[Béline]
The betrothal took me by surprise, though it shouldn't have. I had known that Sebastien desired a wife, though I do not think I ever heard him speak of it to me, until the day he requested my hand. He was very earnest about it, a side of him I'd never seen, and it charmed me to see him thus. Perhaps my surprise was due to the fact that I had never really believed I would find a husband. As the heir to my family's estates, I had a duty to provide an heir of my own, but unlike many young women, I needn't marry in order to have a secure future. In truth, I hadn't given marriage much thought, until Sebastien de Guiscarde requested my hand in marriage, one summer day in the garden of his manor.
It was an easy decision. Though Sebastien did not quite spark Naamah's gift of desire in the way that Damien could, I loved him. I said yes, with delight, and it made his dark eyes sparkle.
There had to be a fête, of course; it would not do to let such an occasion pass without celebration. I let Sebastien's steward handle it, bemused by all the preparations that went into it. Elua only knows what the wedding itself will entail, I thought to myself. When I voiced that same thought one evening after dinner, Sebastien laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"The fête and the wedding and all that nonsense will be for the peers, my dear," he reassured me, drawing me into an embrace. His hands rested on my hips, strong and warm through the cloth of my gown. "But the wedding night—and every night after—will be for us." He kissed me, and it turned quickly to passion, as it so often did between us. "In fact," he murmured, smiling down at me with a sharp glint in his eye, "we shall start with this night."
I should have known Damien would be invited to the fête... but it was yet another detail of which I was ignorant, until he arrived. The fête had already begun, and the servants were circulating among the guests in the sitting room, offering wine and refreshments. I was speaking with the Marquise de Marceau, giggling like a child at the advice she was giving me for married life, when I saw him enter.
Tall and imposing as ever, his thick golden hair pulled back in a loose braid, Damien nó Mandrake gave my betrothed the kiss of greeting, and lingered there longer than was strictly necessary. They were both grinning when they parted, and Sebastien said somewhat that made Damien laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. When Damien turned, his eyes met mine, glittering green, and my stomach lurched, shock and desire and fear suddenly roiling. I had not seen Damien since our last assignation when Sebastien had been out of the City. In the months since then, I had done my best to put him out of my mind. And then, in the excitement of my betrothal, I had nearly completely forgotten the attraction between us.
Nearly... but not entirely. It took only that one glance to bring it flooding back. I tore my eyes away from the adept and tried to look as if I were listening to the Marquise's jests... but inside, I could only think over and over, Elua! What do I do now?
I spent the fête distracted by a constant awareness of his presence, as if my heart were a compass that pointed unerringly to him. I avoided looking in his direction, afraid to see the menacing desire that simmered beneath his cool exterior... but I knew, almost always, where he was. I took pains to ensure I stayed far away. I did not trust myself in his company, too afraid that Sebastien and everyone else would read my desires plain on my face if I spoke to the adept.
But I could not avoid him entirely, not when he sought me out. He found me coming back from the kitchens after I'd spoken with the servants, in the darkened corridor leading back to the fête.
"You've been avoiding me, little comtesse," his voice came, low in the darkness, as I passed. I nearly leapt out of my shoes, heart suddenly racing.
"Elua! Is it any wonder why?" I snapped, momentarily more annoyed at the shock than anything else. I turned to see him leaning against the wall, a little distance down a side passage, his arms folded across his chest. He was mostly hidden in shadow, while the dim light from the kitchens picked out small details: a glint of green, an amused smile.
"I had thought better of your skills as a hostess," he murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are better suited as a servant."
I felt my face grow hot. Ah, Elua, I wanted to serve him again, no matter how it grated against me... The urge to kneel at his feet seized me and held fast. I swallowed, hard, and forced it away. I will not play this game, I thought fiercely, taking refuge in my pride. I am the Comtesse de Collente, not a servant to this common-born man of the Night Court!
"Damien," I began. Then, behind me, a commotion in the kitchen: the servants, with their trays refilled, returning to the fête. Before I could react, Damien seized my arm and hauled me into the shadows of the side passage. The servants bustled past, down the main corridor, never seeing us. Hidden in the darkness, I stared up at him, aware of nothing but his iron grip on my arm and the thundering in my ears.
"You cannot avoid me forever, little one," he murmured, when they had gone. "You are to wed my dearest friend. Do you think this is the last fête we shall both attend?"
"And accosting me in a dark corner will surely convince me not to avoid you," I retorted. My effort at sarcasm was somewhat ruined by the breathlessness in my voice.
Damien's lips curved, and he moved forward, slowly. "Will it?" he asked in a low voice, quite unconcerned. I backed away, just as slowly, until I met the wall and could go no farther. His hand tightened on my arm, and I felt that uncontrollable wanting begin to throb anew. Ah, gods, I wanted him! I wanted to drop to my knees there in the hall, to surrender to him and to that echoing desire that I saw reflected in his eyes.
He moved again, quickly this time. Before I realized it, he was holding me against the wall, lifted with his hands under my thighs, the hardening length of his arousal pressed against my core. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs about his waist, even as I pushed in vain at his chest.
