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Chapter 12

Jean-Paul pulled a face. "Not so much the cavalry as just me. And I'm mostly being decorative."

He certainly glittered in his black dress uniform, with medals and ribbons of honor arrayed across the impressive expanse of his chest. Some were marks of his regiment and rank, but others were from actual fighting. He hadn't just stayed safely in the capital, it seemed. "Decorative? Did the emperor think his ballroom would lack for handsome men tonight?"

His smile grew wider, his expression delighted. "Handsome, am I?"

She shook her head. "Some might think so. Those who weren't waiting for an answer to their question."

He laughed. "A point, Lieutenant. Very well. No, not that kind of decorative. Even if Aristides was inclined to admire men's faces, not women's, I doubt I would be high on his list. No, my value comes in my rank. If dealing with disgruntled diplomats from the outer reaches of the empire, it can be useful to have the son of a duq or someone equally impressive-sounding to dance attendance on them. Make them feel important."

She understood that much. "I see. But if that’s your role here tonight, then shouldn't you already be at the ball doing whatever it is dancing attendance involves? Not consorting in dimly lit rooms with women who would probably not please said disgruntled diplomats."

"Consorting? That hardly seems a fair assessment, Lieutenant. We've barely touched." He brushed his hand over hers, then pulled it back.

For a moment she forgot what the point of their conversation was. Something about...Andalyssians. Right. Bloody inconvenient Andalyssians. Because if not for them, his hand could be doing more than just wafting over her fingers right now.

"Let's not argue about terminology. You should be back in there"—she jerked her head in the direction of the ballroom—"doing what you’re here for today." She tapped a finger on the biggest and the brightest of the medals on his chest. An imperial commendation, she thought it was, though she had never seen one up close. A golden star with a spray of tiny sapphires embedded in each point. "You're in uniform. You have a job to do." She peered up at him. "And you must have known that when you invited me here tonight. So how exactly were you expecting this evening to go, Major?"

"I'm on duty, but I'm not part of the guard itself. My job is to mingle and ensure that the Andalyssians meet the right members of the court. The ones who will make them feel valued. I was reliably informed that they will retire early, and then my time will be my own. Or all yours, Lieutenant." His gaze skimmed over her body. "And seeing you in that dress, I must tell you I am very tempted to go fetch a sleeping draught of some sort and pour it into their damned campenois to hurry their departure along."

"I'm not sure drugging a delegation is the way to repair relations." She tried to pretend she couldn't feel the weight of his gaze on her skin like the heat from the flames. Her skin prickled with the need to move closer to him.

"Andalyssia can rot for all I care right now," he said. He reached out a hand, settled it on her waist. "Stay."

"That wouldn't be helpful." It would be everything every inch of her body wanted, but not helpful to anything but her worse instincts. "This can only be a fleeting thing, you and me. It's not worth a diplomatic incident." But she made no move to shift his hand from her waist. Instead she stepped closer, unthinking as his fingers tugged her toward him.

"Fuck diplomacy," he growled and bent his mouth to hers.

And oh, his mouth.

She'd never had a man deploy a kiss like a weapon before, but his found her like an arrow flying true and shattered her defenses.

One taste of him and her common sense dissolved under a rush of lightning-hot want. It was like the first time she'd touched a ley line, back when her powers had manifested. A sense of the world being forever changed as power and emotion surged through her. A sense of wanting nothing more than to remain suspended in the sensation forever. If he'd been an illusioner, she would have suspected him of using magic to sway her senses, but she felt nothing magical flaring from him as he poured his kiss into her, only desire that was as intoxicating as any touch of magic she'd known.

She swayed into him, opening her lips and kissing him back just as fiercely. Let herself take what he was offering and offer something of her own in return. Lost in the moment and the touch of him. Until he pulled back, staring down at her with eyes that were black now, his pupils blown wide with only the faintest rim of gray around them. There was no mistaking how much he wanted her. His lips had left hers, but his hands still held her fast against him, and even through the layers of ball gown and petticoats, she could feel him pressing into her.

"Stay," he muttered again. "Please, Imogene."

Goddess. The way he said her name. She could cope with his teasing “Lieutenant,” but not with him speaking the three syllables of her name like they were half a prayer. Her blood was roaring in her ears, her pulse still pounding from his kiss, and she couldn't have moved away from him in that moment if the emperor himself had appeared and demanded it.

"I don't want to cause trouble. And I can't afford another blot on my record." Her invitation to bond a sanctii could vanish as swiftly as it had been extended.

He shook his head. "If there was any concern over you attending this ball, Major Perrine would have told me. He vets the invitation list thoroughly."

Of course he had. She felt foolish. In her surprise, she hadn't stopped to think that, of course, the emperor knew each guest who attended his balls. And she had been approved. Relief swept over her. Followed by a second rush of nerves. Not caused by the Andalyssians but by the awareness that if she did stay, if she went back to the ballroom with Jean-Paul, then... She stared up at him, wondering again if it was a mistake to give in to wanting him.

"Stay, Imogene. I will get the damned Andalyssians out of the ballroom as soon as I can. Then I will find you and we will dance. And then, unless you tell me no, I will take you back to my apartment and remove that delectable dress and we will finish what we just started."

It was just as well that he was still holding her because her knees wobbled a little at the words. Which was ridiculous. She wasn't a woman whose knees wobbled because a man announced that he wanted her. She hadn't been that way even when she'd been a virgin. She'd chosen her first lover—and everyone since—with care and deliberation. She'd enjoyed herself. She'd learned what pleased her and what pleased them, but she had never been at risk of coming undone from just a kiss. Never been more certain that she should walk away before he could do anything more. Never been more certain that she had no intention of doing so.

"I'll stay," she said. "I'll wait for you."

"And then?" he asked, voice half a growl.

"And then, Major, we will...dance."