Burning for Love by Evangeline Anderson
8
Rissa was finding the second dance to be extremely difficult. That was probably because her dance partner was none other than Lord Grabbington, the Duke of Elersham.
“Ah, my dear Princess,” he had purred, when he first approached her, making a sweeping bow. “How good it is to see you again! Might I have this dance?”
Rissa had smiled tightly, wishing that anyone else at all in the whole ballroom might have asked for her hand. But there was no helping it—she was stuck.
“Indeed, Sir, I would be most honored,” she’d replied woodenly. And then the Duke had taken her in his arms—much too tightly—and pulled her into the dance.
“You’re looking lovely tonight, if I may say so, my dear,” he’d murmured in her ear, his breath redolent of sickly-sweet Port and wet cigarillos. “And you’re shining so brightly too.” He had nodded down at her breasts, where the lights from her glowing points were visible through her white gown.
Rissa didn’t know what to say to such a blatant statement, so she remained silent. This hadn’t stopped the Duke from continuing the conversation himself, however.
“I read in the latest issue of Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs that your Heat Cycle is becoming quite advanced,” he remarked, grinning at her. “I dare say the old Steward must be looking for the right suitor for you, then?”
“Indeed, Sir, I believe he is,” Rissa answered woodenly. How rude of him to remark on her Heat Cycle, she thought indignantly! Something which ought to remain private.
“Then it seems I have come back into town at just the right time,” Duke Grabbington said, smirking at her. “As your lovely hand is now finally available to be won.”
Rissa had to suppress a shudder at the thought of having the Duke as her future husband—not that she thought it was truly a possibility. Surely the Steward wouldn’t even consider giving her to such a man!
Duke Grabbington didn’t have the best reputation. Not that it mattered in everyday life, since he was a man and could do whatever he liked, she thought resentfully. But surely his dreadful ways would count against him if he wished to court the future Queen. Why, it was rumored that none of the maids wished to wait on him at night because of the way he came after them. Also, he had been paying court to Prunella Ascott just before she was mysteriously taken ill and had to leave Court, never to return again. The rumor was that she was now ruined.
Poor Prunella hadn’t been very pretty, but she did have a rather large inheritance of fifty thousand. Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs had speculated that the Duke—who was known to be a degenerate gambler—had been interested in her for exactly that reason. But shortly after that particular issue of the Crumbs had come out, Prunella had removed to the country and never returned.
Rissa still wondered what had happened to the hapless girl. Had Duke Grabbington kissed her and put a baby in her? But the thought didn’t bear thinking of, especially as she looked at his moist, red lips under those drooping mustaches. They hung from either side of his mouth right down to his chin, like limp, furry tails.
“It’s a lovely night for dancing, wouldn’t you agree, Your Highness?” he asked, as he whirled her around the dance floor. He was still holding her rather more tightly than was proper and Rissa wished again she could have refused him when he asked for a dance.
Unfortunately, social protocol held that the Princess must dance with whomever asked her. From the lowliest Lord with only a single field and a few tenants to his name, to the richest Earl or Duke, she was expected to entertain them all. After she ascended to the throne, she could be more picky in her choice of partners. But for now, as she was still only the Princess, she must follow the social customs which dictated that all Lords and Ladies were equal—at least on the dance floor.
“Er, it is a nice night for dancing,” she agreed, having nothing else to say. At least they were no longer talking of her Heat Cycle. She was glad that the dance was coming to an end—it was awkward making small talk with a male she disliked so very much.
“Which is why I wish to engage you for the next three dances,” the Duke said smoothly, smiling that moist red smile at her, his mustaches twitching like wagging tails.
“The next three?” Rissa didn’t know what to say. It was rude of him to take up so much of her evening. But it would be considered even ruder for her to turn him down! She looked around, wondering if she could find some excuse to rid herself of him. He had his arm wrapped so tightly around her waist she could barely breathe and his breath smelled even more strongly of the aforementioned Port and wet cigarillos.
Suddenly, just as the dance was ending, James was at her side.
“Your pardon, Your Highness,” he said smoothly. “But you’re looking rather overheated. I believe it would be wise of you to sit out the next dance.”
“The Princess has already agreed to dance the next three dances with me,” Duke Grabbington snapped, glaring up at the big Kindred.
“Nevertheless, her welfare must come before your desire to dance with her,” James said firmly.
“Who are you to say she must not dance?” the Duke demanded. “You’re not even dressed properly for this ball! Where is your waistcoat, man? And why are you wearing boots instead of properly buckled shoes?” He turned one hose-clad calf, displaying his own shoes with their golden buckles and three-inch heels.
The big Kindred frowned down at him, but kept his voice calm and even.
“You must not have been present in the Reception Hall earlier. I am the Princess’s new bodyguard and Constant Companion. I am here to watch over her and keep her safe. And since she has already become overheated once tonight, I must insist that she sits out the next dance.”
If she’d had any other partner, Rissa might have gotten upset about her new guard’s high-handedness. But she was more than glad to have an excuse to leave the grabby Duke behind.
“I’m afraid I really must listen to my guard and Companion,” she said, giving Duke Grabbington a sweetly apologetic look. “Forgive me, but I must not become overheated.”
