Page 108 of The Ragpicker King
But he was Conor now. And Conor would not go to her. Conor would watch, with a mix of interest and admiration, as she moved into the ballroom, her head held high.
Another woman might have dressed herself plainly, that she might not be remarked upon or stared at, but Antonetta had clothed herself in fire. Her dress was russet silk, the skirt slashed at every pleat so that as she moved, glimpses of her slim legs flashed through the material. Around her shoulders was a cape of gold and russet, and her mask was a clever-featured fox, with burnished orange and gold silk ears. Around her throat gleamed her heart-shaped locket.
Behind Anjelica’s back, Kel clenched his left hand into a fist. It was not what Conor would have done, but he could not help himself; he needed the pressure, the pain, to tear his gaze away from Antonetta.
He found Anjelica looking at him, her expression a mixture of sympathy and pity. He could read the thought behind her eyes:Oh, poor you. As bedazzled and mistaken as Laurent.
“I see,” she said.
“Anjelica—”
She drew away from him. “I’d better go while everyone is staring at Demoselle Alleyne,” she murmured, and he knew she was right. “Besides. I believe you have something else to attend to?”
He felt her pat his shoulder gently, and then she had slipped away into the crowd, her pearl pins gleaming amid her dark hair. He waited one heartbeat. A second. A third. And then he was striding across the room, the throng parting for him with murmurs he barely heard:Monseigneur, I did not see you there.
And then he was near her. Up close, he could see she was pale, though her lips were lacquered crimson, her cheeks stained with rouge. As she turned to face him, he was about to say her name when a figure crossed between them.
Lady Alleyne, fierce and feral-looking in her tiger’s mask. She whirled on her daughter like a cat pouncing on a mouse. “Where have youbeen—”
Beneath the mask and the rouge, Antonetta flushed scarlet. Kel cleared his throat.
“My dear Liorada,” he drawled, and never had he let so much scorn drip into Conor’s voice. Slow and sour-sweet, like rancid honey. The satisfaction that went through him as Lady Alleyne jolted around to face him was nearly pleasure. “I believe my mother was hoping to speak with you.”
Lady Alleyne glanced over at the Queen, who was busy directing a group of servants to relight the tapers outside, which had sputtered in the rain. Lilibet looked impatient behind her mask, which was that of a golden deer.
“My daughter—” Lady Alleyne began tightly.
“Looks stunning tonight. I simply must know who made your dress, Demoselle, as my fiancée has not yet chosen a tailor for her wedding dress, and time grows short.” He proffered his arm to Antonetta. “Come, let us dance, and you can tell me all about it.”
For someone else, it would have been a breach of etiquette to interrupt Lady Alleyne’s conversation with her daughter, but Conor was not required to ask permission for anything he did. It was a privilege Kel could only wear occasionally, like his borrowed crown, but he let himself feel the gratification of it as he led Antonetta out onto the polished dance floor.
“I suppose I should thank you, Monseigneur,” Antonetta said as he slid an arm around her waist and began to guide her into the music. “For rescuing me from my mother—the most terrifying of all the beasts in the animal kingdom.”
Behind her mask, he could see Antonetta’s eyes, the pupils turned the shape of diamonds by posy-drops. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Nettle.”
She shot him a surprised look. “You haven’t called methatin years.”
Kel almost missed a step in the dance.Speak to her as Conor would speak to her. Not as you would speak to her.
He should not have had to remind himself.
“Regardless, I am surprised you are willing to be seen with me,” she added. “I am social poison, after all. Artal Gremont has fled the city rather than marry me.”
You know better than that, Antonetta.
“If you have driven him away truly,” Kel drawled, “then you have done us all a service.”
They were moving among the other dancers, and Kel caught sight of Anjelica in the throng, easy to spot in her luxuriant white dress. She was dancing with Laurent, and to Kel’s eye, they appeared to be arguing.
He would have to keep an eye on them, he thought.
“I do not pretend to know why Gremont has left the Hill,” Kel said, “but I suspect it has more to do with him than you. The whispers may have made you the scandal of the moment, but they will fade soon enough. We will find you a better match than Gremont ever was.”
Antonetta was silent a moment. Then she said, “You are being so kind to me, Monseigneur. You must be very happy in your new engagement.” She moved closer to him. Closer than the dance required. Kel caught the scent of her hair, her skin: white roses and honey. It made him think of the yellow room in the Caravel, the way she had shaped herself into his arms, and he felt his blood quicken. “Let me repay the favor, then, with all I have to give you.”
Kel wanted to ask her what she meant, but he could not seem to catch his breath. She smiled up at him.
“Advice,” she said.
