The Fire Lord's Lover Part 11

Dominic studied the controlled rage on her face, and his admiration for her grew. But what could he say? That he could not afford to show her any consideration because it might lead to an affection that could be her doom? That he did it to protect her?

But even if he trusted her enough to confide in her, he would not risk getting any closer to her by exchanging secrets, for therein lay disaster. No, he would hold himself as aloof from his wife as he did with everyone, no matter what Ador had said. For Lady Ca.s.sandra was a danger to him. As soon as he got her with child, he would avoid her like the plague.

So Dominic ignored his wife's words and slowly stood, revealing the firmness of his arousal. The water sluiced down his skin, dripping over the muscles in his chest and the ripples in his abdomen. Elven blood made him physically perfect and he knew that with a crook of his finger, no woman could refuse him.

Lady Ca.s.sandra's brown eyes widened, and she turned her face away and then just as quickly spun back around to stare at him, her eyes glazing as they traveled over every softly ridged curve, every glowing inch of his skin. Her feet stayed rooted to the floor, but her upper body swayed toward him at an almost perilous angle.

Dominic held out his hand.

Ca.s.sandra's fingers twitched. And then she spun again, disappearing behind the screen. He heard the bedroom door slam.

Dominic stared at the empty s.p.a.ce where she had stood, utterly bewildered. A woman had never rejected him before, much less run away from the sight of him. He stood there for a long moment, not quite knowing how to react, while the water dried on his skin.

And then a wicked smile spread across his face, an expression his father would heartily approve of. So the wench had tossed him a challenge, had she? The thought so inflamed him he felt hard-pressed not to shout a battle cry.

She would see who could hold out the longest. Her resistance would fall long before he allowed his to.

Dominic's resolve lasted until he glimpsed her at the ball.

He had dressed more carefully than he ever had before in his life. He chose all black to suit his mood, in the style of his uniform. But this outfit had been crafted of velvet, from his coat to his waistcoat to his breeches. He wore new cuffed boots, polished to a high sheen, and a dress sword lay at his hip, the sheath and pommel encrusted with diamonds. He left his hair loose to flow down his back and shoulders, the silvery white a stark contrast to his black attire.

When he strode purposefully into the ballroom, his fur-trimmed velvet cape fluttered behind him like the wings of some predatory bird.

His father had outdone himself this time with his display of power, whether to impress the king or the n.o.bles visiting from other sovereignties, Dominic couldn't be sure. White fire formed columns of glittering swirls of harmless flame. The mellow warmth of yellow fire danced atop the ceiling, creating starbursts that splintered every few seconds, scattering harmless embers onto the heads of the crowd, falling on shoulders and wigs to sparkle like diamonds.

A glowing carpet of red lava made a path through the throng and Dominic stepped upon it, hoping the soles of his boots wouldn't melt. But his father had tempered the heat in the same way Dominic could temper the fire magic he summoned. Yet it seemed that the rest of the n.o.bles didn't care to test the path, for he trod it alone.

As he made his way to the dais where Mor'ded and the king sat, conversation stopped around him. He felt desire emanate from the crowd as hot as any flame. Women sighed and men murmured in admiration, and that wicked smile formed on his lips again. Several young girls swooned.

But the general did not look for her in the crowd. Not yet.

He bowed to his father when he reached the dais. The Imperial Lord sat ensconced in his golden throne, the king in a smaller one a step below him. Yellow fire dulled to gold shimmered in a curtain behind the dais like a waterfall of unimaginable wealth.

Mor'ded wore red satin, the skirt of his coat stiffened with whalebone to flare out dramatically over his seat. His black eyes studied Dominic with cold calculation. "You have dressed with care this evening. Do you honor the king, or is there some other reason for such a dashing display?"

Dominic erased the smile from his face, turned, and bowed to the king. But carefully, making sure his head did not dip lower than the obeisance he had bestowed on his father. "My salutations, Your Majesty."

The king gave him a regal nod, his brow beaded with perspiration. The room felt cool despite Father's magic, and Dominic thought the king would soon become accustomed to the suggestion of heat. Surely it would be a relief from the foul dampness of Breden's sovereignty.

Several of the king's highest ranked courtiers stood to his left, although Dominic noticed that Sir Robert appeared to be missing this evening. The original court of Firehame stood on Mor'ded's right, a division that might soon create problems if the elven lord wasn't careful.

Although knowing his father, Mor'ded had probably instigated the division. If it started to annoy instead of entertain him, he would call in Dominic to take care of it.

The general sighed.

"Good," p.r.o.nounced King George, drawing Dominic's attention back to him. The king's protruding eyes surveyed Dominic's costume with enthusiasm. "Good for man who won the king to boast of it with a soldier costume. Fur is a nice touch, but you should wear shoes. High-heeled, yes?"

