Lois Greiman (26 page)

George Orwall entered a moment later. So this was why the
ballroom was dimly lit, Nicol thought, and absorbed his first impressions of the duke. As far as Cole could tell the royal Dane had no neck. It seemed to have been swallowed up by a row of chins and heavily rounded shoulders. Perhaps he was not an old man, perhaps no more than forty, but he had gone to fat early. His face was masked by heavy side whiskers, and the high portions of his cheeks were ruddy as if he had already drunk too much. He shuffled up the stairs, took the princess’s hand, and kissed it. Something clutched in Nicol’s stomach. He studiously ignored the grinding knot, and in a moment the duke straightened. Instead of releasing the girl’s hand, however, he leaned close and murmured something for her ears alone. She laughed, and the sound tinkled through the crowded hall like silver bells on Easter morning.

“Well,” Cask said, as the duke tucked her fingers under his arm and escorted her around the table to the huge chairs set at the very center of the far side. “At least you’re giving her up to someone amusing.” He drank again. “And rich. It’s said he has more property than the old king himself. In fact—”

“Cask,” Will interrupted dully.

“Yes?”

“I believe you might be well advised to shut the hell up.”

Cask took one look at Nicol’s face, then threw his head back and laughed. Nicol watched him for an instant, considered smashing him in the face with a right hook, remembered that was decidedly inelegant, and made his way stiffly through the crowd toward the long rows of dining tables. The seating arrangements were denoted by flowery penmanship on stiff parchment. Almost snarling at the names, Nicol settled gratefully into his chair and glanced at Megan. She and the duke were tilting their heads together, seeming to share a moment.

“My lord.”

Nicol turned slowly away, glancing up as he did so. “Lady Delafont,” he said, and rose to his feet.

The baroness touched his shoulder. “Please, don’t bother, my lord. It’s absolutely crushing in here,” she said, and took the chair beside him. “I was thrilled to see we were seated together. It has been too long.”

“Indeed,” he said, and though the lady looked as beautiful as he remembered, he wanted fervently to turn and watch Megan again. Or at least to be mindlessly drunk. “And where is your husband this evening, Baroness?” he asked.

“Baroness?” She laughed as she lifted her drink to her lips. She had painted them bright red. “Please, Nicol, let’s dispense with such formality. Call me Melly.” She leaned closer. “As you once did.”

He raised his brows at her. “You once were unwed, Baroness,” he said, and she laughed.

“Marriage, it is such an inconvenience.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Nicol said. “I hear your husband is richer than the devil himself.”

“Oh, not richer than the devil. Perhaps richer than God,” she said and smiled as she slipped her hand onto his thigh.

Who, Nicol wondered, had decided on the seating? He hadn’t seen the baroness in more than a year. And now she appeared, without her husband, and they just happened to be sitting directly across from the princess’s high chair.

“Lord Newburn.” Paqual made his way through the crowd. “And Lady Delafont.” He managed a slight bow, despite the crush. “I trust you are enjoying the festivities.”

“Yes,” said Amelia, and smiled. “A wonderful time.”

“Good. Good. And surely we’ll have many more such fetes once the duke and princess marry. Aye?” said Paqual, and, catching Nicol’s gaze, moved on, leaving the other to stare at his retreating back. So the old man was still scheming, Nicol thought. But why would he bother putting the lovely Amelia in his path.

He pondered that question as the first course was served
by waiters dressed like Danish soldiers. Surely this garish opulence wasn’t Anna’s idea. She had never shown much interest in decorating, and though her advisors seemed to urge her in that direction and away from politics, she tended to be more intrigued by matters of state.

What was she doing now and would Megan be able to hold her own until the princess’s return?

“Nicol.” Amelia’s tone was pouty. “You’ve barely touched your soup.”

He drew his attention from the head table. “I’m afraid I’m not partial to cucumbers.”

“You don’t like cucumbers?” The baroness sounded aghast as she spread her gloved fingers over her carefully displayed bosom. “But they are unquestionably my favorite vegetable.”

“Are they?” He wondered idly why he had ever found her attractive. Aside from her bosom and her lovely face, she had little to recommend her. She was vain and shallow and self-serving. But perhaps that explained everything, even Paqual’s reasons for wanting them seated together. It was said the baroness of Delafont could distract a stone.

