Chapter 14
Laughter rebounded against the marble. Animated conversations happened all around us in multiple languages, sometimes switching tongues halfway through a sentence.
Between that and the music, the ballroom was a thriving scene that took Winnie and I by surprise as we followed the trail of sound into its depths.
“Did I mishear Lord Costa?” Winnie asked under her breath. We’d been summoned from my guest room only hours after our arrival, though the time passed swiftly with offerings of cheese and wine. “This is no gathering; it’s a gala.”
Jewels glinted from great crystal chandeliers.
Groups gathered in beautiful silk doublets and diaphanous gowns.
Wine flowed in a fountain at the buffet.
A servant passed by in a golden mask similar to the one my would-be assassin had worn, sending shivers down my spine, but soon enough I happened upon a familiar face and felt myself ease.
The viscount lounged against a curved staircase, his attention fixed on a pretty girl with sparkling eyes.
His dark hair was pulled back with a decorative ribbon, and he wore a silk doublet of deep maroon that complemented his sun-kissed complexion.
The fabric was light enough for the coastal warmth, but fitted to emphasize his broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist.
He didn’t acknowledge either of us until his companion’s gaze drifted our way. Only then did he straighten, sparing us a glance.
“Lady Alana, Lady Winnie—may I introduce you to Miss Sofia Costa?”
“Costa?” asked Winnie. I could hardly believe this pretty young woman bore any relation to the portly Lord Marius. Sofia’s hair was thick and curled, and her rose-pink gown revealed a figure that was both graceful and full.
“Not for much longer, I’m afraid.” Sofia laughed with evident pleasure. When she spoke, her voice held such musical quality that I suspected she could captivate any suitor with only words. Then again, so could I. “I’ve just received a proposal from Marco Gargia. I’d planned to say yes.”
There was an inviting note at the end of her statement that soared over the viscount’s head. “The Gargias are a good match.”
Miss Costa deflated for a beat, then excused herself. As she ascended to the next floor, Quinn caught Winnie’s disappointed stare and tilted his head.
“What?”
“You’re as dense as they come,” Winnie said. “She was leaving a space for you to propose.”
Quinn snorted, shaking his head while his expression grew nostalgic.
He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the carefully tied strands.
I tried not to stare. “We were in love, once. Last I saw her, I was only sixteen. Time has changed me. I can hardly hold a conversation with the woman without wishing I was elsewhere.”
“You seemed quite enraptured,” Winnie replied.
“I was being polite. Plus, I may find her dull, but that doesn’t mean she’s unattractive.”
“Ah, so you’re a scoundrel as well.”
I presumed he was about to say something witty, but he paused just as his lips parted. He lowered his head for only a moment, and I knew right then that the prince was approaching.
Nicolas moved through the crowds with easy confidence, his hair swept back to reveal the strong line of his jaw.
He wore a midnight blue doublet adorned with gold embroidery, a matching silk cape flowing from one shoulder and held by golden chains across his chest. His eyes searched, settling on me from across the room.
He could have crawled straight from the pages of a fairy tale…but as he neared, his gaze dipping to my exposed cleavage, I saw the wolf that lurked beneath the illusion.
He was captivated enough to remain silent. When he finally met my eyes, that carnal intent tamed. “Hadria becomes you, Alana.”
The musicians’ song faded to an end, only for a new one to begin shortly after: something slower, more intimate.
The melody weaved itself around us as several couples moved to the center of the room.
They began to dance, a series of motions I’d never seen before.
It was as if the pairs communicated solely with their bodies, spinning tales of devotion, lust, resentment, and betrayal.
Nicolas cleared his throat and extended a hand. “Will you have me?”
As much as I yearned to join the dance, I knew I’d make a fool of myself. I hesitated, looking to Winnie for assistance. Rather than helping, Winnie sharply turned away in deliberate ignorance, perhaps an act of revenge for dragging her out in the Hadrian gown.
My fingers shifted just out of Nicolas’ reach as I battled my fear of public ridicule.
“I promise not to let you fall,” he said, a quiet display of softness that made my pulse skip.
At last, I folded my hand into his and followed him across the floor.
