Rejar (7 page)

“So I saw.” By Aiyah, what was blunt? All sorts of alarming possibilities ran through the Familiar’s head. From what he had seen so far on this world, it could be anything. Anything at all.

After a while, Byron seemed to become more somber of mood.

“Forgive me for remarking on this, Nickolai, but you are a stunning man; quite the most dashing I’ve seen. You’re intelligent, witty, and as Brummell would say, ‘impeccably groomed.’ Beau will adore you. I’ll wager he’ll forgive you for your lack of a cravat. By next week you’ll be the toast of the ton.”

Byron stared moodily at his glass as if it were portending the future. “Listen well; they’ll erect a statue and canonize your name—then they’ll flay you alive.”

Rejar watched him speculatively. “Why would they do this?” he asked quietly.

“Because, my dear beautiful Nickolai, it is such jolly good fun.” Byron let his glass slip through his fingers to the floor, a reflective expression crossing his features. Rejar briefly wondered if the man was not seeing a vision of his own future.

From the upstairs landing, Madeline Fensley called Byron to bed. The baron stood up, swaying from the amount of drink he had imbibed. Flicking his wrist in the air, he proclaimed, “The adoring masses await!”

Rejar smiled faintly.

Bowing at the waist a bit unsteadily, Byron exited the room, calling out to Rejar, “Goodnight, sweet prince.”

While Byron’s wit, in this instance, was completely lost on Rejar, he recognized the man had the soul of an artist whose excesses were born out of a deeper kind of hunger.

A strange world, this. The society that fostered such gifts in a man would ultimately destroy him. Like the Lenark, the famous star cloud of Zynth, Byron would burn bright, but not for long.

However, like that cloud, Rejar knew that once this “star” was gone, his essence would still glow.

It would not be the first time Rejar would regret his inability to read the language of these people. He wished to know the work of such a man.

* * *

“Where in the world have you been these past three days?”

Lilac stood in the middle of her bedroom floor, hands on hips, furious with him. He had never been so pleased.

“Do you know how worried I was?” She shook her finger at him. “I thought something terrible happened to you—don’t you ever do anything like that again! Bad cat!”

Instead of being properly chastened as he should have been, the cat began purring.

“Oh, all right, you’re forgiven—come here.”

Rejar padded over to her. He was shocked when she suddenly sank to the carpet and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her.

“I was so worried about you, Rejar. I thought you were never coming home.” She sniffed as she buried her face in his thick fur, making him feel a little guilty for upsetting her so. He hadn’t thought about that aspect of it.

Rejar was bone weary from the weekend’s over-indulgences with rich food and drink; so tired from having to be constantly on guard in this alien world. And exhausted, too, from the sleepless nights of missing her comforting presence next to him.

That evening, he fell into a deep sleep with Lilac tangled to him. He did not awaken until just before she did the following morning.

Some of his strange restlessness seemed to have abated.

For the next several days, Rejar chose not to wake Lilac during the night. Nor did he attempt to seek out other female company when he joined his new “friends” in the evenings.

Despite his state, he decided he would wait until the soiree on Friday. There he would be meeting Lilac face-to-face, man to woman.

That night, he intended to allow her to appease his voracious hunger.

* * *

The short, choppy motions of Auntie Whumples’ fan indicated the old woman’s acute displeasure. “Good heavens! Here comes that shallow-pated twit Eleanora Vandershmeer. ‘Tis too late to escape her now—she’s spotted me.”

Lilac tried not to smile at her aunt’s irritation as a large overbearing woman bore down on them with a dedicated precision. If Auntie hadn’t insisted they attend this boring outing, she wouldn’t have had to put up with Lady Vandershmeer. The two of them could be spending a nice quiet evening at home, where they should be!

The only bright spot of the evening had been when she had learned that that idiot Creighton was plagued with a bad case of sniffles and would not be in attendance that night. The fop had probably snuffed himself silly! She giggled to herself.

“Oh, but the woman’s constant tiddle-tattle will drive me mad!” Auntie spoke to Lilac from behind her fan, before pasting on a false smile for the ton’s nosiest woman. Lady Vandershmeer spread gossip as if she had been divinely called to the task.

