Chapter 7 #2
“If they had known he was coming, they would have put every other Somnus party tonight to shame for attendance. I hear he just showed up.”
“He does seem to be getting quite a lot of attention.” Even as I look on, three more women drift toward him from the crowd, adjusting their masks and smoothing their skirts as they close the distance.
“It’s not only his position that makes him famous.” The governess waits a beat, then leans across the table. “It’s a particular set of…skills.”
“Skills?”
She glances at the children, who are still occupying themselves. “He’s well-practiced in the arts of the night.” Her slow smile is conspiratorial. “Although from all I hear, he’s also happy to practice those skills in the morning…or the afternoon…”
“Alright, alright,” I say, my tone lower. “I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “The things they say he can do with his tongue and fingers…ladies from all across the land travel to visit him.”
A small circle of women has gathered around him. “They don’t mind sharing?”
“I think they are just happy to be on the ride.” She chuckles now, buttering a piece of bread. “If you catch his eye, I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. Although I’m sure on a night like this, there’s a line.”
“I won’t catch his eye,” I say, pouring more water for Elva.
“Still might be worth trying,” she says, buttering the edges of the bread and the ends of her fingers as her own gaze lands on the man in the silver mask.
I huff, but I follow her eyes. I have sat through enough court events to know the effect of a strong jaw and a title on women. But I’ve never had my eyes catch on a man quite like this. And with the reputation she spoke of…
I shake myself and stand, smoothing my skirts. “Children, it’s time for bed.”
After a hollow goodbye between the young heir and his future bride, which was somehow still worthy of the other governess’s cooing, I lead the children upstairs. Ana had a few too many sweets and hops around the room a little longer than usual, but I manage to wrangle them into bed just past ten.
I intended to join the party, but from the top of the steps, I reconsider that plan.
Even getting back to my room is going to be an ordeal.
Bodies pack the corridor. The whole space smells of perfume and candle wax and spilled wine.
A man in a stag mask bumps my shoulder. A woman shrieks far too close to my ear.
I don’t make it ten steps before I’m looking for an exit.
I slip into the powder room off the main landing and wait for two women adjusting their masks to leave.
It’s a narrow chamber, with a long mirror, a stone basin, and a small, screened area for sitting or changing in the back.
I tuck myself behind the painted partition and unknot my mask, letting the cool air hit my face.
My eyes rove the scenes of men and women chasing each other naked across each panel.
This is a rare night of anonymity and freedom, but with so many masked faces, I don’t think I can enjoy it. I’ll just go back to my room for one more sleepless night. After a few deep breaths, I retie my mask over my face.
My fingers freeze on the bow as the powder room door opens and slams shut. A high giggle and a low chuckle echo in the small space. The voices cut off in the wet sound of a kiss. I press my back flat against the wall and hold still.
Through the gaps in the painted screen, I see a woman in a powder-blue mask with black curls tumbling over bare, sun-warmed shoulders. A man stands behind her, hands at her waist, mouth on her neck. She grips the edge of the basin and arches back against him. He gathers her skirts in one fist.
I should announce myself. Clear my throat, step out, let them scramble apart. That is what a reasonable person would do.
I step to the side so I’m not spying, but I don’t make a sound.
The woman moans, low and soft, followed by the slap of skin meeting skin.
My fingers twist in my skirt. The stretched canvas doesn’t hide their shifting shadows. It’s far too late to say anything. My cheeks burn, my eyes wide, staring at the naked bust of a woman painted on the partition with her head thrown back.
She gasps in short, high-pitched bursts that climb over each other. I have never heard anything like this before, a woman lost in the unguarded sounds of her pleasure. They course through me, landing in a steady pulse between my legs.
Her shadow bows forward over the basin, and the rhythm that follows is frantic. Her yelps quicken, building toward something I have only read about. She lets out a strangled cry, and I press my thighs together, my lips parting. He answers with a guttural groan.
Rustling gives way to the sound of running water and a murmured goodbye. The door opens and shuts.
I wait. The room is totally quiet. I exhale.
“You can come out now,” the woman’s breathless voice says.
I thought she left.
I don’t move for another few seconds, but no one else speaks. She can only be talking to me. I peek around the screen, then shuffle into the main room. My pulse hammers in my ears.
The woman stands alone at the basin, fixing the edge of her lip stain in the mirror. Black curls spill around her powder-blue mask, and when she catches my eyes in the reflection, she smiles, revealing a dimple.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t realize you were there when we came in.” She studies my face in the glass. “You look like you could use some water.”
My cheeks burn, pink showing beneath the edge of my mask. “No. I was just leaving.”
“Going back to the party?” she asks, blotting her lip with the pad of her finger.
“To bed.”
“Your own?” She tilts her head, studying me in the mirror. “But tonight is the perfect night to find someone else’s. Surely there is someone in the crowd who could catch your eye.”
She applies powder from a small pot to her nose, unhurried, as if we have known each other for years and I didn’t just see a decent part of her leg under her lifted skirts. And hear her…
“I work here. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Ah.” A knowing smile curves her lips, deepening the dimple. “You work for Norville. Well, if that’s your reason…”
She reaches up and tugs at the delicate strings of her mask.
The moment it comes free, it is as if she has tipped a pitcher of water over her head.
Changes cascade and ripple down her body.
Her black curls melt into soft golden waves, rich as honey.
Her light blue dress transforms into an iridescent plum.
The ocean blue of her irises fractures, revealing a violet so intense it seems to pulse in the low light.
Delvara’s mark. The dimple is still there, but if I had not watched the whole thing happen, I would believe a different woman stood before me.