Heart Dance (18 page)

Once he said it, she could see the glow of the individuals, or the couples. It was mildly interesting.

He was fascinating. Standing here, casually, unafraid. Using her Flair and this place to experiment with his own Flair.

But the fact that he was here led to all too solid conclusions.

He was her HeartMate, matched well with her.

If she tried to use the Wind of Time to push him away from her life, it would take great effort and Flair and likely damage them both.

He knew her too well already.

Still, she stood up straight and lifted her chin to inform him of a few points. “I do not think I am a good candidate for a HeartMate.”

He stared at her, then laughed. “It is not something you applyfor. Either you have a HeartMate or not.” His face softened, he held out his hand and made to take a step forward, but couldn’t.

Interesting. Her heart picked up beat.

His gaze sharpened. “What is this place?”

"T’Willow—”

“Saille.” Now that she’d said his name, she realized how oftenshe’d thought of him that way, since the first few times he’d visited Dandelion Silk. How telling that was, and how unobservantshe’d been. “I’m not good with emotions. Definitely not good with love.”

His expression sobered. “Then we have the absence of love in our lives in common. We lived as children in loveless homes. I’ve now been blessed with a Family who cares for me, reunited with my mother. I’m sorry you don’t have the same.”

His eyes fired. “But you will. From me, you’ll have every shade of love. Affection, HeartMate love.” His tone dropped. “Passionate desire.”

She stepped back. “I wouldn’t know what to do with all that. How to act.” How to think with such distractions.

Stretching his hand, he said, “Please.”

“I don’t think I can,” she said, and shifted back to the reality of lying in her bed, with Fairyfoot snoring beside her legs.

Still, his last words echoed. “I do think you can.”

The strange plane vanished, but Dufleur was still linked with him. Saille waited until he was sure he could seduce her, then slipped into her dreams. Thinking of her had made him ready. His body hot and throbbing. Yearning. He placed his hand in the curve between her shoulder and her neck, brushing her cheek with his thumb—as he always preluded the lovemakingbetween them.

“Dufleur.” He could finally say her name, hoped she would say his.

Suddenly she was out of bed and two paces from him, her face pale, her eyes wide and huge. Looking wary.

“I would never hurt you,” he said.

Her expression didn’t change. She sidled close to a bright blue energy field that rippled behind her. He sensed it was the plane, but she’d called him to it before, he hadn’t gone on his own. She could escape, and he couldn’t follow.

Fourteen

He kept a smile on his face, made no aggressive gestures
.

What could he do that wouldn’t make her slide into that otherness?

It occurred to him that his time with her had been like a dance—he approached, they touched, separated, she retreated. Watching her carefully, he made a formal bow. Held out his hand in a position to take the tips of her fingers in the most formal of the ancient dances. Much, much less than the dance of bodies in loving he wanted.

But his need to simply touch her raged. Hardly to be satisfied with the smallest grasp of fingers, but gaining her trust was uppermost. With slow, small steps he neared her. Inclined his torso in a half-bow. “Only a dance, Dufleur.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. And he knew that she, living with her parents, had been more isolated than he, banishedto a country estate. There, he’d made friends, practiced his Flair among the countryfolk, become an excellent potter. He’d created a fairly contented life, even if he hadn’t been able to fulfill his true potential.

Her parents hadn’t loved or valued her, even as she strove to satisfy them. He saw that clearly in her aura of wariness. He forced his smile wider, sent her love in it. She stepped back.

“Simply a dance, Dufleur.” He hummed a couple of bars of a pavane.

She snickered.

He winced, obviously his voice hadn’t magically changed in this other place to become pleasing. He thought he was on key, she probably heard otherwise. But her fear had faded. His vulnerabilityhad disarmed her? “You hum the dance, then.”

Surprise flashed in her eyes. Had no one let her ever lead? She wetted her lips, and he nearly groaned, squashed his physicalneeds to the back of his mind. Earning her trust was more important. He kept that phrase at the forefront of his mind, chanted it to the beat of the dance he’d tried to vocalize.

Dufleur hummed the melody. Set her fingers in his.

