reservations crop up as Gregori’s death came back to her, as the night of dancing in Aria Magli turned cool in her blood. Those were not real things, she told herself, coincidence and drink, nothing more. But they framed her response in ice, making the provincial of her: “In Lanyarch, my lord Asselin, bewitchment isn’t a word used lightly.”
Oh, yes: the noblewoman whose skin she wore would make a fine player in Lutetian politics, one part warm and approachable and one part Lanyarchan provenance. Half the court would think she could be used and the other half would want to use her. Asselin rolled his eyes at that country rudeness, but James again made a small gesture, lifting his fingers from the table fractionally. It stayed Asselin as effectively as it had Marius, and the stocky lord let out an explosive, apologetic breath.
“Forgive me, Lady Irvine. I spoke lightly. I confess to knowing very little of your homeland. Perhaps a discourse on the topic would lend itself to my greater understanding of Marius’s sudden”-he glanced at Marius, whose expression was guarded and warning, then at James, who held one eyebrow in a faint arch-“infatuation,” Asselin finished with all due diplomacy. “Perhaps I’ll even find myself moved to visit there myself, and find as fine a wife as Marius seems to have done.”
“Surely you speak too hastily, my lord,” Belinda said with a faint smile. “I’m a widow as of yet, and not a wife again.”
“He does speak hastily,” Marius growled. “Leave off, Sacha. Jealousy ill becomes you.”
“Oh, come, Marius, you wouldn’t have brought her here if y-”
“Sacha.” James interrupted, the name as mild as his question to Liz had been. Asselin held another irritated breath and let it go with an outward splay of his thick fingers. There was more argument in him than Belinda had expected, more wit and therefore more reason to be cautious.
“If I did not think the lady might enjoy the finest company Lutetia has to offer…” Marius said blandly. “Although if this is the best I can do, perhaps I should consider moving. They’re not usually this dreadful, lady, I promise you that.”
“No.” Belinda smiled, watching Eliza’s eyes darken with resentment. “But I’ve unbalanced your equilibrium, haven’t I? I’m sure you’ve all known each other-since childhood?”
Three of the four looked accusingly at the fourth; Marius lifted his hands in a supplication of innocence. “I’ve told her nothing, lords and ladies. Can I help it if she’s of a quicker wit than the rest of us combined?”
“Speak for yourself.” Eliza looked Belinda over as if she were a side of meat gone bad. Belinda’s eyebrows rose very slightly, wondering at the distaste behind the other woman’s attitude.
“Is it only that I’ve disrupted the power balance?” she asked Eliza, forthright curiosity overcoming subtlety. “It must be appealing, having three handsome men ready to jump to your service. But is another woman really so challenging?” She smiled, knowing she was very likely setting the scales against herself, but Eliza’s enmity was worth the blank anger that slid through the stunning woman’s eyes. “Do you doubt your position here that much, mademoiselle?” She was aware of the fascinated, noisy silence of the three men, and knew Eliza must be equally aware. There was one more step she could take, a final taunt she could press, but she waited instead, watching nuances of expression flick across Eliza’s face.
Eliza finally gave the only answer she could, moments before silence stretched out unbearably. “Of course not.” She inhaled, about to make further excuse, then turned her head away and snapped her fingers, gesturing for wine. The soft sound broke tension in the booth and laughter replaced challenge. Sacha pressed her about Lanyarch, and Belinda answered, more than half a mind given to her part. The four she sat with had been friends long enough that they were given to answering questions put to another; long enough that they finished sentences together, often using precisely the same words. Eliza’s vowels never slipped from the upper-class accent; it was the only detail that left Belinda uncertain. The woman’s dress was outrageous, her hair unbelievable-many women wore their hair that short, but only so extravagantly coifed wigs could be more comfortably worn over it. Belinda had never seen a woman dare public scrutiny with her hair shorn. That she did laid to rest a lingering question Belinda had; only a woman who had a protector of great power would buck convention and wear her hair in such an astonishing style. Even so, there would be a story behind it.
