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Kincaid steps forward, surveying the guard’s work. His face is grim, but there’s a gleam in his eyes he can’t quite hide. And then, without a smile, he says quietly, “Dust to dust.”
SIXTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, A KNOCK ON THE door to my quarters startles me. I’ve been sitting at the desk, absently brushing my hair. When I open the door, a younger valet is waiting with a silver tray perched on his fingers. A small ivory card with my name penned in elegant writing rests on it. I take the card and nod a thank-you to the valet.
“My instructions are to wait for your response, miss,” he says in a clipped tone.
“Okay, give me a moment.” I turn into my room, and after some hesitation, shut the door. I can’t stand the thought of him waiting there, watching me. I’m not fond of the idea of shutting the door in his face either, but, well, choices.
I unfold the card:
Adelice,
Please accept my sincere apologies for yesterday’s unfortunate interlude. I want you to feel secure here, but I don’t wish you to think ill of me. To relieve the tension from last evening, I’ve arranged a small play for you and your friends’ amusement in the theater. I hope it will show you the positives of having Tailors available for our use. Please let me know if you are available for the presentation at three o’clock.
Most sincerely yours,
Kincaid
My eyes flick to the ticking clock on my nightstand. It’s already noon. I scrawl my acceptance across the bottom, trying to sound enthusiastic and failing miserably.
I don’t want to go, but this isn’t so much an invitation as a summons. I traipse back to the door, nearly tripping over my dressing gown, and give the card to the valet, who does a good job of not looking too annoyed at having had the door shut in his face.
“Thank you,” I say, but he merely tilts his head in acknowledgment, pivots to the right, and moves down the hall.
I’ve barely shut the door when another knock forces me to open it again. On the other side I find Jost standing there with two large turquoise boxes. Another valet is walking hurriedly down the hall, carrying more of the same boxes. I raise an eyebrow at Jost.
“A gift from our amiable host,” Jost says, nodding to be let in.
“I see you’ve been invited to the show then,” I say.
“And what a show it will be,” Jost mutters. He crosses to the bed and sets down the boxes. I walk over and lift the lid of the one with the tag addressed to me. Inside I find a cloud of pink tissue paper. I push it open and pull a silk gown from the box. It’s a lovely pale pink and the fabric swims down my body when I hold it up. The décolletage is a sunburst of crystal. I turn it over and study the draping back, finding another sunburst to decorate my derriere.
“Pretty,” Jost says. It’s as much enthusiasm as he can muster up for something as shallow as clothes.
“Let’s see what you got,” I say.
“Oh, I hope mine is purple and shows more skin,” he says with a wink.
“If you are going to be a smart-ass, I hope it does too.”
He lifts a pressed black suit jacket from the box. “No such luck.”
“You’ll look dapper,” I say.
“I’ll be uncomfortable.”
“I never knew you were so anti-tux,” I say.
“Tuxes are for men like Cormac.”
“And what’s for a man like you?” I ask, pulling the jacket from his hands and tossing it down on the bed.
“Careful, you’ll wrinkle that,” he starts, but as I latch my arms around his chest, he stops.
“How very conscientious of you,” I murmur as I move closer to him.
“What can I say? You know what a conscientious guy I am,” he says, but the words mute as my lips meet his.
