him a serene smile. “Tomorrow night, in the Hofburg chapel, you will be my husband.”
“Proxy!” he cried, flinging up his hands in frustration. “Proxy husband!”
“Yes, well, that’s just a detail.” She looked around for somewhere to dispose of her pear core, then with a shrug shoved it into her pocket. “Don’t you see, Leo? This is
meant
to be. I know it in my blood. There are some obstacles, I know, but nothing we can’t overcome.”
“Are you run quite mad?” He looked at her helplessly.
She shook her head. “No. Kiss me and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Oh no.” He backed away from her, holding up his handsas if to ward her off. She was Eve, and the serpent bracelet gleamed on her slender wrist as she reached for his hand.
“Kiss me,” she repeated, her voice low and sweet, her eyes beckoning him with a siren’s enchantment, her parted lips offering entrance to the lush secrets of her body. Her hand closed over his and she stepped up to him. Light from the stained-glass window played over her upturned face, and a bar of gold lay across her milk white throat. “Kiss me, Leo.”
He caught her face between both his hands. The urge to bring his mouth to hers was overwhelming. His lips seemed to sing with the memory of the times he had kissed her, and she was looking up at him with all the expectant wonder of sensual awakening. He could feel his fingers deeply imprinting the soft skin of her cheeks. There was a demon here, in her or in himself, he didn’t know, but somehow it must be exorcised. He looked down at her, his eyes seeming to pierce the shell of her body to the soul beneath.
Abruptly, his hands dropped from her face. He turned and strode from the chapel, and the door clanged shut behind him.
Cordelia bit her lip on her disappointment. She felt empty, as if she’d been promised something that had been incomprehensibly withdrawn. And yet she was certain that he
did
feel what she felt—that they were somehow bound to each other. It wasn’t a certainty that she could imagine either ignoring or questioning.
Chapter Four
L EO WAS BORED , but no one would guess it from his smiling attention, his easy conversation, his diplomatic appearance of pleasure in the evening. He disliked costume balls more than anything, and in Paris or London he would have appeared in his regular dress, maybe carrying a loo mask as token contribution to the festivities. But in Vienna he was a foreign guest, a member of a delegation, and it would be discourteous to spurn his hostess’s entertainment. So now he was clad as a Roman senator in a purple-edged toga, but as if to emphasize his dislike of the entertainment, his loo mask dangled negligently from one finger.
He shifted from one foot to the other and watched the clock. At midnight everyone would be unmasked, and if he slipped away a little beforehand, he could return dressed as himself without drawing comment.
In the meantime he conversed with one half of his mind while his eyes covertly raked the throng for Cordelia. She’d been at the banquet, dressed in a gown of celestial blue quilted taffeta over a petticoat of palest blue. Her midnight black ringlets clustered on her white shoulders, caught up at the back in a pearl comb. Her wrist was circled with her betrothal bracelet, and he noticed how she played with it absently when her hands had nothing else to do.
He had tried not to look at her, but, failing in that, had concentrated on concealing his observation. She had cast him several speaking glances across the wide expanse of the banquet table, but he had refused to return them, pretending to see only the brilliant glitter of the chandeliers, the crystal sea of glass, the glinting planes of silver and gold salvers that stretched between them.
But he couldn’t deny that she was entrancing. She bubbled with life, and her table companions were reflected in her light and laughter. She seemed to scintillate at the center of the people around
“Proxy!” he cried, flinging up his hands in frustration. “Proxy husband!”
“Yes, well, that’s just a detail.” She looked around for somewhere to dispose of her pear core, then with a shrug shoved it into her pocket. “Don’t you see, Leo? This is
meant
to be. I know it in my blood. There are some obstacles, I know, but nothing we can’t overcome.”
“Are you run quite mad?” He looked at her helplessly.
She shook her head. “No. Kiss me and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Oh no.” He backed away from her, holding up his handsas if to ward her off. She was Eve, and the serpent bracelet gleamed on her slender wrist as she reached for his hand.
“Kiss me,” she repeated, her voice low and sweet, her eyes beckoning him with a siren’s enchantment, her parted lips offering entrance to the lush secrets of her body. Her hand closed over his and she stepped up to him. Light from the stained-glass window played over her upturned face, and a bar of gold lay across her milk white throat. “Kiss me, Leo.”
He caught her face between both his hands. The urge to bring his mouth to hers was overwhelming. His lips seemed to sing with the memory of the times he had kissed her, and she was looking up at him with all the expectant wonder of sensual awakening. He could feel his fingers deeply imprinting the soft skin of her cheeks. There was a demon here, in her or in himself, he didn’t know, but somehow it must be exorcised. He looked down at her, his eyes seeming to pierce the shell of her body to the soul beneath.
Abruptly, his hands dropped from her face. He turned and strode from the chapel, and the door clanged shut behind him.
Cordelia bit her lip on her disappointment. She felt empty, as if she’d been promised something that had been incomprehensibly withdrawn. And yet she was certain that he
did
feel what she felt—that they were somehow bound to each other. It wasn’t a certainty that she could imagine either ignoring or questioning.
Chapter Four
L EO WAS BORED , but no one would guess it from his smiling attention, his easy conversation, his diplomatic appearance of pleasure in the evening. He disliked costume balls more than anything, and in Paris or London he would have appeared in his regular dress, maybe carrying a loo mask as token contribution to the festivities. But in Vienna he was a foreign guest, a member of a delegation, and it would be discourteous to spurn his hostess’s entertainment. So now he was clad as a Roman senator in a purple-edged toga, but as if to emphasize his dislike of the entertainment, his loo mask dangled negligently from one finger.
He shifted from one foot to the other and watched the clock. At midnight everyone would be unmasked, and if he slipped away a little beforehand, he could return dressed as himself without drawing comment.
In the meantime he conversed with one half of his mind while his eyes covertly raked the throng for Cordelia. She’d been at the banquet, dressed in a gown of celestial blue quilted taffeta over a petticoat of palest blue. Her midnight black ringlets clustered on her white shoulders, caught up at the back in a pearl comb. Her wrist was circled with her betrothal bracelet, and he noticed how she played with it absently when her hands had nothing else to do.
He had tried not to look at her, but, failing in that, had concentrated on concealing his observation. She had cast him several speaking glances across the wide expanse of the banquet table, but he had refused to return them, pretending to see only the brilliant glitter of the chandeliers, the crystal sea of glass, the glinting planes of silver and gold salvers that stretched between them.
But he couldn’t deny that she was entrancing. She bubbled with life, and her table companions were reflected in her light and laughter. She seemed to scintillate at the center of the people around
Similar Books
