Duainfey by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee Page A

in your land." He straightened, though his warm amber gaze never left her face. "And to say that there is nothing you wish to tell—I think you are toying with me."
    "I—"
    "Hold!" He lifted his hand, the lace falling around his long fingers like sea foam. From the ballroom came the sound of music, barely heard above the din of conversation.
    "The music begins!" said Altimere, and extended his hand, imperiously. "Come, let us show the room what dancing is!"
    She took a breath, gathering herself to decline—and paused as Dickon turned to them.
    "Altimere—good to see you," he said, giving the tall Fey an easy nod. "Becca, I haven't seen you dance in an age. It would do me a world of good to see you on the floor."
    Shocked, her eyes flew to meet his. He smiled, and nodded. She felt her mouth tug into an answering smile.
    Still smiling, she looked up at Altimere, and put her hand in his.
    "Miss Beauvelley," he murmured, as they turned toward the ballroom. "You do me great honor."
     

Chapter Ten
    To dance with Altimere was to be aware of every sensation—the nap of velvet against one's palm, the flow of silk down her ruined arm, the firm grip of long fingers. To dance with Altimere was to be delighted by the interplay of muscle and flesh, taking fierce pleasure in every movement.
    "You dance with passion and with grace," he said into her ear, his voice warm and intimate. "Everyone who sees you must delight in your beauty, and yet you would have denied them. Have they angered you?"
    Becca laughed, and tipped her face up to his. "No one wishes to see a cripple dance, sir. Doubtless, when we are done, we will find that they are angry with me ."
    "Can this be so?" he murmured. "How strange is this land!"
    She laughed again. "Do you not, in your own country, put aside the imperfect in preference to those things which are . . . not ruined?"
    He paused as they described an abandoned and quite delightful loop across the crowded floor.
    "To be present when one invokes her kest, " Altimere said slowly, "that is a gift. I do not understand, perhaps, this word 'cripple.' "
    Becca looked up into his face. "But what is kest ?"
    Altimere smiled slightly. "I lapse twice in the space of a sentence. Kest  . . . perhaps in your tongue it would be power ."
    "Power?" She shook her head. "Perhaps another word—" she began, but the music ended just then, and they perforce came to a halt among the rest of the dancers.
    Her partner bowed. "Shall we, again?" he asked.
    She should, she knew, make her curtsy, seek out her affianced husband and content herself with sitting out the remainder of the evening in his company. She had, she reminded herself, begun this evening with the very salutary project of becoming friends with the man.
    Her body, though—she was aquiver, as if every thread of her being were—electrified, exhilarated, without the agony that had come from Sir Farraday's equipment.
    As she struggled with herself, the music began again. Altimere extended his long, white hand, his eyes smiling down on her—and she could not refuse him.
    She smiled and curtsied and held out her hand to his.
    "Yes," she said, putting her hand in his. "Let us, again."
     
    Sir Jennet was awaiting them at the edge of the floor when they finally left it, having danced every dance in the set. Her right hand was resting on Altimere's arm, and she was alive to every step, every breath of air and flutter of scent. Her nerves thrummed as if the players had plucked their music directly from her heart, and she was not in the least bit tired. Indeed, she could not recall a time when she had felt so energized, so alert, so—
    "Rebecca." Jennet held his arm out with an air of command, his red face stern.
    Altimere checked, head to one side as he considered the stout gentleman.
    "Miss Beauvelley," he murmured. "Who is this person?"
    "My fiance," she said softly. She inclined her head. "Sir Jennet, allow me to make you known to Altimere of the Elder Fey.