Carolyn Zane - Of Royal Blood

“I think there is no chaste way to answer that question.” Marie-Claire returned his grin.

Admiration for her wit flashed in his eyes. “Shall we set the tongues to wagging and head out to the verandah for a breath of fresh air?”

“Why not? The tongues have been wagging all day.”

“Come on then. Let’s give them some more grist for the rumor mill.”

Marie-Claire’s heart bounced about in her rib cage at the intimate quality in his voice.

The verandah outside the ballroom was nearly as large as the ballroom itself. Made of concrete, it sported a low railing with balustrades as broad as small wine kegs. Light poured from the palace windows and the music—a lilting Vivaldi piece—danced upon the gentle night breezes. In the air, there was a hint of burning leaves and the last fragrances of summer’s flowers.

Never had Marie-Claire felt more vibrant. Alive. Pulsing with vitality. Sebastian’s touch on her hand was warm and this warmth spread up her arm and burned and swirled in her chest, making it hard to catch her breath.

This was the moment she’d been dreaming of. A moment alone with a man with whom she’d bonded, once upon a twilight evening in her youth. And, though before tonight they’d only conversed on the most superficial topics, it was an unbreakable bond, for whatever magical reason. Fate. Kismet.

Destiny.

Didn’t matter what one called it. Marie-Claire believed that God himself wanted them together and there was no use even pursuing other options.

A few dried leaves skittered across the patio’s floor as a warm wind flirted with Marie-Claire’s hair and skirts. A violent shiver wracked her body as anticipation rolled up her spine and settled in her throat.

“Are you cold?”

She swallowed against the excitement that burned in her throat. “No. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Sebastian untied his bow tie and unfastened a collar stud with his free hand. “Same.”

As they strolled, other couples, seeming to find the climate in the ballroom confining, began to wander out of doors looking for a bit of fresh air and some privacy. Inside the ballroom, Eduardo could be seen, bobbing about, peering out various windows, obviously searching for Marie-Claire.

“Come on.”

Sebastian took her hand and tugged her into the shadows and down an immense stair. A sea of rolling lawn unfurled before them, and Marie-Claire bent to remove her high-heeled slippers so that she could better keep up with his rangy stride.

“So. Last time we were alone together, you were sixteen, and of an age to begin dating.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and cast a disarming grin down at her. “Did you?”

“Did I?” Marie-Claire could barely think. The wool of his jacket made a pleasant swooshing sound against the verdant satin of her gown. “What?”

“Date?”

“Oh.” How embarrassing. How could she couch the truth and exude the worldly persona she longed for Sebastian to see in her? Her mouth went dry and she touched her tongue to her lips. “Uh…Well, not right away. Actually, Papa caught wind of my plans and shipped me off to an all-girl boarding school.”

“I know.”

“You knew?”

“I may have inadvertently mentioned your intention to begin dating to him after I escorted you home that night.”

Marie-Claire’s jaw dropped, and a guttural gasp escaped.

“Apparently, your father was not aware of your plans.” Amusement quirked in the corners of Sebastian’s lips. “I didn’t realize you meant to keep these plans secret.”

“Oh, sure.” Bristling, she stared at him through narrow eyes. “So. You are the reason I suffered through two years in that horrendously stuffy all-female boarding school?”

“Sorry.”

“You should be. The experience was quite scarring.”

Sebastian hooted. “I can see that it left you socially retiring.”

To keep from being affected by his infectious laughter, she hiked her chin and ignored his teasing tone. “In any event, my dating career had to be postponed until…er…college.”

“Ah, but you went to an all-girl college.”

Her bravado flagged some. “Don’t tell me. All-girl college was your idea, too.”

“Of course not.” Sebastian shrugged. “I may have had some input but the final decision was always your father’s.”

Bemused, she stared up at him. How was she ever going to convince him that she was worldly when—thanks in part to him—she’d been cloistered away like a cultured pearl?

Images of Veronike’s seductive red lips, puffy and pouty, taunted her and she refused to let him go on thinking of her as some kind of inexperienced virgin.

Even if that’s exactly what she was.

“Well, it may have been all girls, but there were men.” She wracked her brain for the roster of professors. “There was, um, let’s see…Alonzo, and Barnaby and uh, and umm.” She frowned. What was his name again? “Cedric! And, uh—”

“An alphabetical accounting of your lovers?”

Her chin jerked up and she could make out the twinkle sparkling in his eyes by the light of the harvest moon. “You don’t think I’ve ever even had a date, do you?” There was a heat in her tone that she struggled to squelch.

“I hope not.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Why?”

“Because,” he answered simply, as they reached an immense yet shallow reflecting pool, “you’re mine.”

Marie-Claire was dumbstruck. For a moment, everything went fuzzy, and little pinpricks of light danced before her eyes. Her heart palpitated, and a wild joy sprung from deep within the vicinity of her stomach and, like a flash fire, spread throughout her body.

“Oh.” The breathy utterance hovered on the air between them.

“You’re not entirely surprised.” He paused and turned to face her, lifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“No.”

“There is something. It’s been there since that night.”

“Yes.”

“Something special. It’s almost as if we were…” He squinted off into the night sky and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he searched for the words, “…somehow kindred spirits.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He dipped his head back toward her and they stood in a shaft of moonlight, regarding each other. Discovering the truth in each other’s eyes. It was a powerful moment, fraught with a tension so palpable it generated heat that radiated between their bodies.

Marie-Claire could see that Sebastian was as stunned by the power of their chemistry as she was. For an instant, he seemed to lose his perennial confidence. There was vulnerability in his expression that endeared him impossibly closer to her soul than ever before.

In front of them, seeming to float on the vast surface of the reflecting pool, Le cheval du roi—a statue of her great-great grandfather’s royal steed—reared, flanked on each side by two equally impressive mares. Years of weather had given the cool, dark metal a streaked green patina. The fountain was especially spectacular when it was lit for a party, as it was tonight.

Seemingly unable to endure the tension that shimmered between them, Sebastian abruptly turned and tugged her to the edge of the pool. He stepped up to the top of the two-foot high wall rim, then helped her up behind him. Off in the distance, strains of an orchestra sounded over the fountain’s spray.

Sebastian stepped out of his highly polished wingtips and kicked them to the ground below. Then, reaching for the slippers that dangled from Marie-Claire’s fingers, he dropped them on top of his own shoes. “I never did get another dance.”

Marie-Claire lifted her arms and draping them over his shoulders, let her wrists dangle. “And so you did not.”

“Shall we?”