Gerald swallowed hard. She was beautiful, drop dead gorgeous. All etiquette lessons left him as he stared at her angelic face. Red-gold curls cascaded to her bared shoulders, the cap sleeves of her crimson gown falling down to her smooth, pale arms. The deep cut of her décolletage just covered the acceptable amount of cleavage and her corset hugged a slim waist that needed no assistance. Finally, the full skirt was gathered into a small bustle, flattering in the way the folds accented her fine hips and long legs.
She was dressed to kill. She could have any man wearing this dress. His eyes flitted back up to meet hers and she grinned in a non-angelic way. She could own any man, just like she now owned him, and they both knew it.
"Gerald, invite me to join you?"
His heart jumped. Frantically, he looked around for one of his brothers. If any of them saw him with a pretty woman, he would feel it tomorrow. The girl's grin turned to a pout as he hesitated. Trepidation warred with excitement inside him. The girl was worth it, he finally decided, speechlessly motioning to the seat across from him.
With easy grace she slid into the seat and gave him a warm smile. He could only blush in response, flustered over how to react to a girl's attentions. He turned the dance card over and over in his hands, trying to find something to say.
After a long moment, the girl was the one to break the silence. "What are you reading?" she asked, pulling his book towards her.
He resisted the urge to snatch it back. "Uh, it's a fantasy set in space. I doubt that you would like it."
"Actually, I like space stories," she said, her slim fingers tracing the star patterned cover. She opened the novel and Gerald worried at the corner of the card as he hoped she wouldn't find anything interesting. Her surprised laugh made his stomach drop; he would never live this down. " 'He sucked at her star-dusted breasts, then slid his tongue into her navel before moving lower to savor still more of her...' Gerald! What's this about?"
"Ah, the hero always gets the girl."
"On page 42? Doesn't usually the hero get the girl at the end of the story?" she teased gently.
"Um, forty-two is a good number, and this hero is on top of the game."
She only giggled, blushing as she silently read more. Shaking her head, she closed the book and looked at the spine. "Pinnacle Books Publishing Company. I think this is a different type of fantasy, Gerry."
He laughed softly. "I swear I came across it by accident, though the name of the company should have given me fair warning, hmm?" He considered something for a moment. "But I guess..."
"Yes?" she pressed.
He toyed with the card as he replied, grinning in spite of his embarrasement. "I guess I learned that romance novels are written by women for women about what they would like men to do."
"So you are going to build your collection?"
"No, no," he blushed. "A man may read these, but he won't keep the proof of it!"
The girl rolled her eyes. "Men and the male ego! He may read the instruction manual, but he won't admit to it?"
Gerald shrugged and distracted himself with the dance card. They were tiptoeing on the edge of a taboo topic and he wasn't sure how to take it.
The girl passed the book back and he hid the shameful thing in his inner breast pocket.
"So enlightened at a young age... How interesting," she mused aloud.
Gerald ducked his head, unable to answer, and a lock of hair fell into his face. True to Monreau vanity, he tried tucking the hair back into his ponytail. The offending lock merely fell again. He sighed softly and pulled the ribbon out. Braiding the thick mess would put order to the waist length waves of light brown and would give his hands something to do.
The girl silently observed him. He looked away from her, focusing on braiding his hair. Whywas such a beautiful woman wasting time sitting with him? Was it a dare from friends? Not likely, girls seemed to always travel in packs. She must be trying to make a guy jealous? But she wasn't overtly flirting, and a girly-faced stick boy was hardly something for a man to get jealous over. He looked at her through veiled lashes. She appeared to be watching him with more appreciation than maliciousness. No, that couldn't be right! No woman liked him. Surprising himself, he blurted angrily, "Why are you staring at me!"
The girl startled. Then she relaxed, the warm smile returning. "I'm sorry, how rude of me. I was remembering how hard it was to convince you to let me braid your hair."
"You... remember?"
"Yeah. You don't?" He shook his head. "Well, you were four and I was six. We came to visit your aunt when she had her baby, my dad being the child's godfather. I remember that your English wasn't too good. I asked my dad and he told me that your family spoke French, and you were learning still learning English. I wanted to French braid your hair because I thought you would like that. It was long even then." Her eyes roamed down the length of his hair, and a little smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Actually, that's part of a longer story...
"I remember watching you cross the creek to play in the garden every morning from the guest room window. I was lonely, so I started joining you in the garden. I would follow you around until you lost me in the maze. Every day for a week, I lost you in that maze." The girl gave Gerald a slightly accusing grin. "Finally, I decided that playing for a few minutes before the maze was no fun, so I waited at the creek one morning. As you were crossing, I called out to you. Kerplash! Of course, you fell in! You didn't cry, but you gave methat miserable look of, 'Oh, I should have known it was you.' Luckily, my governess came by at that time and took us inside.
"I remember you sitting in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket with a towel on your head. You were giving me such a baleful look; I knew you were very angry. It was then that I tried French braiding your hair to win you over. And you would have nothing to do with it! 'Non, non!' you kept screaming as I chased you around with a comb. But I wouldn't take no for an answer, much less a 'non'." The girl's eyes twinkled mischeivously.
"You were making such a noise that your aunt Selda came to see what was going on. She picked you up, even though she just had a baby, and loved on you as you cried at her in French. When you were done sobbing, she stood us side by side. She told me to be mindful of your age and that you are used to playing alone. She told you to play nice with girls and show me the hidden garden."
"We had a lot of fun after we gained an understanding. I showed you how to get what you wanted from the servants by acting cute, and you showed me how to climb trees and catch bugs. My governess still shudders at memories of torn dresses and jarred insects on my dresser. The only time you would fuss was if I tried to kiss you, and I finally got the hint that the mazemeant you wanted to be alone. I really didn't want to go back to my real home at the end of the month, but I did with promises of returning the next summer.
"When you were five, I got to see you during the night of Summer Solstice. You remembered me and took me back to the hidden garden. We played until nightfall. I was scared,until you took my hand. You told me in halting English, 'The fae natural to this world, humans not. Don't fear fae. There is nothing in night to fear but you yourself. Are you afraid of you?'
Of course I wasn't afraid of myself and as we walked back, hand in hand, the wraiths didn't bother us. I was struck by how brave of a shy boy you were, and so you are firmlycaught in my memory. The war started later that year, so my father hasn't allowed traveled out here until now, but I still remember you. And I still haven't gotten to braid your hair."