by Dara Joy
"Is that what you recommend?"
"If you wish to be safe, yes."
"Perhaps I don't wish to be entirely safe... Marquelle."
She sucked in her breath. "You like to play with danger, I see. But be forewarned: Should you play this game with others, they might not be as mindful as I am."
"Then perhaps I should play this game just with you."
He knew what she was about! Her initial plan to teach him a small lesson was backfiring on her. The veil was toying with her! She arched her brow. In the arena of games, he was a novice compared to her mastery. If the Duchene's grandson wanted to experiment with his limits, she would be only too happy to oblige him. "Is that what you really desire?"
"And if I do?"
"Then I would say, come take a walk with me."
"A walk? Where?" He asked her cautiously.
"Just outside to the gardens."
He hesitated for only an instant. Then his gaze fell on her mouth once more. The heat in his glance told her his response before he answered.
"Lead the way, Marquelle."
"Always," she murmured low.
Turning, Green noticed her archenemy, She-Count Claudine D'anbere across the room.
She was standing in the corner surrounded by her sycophants, lesser nobles of shady reputation who followed the She-Count about for whatever favors she could dispense.
She was watching them intently.
At first, Green assumed that it was her usual fixation on Green that was at the root of it. But the more she observed her, the more Green realized that Claudine was for once not focused on her—but on Jorlan. "Claudine D'anbere seems to have a tendresse for you, Jorlan."
He glanced the She-Count's way. Unconcerned, he turned back to Green. "Then she wastes her time. I have already rejected her suit."
"She doesn't seem to realize that."
"Then that is her misfortune. I have made it quite plain that besides not wanting a name-giver, I do not like her. There is something about her that chills me."
"I agree, but a word of warning: Be careful of her. She does not take rejection well. In fact, she does not take rejection at all."
He raised his brow. "What do you mean?"
"Ask her past three name-bearers. They initially refused her, only later to change their minds." And they all died in rather strange accidents, but Jorlan didn't need to know that. "Just heed my words. Do not toy with her as you have me tonight. You might find yourself in a situation you would not like."
"I see, although I'm not tempted to do such a thing. None of these newbreeds holds any interest for me. You are the only one I have ever been—" He stopped when he realized what he was saying.
Green smiled, somewhat stunned. "Thank you, Jorlan, that means a great deal to me."
He was surprised. "Why should it? I have heard you—"
She placed her finger over his lips. "It does, Jorlan. Leave it at that."
He nodded curtly once, his trust warring constantly with his maturity. No longer a youth, not yet a tried man, Jorlan Reynard was an intriguing blend of both. While his demeanor and reactions were that of a seasoned male, on occasion she caught the vestiges of innocent surprise on- his features. She suspected that was part of his nature and would never change, no matter the circumstance of his life.
What a compelling, mystifying personality! And what a shame it was that she was not interested in procuring a name-bearer or she would surely be tempted to make a bid for him.
She only hoped that his eventual name-giver would appreciate his rare qualities and allow him the room to develop his potential.
She sighed morosely. Knowing the Top Slice, the chances of that happening were extremely remote. Most women would see him as a beautiful ornament to dress their table and father their heirs. He would be cosseted, left in a gilded cage, and stifled.
It depressed her.
Taking his hand, she led him across the floor to the arched doorways and out onto the terraced logia.
There were several pairs already strolling the inlaid stone logia. Most of the first-seasoners were closely dogged by their retained scinose.
"How fortunate we are that you are not in your first season," she remarked drolly as she led him past the potted plants and down the few steps that led into the shrouded gardens.
"Why is that?" he whispered low and close behind her, bending near her ear. The action made her aware, once again, of his unusual height.
"Because then your scinose would be trailing our every step—almost before we took it." Men in their first season were required to have a scinose. It was feared that a youth's first outing into society, with its rich offerings, might turn a lad's head and the better judgment he had been taught would be in danger of leaving him. No family wanted to take that risk. It was imperative that a son make the best match he could. Any smear to his reputation became a threat to the family.
Generally it was reasoned that if he showed good sense his first year then he should be able to withstand any untoward influences, although many a family retained a scinose until the son was safely fastened.
"I never had a scinose," he responded smoothly.
She stopped and gazed at him over her shoulder. "Never?"
"Never. The Duchene knew I would never tolerate it."
"It is good that she trusted you so. It speaks highly of the relationship between the two of you."
"Yes." One corner of his sensual lips lifted. "But there was something else involved, too."
"What is that?"
"Do I seem to you the kind of man who is easily led astray?"
No, he did not. "You seem like the kind of man who makes choices based on dangerous pretexts."
"Really."
"Yes." She resumed leading him deeper into the hanging shred-moss. Why was he following so readily then? Did he not know the danger he could be in?
When they reached a secluded spot under the branches of a massive shredder plant, she motioned to him to take a seat on the carved bench.
In front of them the water of a placed pond lapped against some rocks. Once, long ago, she had read that Forus had partially been formed to resemble the Origin place. For some reason, the natural rhythm of Forus had allowed such reshaping only to a certain extent. The innate charm of the mysterious moon yielded just so much before reclaiming its own wild beauty.
