Cordelia knew her hour had come. Her heart thumped so painfully that she thought it would tear through her dress. Still, she handed a note to the footman on the stairs, who handed it down to the majordomo.
When Delilah had moved far enough away from the stairs, the majordomo raised his voice and cried, in his clarion tones, "The Lady Elaine of Shallot!"
It had seemed like a good idea, at the time—a silent rebuke to Alain. Now, Cordelia wasn't so sure.
The crowd quieted a little as they turned to look at the new arrival.
Cordelia held her breath, straightened, and stepped onto the first step.
The crowd was totally silent, a sea of faces staring up at her.
Cordelia nearly died inside. She descended another step, another. There she stopped and whirled the cloak from her shoulders.
All eyes were on her, stunned.
She began to walk again, but faltered in her step, holding on to the handrail for dear life. Had she committed some immense faux pas? Was she truly in enemy territory in more ways than one?
Well, then, she would show them of what she was made! She lifted her chin high and took another step. Suddenly, the crowd burst into applause, cheeringmost of it masculine.
It slammed at her ears. Her eyes widened behind the mask in amazement. Could they truly be applauding her? They certainly could. The young men were pressing to the fore, with the older men not far behind them. She came down the stairs slowly, the applause and cheering ringing in her ears.
As she stepped onto the last step, some of the young gallants pressed forward to seize her hands and kiss her fingers. She looked down at them, amazed, then lifted her eyes ...
And saw Delilah's glare of hatred. She knew she was truly a success.
CHAPTER 13
The look on Delilah's face was all Cordelia needed. Obviously, her gown was far more beautiful than even she had supposed.
She still did not realize that she was a very beautiful woman in her own right—as beautiful as Delilah, 'really, though less voluptuous. The severity of the gown enhanced her classical features, and the warmth of the color set off the fairness of her complexion marvelously, bringing out the golden highlights in her auburn hair.
Her nervousness fled, to be replaced by gloating. She smiled like the cat who had lapped up the cream, graciously extending her hands to her eager admirers, stepping down into the middle of the throng, blowing kisses to one and all, feeling a secret, shameful thrill as they bowed low over her hand—and her decolletage.
"You are the sun, milady!"
"Then beware that I should shine on you, milord," she returned, "for I might burn you."
"Indeed you might," he gasped, and another man said, "Ah! Would that I should be so roasted!"
"I should make it hot enough for you, be sure," she said.
"But I should prefer to see you by the light of the moon," said another gallant, looking deeply into her eyes. " 'Ware, sir," she said. "You may lie."
"I could hope for no sweeter fate," he promised herexactly the response she had hoped for. She felt a secret, scandalous delight, and let her laugh cascade down low to end in a throaty chuckle. The man's eyes burned into hers, but another man caught her other hand. She turned, and looked directly into ...
Forrest's eyes.
Eyes that seemed to devour her, to swallow her up, and he was breathing, "My lady, surely there could never have been such beauty as yours!"
"Why, sir," she said, her breath catching in her throat, "you have known me these days! And you have never told me so before!" The strange, tickling feelings inside that his presence always seemed to evoke were there againbut she must have been becoming accustomed to them, for somehow, she wasn't at all frightened. No, she found these feelings no longer so novel, but much more exhilarating, delightful, and only wanted more of them.
She stepped a little closer to him, and he breathed, "Sun and moon alike you are, and they both shine upon me in your presence."
"But I have no presents to give you, sir." She stepped a little closer.
"Your own fair self is a wealth of gifts that would honor a king," he returned, stepping closer too, his arm slipping about her waist. "Will you dance?"
"Aye—f think that I shall," she said, letting her eyelids droop and turning her head a little, so that she was eyeing him sidelong.
He laughed, low and in his throat, but catching his breath as he did so, and stepped away from the disappointed gallants, who rumbled their outrage as he swept Cordelia out onto the floor.
They flowed smoothly into the motions of the age-old peasant dance, body to body, hip to hip, for only a few moments as their feet moved in unison—then apart, clapping, back to back, and his shoulders brushed hers, his hips brushed hers, then back to the front again for a few steps more, then, arm in arm, for a few paces side by side, their gazes locked, gazing deeply into one another's eyes. She felt herself turning warm inside, felt her knees weakening, but that was fair enough, because he turned then and, catching her about the waist, caught her right hand in his left, and pressed her against him as they flowed through the steps of the dance, and she could let herself weaken, let her limbs go limp, for he was holding her up ...
Halfway across the floor, Alain followed their every move. "Can she truly be as wanton as she appears, Geoffrey?"
"One can never say, my friend," Geoffrey answered. "Women often go to great lengths to seem to be something that they are not."
"But why should they do such a thing?" Alain demanded.
"Why," Geoffrey said, "to hold our interest by making themselves mysterious—or simply because they wish to, because it gives them pleasure."
Alain's eyes returned to the lady in green. "She surely seems to take delight in it! And you say that she may be truly virtuous, and only enjoys the pretense of wantonness?"
"Oh, quite surely! There is not a woman alive who does not wish to be desired, to be beautiful and the center of all attention, simply because of her beauty and her graceand her sexual allure. No, my friend, every woman has the right to be as attractive as she can be and wishes to be, without having to fear men's advances becoming improper."
But though the words were fair, his expression was one of subdued shock as he watched his sister move about the floor with the forest outlaw—and when the dance brought them together, moving as though they were one.
Alain's gaze still wandered. "Where is Cordelia, though? This whole ball is empty, lackluster, if she is not here."
Geoffrey looked up, startled. Certainly so flimsy a mask did not really make Alain unable to recognize Cordelia! Of course, it could—if he did not want to recognize her. Geoffrey chewed that thought over for a moment, then said, "She will come anon, I am sure. For the nonce, my friend, seek you a dance with yon lady in green and lace." Alain turned to him, staring, scandalized. "Why should I do any such thing?"
"Why," Geoffrey said slowly, "because a dance with her would be a delight to any man—and will teach your body ways of holding a woman and moving with her that would delight Cordelia, and draw her to you."
Alain looked suddenly very much on his guard. "Do you truly think so?"
"Most truly, I assure you." Geoffrey plucked a goblet from a passing tray and presented it to Alain. "Here, my friend. You have not drunk wine for half an hour. Do so, I pray you—for what is gaiety and mirth if it has no spirit? Therefore, drink you spirits!"
"I would scarcely call wine 'spirits,' " Alain said, accepting the cup.