“Agatha!” She waved an amaranthus-colored hanky at Auntie Whumples. The cloth had been heavily soaked in jasmine water. Lilac knew Auntie loathed jasmine water.

“Eleanora.” Auntie gritted her teeth, trying not to breathe too deeply of the cloying scent. “How good to see you again.”

The two women embraced, kissing the air next to their cheeks. Lady Vandershmeer then turned a discerning eye to Lilac, minutely examining her gown and hairstyle before saying, “And here’s our little Lilac!”

“Good evening. Lady Vandershmeer.”

“How lovely you look tonight, my dear. Why, no one would ever suspect you were past twenty now.”

Lilac sighed at the woman’s snippety implication regarding her unwed state; but Auntie was not inclined to be so passive. “Yes, the Earl of Roxton thought so as well when he complimented her earlier; didn’t he, Lilac? Such a refined gentleman. You do know the Earl, don’t you, Eleanora?” Auntie expertly pinned her adversary to the spot.

Two blotches of color managed to stain Lady Vandershmeer cheeks even through the five coats of rouge the woman wore. To avoid answering Auntie’s question {and thereby admitting to such a social dysfunction}, Lady Vandershmeer grabbed Auntie Whumples’s forearm, leaning closer to her as if she were her dearest friend. A friend with whom she simply had to share something of momentous import.

Her irritating voice rose considerably.

“Have you heard the latest on-dit?” Too eager to spread the gossip, she did not even wait for a response. “There is a prince here from Russia!”

Lady Whumples did not react in any way to the enticing news, which meant that she hadn’t yet heard the rest of the story. Lady Vandershmeer was in Gossip Heaven. In her glory, she breathlessly babbled on.

“Agatha, I simply must tell you! From Tattersall’s to Vauxhall—everyone is talking about him! Why, there was even a story about him in the Morning Post the other day. It was implied that a certain Russian prince made a stunning appearance in a drawing room ...”—she savored the denouement—”sans clothes! And by all accounts not the least bit concerned about it. Can you believe it? Well, what should one expect? Apparently he’s a good friend of Baron Byron.”

At the mention of Lord Byron’s name, Auntie bristled. She did not favor the young profligate. “And why should that story be of interest to me?” she haughtily replied.

“Because, my dear Agatha, they say he is wildly attractive, rich as Croesus, exceptionally witty, and totally daring. Brummell already adores him! Lady Harcorte, that cyprian, is drooling for him, and rumor has it”—Lady Vandershmeer looked pointedly at Lilac—”he is unwed.”

Auntie’s eyebrows lifted contemplatively.

She ever-so-slowly smiled at Lady Vandershmeer, lacing her arm through the bothersome woman’s. “Come, Eleanora, let us get some refreshment together and you can tell me all about this fascinating prince.”

Lilac crossed her arms over her chest, exhaling noisily. Bother it! Another sapskull to pester her! Would it never end? A Russian prince. She tapped her foot angrily on the parquet floor. What manner of beast would they throw at her next?

Engrossed in her irritation. Lilac did not pay the slightest bit of attention to the buzzing of voices suddenly increasing in volume as a tall, elegantly dressed, devastatingly handsome man entered the ballroom. The words “prince” and “Russia” got whacked about the room like Prinny’s croquet balls.

All sights turned to watch the stunning man as he strode purposely across the floor, his lithe, commanding gait causing female hearts to flutter with every step he took.

A hush fell over the crowd.

That the man had an agenda was obvious. He was heading toward someone, but whom? The room quieted, breathlessly awaiting the answer. Who had attracted the Prince’s attention?

The Familiar stood directly behind Lilac Devere and cleared his throat rather noisily.

A groundswell of sound gathered about the room as his choice became apparent. The Prince was apparently intrigued by the bluestocking, Miss Devere!

This was a juicy tidbit, indeed! He was watching the chit as if nothing on this Earth could distract him. It would be remarked the following morning that the Prince’s intensity was almost... predatory.

Several of the men, who just moments ago had ignored the young miss, began to eye Lilac Devere speculatively.

With one gesture, Rejar had made her the talk of the ton.

