Rejar (36 page)

But if she did that, how would she explain a gaping hole in the front of her gown the size of a Portuguese cake?

Somehow she was going to have to escape the room.

Thinking quickly, she suddenly stood, grasping a corner of her skirt with the edge of the hoop in one hand. “I think I shall go up to check my stitching by the light of the window in my room. Auntie.”

“Don’t be silly, my dear; why not just stand by the windows in here?”

“Be-because the windows in the bedroom face the—the light better.” She stumbled over the ridiculous excuse.

Agatha frowned. “Whatever are you talking about? Lilac, really—”

“I shan’t be a minute. Auntie!” Lilac raced from the room.

Rejar watched her leave, wondering what was causing her strange behavior. When the game ended in the next couple of moves, he excused himself, following after her.

Lilac was just coming out of the dressing room when Nickolai entered the room.

“Is something amiss. Lilac?” He noted immediately that she had changed her dress.

Color heated her cheekbones. “No, no, everything is fine. I was a bit chilly so I decided to get my shawl.”

“But you have changed your dress.”

“Yes, well, that works just as well, doesn’t it?” She looped her arm through his, leading him back downstairs. Away from the dressing room.

Rejar gave her an odd look.

“How did your game turn out?” She tried to sound very nonchalant.

He smiled. “I won.” Rejar was very pleased with his victory; Traed was notoriously clever with games of strategy.

“Is Traed going to demand a rematch?”

“Most likely; however, I thought we might do something together.”

Lilac’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart speeded up. Finally. “Yes, Nickolai?”

“I want you to teach me to read in your language.”

“What?”

“What part do you not understand?” He took her elbow, steering her toward the library.

“I—you mean you cannot read English?” She was appalled. And acting as if there could be no greater crime in existence.

Rejar chuckled. Surely there was no other place like Ree Gen Cee Ing Land. “I realize you are much more civilized than I am, Lilac. Perhaps you will have mercy on my barbarian self.” He raised a mocking black eyebrow.

His pithy comment struck its mark; Lilac realized how patronizing she must have sounded. She hadn’t meant to—it was just that she was so disappointed by his unexpected request. She had hoped ...

Lilac got a sudden idea.

She would teach him to read and at the same time perhaps she could stimulate more than his mind. It was certainly worth a try. After all, her husband could be very stimulating around books. Look what he’d done for The Tempest.

“Very well, Nickolai.” She walked over to the bookshelves and made her selection. Then she went over to the desk for a quill and paper.

“Let’s sit here.” She patted the spot next to her on the oversized chair.

He hesitated a fraction of a second before joining her, his large frame barely making the snug fit. The adjacent position put her husband in satisfying proximity. In fact, it was the closest he had come to her since that night.

Rejar glanced over at his mate and swallowed. Her flowery scent teased his nostrils. Tiny beads of sweat broke out across his brow. He was already semi-erect. Perhaps this was not such a good idea.

This had been the worst week of his life! He didn’t know how much longer he could last. Traed.

Lilac seemed oblivious to his discomfit as she scribbled across the pages of paper, then tore them into smaller squares.

She placed each piece down on the table in front of him, reciting the name of the letter she had written there. “These are the letters of the alphabet; there are twenty-six all together.”

“Only twenty-six?” The Aviaran language contained three hundred and thirty-three.

Thinking he was being sarcastic, she replied. “Yes; I have no doubt it will be difficult. However, you will need to memorize these letters first before—”

“A, B, C, D—” He pointed to each appropriate letter as he spoke its name.

Lilac’s mouth dropped. “That’s amazing! Are you sure you don’t know how to read?” She looked at him suspiciously.

He shook his head. “No. I just speak this language. Did I do something wrong?”

“No ... it’s simply ... never mind.” She wiggled in the seat.

Rejar gritted his teeth.

“Now these letters are called consonants, and these over here are the vowels. ...”

For the rest of the afternoon Lilac instructed her husband, who seemed to be vastly interested in letters and not in the least interested in his wife. Although said husband was failing miserably in the boudoir department, he was proving himself a superior student.