Parts of the land were rugged and exotic still—even after a millennium of colonization.
She stood before him, looking down at him. "You are not worried that you may lose your control, Jorlan?"
"No."
That was a challenge if ever she heard one.
On the one hand, she was impressed with his confidence; on the other hand, she was surprised that he had so underestimated her.
"I haven't, you know," he said in a low voice.
She arched a brow. "Haven't what?"
"Underestimated you."
That was the second time. "How did you know what I was thinking?"
"I don't know what you're thinking... I just felt to say it."
She wondered. "Why are you out here with me?"
"Perhaps I'm simply curious."
She laughed at her own expense. "I can't tell you how wonderful that makes me feel."
"No... no... I did not mean it like that... It's just... I don't know."
But she did. She was too experienced not to. The ever-aloof Jorlan Reynard had finally found himself attracted to someone and he wasn't quite sure what to do about it.
Again, she did.
She sat next to him on the bench.
"Why do want to live your life alone?" She faced him and reached up to smooth back his hair. It felt incredibly silky and supple. Even more luxurious than she had imagined. He flinched slightly at the touch of her fingers.
"Why do you?" he rejoined softly.
Her lips twitched. Yes, he was a handful. Smart, angry, with a wildness just barely under control. Green really liked him. He was a rare combination. He might
even be a true treasure.
Right then and there, she knew she was going to regret this evening.
Regret having her taste of Jorlan Reynard.
Regret leaving him to the whims of society.
Despite his wishes, she knew that the Duchene would eventually accept a bed price for him. A man of his beauty, wealth, and family position would be fastened. It was the way of the world and a man's lot in life.
Actually, she was amazed he was still on the link circuit. He was a great asset to the Reynard family, in a sense, he was their greatest asset. The alliance he would make would seal their fortune and well-being for generations.
And guarantee the continuation of the Duchene's line—in blood, if not in name.
"What do you seek in life, Jorlan Reynard?" She moved closer to him, letting her lips come very close to his ear. His dark hair shifted slightly with the cool breeze of night and the sultry whisper of her breath. His eyes, those incredible eyes, changed focus to gaze down at her.
Under the planetlight of Arkeus, the unique aqua color—so like the waters of Forus—shone with hidden lights and depth. Hidden intelligence. Hidden wildness.
He exhaled lightly. "I seek the monastery of my spirit, Marquelle."
"What is that?" Her mouth now barely brushed his ear, a light touch of velvet skin against lips, that somehow muddled her. Blood pulsed through her entire body, rebounding to her limbs.
Surprised, she paused a moment. Was she having some kind of abnormal reaction to the hameeri liquor she had drunk earlier?
She glanced up at Jorian. No, not the hameeri. Whatever it was, he felt it, too. His eyes had closed and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. It was almost as if he were inhaling the experience itself. Bringing it deep inside himself to savor and treasure...
Surely she was misreading this!
Could he possibly be a Sensitive? The thought slammed her. It might explain both their reactions. Her heart sped with the idea. If it was so, why was his family hiding it? Sensitives were worth a fortune in the negotiation stage of a fastening contract.
No sooner had the thought occurred, then the answer came. Jorlan did not willingly seek a name-giver. To appease him, temporarily, the doting Duchene might have agreed to keep his special nature hidden.
It was discovered centuries ago, that certain Forus males were born Sensitives. It was not known what caused it, but it was believed that it had to do with the waning and waxing of Forus on Arkeus and how it acted on those with higher-than-normal sensory abilities. Sensitives were naturally extremely intelligent and extremely passionate. They all seemed unnaturally affected by the rhythms of Forus.
So far, that was the only connection their researchers could come up with. Sensitives heard more, saw more, and felt more. Sometimes, in rare cases, they could convey a small sense of their experience to their partner. They were said to be exquisite lovers. In fact, those not of the noble houses usually became pleasurers. Sensitives in general were extremely rare; Sensitives from royal houses were almost unheard of.
She looked at him, stunned. She was not convinced he was not a Santorini. What if he was both! If it was true, he would be the only one known...
She reined in her thoughts. While a Sensitive's disposition seemed to favor the selection of Santorinis, the combination had never been viable. There had been only two male babes ever born with both characteristics and neither of them had survived his weaning stage. It was believed they could not withstand the sensory overload. Her imagination was running away with her.
But she would wager he was a Sensitive.
Of course, no one would have discovered his secret till now—she was positive she was the first woman to touch him with a lover's caress.
"Marquelle, you should know that I seek a destiny wherein I can know the full measure of my strength—not simply feel it resonate within me, but decide upon its fate. This is what dwells inside me and will not be silent."
She clasped his strong chin with her hand, turning him to face her more directly. "It is not considered becoming for a man to speak of such strong control. It is expected of a man that he will always defer to his mother or name-giver to decide what is right for him. Men must be cared for, for their own protection. It is not considered healthy for a man to have too many opinions."
