet silk with diamonds winking along the neckline, hung nearby. Philippa exclaimed in triumph and waved the dancing slippers in the air. “Aren’t you glad our feet are the same size?” Alison said with a laugh at Philippa’s expression of glee.
“Eternally so. I only wish the rest of me were your size, because I positively covet that cloth-of-gold dress of yours,” Philippa said. “Don’t you think it would suit my hair?”
“You know it would.” Philippa’s red hair stood out in all directions now, an effect only possible for someone who had tried on a dozen gowns and been satisfied with none of them. “Probably better than it does mine.”
“Oh, bah, you’re far prettier than I am, and with that hair you can wear anything,” Philippa said placidly. “Thanks again for the shoes.” She darted out the door and bumped into Belle, who squeaked. “Oh, I’m sorry, Belle!” she exclaimed. “Trust me not to look where I’m going.”
“It’s all right, milady,” Belle said, but Philippa hadn’t waited for her apology to be accepted. She advanced toward Alison and took the comb from her hand. “Let me do that for you, milady. Oh, I almost forgot.” She dipped into a pocket in her pink uniform and pulled out a note. “The messenger just delivered it.”
Alison turned it over and saw the North seal. How strange to realize just over two weeks ago she’d felt dread
whenever she saw it. But it had only been two days since the concert, so why was he writing to her now? She broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
Countess,
You have behaved admirably toward my brother. Please consider your obligation fulfilled.
Zara North
Alison folded it again, slowly. So. No more forced outings. She never had to see North again if she didn’t want to; any social events they both attended, such as the Berrises’ ball, no doubt, were large enough they could easily avoid each other. No point in becoming friends now that they had no reason to spend time together; it was unlikely North would want to carry on the relationship now that it was unnecessary. He was a playboy and an accomplished flirt; she was an editor and a reader; they might share an interest in the theater, but that was all, and that wasn’t really enough to build a friendship on. Her pleased feeling vanished. I didn’t really like him, anyway, she thought, and despised herself for the ignoble thought.
The Berrises’ mansion was one of those sprawling ones she’d seen when she and North drove up the hill, a memory that left her feeling a little empty now. She managed to smile and contribute a little to the conversation Simone and Carola were having about some minor nobleman they each thought was interested in the other one, but the idea of more than that wearied her. How unfortunate that she had to depend on the Dowager’s carriage to take her home, or she would stand up for a few dances and make her escape. She closed her eyes briefly and told herself she was glad her penance was over.
When they arrived at the Berrises’ front door, the Dowager took Alison’s hand before she could exit the carriage and said, “Do cheer up, Alison dear. I know these social events are difficult for you, but you have made more friends than you realize.”
“I have, Milady?” Had the Dowager been watching her that closely?
“You always smile and have a kind word for anyone who has your attention,” the Dowager said, “and I have never seen you refuse a request for a dance or for conversation. Other people notice these things too. And….” She bit her lower lip, hesitating. “And you have been so kind to my son when he had no reason to expect it. Thank you.”
“I have not always been so kind, Milady,” Alison stammered, “and I do not deserve such praise.”
“I think you do, dear. Now, shall we go in? I predict you will have no shortage of partners, many of whom will ask you to dance not because of your beauty but because of your generosity of spirit. Don’t blush, dear, you really don’t do it well.”
She felt uncomfortably blotchy, standing in the bright lights of the Berrises’ ballroom, but before she could take more than a few steps, someone said, “Milady Countess! How good to see you!” and swept her away into the dance before she could do more than assent to it. She’d danced with the man before, but it astonished her that he was so genuinely happy to see her. The Dowager’s last words to her echoed in memory as one partner after another approached her, men who looked at her eyes and not her bust line, and for the first time in…no, for the first time ever she was enjoying herself at a public event, no reservations, no qualifications.
After half a dozen dances she was hot and exhausted and cheerful and more than ready for a rest. She accepted a glass of punch from her last partner and chatted with him, trying to conceal the fact that she’d forgotten his name in the mad whirl of introductions and dancing, until a look of dismay swiftly crossed his face and was as quickly extinguished. “I beg your pardon,” North said from behind her, “but I was hoping to ask the Countess for the pleasure of this dance. But I seem to have interrupted your conversation.”
“Not at all, your Highness,” the young man said with a bow, and accepted Alison’s glass with no sign of resentment. “Wouldn’t want to monopolize the Countess’s time, yes? Your ladyship, it was a pleasure.”
“Thank you for the dance, um…it was most enjoyable,” Alison said, trying to make up for her lapse with a brilliant smile. She put her hand on North’s arm and followed him to where the couples were forming a line. “I think you intimidated him,” she said.
“Not on purpose,” North said. He bowed to her as the music began, and she curtseyed low, conscious of how the neckline of her gown exposed her cleavage, but North’s eyes never left her face. “You received a note from my sister?” he said as they took their first steps toward each other.
“I did, milord. It seems we no longer need share each other’s company.” Just saying the words gave her a pang she quashed before she could entertain it fully.