The general nodded politely, his face rigid enough to hide his contempt for the subject of heels.

"And your wife?" continued the king. "I still have not met this woman. She has not yet recovered from her ordeal?"

Dominic couldn't fathom why the man wanted to exchange pleasantries with him. It would take him some time to accidentally run into his wife and he itched to get started. He stole a glance at his father, noting the interest that still shone in those cold eyes. Did the man guess Dominic had dressed to entice Ca.s.sandra?

Father's courtiers leaned forward to hear his reply.

"My pardon, Your Majesty, but I don't really concern myself over my wife's health."

The old man's face twisted in confusion and his courtiers gasped in outrage. But his father's court nodded their heads, as if they'd expected no less from the elven b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and threw superior looks at His Majesty's court.

"Come now," said Mor'ded, his black eyes almost twinkling. "You want the chit to bear you a healthy child, don't you?"

"That is your desire, sir. Not mine."

The Imperial Lord laughed, relaxing back into his throne.

"I do not understand," mumbled the king.

"Ah well," replied Mor'ded. "No doubt you're used to Breden's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, Your Majesty, who are weak with human blood. My champion has an elven heart."

He said it with pride and despite himself, Dominic felt a thrill of pleasure course through him. And a sense of relief that Mor'ded did not suspect his... possessiveness of his wife.

With impeccable timing, Lady Agnes chose that moment to materialize at his side. Dominic bowed. "If you will excuse me?"

The king gave him a regal nod, his face betraying a hint of his fear of Dominic. Mor'ded dismissed him with a negligent wave of his hand, his face already stiff with boredom, his gaze roving the crowd, looking for another distraction.

Dominic led Agnes among the dancers, as far from the dais as possible. He would have to be even more careful this evening. He'd had every intention of pretending to ignore his wife while dancing with every other woman in the room, reminding her that he could have his choice of bed partners. That she should be honored that he shared his bed with her. Then he would have centered his attention upon her, and she would have melted in his arms...

But now he could not afford to be seen showing the slightest interest in Lady Ca.s.sandra. He would have to wait out the entire evening until she returned to their room in order to charm her. And once he got her behind the privacy of the bed curtains...

As they clasped hands, Aggie looked up at him, her beautiful lips twisted in a pout. "You haven't commented on my costume, sir."

Dominic blinked, lowering his head. He'd forgotten about her.

"Indeed," he muttered, raking her with his gaze. She looked like a flame, the color of her dress shifting from yellow to red, triangles of cloth floating about her neck and shoulders, lapping at her skin like true fire. "Very nice."

"Nice? I'll have you know that this cloth came all the way from Dreamhame. It's been woven with an illusion of your magic and cost me-well! You can at least offer me a better compliment than that, sir."

"It suits you."

"Hmph. The Duke of Claridge offered me a much bolder compliment. He said-"

They slid sideways in the pattern of the dance. "I care naught what other men say to you. And don't expect such flattery from me."

Agnes rolled her eyes. "I'm quite aware you haven't a romantic notion in your head. But you could at least try, Dominic."

His lip twitched. Perhaps she was right. He bowed and she curtsied. "You must know you're the most desirable woman in the room. I chose to dance with you, didn't I?"

She flung back her head and laughed, drawing several envious gazes their way. "La! Be grateful for the amount of elven blood that runs through my veins, General. For otherwise I would have despaired of you long ago."

Dominic took her hands again, chafing at the mincing steps of the dance, remembering the one he'd performed at his wedding. An old elven dance, his father had called it. He only knew he'd followed his wife in a rhythm that had set his blood afire.

Aggie laughed again, bringing his attention back to her perfect face. He appreciated the distraction she always provided him. The way she never took offense to anything he said. She was as arrogant and vain as he appeared to be. And he hoped that others thought him as shallow of feeling.

They turned direction and he glimpsed another couple across the floor, almost losing his footing in surprise. Agnes widened her eyes at him in shock. The elven did not stumble.

"It cannot be," he said as he held her hand high and they minced steps to and fro.

She followed the direction of his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"The elven lords don't often leave their sovereignties. What would an Imperial Lady be doing here?"

Aggie snorted. "You aren't speaking of your wife, are you?"

"My wife?"

"Well, that's who you're staring at. And she doesn't look anything like an Imperial Lady."

Dominic stilled, hiding his surprise with an excessive force of will, staring over the heads of the other dancers at Ca.s.sandra. She wore a dress of honey gold, with jewels sewn into the cloth that winked with her every movement. Gold chains encircled her slim throat and elegant wrists. Her hair had been caught up at the sides and left to spill across her back, layered with pearls and ribbons as he'd seen it earlier this evening, but her little slave must have talked her into powdering her hair for a silvery white layer covered the warm brown.