"Do you believe that, Marquelle?" His low voice became husky as he bent toward her.
"What I believe is of no importance." Her lips covered his.
A small, rolling sound of pleasure escaped him. It reminded her of the growl of a fierce lexa beast when it resented the tameness that befell it when offered a balum fruit. The lexa could not resist the tempting fruit that grew high on branches, so far out of its reach. So, too, Jorlan Reynard seemed to resent yet revel in his reaction to the press of her mouth.
Once again, the odd shivering sensation assailed her.
It was him, she realized. The texture of him. And more.
The kiss was a powerful catalyst between them. He sighed hotly into her mouth. Green felt the awakening twitches skipping through his trained body. Despite his unorthodox persona, Jorlan had a reputation as a man of the strictest control. Yet with her he was battling himself.
She smiled slightly against the firm masculine lips, thoroughly enjoying his taste, and that she was the one unnerving him.
Did he even realize how precarious a situation he was in? With a few expert moves, she could break through every defense he thought he had.
But she would not do that. She would not go that far. Not just because of what he was—but because of who he was. Green discovered that she liked the Duchene's grandson. Very, very much.
"Open your lips more for me, Jorlan," she instructed against his mouth.
With a low moan, he did what she asked. Her tongue slipped sweetly into his mouth, dipping in to sample his nectar. The breath of his desire scorched into her throat, traveling deep inside her, filling her. She closed her eyes to further experience the sensation. To treasure this first, incredible tang of him.
His hands came up, lifting her hair. His fingers sank into the long strands, sliding into the abundant mass until his hands came together cupping the back of her head. Surprised at his uninhibited action, for men were generally compliant in these matters, especially untried men, she opened her eyes to observe him.
Deep in concentration of the sensations he was experiencing, Jorlan's eyes were closed. Long, spiky lashes made crescents on his cheekbones, shielding them in a way. A beautiful mysterious shadow. Green thought, just like the man himself.
She slid her tongue over his. A ragged growl vibrated against her. He was completely submerged in the experience.
In the pleasure.
He was a Sensitive!
Green blinked at the astounding discovery. She glanced up at him only to discover that his eyes were now open and glittering down at her. A sizzling heat emanated from him.
"What?" he murmured low against her mouth, silken lips playing with the corner of her lips.
Does he know? Jorlan might have no idea that he is different from most other men. She looked at the beautiful man before her, saw his fire and intelligence, and knew he was not simply different—he was unique.
The Top Slice might not know that he was a Sensitive, but his other stellar attributes were readily observable—which explained the never-ending round of offers for him.
What a pity she did not want a name-bearer. She sighed. With Claudine D'anbere causing her no end of trouble and several key issues coming before the Septibunal, she could not even consider such a thing.
Regretfully, she released him.
He gave her a quizzical look that was slightly wounded. For all of his mature disposition, he had not yet begun to master the art of concealing his raw emotions. In the jaded society they lived in, Green thought the trait a particularly charming one.
Somehow, she thought it a part of Jorlan. He would never shroud his true emotions. The ones that burned deeply inside him. The bold trait
might cause him trouble in the future.
He would need an exceptionally strong name-giver. Someone who could protect him from the vicious judgments of the Slice while at the same time allow him to experience the high emotions he needed to channel. Her shoulders dropped slightly. There were very few women in the Select Quarter who would allow him that kind of freedom.
"Do you never want to experience love, Jorlan?" His hand came up and stroked the side of her face. The aqua eyes softened to a shade she had never seen before on a human. But she had seen it echoed in the early mornings of Forus as the mist rose off the waters. It took her breath away.
"Do you offer me love. Green?" he asked in the smoothest of tones.
It took Green an instant to realize that his heady senses were getting out of hand. He was igniting them both and he was also deliberately playing with the flame. For his sake, she needed to douse his fire.
She observed him coolly through lowered lids. "What if I was?"
His lips teased at her mouth, sipping at her bottom lip with an innate talent. "I do not wish to be a name-bearer. I have told you this."
"Who said anything about being a name-bearer?" she whispered back.
She knew the exact instant the insinuating remark registered on his passion-drugged brain. Her offer was highly insulting to a man of noble birth. She might as well have slapped him.
At his stunned look, she rose from the bench and returned to the salon.
And yet her thoughts remained back with him.
Green was shocked to discover that she did want him.
Really wanted him.
No other woman would be able to handle and release him at the same time. Jorlan Reynard would be the perfect father for her heir.
But right now she did not need a troublesome veil to contend with, no matter how alluring his qualities. She needed to focus on her house—not her bed. Besides, she still had her pleasurer. River, who more than took care of all of her needs.
Yet the simple sweet embrace of Jorlan affected her more than anything she had ever experienced with River.
She decided to leave the soiree, and, regretfully, the compelling Jorlan.
Somehow on the ride home in the Kloo-driven coach, she could not get him out of her mind. The idea of making Jorlan her name-bearer settled firmly in her mind and would not leave.