Belinda nearly laughed at her own interest. It could wait, though. It would wait, while she bared herself to the four friends, pouring out a life’s history for Beatrice Irvine. It was she who must be accepted; even for a union she never meant to consummate with Marius, the muster she had to pass was not the approval of his mother or father, but of these three, a family he had made for himself. This trio represented the reason she had selected Marius as her target, though to have been introduced to them so quickly was beyond her expectation. Once she’d passed the barrier they created she could feed her own curiosity, perhaps most particularly regarding Asselin and the life he led, as duplicitous as her own.
“No,” she said for the second time, to Sacha, letting exasperation and amusement fill her voice. “We do not still paint ourselves orange and blue and go into battle naked. Lanyarchan nights are too cold for such things.”
“I’m crushed,” Sacha replied. “I’ve always hoped we might pick a war with Aulun so we could see the northern savages in their full and painted glory.”
Belinda leaned in, dropping her voice to confidentiality. Sacha, an easy mark, shifted to hear her better. To her delight, the other three, Eliza with a degree of reluctance that was overcome by interest, leaned in as well, leaving them all clearly within hearing distance as Belinda infused her voice with both gentleness and mockery. “I assure you, the women of Lanyarch have long since been too sensible to join such war parties. I can only gather, then, that you have an abiding desire to see the full glory of a naked man. I cannot promise the wonder that’s a Lanyarch man, but if you are truly desperate for the sight of armies of naked men, I suggest you visit the baths, my lord Asselin.”
Asselin spluttered. James threw his head back and laughed, pure as bells. Belinda sat back, smugness playing around her mouth. Beside her, Marius puffed with pride and delight, his own cackles of amusement a deeper counterpoint to James’s laughter. Even Eliza’s mouth curved with disapproving humour as she poured Asselin another glass of wine.
“You lost that one, Sacha.” The final score was voiced by James, who shook his head, grinning, and gestured at Eliza. “All around, sister dearest, and let’s have a drink to Marius’s good taste in women.”
The request slowed Eliza, her gaze darting to Belinda before she shrugged, an expression built more with the faint twist of her mouth and a flare of her nostrils than with a lift of her shoulders. Belinda saw it; the men did not. In response, in gratitude and in acknowledgment, Belinda lowered her head and eyes very briefly. Another degree of tension faded away, given voice by the full measure of wine Eliza poured into Belinda’s glass. Belinda curled her fingers around the stem, thanks offered in the lifting of the glass and the glance through her eyelashes. Submission, not challenge: Belinda had no desire to oust Eliza from her family of friends. To do so would offer far too much disruption, and Belinda’s purpose was to infiltrate, not destroy.
“To young love and new friends,” James suggested. The toast was echoed around the table, music of crystal tapping against itself cutting through the warm thick air for a few seconds and lingering as the five drank.
“We make a habit,” James said when the toast was drunk, “of meeting here on Monday nights. I think I speak for all of us when I say you would be welcome to come again, Lady Irvine. And not only because we fear we might never see our Marius again if we failed to extend the invitation.” He grinned and lifted his glass to Marius, who returned both expression and gesture before they drank.
Satisfaction broke through Belinda’s breathing, making her feel as though she had been taking shallow, careful breaths all evening. It loosened a band of risk from around her heart and she inhaled deeply. “So I’ve passed,” she said, a little surprised to hear herself voice the words aloud. James and Sacha exchanged startled looks and laughter, while Marius stiffened with indignation and Eliza slumped with wry acceptance. Belinda found a smile in herself and bumped her elbow into Marius’s. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she murmured to him. “It was a test. You know it as well as I do.” To the others, she said, “A test that I’m both relieved and pleased to have passed. You’re a somewhat overwhelming lot.”
“You do a remarkable job of not seeming overwhelmed,” Asselin said drily. “So remarkable, in fact, that neither your wit nor your beauty appear to be in the slightest bit damaged by your quaking fear of us.”
“Beauty, my lord? Without meaning to seem trite, beauty is only diminished or granted in the eye of the beholder.” Belinda hesitated, glancing at Eliza. “At least in my case.” She let a trace of honest envy creep into the words, and Eliza’s eyes narrowed, although not in anger. “I think if you find me beautiful you have become too jaded by the presence of genuine beauty in your life. I know where I can and cannot hold a candle, my lord.” Belinda looked back at Asselin, then let herself smile, bright and quick. “I will grant you, though, that my wit is