“Nickolai?”

“Yes?” He did not look up from the letters spread before him on the table.

Unconsciously, Lilac poked her little finger again and again through a small hole in the seat of the chair while she thought of a way to phrase what she wanted to ask him.

Rejar noted her action out of the corner of his eye. He tried not to groan.

“Do you think we shall have children soon; I mean ... well, because of what we’ve done.” There! That brought the subject up. She patted herself on the back for her cleverness.

Her unexpected question on a topic he least wanted to discuss at that moment took Rejar by surprise. His jaw clicked audibly. He was not about to discuss Familiar procreation with her. Especially not now. By Aiyah, she would run screaming from the room!

“No,” he snapped.

No? This was not what she expected to hear. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “But I thought—”

“I will explain it to you later. Lilac. Now what is this word you have made here?”

“Frolic,” she said glumly. “The word is frolic.”

Rejar studied the letters carefully.

Fretting over his lack of inclination, Lilac again poked her finger through the small hole in the fabric of the chair. Repeatedly.

Rejar abruptly stood, calling an end to the lesson. “I wish to bathe. I will see you at the evening meal.”

He stormed out of the room, leaving her sitting there by herself, staring dumbfounded at the empty door he had just walked swiftly out of.

How odd. He had been doing remarkably well; in fact, he was actually reading entire sentences. She had never heard of anyone doing that so swiftly before. Lilac had to admit that Nickolai was exceptionally bright.

Why had he left like that?

This past week it seemed as though he kept leaving her to ... bathe. Several times a day, if she recalled. And he never requested any hot water. Why would he want to take cold baths? Over and over again? The man was decidedly strange.

Lilac’s shoulders sagged. He hadn’t appeared affected by her nearness. He seemed no more interested in her than he had been all week. A heavy sensation settled around her chest.

It was time to face the truth: Nickolai did not want her anymore.

A tear tracked down her face. If only she were like Leona; she would know what to do to entice him. Leona had so much experience.

Lilac’s head snapped up. Of course! She would go to Leona; the woman would be sure to help her. After all, she had said they were friends.

This was the best idea she’d had all week.

Not stopping to think through her plan, she grabbed her shawl. She would go now while Nickolai was bathing.

Lilac hesitated, biting her lip.

Nickolai had told her he did not want her to leave the house without first informing him.

Well, she would be back before he finished with his bath. She wouldn’t even call for a carriage; Jackie might decide to confer with “his Princeship” on the matter. Leona’s house was only a few blocks away; it would be better to walk than risking discovery.

Too bad her bonnet was upstairs.

It really was raining very hard.

* * *

Still sitting in the parlor over the board game wondering how Rejar had managed that last move, Traed caught sight of Lilac leaving the house through the reflection in the foyer mirror.

He raised his eyebrows pensively.

* * *

“Lilac!” Leona held out her arms to the younger woman.

Lady Harcorte had elected to see the girl in her boudoir, thereby giving the appearance of close friendship. She was not ready to give up on her quest with the dashing prince; she had a reputation to maintain.

Still, the brother had proven incredibly satisfying. Albeit a tad domineering. Nonsense and stuff! Who was she kidding? He had been the best she had ever had; and she’d had oh-so-many. Just the memory of the incredible night was enough to—

She tried to compose herself.

“To what do I owe this charming, impromptu visit?”

“Oh, Leona!” Lilac ran into the older woman’s embrace. “You must help me! You must!”

“Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?” Leona stood back while clasping Lilac’s hands. A properly concerned expression displayed itself on her face.

The girl’s eyes were red-rimmed as if she had been crying; her dress was damp; and her hair was covered with water-droplets.

There was only one thing that could get a young woman this upset. Lilac was having husband trouble. Leona tried not to let her excitement show.

“You’re soaking wet; come sit by the fire. Did you walk all the way over here?”

“Yes.” She nodded, shivering slightly. “I didn’t want Nickolai to know I had come. He—” she bit her lip.

“He what?”

