Jane Feather - The Diamond Slipper

She opened the armoire and stroked his clothes, taking secret guilty pleasure in the feel of the garments that had touched his skin. She rested her cheek against a velvet coat that she remembered him wearing at Compiegne.

"Cordelia, what in the devil's name are you doing here?"

She jumped, spun round. Leo stood in the door.

"What's happened?" He kicked the door shut behind him and came toward her.

"Nothing." She ran to him, flinging her arms around his waist. "Nothing's happened, but I had to find out if it was real. Did it really happen? Do you really love me, Leo?" She looked up at him, her head tilted against his breast. "Tell me I didn't dream it all."

"You didn't dream it all," he said wryly. "But you shouldn't be here, Cordelia."

"No one saw me." She released his waist and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "Prove that it wasn't a dream, love."

The passion in the sapphire depths of her eyes was purely erotic, and Leo felt his bearings slip. She came into his embrace with a little sigh, her face lifting for his kiss, her eyes wide open, her lips parted eagerly, a soft flush on her cheeks.

He took her mouth with his, felt her lean into him, yielding every muscle and fiber to his hold so that if he dropped his arms from around her, she would sink to the floor.

He bore her backward to the bed. She fell in a tangle of skirts, her arms around him, pulling him down with her. She wouldn't release his mouth, her hands clasping his head as she drank greedily of his mouth as if it were a goblet full of the sweetest hippocras.

He grabbed her wrists behind his neck and broke her grip as he pushed himself up onto his knees. She lay beneath him, her skirts lifted in a tent on the wide hoop. She gazed up at him, her tongue moistening her lips, her eyes wild with excitement, her cheeks pink. He threw her skirts up to her waist, baring her long creamy thighs encircled by lace-edged garters, the thick curly bush at the base of the smooth white plane of her belly, the sharp pointed hipbones, the tight whorl of her navel.

He feasted his eyes on the sight as she lay ready and waiting, her hips shifting eagerly, her thighs parting to reveal the faint dew of arousal on their satiny inner slopes.

Her fingers were busy on his britches, unbuttoning him, as he knelt above her, her breath coming swift and hot from her parted lips. His hard flesh sprang forth. She enclosed him in her fist, holding him, feeling the blood pulsing in the thick corded veins. Her thumb brushed over the tip of the shaft where the moist drops of his own arousal gathered. She smiled up at him, raised her hips, and guided him inside her. It was as if she had always known how to do this.

The current of joy at their joining leaped through them, so explosive they both cried out. Leo held himself above her, his weight on his flat palms; his mouth came down on hers, stifling their cries. He moved slowly within her, trying to prolong the moment yet knowing it was hopeless. There was too much spontaneous excitement in this coupling and no way he could control his own arousal let alone Cordelia's rippling convulsions of pleasure.

"No… no," she whispered urgently against his mouth, sensing that he was going to leave her. "Stay with me."

He wanted to stay forever in the heavenly chamber of her body. He wanted to feel her joy against his flesh as his own burst from him. But caution, prevailed. He kissed her again, holding himself on the edge of her body as the wave broke over her, then he withdrew from her just as his own climax ripped through him. He fell heavily upon her, tossed and tumbled in the sea of sensation, his heart beating wildly against his ribs so that Cordelia could feel its pounding against her bosom as if his heart was trying to break through flesh to join with hers.

She stroked his hair, her eyes closed on a warm red darkness. She was at peace, as if she had come home. Her body's pressing hunger had been for the moment assuaged, and the love she felt for this man had found expression. And she knew with the deepest joy that his for her had been contained in the loving of his body.

Slowly, Leo raised his head, pushed himself back onto his knees, and looked down at her.

She smiled impishly. "I think I'm learning this business very quickly, don't you?" She raised her arms above her head and a ray of sunshine caught the serpent bracelet encircling her wrist. The diamond slipper glittered against her white skin.

He took her wrist, turning it over as he examined the bracelet. The serpent who tempted Eve. Eve who tempted Adam.

But Leo had bitten the apple with full knowledge of its consequences, and now this woman was in his heart. He would love her and he would protect her.

"What are you thinking? You look very stern." Almost shyly, she touched his mouth.

He smiled. "I was thinking of the burdens of love," he said lightly. "Come, get up and tidy yourself. You must leave — quickly."

Cordelia swung herself off the bed, straightening her skirts. She tidied her disordered hair in the mirror. Her skin was translucent, her lips reddened, her eyes glowing. "I do look wanton," she said in some awe.

Leo came up behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes in the mirror. "You must not take risks, Cordelia. Do you understand me?"

"I won't take unnecessary risks," she promised. "Did you find somewhere safe for Mathilde?"

"She's with Christian at his lodgings in the town," he said shortly. "I will contrive a meeting for you later."

"You're cross again," Cordelia accused, turning from the mirror. "I hate it when you're vexed with me."

"Then do as I tell you," he said as curtly as before. "You are a very frustrating child."

"No child," she said with another impish chuckle. "Children don't know what I know." She reached up to kiss him again. "Children can't do what I can do." She whirled to the door, blew him another kiss over her shoulder, and vanished, leaving him shaking his head at empty space.

Michael was waiting for her when she returned to their apartments. "Just where have you been?" His face was dark and she felt the barely controlled threat behind his words. It was not difficult to heed Leo's warning. However much she was prepared to defy Michael, she couldn't bear him to strike her again.

