"Oh, but I would," Geoffrey said, his eyes on the cup as the Prince drank. "I would, most certainly."
The dance ended, and Cordelia was immediately besieged by a dozen would-be partners.
"I shall never come to her," Alain said, dismayed—and, perhaps, relieved.
"But I shall," Geoffrey assured him, "and when the dance ends, we shall be nearest to you, be sure. Drink your wine, my friend—it will sweeten your breath for her." And he moved away to join the throng of Cordelia's admirers.
Cordelia, fortunately, was taking her time about accepting a partner, laughing and parrying flirtatious sallies. Geoffrey managed to elbow his way to the front of the rank just as the musicians began to play again. "My lady," he said, with an edge to his voice, "I must have this dance."
She looked up, startled—and before she could recover, he had taken her hand and her waist and was beginning to move into the steps of the dance. She accepted the fait accompli, but glared daggers at him—and as soon as they were away from other people, hissed, "How dare you intrude, brother!"
"How dare I not?" Geoffrey returned. "Surely a brother must guard a sister, guard all of her—especially when she is showing more of herself than she ever has before!"
Cordelia smiled, amused. "You, brother? Offended by decolletage? When you seem to seek out the lowest that you can find?"
"In other women, aye," he said stiffly. "In other women, 'tis pleasant, 'tis right in its way—but not in a sister." She laughed scornfully. "For shame, Geoffrey! Do you not realize that every woman you have ever pursued may have been someone's sister?"
"Well ... perhaps." Actually, he never had. "But they do not care for her nor cherish her as much as I!"
"There has been scant evidence of caring or cherishing, 'til now."
"Cordelia!" he exclaimed, wounded. "This whole quest is because I seek to protect you and gain you your heart's desire!"
She gazed into his eyes, and saw that he meant what he said. He cared for her very deeply. "For that, I thank you, brother," she said warmly. "Yet am I, therefore, not to be allowed to enjoy the pleasures of dancing and flirtationonly because I have a brother who cares?"
"Indeed! Leave that to them who have none that care for them—and therefore care naught for themselves!"
"Oh, Geoffrey, you are so prudish so suddenly!" Cordelia said impatiently. "Do not tell me you disapprove of such behavior—for surely you enjoy it well enough in the women you pursue!"
"Well ... aye ... but they are not my sisters!"
"Pooh, brother! If you will not be a model of virtue, wherefore should I?"
Geoffrey bit back the retort, and Cordelia enjoyed watching the flush of anger rise to his face. She laughed, with a light, ringing quality, as silver as Delilah's, and said, "Still, brother, I shall have mercy. For this dance, at least, I shall be all propriety."
And she was.
When the dance ended, Geoffrey dropped her hand, stepping back with a slight bow. Cordelia curtsied, inclining her head—and looked up to find herself facing a cavalier in gold and scarlet, with a long, flowing scarlet cloak and golden hair above the dark severity of a domino mask. Her heart stopped for a moment, at his handsomeness.
"May I have this dance, my lady?" His voice was low and sensuous.
"Surely, my lord," Cordelia murmured—and he stepped up, arm in arm, before the music had even started, leaving a dozen disappointed would-be partners behind.
Then, as the music started, he slipped his hand about her waist, taking her right hand in his, holding it high. He did not touch her body with his, did everything that was decorous—but the reckless look in his eye, the gaze he gave her, the flashing whiteness of his teeth as he grinned, the paces of the dance, she found dizzying, giddy. All decorum, mind you—but there was a sensuality to his movements, a beckoning, a yearning for closeness, that she would never have suspected in a man. A tingling began, deep within her, spreading through her; she began to feel warm—and was shocked to realize she was responding to this stranger even as she had responded to Forrest.
That scared her.
He swept her away, and finally their bodies met, hips pressing against one another. Cordelia felt a shiver that ran through her from head to toe. The golden stranger seemed to sense it, too. He grinned, and his eyes grew hot, then almost worshipful, burning into hers. She stared, transfixed.
Then, thank heavens, the moves of the dance called for them to break apart and stroll sedately side by side—but she felt her hips churning as she went, and knew she was not being as sedate as she might. She looked up at the tall, handsome stranger, wondering who he was, immensely tempted to peek into his mind and discover ...
But, no. Let us enjoy the moment for what it is, she thought. Seize the day.
Then they came together again, and he was murmuring, in a voice low and husky, certainly one that she could not recognize: "My lady, you are the most beautiful, the most luscious fruit that ever has adorned the Tree of Life! Nay, if we were not so closely hemmed by other people, I could not resist seeking to nibble, and taste."
She giggled, feeling the emotions well up within her, her joints loosening, and beamed up at him. Greatly daring, she said, "Why do you withhold, sir? Are you so ashamed of what you would do that the simple presence of other people will halt you?"
"Nay, surely," he breathed, his face coming closer to hers, and closer ... Then his lips were on hers, light as a feather, but growing heavier. The kiss deepened; she gasped, but that drew him deeper. For a moment, the kiss was all their existence, and everything else went whirling away, and she was dizzy, very, but she could feel his' body pressing against hers.
Then, finally, he pulled away, chest heaving, gasping for breath, and there was a wildness and an awe in his eyes; she had never seen a man look at her that way before, not even Forrest. She felt vulnerable, beset—but she also felt waves of pleasure rocking her, felt the lingering taste of his lips on hers, and knew that she wanted that sensation again, more than anything.
Suddenly she could hear the music anew, and stepped back. "Sir! We have missed the measure!"
"Oh, we must not do that!" he said, his voice husky, and slid his hand beneath her palm, his forearm under hers, and they moved on down between the ranks of the other dancers, who stared at them gaping. They turned and strolled back, as all the company did; then turned and were together again, whirling through a timeless moment, his eyes her universe.
Is this love? she thought, almost frantically. Could this be love?
Then, for some unaccountable reason, he had stopped, and she was unutterably sad that he had. "Why, sir," she began, but he stood a little farther away from her, lifting her hand to his lips.
"The music is done, sweetest, most beautiful of dancers," he breathed, "and though I would be selfish to the utmost, holding you in my arms and dancing through the night, I would not do it without your leave."
"Do not give him leave, my lady, I pray you!"
"Nay, lovely damsel! You could not be so cruel as to deny me yet again!"
"Dance with me, lovely damsel, with me!"
They whirled her away, they came between her and the scarlet-and-gold man. She chose the most handsome among them, but he seemed to pale into insignificance next to her cavalier. But she danced with him, feeling her limbs become firm again, and the residual emotion from that last dance made her laugh and flirt. The evening restored itself to normality.
She was not sure if she regretted it or not.
She glanced about to find the golden young man again, but could not.