Therefore, she insisted on dancing once again with Forrest, and as she did, she watched the gold-and-scarlet young man across the hall, dancing with Delilah, hearing his laughter clearly, saw that they were chatting, saw Delilah's flirtatious glances becoming more and more sensuous. The young man only laughed, though, and swung her about, with every appearance of enjoying the dance for its own sake—but without the slightest sign of seeking to enjoy Delilah's favors.
So she danced once more with the gold-and-scarlet cavalier that night, and once more with Forrest. Both times she began with her defenses up, but the music and the movements swayed her, to make her yield to the moment. Somehow she had the feeling she might never know such pleasure again in all her life, so she revelled in the delight of the moment, almost desperately.
Then, suddenly, a great brazen gong was chiming, and a brazen voice with it, booming, "Twelve strokes! Twelve strokes! Midnight! Midnight!"
It was the majordomo, his stentorian tones blending with those of the gong. "'Tis midnight, and the hour for unmasking! Let truth be known! Let faces be bared, names be declared!"
All the guests clustered together at the center of the hall, giggling and chuckling in anticipation, wondering who would be revealed as whom.
"Let us first introduce our guests!" The august king in purple robes and pasteboard crown, who had been announced as the fabled Charlemagne, stepped up onto the dais at the end of the hall. "You have heard, my friends and neighbors, the occasion for our celebration—my daughter's safe return, thanks to the rescue and protection of two stalwart knights, a gentleman of the greenwood, and a most enchanting lady who did chaperone my daughter. Let me call them now, summon them forth, so that we all may thank them! Sir Geoffrey!"
Geoffrey stepped up beside him on the dais and took off his mask. There was applause all through the hall, and cheering.
"Sir Forrest Elmsford!"
Forrest stepped up beside Geoffrey, unmasking. In the crowd, several ladies were murmuring and "oooh"ing outright.
"Sir Alain!" Sir Julian cried. No one stepped up.
"Is Sir Alain not here?" demanded Sir Julian. "Seek him out, some of you!" And while the young men turned to the hunt with a cheer, Sir Julian called, "The Lady Cordelia! Step up beside us, and unmask!"
Most of the young men turned back to watch—every woman was a source of fascination, until they knew who "Lady Elaine" was.
Cordelia stepped up onto the dais, and the young men ripped loose a cheer—but as she lifted her hand to her mask, she saw the scarlet-and-gold young man moving toward the doorway.
What! Didn't he even care to learn who she was?
It seemed he did; he was frozen in place, staring at her. Their gazes met; she lifted her mask.
The young men cheered again. The gold-and-scarlet cavalier stared, then moved toward the doorway again. Cordelia pointed, her arm a spear. "Stop him!"
The young men shouted, all too glad to obey her whim—but it was Delilah who laid hold of him first, catching his arm and dragging him back. The young man still struggled, seeming to be almost in a panic, but she worked her way hand-over-hand up his arm to the shoulder, undulating as she came.
"Have we found him, then?" Sir Julian called. "Sir Alain! Unmask, young sir!"
The gold-and-scarlet cavalier froze, and Delilah lifted his mask.
It was Alain!
He stood frozen, staring at Cordelia, aghast.
She stood frozen too, staring at him and feeling as though the floor had dropped out beneath her. Alain? She had been flirting with Alain?
Alain, being so gallant, so passionate—Alain, with kisses of fire!?! Alain, with his mind touching hers?
Her Alain, flirting so deeply with a strange woman, one whom he had known only as the most beautiful at the ball? Flirting so earnestly, his desire fuelling him with such ardor that his mind had reached out to enfold hers? Alain, an empath?
She dropped her gaze in confusion, unsure whether to rejoice or to curse, and Alain stood frozen, his face drained of all color.
CHAPTER 14
"How could he! How could he?" Cordelia paced back and forth, wringing her hands. "How could he pledge his troth to me, but pay court to a stranger whom he did not even know? How could he do it!"
"Why, with my encouragement," Geoffrey said, leaning back and toying with his wine goblet.
"Your encouragement!" Cordelia turned on him. "Sir! Will you cease to meddle?"
"In this case, no." Geoffrey chose his words carefully. Cordelia glared at him, taking in the unbuttoned doublet, the chessboard in front of him, the bottle on the table at the side. It seemed odd to her that he should play chess against himself—it was more the sort of thing she would have suspected her little brother Gregory of doing—but still, he did. She noticed the other glass beside the bottle, but dismissed it, being preoccupied with her own difficulties. Surely he only wanted it in case the first glass broke.
He was sitting there grinning at her in his insolence and his arrogance, and she would have liked to scratch his eyes out—but then, she had felt that way about him before. He was, after all, her brother. "How dare you meddle in my romance!"
Geoffrey looked down into his wine goblet, reflecting that for her to use the word "romance" in relation to Alain was a definite improvement. "Let us not put too fine a point on it, sister." He looked up. "Alain has never been a terribly exciting man. In fact, one might almost say he is stuffy."
"Well ... there is that," Cordelia agreed. "But tonight, he was not!"
"No, not tonight." Geoffrey looked straight into her eyes.
Cordelia stared at him a moment, feeling the blood rush to her face. Then she said, "So that is why you encouraged him."
"Of course, that is why." Geoffrey twirled the glass's stem between his thumb and his forefinger. "And it would seem to me that it succeeded quite well, sister mine. Was he not more enjoyable? Almost, one might say ... exciting?"
Cordelia turned away, remembering the touch of the gold-and-scarlet stranger, of his lips on hers, of his arm about her, of his mind ... She shivered, wrapping her arms tightly about herself. "But he did not know it was me! He thought that I was... some strange wench. He cared not!"
"Oh, be not such a goose," Geoffrey said crossly. "He knew it was you."
"What!" Cordelia spun around. "How could he know!"
"Why, the simplest way imaginable," Geoffrey replied. "I told him."
Cordelia stared at him in outrage, growing redder and redder. Then she exploded. "Will you cease to meddle?" She stalked over to her brother, pounding at him with little fists.
Geoffrey laughed, holding up his arm to fend her off. "Nay, sister, nay, I prithee! Think not of the havoc I have wrought, but only that I had most excellent intentions."
"And we all know which road is paved with those!"
Cordelia relented, seething; her fists did no good against him, anyway. "At least tell me—what of your spying? Did he make advances to any other woman?"
"We-e-e-e-ell . .."
"The truth, turtle of turpitude!" Cordelia stormed. "Do not plague me, do not torment!"
"I shall not," he sighed. "Oh, Alain had a great deal of fun flirting with other ladies—but only by words, and the occasional touch of a hand. He certainly never sought to kiss one, and never held another close."