She curtsied politely. "I was summoned to the dauphine, my lord. As I told you."

"You left the royal apartments over an hour ago," he stated, coming toward her. "I sent a footman to inquire and to escort you back here. He was told you had already left."

It seemed she was always to be under observation. "After I left Her Highness, I went for a walk in the gardens, sir. There was no time to view them yesterday."

Michael didn't know whether to believe her or not. She was looking a little disheveled, her hair looser than it should be, the ruffles on her sleeves turned back. "You are untidy, madame. It does not suit my pride for my wife to be seen abroad looking as if she had slept in her clothes."

It was such a wonderfully apt comparison in the circumstances that Cordelia wanted to laugh despite herself. However, this situation did not warrant amusement. "The wind was brisk, sir. And when I realized that I had been out over-long, I hurried back. I imagine that's why I'm somewhat disordered."

Despite her politeness, her formal curtsies, Michael was not convinced that he had finally subdued her. There was something beneath the surface of those brilliant blue eyes that disturbed him.

Elvira had taught him to be alert to all the tricks and wiles of a beautiful woman. To know that when they plotted deceit, they were at their most innocent.

"If you would excuse me, sir, I'll go my bedchamber to tidy myself." She executed another perfect curtsy.

Michael regarded her coldly. She looked up and met his gaze with a stare as unflinching and penetrating as his, and he knew he'd been right. She was far from subdued.

"Go. We leave for the opera in half an hour." He turned away with a contemptuous gesture of dismissal. Cordelia went into her own bedchamber to summon the hapless Elsie.

When she returned to the salon, Prince Michael was at the secretaire, writing. Cordelia paused in the doorway. She didn't think he was yet aware of her. She watched, almost holding her breath. Was he writing in his journal again?

Suddenly, he turned, his expression as dark as before. "Why are you creeping around?"

"I wasn't. I just entered the room. I didn't wish to disturb you."

He turned back to sand the sheet and closed the book with a snap. Cordelia took a step closer. It was a ledger. "Do you keep track of the household accounts, sir?" She was so surprised that the question popped out before she gave it due thought.

"When I feel the need," he said, and she could see that he was coldly furious, but for once not with her. "When I sense some discrepancy in my wine shipper's bill. When the wine I drink doesn't match with the wine I've bought." He snatched up the ledger, locked it in the drawer of the secretaire, and strode across to his dressing room. The door banged shut behind him.

Was Monsieur Brion robbing his master? All servants did it as a matter of course. A few bottles here and there would go unnoticed in most aristocratic households. But surely Brion wouldn't have been stupid enough to leave traces for the prince? Perhaps Michael just suspected it. If so, he'd look for proof.

Michael returned, his expression as cold and remote as before. He offered her his arm and they left the apartments to join the throng hurrying to the opera house in order to be at their places before the royal party arrived.

In every bay in the colonnaded opera house hung a half chandelier against the surface of a mirrored backdrop so that the reflection offered a complete illuminated piece. The auditorium was ablaze with light from fourteen massive crystal chandeliers suspended on blue rope to match the cold cobalt blue of the theater hangings. Cordelia was accustomed to magnificence, but she had no words to describe this scene. The courtiers of both sexes seemed to scintillate as their jeweled garments and rich adornments caught the light. The buzz of voices rose to the exquisitely painted ceiling, drowning out the strings from the orchestra pit as the members of the orchestra tuned their instruments.

The prince was responding to greetings as they made slow progress to their own box. Cordelia curtsied, murmured her own salutations, her eyes missing nothing.

Their companions in the box were already seated, but the two front seats had been left for the prince and princess. She sat on the low cushioned stool specially designed to accommodate her wide hoop, arranged her skirts, opened her fan, and looked around. Michael was in conversation with their companions, so for the moment she was unobserved.

She saw Christian strolling through the pit, and her heart jumped. She leaned over the velvet-padded rail of the box, fanning herself indolently, the painted chicken skin of the fan facing her husband so that he couldn't see her face. Christian looked up and she signaled frantically with her eyes. His own lit up and he began to push his way toward her box. Just in time he remembered and stopped in his tracks. His eyes, filled with frustrated rage, moved to her husband. Cordelia realized with a start that her gentle-tempered, pessimistically fatalistic friend was ready to do murder. Presumably he knew the full truth if he now shared a roof with Mathilde.

Embarrassment flooded her. How could she bear that people should know of her nightly humiliations? She who had always been so unfailingly optimistic, so self-confident, so much the stronger partner in her friendships. But Christian was not people, she reminded herself. Toinette was not people. They were her friends and there was nothing shameful about depending on friendship for comfort and support. She didn't always have to be the strong one; she could show weakness too.

She mouthed a message to Christian and he nodded with a quick ducking movement of his head. Then he turned and pushed back into the pit.

Leo Beaumont stepped into a box opposite. He turned and said something to a lady in a crimson turban, sporting peacock feathers with diamonds and turquoises for the eyes. She laughed and Cordelia could hear her high-pitched whinny as she tapped the viscount's wrist with her fan. Leo merely smiled and settled into his seat. Punctiliously, he bowed toward Michael's box. Michael returned the salute; Cordelia bobbed her head. She could feel Leo's tension on every current of air that crossed the space between them.