With the silver hair of the elven she could easily pa.s.s for an Imperial Lady, the fine bones of her face more p.r.o.nounced, the perfection of her skin accented by the color.

He preferred the warm brown of her hair, though. It made her look more human.

Agnes caught his hand and towed him back into the pattern of the dance. "Egads, Dominic, have a care-"

"Who is he?"

"Who is-oh, the handsome gentleman dancing with Lady Ca.s.sandra." She licked her red lips as she stared at the golden-haired man. "He's just returned to court. Something about caring for his sick mother... but apparently she recovered. Charming man, that one. Beautiful too, despite his rugged human features. If he held more than one tiny manor in the country, I might even be tempted-"

"His name, Aggie."

She t.i.ttered. "I do believe you're jealous! Look at the way your jaw has tightened. But have no fear, darling, I would never prefer him over you."

Dominic caught the inflection in her voice, the way she swept her eyes over Ca.s.sandra with an accusatory look. Indeed, his wife appeared to be captivated by her partner, often breaking into laughter, their faces pulling too close together as if they exchanged private confidences. The man treated her with too much easy familiarity.

The general took eight steps instead of four, fl.u.s.tering a few dancers as they tried to adjust their positions to accommodate him. But it brought him closer to Ca.s.sandra and her partner. Yes, the other man gazed at his wife with adoring eyes. With a yearning that spoke of more than admiration. The fellow looked half in love with her.

"Name," choked Dominic, his fingers squeezing Agnes's.

"Ouch. Althorp. Viscount Thomas Althorp. Why is it so important to you?"

The general twisted his lips and closed the distance between his wife and that fellow. This time the other dancers dared grumble a complaint at him for interrupting the stately flow, but one glance and they lapsed into silence, quickly reforming their ranks.

Lady Ca.s.sandra's eyes widened and that Althorp fellow followed her gaze, wincing when he met Dominic's glare.

Aggie tugged on his arm. "I know what you're thinking; but don't do it."

Dominic looked down his nose at her. She scowled.

"If you call him out, you will make a scene," she huffed. "And all because of injured pride."

He nodded slowly, taking up Aggie's hands again to resume their pattern, catching glimpses of Ca.s.sandra's worried face. He appreciated his mistress more than ever. She'd stopped him from doing something extremely foolish, but she had it wrong. Pride did not prompt this sudden urge to run his blade through the viscount's flesh. Some other wicked emotion raged inside him, something he'd never felt before.

Fortunately his father had left his dais, pursuing some lady or retiring in boredom, he knew naught. But calling out another man for dancing with his wife would eventually reach Mor'ded's ears. And the elven were not p.r.o.ne to jealousy.

But his all-too-human heart appeared to be.

With a speed only his elven physique could manage, he'd dropped Aggie's hand and caught up his wife's. Althorp appeared to be a wise fellow, at least. He stood only for a second before s.n.a.t.c.hing up the hand of Lady Agnes and leading her instead.

None of the other dancers appeared to notice the switch.

"What are you doing?" hissed Ca.s.sandra.

"Dancing with my wife."

"You could have waited for the next round, sir."

He raised a silver brow. "Why should I? Who is he to you?"

They parted. He bowed, she curtsied. Unfortunately, it gave his wife time to gather her composure. "He is an old friend of the family. That is all."

She lied. Dominic lowered his hand a bit in order for her to grasp it for the dance. The only reason he could think for her to lie was that the man had meant more to her than she wanted to reveal. Perhaps he still did.

It had not occurred to him before this that she might have had a previous relationship with any man other than her father. Mor'ded had been a.s.sured the school that boarded her was very exclusive. Very secluded. And he knew her to be a maid when he'd bedded her.

Yet why did his body fill with rage? Why did his fingers itch to summon fire?

This went beyond her role as one of his possessions. This trod into dangerous territory. He could not truly be jealous. His human heart could not be that weak.

And yet still the rage consumed him and Dominic found he could barely control it. He suppressed the urge to strangle her admirer, to sweep his wife up into his arms and carry her from the room.

Instead he bowed over her hand. "I suggest that you retire, my lady. I fear you have the headache."

Her brown eyes widened with confusion. "I have never felt better in my life, sir."

"How long do you think that will last if I challenge your Lord Althorp to a duel?"

"Whatever for?"

"For daring to touch what is mine."

She stared at him for a moment. The tune had ended and people started to watch them. "You would, wouldn't you?"

Dominic's mouth twitched.

The clever girl swept the back of her hand up to her forehead and swayed. The general caught her in his arms. Lady Agnes hurried over. "She will be fine," snapped Dominic. "She is overcome with exertion."