We found our place directly in the center, where any misstep would go noticed by the entirety of the court, yet somehow his presence made the crowd fade away.
“Nicolas,” I said quietly, certain that my voice was drowned out by the commotion and music. “I’ve never…”
Nicolas’ free hand slid to my back, pulling me close. “Look only at me, Alana. So long as you hold my gaze, you will not falter.”
The rhythm deepened. We began to rotate, each step timed with a low note from the cello that pulsed through the marble floors and rang up into my bones.
Nicolas raised our joined hands and spun me beneath his arm.
I was suddenly, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his chest where my palm rested, the solid strength of him beneath my fingers.
His cologne left me taking slow, savoring breaths.
Another spin. The motion stirred physical memories, awakening something long dormant.
It wasn’t quite true that I’d never danced before; I remembered spinning around in the moonlit grass with my father, fireflies lighting the clearing.
I could still hear Father’s singing, off-key and terrible, as he took my mother for her own turn and a different sort of love bloomed between them.
With that memory came the darker truth: the desperate longing that had flickered in my parents’ eyes when they looked at each other, the careful distance they maintained.
All the restraint, all the passion buried because of my existence.
I knew it then, and I remembered it now: the curse forced them to love at arm’s length, to steal glances and brief touches like thieves within their own home, because if they slipped up and had another child, a son. ..
If it weren’t for me…
Nicolas searched my eyes with a determined intensity.
Without breaking our gentle sway, he drew me incrementally closer until the space between us was nothing more than shared breath.
He inhaled, leaning close and pressing his forehead to mine, and my thoughts began to ease, the painful memories dissolving like mist until the only remaining thought in my mind was of him.
He spun me with a gentle pressure from his palm.
When I returned to the prince, he caught my hands and lifted them high, drawing me onto the balls of my feet as we turned.
We never broke our eye contact, not until my palms rested flat against his chest. His heart beat against my fingers, quick and hard…
or perhaps it was my own pulse I was feeling.
As the song reached its conclusion, he leaned me back so that I was weightless. For one breathless moment, I was suspended there, held by nothing but his strength.
A steady round of applause filled the room.
Nicolas pressed against me, his face hovering just out of reach as our chests rose and fell in synchronized rhythm.
He pulled me back with darkened eyes, fighting against something monstrous inside of him, and then tore away as I found my balance.
He lost himself in the crowd, leaving me completely powerless at its center.
I stood frozen, barely hearing the new song begin.
The other dancers began to settle around me, and I realized with growing panic that I was stranded, no clear path to escape.
I tried to move to where I thought a gap might be, but I was ignored.
Other couples cascaded around me like an obstacle, the colors of their finery creating a disorienting mirage.
The music livened, and the dancers moved faster. I couldn’t breathe, caged between so many forms…
Then a hand seized me by the arm, and Viscount Quinn pulled me against him.
“Once again, it falls to me to protect you.” He laughed, dancing with me so we moved with ease through the groups of entangled couples. Another pair took the center while we headed for the outskirts. “Perhaps I should consider being knighted.”
I raised a brow, then began searching for the prince. There was no sign of him, not even a glimpse of blond in the room.
Quinn knew who I was looking for. “Don’t trouble yourself, my lady. It’s likely he went to douse himself with cold water.”
Around the ballroom, women were dressed in all manner of lascivious clothing.
Some of them left precious little to the imagination.
My eyes fell on one of these women as she conversed with Lady Angharad’s husband, her fingers tempting him with a single brush along his arm before dragging him away to some lawless destination.
Quinn took gentle hold of my jaw and turned me back to face him.
He’d find only understanding in my eyes: I knew that the prince had taken at least one mistress back at Castle Altaigne, that he was a willing patron of the oldest sort of business.
Still, a frown tugged Quinn’s lips. His thumb brushed my cheek as he released my face, the touch so brief I might have imagined it, just as I imagined the devastating embers beneath his gaze.
“You’re a quick study, Lady Alana,” he said, distracting me. “You mastered dancing as swiftly as you learned the customs of Gallaean court. It took me a great deal longer to adjust.”