'No!' he said again, his tone sharp. 'Leave it at that.'
'But-'
'Love isn't something to be timed. If it's worth having at all then, while it lasts, time has no meaning. And I'm too old to play childish games.'
'And too young to need such stimulation.' She smiled and reached for the controls. 'Let me show you the Pearls of Toria.'
They stretched across the plain round lakes of limpid brightness, a cluster which formed a giant necklace of pendants and ropes edged with a soft vegetation and gentle banks. The result of an ancient meteor strike which had created a host of isolated aquatic worlds.
Landing, Wynne jumped from the raft and ran to the edge of a pool shot with streaks of varied color. Stripping, she stood naked, slim, lithe, a column of nacreous whiteness, then dived into the pool to leave a widening circle of ripples.
Before they reached the shore Dumarest had joined her.
The water was cool, refreshing, the luminous trails made by darting fish disturbing drifting organisms. Tiny motes which blazed with light to the impact of larger bodies. Like an eel the woman twisted, swam, glided through the water to touch him, to dart away, to return with extended hands. A game in which he joined feeling the smooth sleekness of her, the muscle beneath the skin, the hard, tautness of her body.
One which lay beside him when, exhausted, they had climbed on the bank to sprawl on the sweet scented grass.
'Earl!'
He turned to look at her, seeing the silver sheen of her hair, the direct stare of her eyes, the message they held. One repeated by her body as she moved, small breasts signaling her femininity, narrow hips and waist belying it, the slender column of her thighs parting to leave no doubt as to her sex and her need.
'Earl! Earl, for God's sake!'
Then she was on him, straddling him, engulfing him, lips seeking his, closing on them, teeth nibbling as her nails raked his flesh. Moving with a fevered determination to drain him and, her own need satisfied, to slump against him.
'A man,' she murmured. 'My God, but you're a man!'
She caressed him until again time ceased to have meaning and she lay against him warm and sleek, the silver crop of her hair against his shoulder, the nails of her fingers scratching like kitten claws over his torso.
'Happy, Earl?'
'You've made me so.'
'That's nice.' She snuggled closer to him then, turning over, looked at the stars. 'I hate them, Earl. All those bright points. Those suns with all those worlds. Every time I look at them I'm reminded of the fact I'm a failure. Scared to move away from the familiar into the strange. Living a more and more constricted life… At least Angado had guts. He took a chance and-' She turned her head to look at Dumarest. 'No,' she said. 'He didn't take much of a chance. Paid to stay away-for him it was just a holiday. But he came back and he brought you with him. For that I thank him if for nothing else.'
'I thank him too.'
'For me?'
'Yes, Wynne.' Dumarest made the name sound like music. 'For you.'
'Darling!'
In the pool a fish jumped in mating frenzy, the trail of its passage a golden streak of flame.
Chapter Thirteen
The party was dying and Angado was bored. A condition he shared with others but while their ennui was a cultivated pose or the genuine result of too few things done too often his was the product of comparison. Spall prating about the hardships of poverty-after experiencing Lowtown his complaints were both trivial and ridiculous. Plaskit and his talk of personal combat-a man who would never dare risk his skin against an armed opponent. Or even an unarmed one; his talk was based on long-distance viewing and the safe slaughter of helpless game. Crixus who spoiled the air with words appertaining to the idealistic existence to be found when living close to nature in the wild. Deakin Epstein, Spencer-all fools unconscious of their folly; posturing, gesticulating, making sly allusions, asking pointed questions.
The women were as bad, each in their own way acting a part, jealous, spiteful, vicious even as they made overt invitations. Angado remembered Dumarest's advice about those who could smile and murder as they smiled. The majority, no, they lacked the elemental courage. Some, perhaps, driven by whim or the pursuit of novelty. Only a few fitted the bill and of them all Perotto was the most ruthless.
'See how our young friend fits so easily back into his niche, Juan? Almost it seems as if he has never left us.'
At his side Juan Larsen, sycophant, aide, a living echo of his master, nodded and smiled with thin lips. His tone was as acid as his words.
'Men are like the birds, Luigi. Some find the strength to leave the nest of their own volition. Others have to be helped. Some need to come crawling back to the only haven they can find. A pity. The Seventh Lord of the Karroum would, I thought, have had more pride.'
Angado shrugged, remembering the part he was playing, the pose he needed to maintain.
'Pride and hunger make poor bedfellows, Juan. Blame my return on the accountant who forgot to continue my agreed allowance.'
'He will have cause to regret it for years to come.' Perotto turned to his friend. 'You were a little hard, Juan. Angado has not had an easy time. In fact he was lucky to survive at all. A fascinating story, you must hear it soon, but one now we can put behind us. In any case it would be enhanced by the presence of his friend. One who still has not arrived, I see.'
'Earl will be here soon. I sent Wynne to bring him.'
'Wynne?' Perotto raised his eyebrows. 'Wynne-ah, I see. A fine woman and she would have made you a good consort. A good wife too, once she had proven her ability to continue the Karroum line. Maybe that was your trouble, Angado. A man should not live alone. A woman at your side would have eased both body and mind.'
'Or driven him insane.' Larsen was blunt. 'Not all men share your taste, Luigi.'
'True, but who is to condemn? One likes cake another bread and who is to say which is right? But the head of a House has obligations and-well, never mind that now. Wynne, you say?'
'Yes, Wynne Tewson.' As always Perotto made him feel small, inferior, and Angado fought to maintain his calmness. A battle partly lost as he snapped, 'You know damned well who she is.'
'Who and what,' said Perotto. 'It is obvious why your friend is so late in joining us. You made a bad choice of messenger, Angado. You should have sent another to pick up your friend. By now they are probably over the Steaming Hills or sporting in the Pearls of Toria. Not that it matters. We must be tolerant of such things. To be otherwise is to act the barbarian.' Smiling he added, 'And to be jealous is to act the fool. Don't give your friends the pleasure of seeing your discomfiture.'
'You are mistaken.'
'Of course. I often am.' Perotto turned and signaled to a servant bearing a tray laden with goblets. The wine was smooth, subtle in its hidden potency, but Angado gulped it as if it had been water. Watching him Perotto said, 'I think it time for our surprise, Juan. Will you fetch the box?'
As Larsen turned and walked away Angado said, 'Box?'
'Merely a container for something rare and rather strange. The product of a new confectioner who has set up business on Schenker. A trader brought me a sample and you may find his wares amusing.' Perotto took the box Larsen had fetched. 'That will be all, Juan.'
Angado reached for more wine as Perotto lifted the container. One made of finely carved wood inset with a tracery of metal and stone, gold and silver merging with emerald, ruby, amethyst, sapphire, amber, the clear sparkle of diamond, the somber hue of opal. The lid opened beneath his touch to reveal a compartmented tray filled with small mounds of rich darkness decorated with a dusting of minute pellets of a thousand hues.
'Chocolate.' Angado was disappointed. The wine had made his head spin a little; boredom had sent him to the