"Put me down," I hissed, glaring up at him.
There was that smug twist on his lips again. "That isn't what you want."
True enough... but neither did I want any of the servants to see me entangled with Damien in a dark hallway, my skirts hiked up far too high for decency. I opened my mouth to protest, and I saw his eyes drop to my lips, contemplating a kiss. I froze, unable to move away, unable to do as I wished and pull him down for that kiss. I knew that if we did, we would not be able to stop. Our eyes met again, and held for a long, long moment.
"Firefly," I whispered, barely audibly. The moment shattered, and he exhaled softly. Slowly, he lowered his hands, let my legs drop—but he did not move back, and made me slide down the length of his body until my feet found the floor. Still pinned against the wall, I stared up at him. I saw him take refuge in his pride, just the way I had done. After several heartbeats, finally, he stepped back.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said, his voice as cold as at our first meeting, though the heat in his eyes belied it.
I swallowed, and could not find my voice. Wordlessly, I fled to the sanctuary of my bedchamber, to compose myself before returning to the fête.
After that, we both took further pains to avoid each other. I managed to enjoy the rest of the fête, somewhat, though I was still always conscious of his presence at the other side of the room. If anyone had known to look for it, the obvious tension between us would have been laughable. Thank Elua, no one did know to look.
It was late when I escorted the last of the guests—so I thought—to the door, then went in search of Sebastien. I found my betrothed in the library, seated across from Damien, both of them laughing at some jest I had missed. I would have turned back and left them to visit, but Sebastien caught sight of me in the doorway, and beckoned me closer before I could leave.
Ah, what could I do? Refusing to join them would have seemed unusual, and Sebastien would have worried at it like a dog with a bone until he had discovered why. I smiled at him, and did not look at Damien as I came to perch on the arm of Sebastien's chair. He slid a possessive arm around my waist, and I took some comfort in his familiar strength.
They continued their discussion, some philosophical debate that I was unable to follow, having joined them so late. I listened to the sound of their voices, instead, and tried not to notice Damien's long, graceful fingers, clasped together, nor the hard curves of his arms just visible beneath his shirtsleeves.
Sebastien began to stroke me, fingers moving on my waist in that absentminded way he had when desire was beginning to grow. I saw Damien's eyes flick towards me, taking note of Sebastien's movement. I shivered, and kept my eyes on the floor, lest he see the hunger in my face.
My betrothed said somewhat that made Damien laugh again—this time, low and dangerous, a sound that made my stomach tighten. When had the conversation turned, I wondered? I was suddenly aware that both men's attention was on me, heavy with things unspoken.
Sebastien's hand slid up my ribs, cupped my breast, and Damien watched, his sardonic smile at odds with the heat in his eyes. "What say you, my dear?" Sebastien asked, to a question I had missed. He added, with a squeeze of his hand, "Perhaps you might be more comfortable on the floor." On your knees.
I flushed, acutely aware of Damien's scrutiny. "In front our guest, Sebastien?" I asked, turning to look at him.
He gave me a reassuring smile, the one that always worked so well on me. "It is Damien, my dear... Who better to appreciate the sight?"
Ah, gods, I had spent all night longing to kneel... I could resist it no longer, not when it was requested. I slid down from the arm of the chair and folded my skirts under my knees.
"Good girl," Sebastien murmured, his hand stroking my hair. I shivered, and raised my eyes to Damien. He was watching me with open desire; I noted his fingers again, tightly gripping the arms of his chair. Our eyes met, briefly, holding the shared knowledge of our earlier encounter, before he jerked his gaze away.
"Are you feeling generous tonight, my friend?" He asked softly.
Sebastien chuckled, and murmured, "Perhaps... If I think you have earned it..."
Damien snorted derisively and got to his feet. Sebastien stood as well, and for a long moment I felt both their eyes on me: appreciative, assessing, hungry, calculating. Damien reached out to stroke my hair; I bit my lip and stared up at him, hoping and dreading that he would agree to stay. My heart pounded; it seemed impossible that Sebastien would not see the tension between us. Elua, if the three of us were to spend another night together—
"I fear I will be poor company tonight, my lord de Guiscarde," the adept said finally, his hand falling away from me. "Another time, perhaps."
"As you will," Sebastien said, and murmured somewhat else that I did not catch. He pulled Damien closer, and I watched from my knees, feeling a bit jealous as they kissed, fiercely. When they broke apart, Sebastien smiled, again sliding a hand into my hair.
"You'll forgive me if I don't walk you out..."
"Of course." Damien shot me an amused glance. "Be good, little comtesse..."
Both relieved and disappointed, I watched him go, until Sebastien's fingers tightened in my hair, turning me to face him. "Now, my dear," he murmured, "since I already have you on your knees..."
Eager to please, eager to push thoughts of Damien from my mind, I was already reaching for his trousers. There in the library, and later, in his bedchamber, our lovemaking allowed me to think of nothing—no one—else, but I knew in the back of my mind that it was only temporary. The next time I saw Damien, that desire would only come rushing back once more, and I hadn't the faintest idea of what I could do about it.