A jolt of desire blazed through him. She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, but when he only moved into the openingsteps of the pattern, she relaxed and matched his steps. They sailed through the dance, experiencing their connection in this dreamtime much as they had a few hours before.

He wooed her with glances, touches, the warm steadiness of his hand. The last was her thought that came to him. What she liked most about him. The warm steadiness of his hand. He tucked the notion away to consider later.

Her body relaxed and became supple, responding to his even at arms’ length. Her mind brushed against his, accepting the connection between them.

The dance ended. He bowed over her hand, dared to kiss it.

Desire swamped him.

She withdrew from him, but her glance was less wary. “Thank you,” she said, and vanished.

She’d known who he was and had enjoyed their time together.That was enough. For now.

Though he knew she’d retreat again the next time they met.

Dufleur woke with the buzz of an imminent headache and tears drying on her face.

Fairyfoot mewled about breakfast, so Dufleur overindulged the cat with a scrambled egg and watched the feline return to bed to curl up and snooze.

Dufleur’s own breakfast was tense, as her mother whined about the estate examiners. And the fact that Dringal finally had gilt and was spending it on updating the Winterberry Residencespells. Dufleur only pointed out that as WinterberryHeir, Dringal had a responsibility to the Residence. Her mother retortedthat she wouldn’t be in that position if Dufleur’s father hadn’t blown up their own Residence.

And the headache came as Dufleur kept her jaw clamped shut to prevent angry words. She did, however, take a copy of the examiner’s list of witnesses that had been addressed to her and opened by her mother. She looked at the names—Meyar and Ilex Winterberry, D’Winterberry and Dringal D’Thyme, and the WinterberryResidence itself were the main entities involved. With relief she noted that she had only a half-septhour slot and was listed with neighbors and other casual contacts and Tinne Holly who’d been adopted by D’Winterberry for a couple of weeks.

Two things were interesting about the form. There were no names under the “Clients” listing for D’Winterberry or D’Thyme. They couldn’t be earning their NobleGilt—had they been collecting the annual income paid by the Noble Council for their services? That would be bad.

A special empath examiner would be admitted to the HouseHeart,his memory later to be altered. Interesting.

Dufleur wanted to ignore the whole business, but even being on the outer edges of the situation, she couldn’t do that.

What would happen to her mother if she was judged neglectful?The title of WinterberryHeir taken away? Would she and her mother have to find a new place to live? Meyar would probablylet Dufleur stay in the Residence, but she probably would go wherever her mother did.

She’d let her subconscious fears rule her long enough, she
needed
to work. So she had to find another place, perhaps a small abandoned building near the docks. She shivered just thinking about the amount of winter traveling to and from such a location.

Her stomach tensed when she thought about what the Residencemight reveal about her, so she did another cleansing ritual of her laboratory.

She hadn’t begun to pack her equipment when she found a small old memory ball that she’d thought was blank. A paragraphof one of her reports caught at her and she sat to listen, pulling papyrus and writestick close to jot additional notes. She’d been planning on following in her father’s footsteps, perhapsshe should experiment with something very different.

It wouldn’t hurt to do a few simple experiments, to feel herselfin the Time Wind again. That would ease her fears, give her confidence. Her fingers flexed. She could re-create her first experiments,see where she’d change her hypotheses.

You are working in the hidden room!
Fairyfoot covered the distance between the bedroom and her perch in the laboratory in several long bounds and sat upright on the velvet stand, turningbig eyes toward Dufleur. Her purr rumbled.
Time to play with time.
She smirked.
I am very clever.

Someone must have told her so lately. Too bad.

The next thing she knew, a tap came on her bedroom door, and Saille T’Willow called, “Dufleur? Your mother told me you were down here.”

Fairyfoot jumped down, ran into the bedroom.
We are here!
she trilled.
Come in!

He strolled in, a mass of fresh lilies in his arms, all colors.

Dufleur’s mouth fell open. She could only think of her appearance.Her hair.
Her clothes.
She was dressed in one of her worn-out drab tunic and trous suits covered by her lab coat. Lady and Lord.

His lips curved as he took in the tumbled bed. “Restless night? Me, too.”

