Their eyes met; she smiled—and frowned. In a moment, she was on her way through the crowd, never taking her eyes from him.
And in that instant, Wilf Brim knew for a certainty he was hopelessly in love.
CHAPTER 9
Margot reached Brim amid murmured admiration from the gathered revelers, took his hands, and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Wilf," she whispered with a breathless smile, "I knew you'd manage it tonight—'Fresh evening winds have blown away all fear/From my glad bosom,now from gloominess/I mount forever."'
Stunned for a moment, he could only stare at her blue eyes, moist lips, and perfect teeth. Never had he seen so much of her shoulders—the swell of her small breasts. He felt his heart rush. "Margot," he said in a whispered croak. "How wonderfully beautiful you are."
She laughed. "I suppose I am a little more presentable than the last time you saw me," she said, her voice mellow and the beautiful over the sparkling background of music and conversation. She touched the A'zurnian medal on his tunic and smiled, looking him directly in the eye. "I'm very proud of you, Wilf," she whispered.
Somewhere far away, detached words announced the arrival of someone named Godelle, but Brim hardly noticed. He wanted nothing in the Universe more than taking Margot Effer'wyck in his arms and holding her tightly. It was as if they were alone in the room.
Abruptly, she seemed to read his mind. She took his hands in hers and looked into his eyes. "Not yet, Wilf," she breathed almost inaudibly. "I have additional functions I must perform with my new assignment on Avalon—and we shall have to share each other for a while tonight." She gently guided him toward the lights and music, pressing his arm—her perfume was the very soul of seduction.
The dance floor! Brim almost froze. He'd learned exactly enough about social dancing to minimally satisfy his infrequent social commitments at the Academy—and nothing more. Helmsmen especially had little time for anything else but flying. "Margot..." he warned, but he was already far too late. Abruptly, he found her in his arms—and they were moving, she flowing with the music, he stiff and suddenly a little frightened.
"Universe, Wilf," she laughed in his ear, "you are a horrible dancer, aren't you?"
"I know," he agreed. "Maybe we ought to..."
"Won't work," she laughed. "You'll have to finish this set with me no matter what." She nearly touched his nose with hers, looking deeply in his eyes and smiling. "Oh, Wilf, relax," she said. "Here, hold me like...this. Yes. That's better."
Brim suddenly found her fitted comfortably against him, her soft cheek pressing his. And it was easier.
He felt her body—her breasts. He breathed her perfume, felt his movements become one with hers. He held her tighter.
And the music stopped.
In a rush, the world returned while she slowly released him. He held her hands, desperately trying to stop time's headlong rush. "I don't want to let go, Margot," he heard his voice say—his heart was beating all out of control.
She shook her head and placed a gloved finger to his lips.
"Our time is later, Wilf," she said. "Trust me. For we shall finish the evening together—pretending it is the Mermaid Tavern again."
Then Brim felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to confront a beaming Prince Onrad.
"We meet again, Lieutenant," the nobleman said warmly. "May I interrupt your reunion with my blond cousin?"
Brim bowed. "My liege," he said, gritting his teeth in spite of himself.
"Cousin Onrad," Margot said with an abbreviated curtsy. "What a pleasure."
Onrad laughed with a twinkle in his eye as the music began. "I shall interpose myself only temporarily, Brim," he said mischievously. "We princes seldom venture into hopeless contests—especially those that are clearly lost before the play begins." Then he bowed to Margot, took her in his arms, and they were instantly swept into the rush of dancers.
Brim soon found himself with another goblet of meem as he listened to the music and watched couples whirl by on the dance floor. His eyes strayed momentarily to a lovely oval face framed in a halo of soft brown hair. He looked away in embarrassment, but his gaze was drawn back like iron to a magnet.
And her eyes were waiting. She smiled and met his glance.
Brim found himself moving through the crowd.
"Lieutenant Brim," she said with a curtsy when he stepped to her side. "I hoped I should meet you tonight."
Brim bowed. "I am honored, ma'am," he said. "But I didn't catch..."
"Cintha," she said. "Cintha Onleon." She had enormous eyelashes, a tiny nose, and perfectly shaped lips. Her tightly fitting gown was tawny gold and reminded Brim of nothing so much as a large flower bud whose petals were just beginning to open. Like Margot's, her skirt was also slit high along one side, but the overall accent was clearly on bosom—white, stunning bosom.
And while they talked and drank, it became amply clear to Brim that neither he nor she had anything remotely interesting or important to say to each other—only empty, hackneyed words. He was mostly fascinated by her ample sensuousness—she (at least by her conversation) in his battle experience—and later a shared bed.
It was not enough. He actually welcomed the Army officer (with large, red-veined ears); who noisily foisted himself upon them and provided opportunity for escape to another part of room—alone.
In this manner, much of his evening passed: a tall, slim Marshia in revealing black lace followed Cintha—and was herself followed by a petite Beatrice scantily dressed in ruffled pink. Each was fascinating in her own way—and most probably available for much more serious dalliance. But none was Margot Effer'wyck. He discovered to his surprise that good looks and willingness—long his primary standards—were no longer nearly enough to satisfy the person whom he had lately become. Now he also required fascinating conversation, professional accomplishment, even a bit of elitism. He shook his head. Carescria was a long way off, indeed!
Now and again, he caught sight of Margot dancing with (he assumed) important guests—always someone different, always someone of considerable rank. And each partner appeared to be completely enthralled as she laughed and talked and danced. Often, he saw her standing centered in groups of admirers, constantly smiling and drinking with apparent girlish abandon.
Twice, she returned to him for a single—wonderful—dance set when she placed her cheek against his and he never even noticed if he was dancing or not. The second time, her eyes were even more heavily lidded than usual. Her cheeks had a pinkish tinge, and she held him tighter than ever before. "Voot's beard, Wilf," she whispered in his ear, "I've never seen so much good Logish meem—Uncle Wyrood's certainly opened his best cellars for us tonight." She giggled musically, then hugged him closely for a moment as the music ended—and as he was beginning to feel embarrassing sensations in his loins.
Finally, after what seemed like an age of eternities, the crowd began to thin and Margot returned to his arms to stay. "The time of sharing is past, Wilf," she whispered. "Now I shall have you all to myself."
They strolled into the coolness of the plaza—almost empty now—and made their way under the panthon trees to the fountain he had watched from his room. She brushed a dusting of tiny glowing blossoms from his hair and stared into his eyes, smiling enigmatically. "'Night sublime, Oh night of love,'" she recited in a whisper, "'Oh smile on our caressing;/Moons and stars keep watch above/Our splendorous night of love'"'