“Ah yes, your Heat Cycle again.” Duke Grabbington nodded, a short, sharp jerk of his head that made his wig bounce. “Very well, then. I shall return when you are refreshed, my Lady.”
He gave another sweeping bow and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Rissa to sag with relief against her new guard’s arm.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said, looking up at the big Kindred as he led her from the dance floor to some chairs at the side of the room. “That was…a most unpleasant dance.”
“I take it you didn’t like your partner?” he inquired blandly, raising an eyebrow. He handed her a cup of cool punch and she took a swallow gratefully before answering his question.
“No, I’m afraid not.” She shook her head decisively. “And then he wanted to engage me for the next three dances—imagine!” She shuddered dramatically.
“Is it usual to dance so many dances with the same partner?” James asked. “Forgive me, I am trying to understand the social customs of your people,” he added.
“Of course you are—you only just got here, didn’t you?” Rissa said. “But to answer your question, no—it’s considered quite impolite to ask a lady for more than one dance at a time unless you’re engaged to her.” She shivered. “Which I shall certainly never be to Duke Grabbington—though he may wish it.”
James frowned.
“What makes you say that? Did he make some sort of proposition to you as you danced?”
Rissa made a face.
“He alluded to the fact that my, er, Cycle is in full swing and that the Steward is looking for suitors for me.”
His frown deepened.
“And is he eligible to become one of your suitors?”
“Certainly not!” Rissa exclaimed. “Well, that is, he does probably have enough Royal blood in his veins,” she backpedaled. “But I don’t think the Steward would seriously consider him.” She lowered her voice. “He has a dreadful reputation.”
“In what way?” James asked. “I thought it was only females who were concerned with their reputations on your planet.”
“Well, a female reputation is much more easily sullied and ruined,” Rissa told him. “But there are some things that can sully a male reputation as well.”
“What things?” James asked. “What has he done to, er, sully his reputation?”
Rissa’s cheeks got hot and she looked around the room, trying to make certain no one was listening to them.
“The…the maids will not go to his room at night,” she murmured.
The big Kindred raised his eyebrows.
“Why not?”
“Is it not obvious? Because he tries to…to kiss them. On the mouth,” Rissa hissed. “And you know what that leads to!”
She could feel her cheeks getting even hotter. She could not believe she was discussing such things—especially with a man. But then she reminded herself again that James was just a kind of robot and he was only trying to understand the customs of her planet. Still, it was quite embarrassing to be saying such things aloud.
The big Kindred’s frown deepened.
“So…he has tried to force his attentions on unwilling females?”
“That is the rumor, yes.” Rissa nodded.
James’s face was like a thundercloud now.
“Then you’re never dancing with him again!” he growled. “I won’t have such a male anywhere near you, Princess!”
“Oh, he would never try such a thing with me!” Rissa protested, shocked at the idea.
She had a fleeting moment of unease, as she thought of Prunella, but then she pushed it aside. Prunella had not been heir to the throne of all of Regalia Five. Duke Grabbington would certainly not dare to try kissing Rissa, the way he doubtless had the other poor girl.
“Such males will try anything they think they can get away with.” James’s face was dark with what appeared to be anger and disgust—though he wasn’t supposed to have any emotions. “I don’t want him anywhere near you,” he went on, frowning at Rissa.
“I can hardly help being near him if I have to dance with him,” she pointed out. “And anyway, he can’t try anything on the dance floor.”
“He was holding you much too tightly and making you uncomfortable,” James pointed out. “What makes you think he won’t try something worse if you dance with him again?”
“Because we’re in public!” Rissa exclaimed, nodding around the room. “Just look at this—the entire Court is nothing but a rumor mill. He cannot do anything to me with so many people watching.” She sighed as she spotted the approaching figure of the Duke. “Speaking of which, here he comes again. I suppose he thinks I have had enough time to cool down and now chooses to demand I dance with him again.”
“The Seven Hells he will.” The look on the big Kindred’s face was positively dangerous. He rose to his full height and took Rissa by the hand. Pulling her close to his side, he put an arm around her shoulders possessively and glared at the approaching Duke.
For a moment, she wished she could melt into his side and press her face to his broad, muscular chest, but that was absolutely impossible.
“Sir James, no!” she exclaimed, shrugging off his arm and taking a step away to put a proper distance between them. “You must not touch me so—it is most improper.”
He frowned.
“I’m trying to protect you—to show the Duke that you’re m…” He trailed off for a moment, frowning. “That you’re not free to dance,” he finished at last.
Rissa wondered what he had been going to say, but at that moment, Duke Grabbington arrived. He made another sweeping bow and said, with a smirk on his moist red lips,
“My dear Princess, you appear much refreshed—no longer overheated at all. I trust I may engage you for the next dance or three?”
Rissa’s heart sank but she opened her mouth to agree politely—after all, what else could she do? But before she could speak, James said,
“I think not. The Princess will be dancing with me for the next dance.”
“What?” Rissa stared up at him but he was already sweeping her onto the dance floor. “I thought you said you cannot dance!” she protested as he moved her into position and the music began.