Rejar’s glittering eyes took in everything about her. She was dressed all in white in a high-waisted gown of simple design with short, puffed sleeves. Her long hair had been pulled up into a topknot. Several drooping curls framed her rebellious little face.

Rejar could not help the smile that inched its way across his face as he recalled how the intrepid Emmy had had to chase her around the bedroom earlier, brandishing that thing called a curling iron, with Lilac complaining all the while. It had been most entertaining.

He had spotted her the instant he stepped into the ballroom.

In truth, he saw no other.

He cleared his throat again and, true to his nature, waited ever so patiently for his prey to face him.

Lilac’s shoulders bunched in annoyance as soon as she realized that some man was standing expectantly behind her. What twiddle-head was bothering her now? Lilac whipped around to confront the pest.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

Much to her dismay, her mouth actually fell open.

Sink me.

Her second thought was—

He’s gorgeous ...

Followed quickly by the voice of reason.

He’s trouble!

The incredible creature made a sweeping bow. Before she could gather her composure, the most sensual voice she had ever heard in her life purred, “Prince Nickolai Azov.”

When he looked up, sharp eyes rimmed in a thick fringe of jet-black lashes fastened on her. She gasped. They were two different colors!

Those eyes ...

They were positively beautiful. Enticing. Beguiling. With more than a hint of mischief.

She swallowed. He had the very same eyes as her cat.

How odd.

Curious, Lilac stared at his eyes, instantly falling into their rich allure. He returned her stare and Lilac swore she saw something wild leap into their depths. Reflexively, she stepped back from him, breaking the strange contact.

So this was the Prince. The man the ton couldn’t stop talking about. And no wonder. Just look at him!

The man unnerved her.

Lilac instantly made up her mind: She wanted nothing to do with him. The way he was staring at her made her feel very uncomfortable. Besides, he was so... Well, she just didn’t want anything to do with him, that’s all.

Her response was intentionally curt. “I don’t think this is a proper introduction, your Highness.” It was meant to shut him out. It was meant to show him there was no hope for him as far as she was concerned.

So why was he still standing there with that beguiling half-smile on his handsome face?

“Does it matter?” he asked in lazy drawl.

Lilac flustered. What kind of a response was that? This Prince was decidedly spoiled, she reasoned. Well, he’d have to be. Just look at him. Standing there beyond devastating, as if he ruled the world and everything in it!

She changed her mind; she didn’t just want him to go away—now she also wanted him to know she disliked his attitude intensely.

The situation called for something special.

It called for the ultimate insult.

Lilac had never used it before and almost gleefully looked forward to testing it out on the overconfident jackanapes.

In a move that would do any Thespian proud, she turned her head away as if he didn’t exist and pointedly studied the intricate design on the wallpaper.

The cut sublime!

Several gasps filled the room.

A collective breath was held while the crowd eagerly waited to see how the Prince would handle the spurious insult. It was an outrage! How would his highness respond?

He laughed.

Heartily. Out loud. A rich, rolling sound of devilish amusement.

The ton was captivated. Thirty onlookers made mental notes to send immediate invitations out to the dashing Prince. One young woman swooned.

Lilac turned back to him, stunned. The man was laughing! What did he mean by laughing? It was the cut sublime; How dare he!

Her eyes narrowed. “Sir, you are nothing but a jacka—”

“Lilac Devere, your Highness.” A familiar, traitorous voice interrupted from behind her shoulder. “My niece.”

Rejar’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Two engaging dimples showcased his grin. “And you are, madam?”

Auntie held out her hand, which the Prince immediately took. “Lady Agatha Whumples.”

“I am honored. Might I ask permission to dance with your niece?”

Auntie briefly gave Lilac a very displeased look mixed with a good dose of exasperation before replying, “I implore you, your Highness.”

Lilac flushed red. They were treating her as if she were a naughty child! “Auntie, how could you—”

The Prince interrupted the heated flow of her words by holding out his hand. The simple gesture spoke volumes. He was going to be benevolent by allowing her to save face.

The entire room waited to see what Miss Devere would do. Several of the men watching commented to each other that they had never realized the quiet Miss Devere was such a spirited article. Several more made mental notes to send her their calling cards.