Reginald’s sharp gaze caught it, his stern eyebrow lifting. Stepping close with his free arm tucked behind his back as he raised Layla’s hand, he spoke low. “Your dress is fine, there are no stains from your episode in the foyer. Walk elegantly, head high. I will lead.”
“You saw that earlier?” Layla felt mortified, her cheeks flushing as Reginald led her around the high table and proceeded along the edge of the ballroom towards the dance floor.
“Everyonesaw that earlier.” He murmured softly. “It does not change their opinion of you. Those who are new to the Hotel often have interesting reactions to what they find when they arrive. In any case, our Head Concierge was severely out-of-line to test you in public that way, and will receive a stern reprimand behind closed doors, you can be assured of it.”
“Do I have to work under him?” It was more a musing than an actual request, but Reginald glanced over, something complex in his ice-pale eyes.
“Dusk is your best option for training here. And since I cannot be at your beck and call whenever your new magics riot, he will have to do. Until then, you have an impression to make, and we will make the best of it. Can you dance?”
“I took ballroom lessons before a friend’s wedding once,” Layla spoke back, wondering why he was suddenly being so nice to her.
“That will do.” A small smile flickered across the Head Courtier’s lips. “Follow my movements and try to relax. I am not here to harm you, only to help you make a worthy impression on our fine establishment. Come.”
Letting herself be escorted to the dance floor, Layla came to face Reginald. Gazing into his husky-blue eyes, she saw they were softer than before, something like amusement there rather than disdain or arrogance now. With a deft touch, he settled a hand to Layla’s waist and then they were moving, spinning with effortless grace. Time stopped for Layla. She didn’t even hear the music anymore. The sound of the ocean rushed in her ears as Reginald spun her, as he stepped close, as he caught her around the waist and dipped her – brushing his lips past her collarbones as he pulled her up with strong hands at her back.
As they danced, there was nothing in the world but Reginald’s eyes, endless like the sunrise over an iceberg ocean. And as they moved together, Layla finally saw him for what he was: exquisite. Strong and lean, the Head Courtier’s shoulders were broad, his movements effortless. His cheekbones were impeccable beneath the white powder, his jaw strong and masculine. His out-of-date attire was a costume, she realized suddenly, to hide from plain view that which was absolutely stunning beneath. As he moved her, Layla saw he was handsome, right to the quick – except by some trick of his costuming one didn’t notice it until one was up close and personal.
In his arms, Layla felt every bit the honored feminine – treasured, adored, lusted after. It was a distinctly different sensation than she’d felt with Adrian, who made her heat with passion, and Dusk, whom she just wanted to fight-fuck. In Reginald’s arms, Layla felt a tremendous peace, giving herself over to the movement of the dance and the strength of his lead. Like a vast ocean, he moved her, and like a tiny ship on that ocean, Layla was moved.
She found herself suddenly wondering what color Reginald’s real hair was under the curled white wig. What his strong features would look like without the face-powder and cupid’s-bow rouge on his lips. What lean muscles she might find beneath his silk waistcoat and lace cravat if she could strip off his clothing and touch his bare skin. When the music ceased, Layla found herself clasped close to him, mesmerized as she stared up at those incredible pale eyes while they gazed down upon her – with something like pleasure in them now.
Stepping back, Reginald flourished a bow over her hand. Layla had no more time to wonder about him as he led her off the dance floor, depositing her squarely on Rikyava’s arm. With another low bow, his face closing from pleasure to sternness once more, the Head Courtier moved away and bowed before the Madame – who beamed with delight to set her chalice down and accept the next dance.
“You made quite the impression just now, dancing with Reginald.” Rikyava’s brisk voice cut through Layla’s trance as she watched the Head Courtier go. “He doesn’t dance with just anyone, you know. To receive a dance from him at a ball is a high honor. And to receive thefirstdance… that’s usually only reserved for the Madame or the Head Courtesan.”
“What?” Blinking, Layla looked back to Rikyava. The Guardswoman was staring her down, something extremely thoughtful in her gaze as she watched Layla. Layla had to twist her neck and shake her head a bit to dispel the last of the ocean’s susurration from her ears. And still, she felt like she was on a craft at sea – still moving with the ebb and flow of Reginald’s tides.
“Look around. I said you just made an impression.” Rikyava repeated, frowning at Layla.
Trying to get her head back on straight, Layla looked around, noting that a number of men and women were staring at her with subtle smiles, thoughtful frowns, and distinct envy. Whispers seemed to move all around Layla, even though the orchestra was playing the next waltz. Suddenly, the whole evening felt like too much. Feeling like a piece of meat at auction, Layla turned to Rikyava. “Can we get out of here? Maybe go get a drink in the foyer? I could use a little something besidessilethwine.”
“Absolutely.” Rikyava gave her a grin and led Layla away, proud and formidable with one hand on her rapier as she passed through the throng. Soon out of the grand ballroom and down the staircase, Layla breathed in relief to see the copper bar in the foyer held only a handful people milling and chatting. Selecting a barstool next to the greenery, Layla sighed as she slid up, feeling more in her element out here where it was quiet. Rikyava slid up to the barstool next to her, and soon a dashing bartender with short blond hair and calm green eyes came over, instantly serving Rikyava a water with a twist of lemon. She took it with a smile and sipped as the bartender turned to Layla.
“What’ll it be, Ms—?”
“Price.” Layla smiled. “Layla Price. I’m new. In case you missed all the antics inside.”
“I did. No rest for the wicked.” The cute, tall bartender gave a pleasant smile, serving her a glass of water with a twist of lemon like Rikyava’s. “Welcome to the staff, Ms. Price.”
“Thanks.”
“Layla Price, meet Rake André.” Rikyava lifted her glass at the bartender with a friendly smile. “His title is Head Bartender, but really he’s just high-class.”
“Enchanté.” Rake took up Layla’s hand, brushing it with a not-quite kiss. She noticed that he didn’t let his lips touch her skin, only the blond stubble on his chin brushed her fingers. He let her go gently, smiling at her with a calm, humorous gaze like a tall, green-eyed Buddha. “I hear you’ve been creating quite a stir at your party so far. Alas, I only caught the pre-show.”
Layla’s cheeks colored at being reminded yet again of what had happened earlier with Dusk. But the cute Head Bartender just beamed at her genially, flipping a clean bar-towel to the shoulder of his grey pinstriped vest, all the while exuding a pleasant aura. “Forgive me.” He spoke suddenly, his demeanor still gentle and pleasant. “You’re embarrassed. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Layla blinked, suddenly realizing that he must be a kind of empath, though her embarrassment was probably obvious. She shook her head quickly, putting her best game face on. “No, it’s fine. I suppose the pre-show caught a lot of attention.”
“Dusk’s antics are hard to miss,” Rikyava growled sourly into her lemon-water.
“Indeed.” The cute Head Bartender and Rikyava shared a meaningful look. Rikyava saluted Rake with her glass, then slid it out to be refilled. He poured from a copper pitcher, then looked at Layla again with his kind green eyes and asked, “so do you know what you’d like?”
“Can you assassinate me?” Layla joked, gesturing to the eyes subtly watching her from groups that had settled into the chaises. “I don’t think I’ll ever live this night down.”
“You will.” Rake chuckled, then leaned over the bar on his elbows, lifting one blond eyebrow over his calm green eyes – which sparkled with subtle humor now. “But in the meantime, I can make you a drink that’ll make youfeelassassinated. You want?”
“Sweet or savory?”