“I couldn’t before the ball,” he said shortly. “But while watching you earlier, I analyzed the dance patterns. They’re not difficult to copy.”
Indeed, he was doing an excellent job, moving her expertly around the floor, not missing a step. He was remarkably light on his feet for such a large man, she thought.
Rissa danced automatically herself—she had been taking lessons from the age of two and could have done any of the popular dances in her sleep. But she couldn’t believe that the big Kindred had learned so quickly, just from watching!
“Is it because you’re a robot that you can learn just by watching?” she asked, as he twirled her and then brought her in close to his broad chest.
“The implants and enhancements in my brain certainly play a part in my rapid acquisition of knowledge,” he agreed equably. He frowned down at her. “But…am I breaking a social custom, as I did when I drew you close to my side? Should I not be dancing with you?”
“Well…It’s not usual for a girl’s chaperone and Constant Companion to dance with her,” Rissa said hesitantly. “But then again, most chaperones are older ladies like Lady Mildew—not, er, robots. Or cyborgs, excuse me. And I do not believe there is any social law actually forbidding me to dance with my Companion.”
“Good,” James said shortly. “Because I intend to dance with you the rest of the ball. That will keep the Duke away from you.”
“Oh, you cannot do that!” Rissa exclaimed. “It would be most improper for you to monopolize me in that way all evening.”
He frowned.
“Fine. Then I will be sure to end this dance across the ballroom from wherever the Duke is and you can take another partner there. One who will not attempt to molest you,” he added, frowning like a thundercloud. “When you are finished with that dance, I will dance with you again and make certain you end up away from the Duke long enough to choose another non-threatening partner.”
“But I don’t choose my partners—the man must ask the lady to dance,” Rissa objected.
“Then if no one asks you, I will dance with you whether it is proper or not,” he said, frowning. “But under no circumstances will you dance with the Duke again!”
He seemed so certain that Rissa hardly dared to contradict him. And besides, she really didn’t like the idea of dancing anymore dances with Lord Grabbington anyway. James’s plan seemed like a good one. If it worked, she would dance every other dance with her new bodyguard and all the other dances would be with inoffensive partners, keeping her far from the sticky fingers of the Duke.
“Very well,” she said. “We shall do as you say—though I am afraid it may cause some talk among the Court.”
“I don’t care what people say as long as you’re safe, Princess,” James said, frowning.
It was the second time he’d said such a thing and Rissa couldn’t help thinking how very refreshing it was to hear such sentiments from her new Constant Companion. All her life she’d been in the public eye, groomed to appear the perfect Princess in every way.
Even when she got overheated, ill, or mentally stressed, she was still expected to keep on dancing, keep smiling, keep on keeping up appearances. How many times had Lady Mildew harangued her into “doing her Royal Duty,” even when she felt bad?
But now James was saying the exact opposite—that she must put her own health and well-being before the all-important appearance of propriety.
He is saying that I as a person am more important than my Royal image, Rissa thought. The idea was both novel and refreshing and she liked her new bodyguard for expressing it.
In fact, she liked him for more than his unique ideas, she had to admit. The big Kindred was so strong and tall and when he held her close to dance, she smelled his cologne—a clean, icy scent that reminded her of winter winds whipping through tall, craggy mountains.
His scent was very different from the thick, oily fragrances used by most of the Court. The men’s scents, especially, could be peppery and musky and overpowering—they often made Rissa sneeze. And of course, the big Kindred’s cologne was infinitely preferable to Duke Grabbington’s miasma of alcohol and smoke.
Before her thoughts could carry her too far, though, Rissa realized that she was being ridiculous. The big Kindred might be tall and handsome, but he was still just a robot—or rather, a cyborg, as he had called himself. He had said several times that he had no emotions—that was the very reason he had been chosen as her chaperone and Constant Companion.
I must not let any foolish thoughts come into my head about him, she lectured herself sternly, as he spun her effortlessly around the dance floor. He is my only my guard and it is just for a little while, until I find a husband and ascend to the throne.
So she told herself as they put James’s plan into action. She danced every other dance with an inoffensive partner and every other dance with James, who always contrived to set her down somewhere away from the Duke, so that another man had the chance to lead her to the dance floor before Grabbington could get anywhere near her.
Once or twice, Rissa caught a glimpse of his face in the crowd—it grew redder and angrier as the night wore on. His dark scowl made her uneasy and she wondered if maybe she ought to dance at least once more with him before the ball was over. But somehow, she never seemed to get around to it and before she knew it, the ball was over and everyone was saying their goodnights and filing out of the Grand Ballroom.
“Well, I suppose that’s done,” Rissa remarked. She had to admit that besides her one dance with the Duke, this had been the most enjoyable ball she could remember. And that was certainly because of her new Companion, who had proved to be such an excellent dancer.
“Is it?” James was still watching alertly as people filed out. “Come, Princess—I don’t want you out in the open during this confusion,” he added, before she could answer.
And taking her by the arm, he led her out of the ballroom—or attempted to, anyway. For just as they reached the archway that led toward the wing of the palace that housed the Royal apartments, Lady Mildew was suddenly blocking their path.