“Oh absolutely,” she said, and gave him a wicked smile. “They have such a marvelous shape.”

He took a drink of his champagne and remembered another reason for his attraction to her. She had no compunction against having sex outside of marriage. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, she preferred money to sex. The elderly baron had offered her both. Or perhaps he’d offered her enough money to make sex inconsequential.

“And size,” Amelia finished. “The size of a cucumber has much to recommend it.”

“You haven’t changed,” Nicol said, and the baroness laughed.

“I shall take that as a compliment. Here, let me help you
with your soup.” Scooping up a spoonful, she leaned close and fed it to him.

He considered suggesting she had prostituted herself for her husband’s wealth. He considered telling her to return to the baron forthwith or at least to be silent so that he could try to hear Megan’s conversation, but he merely accepted the soup instead.

“There now, isn’t that delicious?” Leaning against his arm, she pressed the bulge of her breast against his biceps.

But at that moment Nicol heard the duke laughing and glanced up. Venge leaned toward Megan, staring down her dress. Nicol held his breath, knowing the girl’s temperament. For a moment he remembered the pain of being struck by a wine bottle but instead of looking for a weapon, she turned toward the old lord and laughed.

The rest of the meal was just as wonderful. Amelia got drunker by the minute. The duke got louder, and despite all his good intentions, Nicol couldn’t seem to become either drunk or loud. Instead, he watched the couple on the dais and felt his stomach cramp with distaste.

He doubted if the fat duke was so irresistible that the girl couldn’t spend more than a moment without tittering at his jokes. Indeed, he had thought she was different than the average woman. But she seemed absolutely enamored of Venge, and since it could not be either his looks or his obviously lacking charm, Nicol could only assume it was his title that attracted her. But then what did he expect? If a pampered lady like Amelia would cast everything aside for a title and a fat bank account, how much more would a girl who had once haggled over a scrap of velvet?

With those morose thoughts ringing in his head, Nicol pushed aside his dessert, a serving of loundes pudding which continued the red-and-gold themes in currant jelly and lemon
sauce. After an interminable amount of time, they were finally ushered into the ballroom. The decorations there were even more garish than in the dining room. The elite society of Sedonia lined the walls in intoxicated happiness while Megan placed her bejeweled hand atop the duke’s and made her way down the carpet to the center of the dance floor. Nicol watched with darkening anticipation. The music began. The duke grasped her about the waist and swung her into a waltz. Gone was the grace she had displayed in her bedchamber, but if any onlookers wondered about her inabilities, it could certainly be blamed on the duke’s tottering drunkenness.

Still, the dance seemed to last forever. Finally, however, Megan pulled herself from her guest’s embrace, curtsied, and made her way back to the throne placed against the far wall.

She was approached long before she reached that sanctuary, however. Nicol watched her nod, watched her drawn into Lord Riven’s embrace, watched her execute another waltz.

As for the duke, he was dancing with Lady Edwina, the youngest daughter of the bishop of Founder. She was all but a pauper, but she was young and widowed, and Venge clasped her to his barrel-like chest as he stumbled about the dance floor. Nicol scowled. The duke of Venge may be wealthy and influential, but even a fool like Paqual couldn’t think he would make a match for Sedonia’s young princess. Spotting the old chancellor in the crowd, Nicol tried to shift through the mob to speak to him, but just then Amelia snuffled him out to insist on a dance.

The evening droned on. Perfumes mingled with sweat from scores of overheated bodies. Laughter boomed. Amelia clung and giggled and became more annoyingly intoxicated by the moment. Luckily, she was not so inebriated that she would refuse another drink. Nicol made his way through the crush toward the champagne, caught her a draught of liquor, then stood watching Megan as she danced with an unknown
lord. Her cheeks were slightly flushed as though she had drunk too much, but her eyes were bright with that sharp wit that was hers alone, and in that moment he was tempted beyond reason to insist on a dance. Why not, after all? He had been the one to teach her. Indeed, he had been the one to find her in the first—

“Nicky,” Amelia said, ferreting him out once again. “I am quite disappointed in you.” He managed to tear his gaze away from Megan as the baroness ran her fingertips down his arm before retrieving her drink. “You are not nearly so attentive as you once were.”

He nodded in concession. “And you are not nearly so unattached.”