“He doesn’t seem to delight in our friendship, Leona.”

Smart man. “Nonsense! Nickolai adores me! Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.” She slyly goaded her.

Lilac shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t do, I’m afraid. Anyway, I don’t care what Nickolai thinks of our friendship! I like you, Leona, and that’s all that matters.”

Leona Harcorte stamped out the foreign rush of affection she surprisingly felt for the girl. She hadn’t gotten where she was by allowing herself to care about the feelings of anyone but herself! After all, who, except her father, had ever cared about her?

“That’s very sweet of you dear.” She patted Lilac’s hand. “Tell me what troubles you.”

“It’s Nickolai!” she sobbed. “I believe he has lost interest in me! He turns from me at night...
 
and he does not seem to want me anymore.” She gazed up at Leona, large green eyes all brimming with tears and trust.

Here was her chance. Leona gloated on the forthcoming victory.

With her next words she could drive a wedge between Lilac and her husband so deep they would never be able to recover from it. The Prince would soon be hers.

What should it be? She tapped her delicate chin. She could say she had seen Nickolai with another woman—that always worked. Or ...

She could hint that he had made overtures to her, but because of her dear friendship with Lilac she had naturally refused him—a personal favorite of hers. Or...

She could casually impart that he had been seen in the company of several of the lowest doxies from Covent Garden. The threat of disease worked wonders to dampen the ardor!

There were still worse insinuations she could come up with… This was so much fun! What should it be? Leona glanced at the innocent, trusting little face next to her. Something she had though long dead in her rose to the surface.

She couldn’t do it.

In that brief glimpse it was as if time had overlaid itself and she had seen herself fifteen years before, young and trusting, and so completely vulnerable. A time before that bastard Harcorte had forever destroyed something in her. A time when she was a woman who still believed there was hope and a thing called love in the world. An idealistic little fool.

The unfamiliar feeling of compassion wedged itself in Leona’s throat.

Agitated, she stood, placing herself before Lilac. If she was going to be noble, she’d best do it quickly before she made herself sick.

“Don’t be a pudding-head. Lilac!” Her cross voice stymied the younger woman. Lilac blinked back her tears, gaping at her.

“Wh-what do you mean, Leona?”

“Men do the most incomprehensible things at times; it is not for us—logical beings that we are—to waste our time trying to figure out their odd behavior. Nickolai adores you.”

“How do you know?” Lilac wasn’t sure she believed that.

Leona slashed her hand impatiently through the air. “If there is one thing I know in this world, it’s men. Believe me. Lilac; if there is a problem between the two of you—and I don’t think there is—it’s temporary.”

“But”—her lower lip quivered—”he doesn’t...”

“For heaven’s sake. Lilac! Use the brains you were born with! The man is probably waiting for a gesture from you. Men can be the oddest creatures—tell him what you want.”

“You think?” A light of hope lit up her pretty face.

Leona put her hands on her hips. “Yes! Go back to him right away and stop this nonsense.”

Lilac stood. “I will,” she said determinedly. A bright smile etched across her mouth. “Thank you, Leona!”

Impulsively, she hugged the older woman, whispering in her ear. “You know, you’re not nearly as uncaring as you want people to think.”

Leona watched her race down the stairs. “Yes, I am,” she whispered sadly.

Behind her, the door to her bedchamber opened.

Leona looked over her shoulder. Prince Azov’s brother strolled into the room, boot heels clicking insolently on her parquet flooring. His glittering green eyes betrayed nothing as he assessed her.

The hardened mask she wore to face the world was once more firmly in place. “How long have you been there?” she demanded furiously.

He ran a knuckle down the smooth skin of her cheek, a soft caress of speculation. “Long enough.”

The fact that he had witnessed her appalling display of sentiment horrified her. She twisted away from him. “Don’t ever mention it to me.”

“If that is your wish.” Strong hands on her shoulders turned her around to face him.

Shocked, she started to object.

His lips silenced her.

* * *

Rejar impatiently draped his red robe over his shoulders, tying the sash with a short tug.