“It seems so.” They separated to go down the line, bowing to the other dancers in turn, then joined hands once again. “Is it an unwelcome compliment to say I’ve enjoyed our time together?” he said.
“Not at all, milord, it has been most pleasant.”
“It became pleasant, anyway. I’m not sure you enjoyed yourself very much that first time.”
“I liked attending the play with you, milord.”
“I had no idea how much fun that would be. I believe I owe you thanks for that.” They separated again, went down the line, and came back together. “You know,” he said off-handedly, “I saw After the Spring Rains Fall just started at the theater. I think I’d like to see it.”
“I understand it’s excellent. It’s Flanagan’s newest work and I’ve never seen it before, but Doyle says it’s a tragedy and devastatingly sad.”
“Why would anyone want to see something that made them sad?”
“I don’t know what it is about tragedy that’s so appealing. Possibly it’s because it draws out emotions we usually keep hidden and lets us express them without necessarily giving anything of ourselves away.”
“That makes sense. You understand theater very well.”
“Thank you, milord.”
Silence fell again. “I was thinking,” North said, “if you’re not doing anything the night after tomorrow, you might like to come with me to see the play. If it’s going to make me devastatingly sad, I’d like someone to share that with.”
It was as if someone had lit a fire in that place where she normally only felt ice. “I would like that very much,” she said, smiling at him, and then added, “Anthony.”
His eyes widened, and then he smiled back at her, broadly. “I had no idea five months and—it’s almost one week now, yes?—could pass so quickly. Alison.”
The fire burned just a little brighter. “Well, I get very blotchy when I cry, so it’s something I only do in front of friends,” she said.
“There’s going to be crying?”
Alison chuckled. “It’s a Flanagan play. We might not be able to stop ourselves.”
Alison clutched her handkerchief, which was sodden with tears, and closed her eyes as the house lights came up and applause filled the theater with a sound so loud she felt she was being swept by the tide. She swiped at her eyes one last time and clapped until her palms felt sore and the cast had taken their bows and left the stage. “That was incredible,” she said. “I told you there would be crying.”
“I didn’t really believe you,” Anthony said, wiping his own eyes, “and now my reputation as a carefree man about town is in jeopardy. I see now why you put up with Flanagan. He really is a genius.”
“I wish he weren’t so aware of it. He’d be less obnoxious.” She drew a deep breath. “Am I presentable yet?”
“Still blotchy. How do they do the hanging scene? I don’t suppose there are thirty Maximiliens waiting in the wings for their turn to dangle and choke.”
“Why don’t you ask the director? I think it’s done with wires, but I’m not sure. From this distance, it’s hard to tell if it isn’t a different Maximilien every night. If Flanagan were director rather than playwright, he’d probably insist on it.”
Anthony rose and gave her his arm. “If Flanagan were director, I imagine the cast would have lynched him before now.”
Doyle pulled Alison aside the moment they both stepped backstage. “Allie, theater business,” he said.
&nbs
p; Alison said, “Just a moment. An—Tony, why don’t you go ahead and I’ll join you presently.”
“I feel abandoned,” he said with a smile, and continued down the hall to the green room.
“It’s unbelievable,” Doyle said. “It’s only been four nights and we’ve already decided to extend the run to six weeks instead of four. I’d be thrilled if Jerald weren’t so unbearably smug. This is going to make our reputation, Allie, not to mention our fortunes.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, grinning at him. “How’s our director and her artistic temperament holding up?”
“Genevieve’s flying high. She keeps trying to explain to anyone who’ll listen how she came up with the hanging mechanism. Never mind that the stage manager actually engineered it.”
“Well, she’ll find a willing audience in Tony.”
Doyle arched an eyebrow at her. “So it’s Tony now, is it?”
“Shut up. He’s a friend. Don’t embarrass us both with your innuendo.”
“I’m just saying you don’t make friends easily, and you’re the most reserved woman I’ve ever met. You remember when we were introduced? It took me weeks even to get you to call me Mister Doyle instead of ‘sir’.”
Alison laughed at the memory. “I just don’t believe in casual intimacy. It encourages people to presume on a relationship.”
“And by ‘people’ you mean men.”
Alison stopped laughing. “Doyle, this sounds like it’s shaping up to be a lecture.”
“I’m sorry, Alison. No, I don’t intend to lecture you. All I’m saying is I’m glad to see you relaxed enough to make new friends.” He hooked his arm through hers and they strolled toward the green room. “Hear that?” Laughter rolled down the hallway toward them. “That must mean Jerald’s not here tonight. They’re never that uninhibited when he’s around.” He quickened his step.
“—without his pants!” shouted Larrick, tonight’s Maximilien, clearly not dead. The actors, and Anthony, roared at whatever joke he’d just told, which, knowing Larrick, had almost certainly been graphically sexual. “Countess!” he exclaimed, and bounded over to kiss her on the cheek. “Was I or was I not magnificent tonight?”
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