She laughed. “I don’t know why you are so concerned about my marital status. Believe me.” She drank again, watching him the whole while through her lashes. “I am not. Indeed, since my wedding I’ve thought of you often.”

“Have you?” Just past Amelia’s shoulder, he could see the duke make his lumbering way through the crowd toward the princess.

“Tell me, have you ever thought of me?” she purred.

“How could I not?” Nicol asked, pulling his attention back to the baroness. “You married the baron a week after saying I was the perfect man for you.”

“So I hurt your feelings,” she pouted. “I was afraid that was the case.”

The duke had reached the girl’s side, but Lord Kendall whisked her away. Venge swayed slightly and waited. The pair danced past him. He seemed to try to speak to her, but the duo swung away again. It was then that the duke waded through the crowd and grasped Megan’s partner by the arm.

There was a moment of conversation, then Kendall bowed stiffly and left Megan to the duke, who dragged her into his arms.

“Nicky, are you listening to—”

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

Lady Amelia’s scowl lightened a little. “Very well.”

He led her onto the dance floor, through the crowd to the center. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the duke’s broad form shadowing his partner.

Amelia cuddled up against Nicol’s chest, and he eased her into the steps, watching the duke as he did so. The big man swung sideways, allowing Nicol a glimpse of the girl for a moment, but soon she was hidden again.

“I missed you.”

Nicol lowered his gaze to the baroness’s face. “Surely Paris can’t be that tiresome.”

“Paris,” she said and snorted. “But for a handful of times, the closest I get to Paris is my own back door. It was all I could do to convince my husband to allow me to come here,” she said, and skimmed her fingertips down the back of his neck. “If I didn’t know better, I would think he doesn’t trust me.”

“I’ve no idea why that might be,” Nicol said.

She chuckled. “Neither do I. Perhaps someone is spreading rumors about me.”

“Or the truth,” he suggested.

She tsked at the implication. “Nicol. So bitter. I must have truly wounded you.”

Nicol caught a glimpse of Megan’s face through the crowd, but she turned, showing her slim, regal back clad in shimmery gold. The duke’s arm lay heavily across her waist and his hand was spread with indecent intimacy across the girl’s buttocks.

Nicol swore, and Amelia drew back with a start.

“
Mon ami
,” she said, “I did not know you bore such strong feelings for me.”

He tried to keep dancing, to focus on the woman in his arms, but at that moment he saw the duke dip his head toward his partner’s bosom, saw the girl jerk to a halt. There was
nothing Nicol could do but lunge through the crowd toward them. Perhaps he heard Amelia complain behind him. Perhaps he was a bit rude in his haste to make his way to Megan’s side, for people seemed to bobble in his wake, but he couldn’t see her face past Venge’s broad back, couldn’t guess her thoughts. Indeed, all he could hear were tidbits of the duke’s harangue.

“…uppity considering your country’s the size of a rotten turnip and…”

“My lord,” Paqual said, appearing out of nowhere by the duke’s side. “Perhaps you should take a bit of a respite. I have a nice bottle of port set aside for the occasion.”

The duke turned his head toward the chancellor, seeming to have some difficulty focusing on the narrow man.

“Port, you say.”

“Yes. Nearly as old as myself.”

“God’s balls,” expounded the duke. “I didn’t know they’d invented port before the birth of Christ.” He boomed a laugh at his own wit. “But mayhap I’ve had enough to drink. There is something I’ve not had enough of though since coming to this God-forsaken country,” he said, and lifted his hand toward Megan’s bosom.

Rage burned like venom through Nicol’s system. “Venge,” he said, nearly at the duke’s side. The duke turned his head to glance over his shoulder, but in that moment there was a flash of gold. The duke croaked out a bestial sound. His head jerked back. His body stiffened like a mountain pine, and he crashed to the floor. He shuddered once, groaned, and lay absolutely still.

“Good God!” Paqual wheezed.

Women gasped, the crowd drew back, staring, and Nicol rushed through the opening to Megan’s side.

“Are you well?” he rasped.

She lifted her attention from the man on the floor to
Nicol’s face and drew a careful breath. “Yes,” she said. “I am quite well. Thank you for your concern.” Her expression was still somber, her stance perfectly erect, but there was something in her eyes. Something wonderfully alive.