Fairyfoot ran toward him, wound herself around his trous. He was dressed perfectly, stylishly. He looked incredibly male, and his aura blinded her senses.

“Good morning, Fairyfoot,” he said.

She sniffed.
You have That Scruff Cat’s hair on your trous.

Saille lifted and dropped a shoulder. “He’s my Fam. Adjust.” He turned again to look at Dufleur. Gave a half-bow. “You’re beautiful this morning.”

She stared at him in horror. It must be after MidMorning Bell, the earliest time a social visit was acceptable. Her mother had admitted him. He was a FirstFamily GreatLord. One of the Twelve. Dufleur’s mind scrambled.

With a flick of his fingers, a tall, exquisitely shaped porcelainvase of a deep blue green appeared on her writing desk in the bedroom. Filled with water. He put the lilies in the vase, stirred them around, and the bouquet appeared even more dazzling.Reds—scarlet—and yellows and oranges, coral, peach. All bright and cheerful when the day outside the windows lashed snow and ice.

“You’re a Thyme,” he said, gesturing to his floral gift. “You could keep these fresh forever with a syllable. What are you doing?”

Lord and Lady. Lady and Lord. Lord and Lady. Her
experiment
! She said a Word of Dismissal, but it wasn’t enough, and a puff of black smoke appeared along with a trace of burnt pine she hoped was covered by the lilies’ pungent fragrance.

Fairyfoot hopped behind Saille.

No use hiding her work. Try to be cool—when her body warmed under his gaze—keep his eyes focused on her, not the scene behind her. She tried a weak smile. “As you can see, I’m not dressed for callers.” She pushed at her hair, aimed a look at Fairyfoot.

Now he was frowning. “You don’t have a suite. Not even a sitting room. Just a bedroom and a—”

Fairyfoot!
Dufleur shouted mentally.

I will help.
She placed herself in front of Saille again, put a paw on his boot, and looked up with an ingratiating smile.
Let’s go upstairs to the Gray Sitting Room. There will be food.

“Caff,” Dufleur croaked. Twitched her lips in a smile again. What would Passiflora do in a situation like this? That thought sure didn’t help. Passiflora wouldn’t have been caught unawares,and Dufleur had no iota of Passiflora’s style. She cleared her throat. “Please, wait for me in the Gray Room.” Heat surged across her neck, up to her face, burned on her cheeks. “Thank you for the lovely flowers.”

He watched her, sympathy lighting his eyes. “Since I’m discomfiting you, I’ll go.”

She sighed relief.

“To the Gray Sitting Room and wait for you there. How do you like your caff?”

“Um, milk and honey.”

“Right.” He scooped up Fairyfoot and cradled her in a broad forearm, unaffected by the fact she was leaving hair all over the wide sleeve of his fine blue jacket. His gaze went beyond her, to her lab, traveled down her dishevelment, and lingered on her lab coat. He nodded, and he wasn’t smiling, now. “We’ll talk. HeartMate.” He closed the door gently behind him.

Oh, Lady and Lord.

Disaster.

Dufleur entered the sitting room attired in one of her new tunic-trous suits with the brocade tunic cut right at the knee and yards of shiny silkeen in the puffed trous gathered into cuffs at her ankles. The clothes were of her Family color of vibrant royal blue. She’d noticed that the cuffs of T’Willow’s white shirt carried the bright green embroidery of his GreatHouse.

To her surprise, her mother was entertaining T’Willow and also dressed in new, very conservative, clothes. Dringal smiled and rose, excusing herself as Dufleur came in, sending her a directlook as if to tell her to do anything she could to keep this man happy. Including sex. Dufleur swallowed and nodded to her mother.

Dufleur stood, wordless, looking at anything but the man lounging on the dark green sofa. The room itself had been cleaned, the furniture polished, the walls freshly tinted a pale gray with a sheen of silver. Everything gave off a slight scent of minty lemon. The Residence was receiving a long-delayed sprucing up. Dufleur only hoped most of the funds she transferredto the bank account—and the gilt her mother got from Quert Apple for her tatting—went to helping the Residence and not to yar-duan.