AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you insist.” Fiore worked to keep his voice indifferent as he replied. He’d received similar compliments before, but to hear them fall from Enzo’s lips gave his heart a small thrill regardless. He examined his dance card as much for distraction as for genuine curiosity. “It seems my first is with Lord Vazzoler?”
“Twelfth in line for the dukedom thanks to his eldest sister’s grandchildren, but a viscount nonetheless—and rich enough for our purposes, I should think,” Enzo added with a knowing smile glinting in his masked eyes.
Fiore endeavored to match it. “Then by all means, introduce us.”
They found Lord Vazzoler awaiting them at the outskirts of the dance floor in the company of his friends. Or at least, Fiore presumed them so. They formed an intimidating coterie of glittering splendor in gowns and court suits alike. Many whispered behind fluttering fans at Fiore and Enzo’s approach.
Enzo pointed Lord Vazzoler out to Fiore several yards before he ever espied them in turn. The viscount stood a hand’s-breadth shorter than Enzo, though who could tell when all wore heels. Crow’s feet had just begun to gather at the corners of his eyes. Streaks of grey at his temples shot like lightning bolts through the dark storm-clouds of his hair slicked back as if by rain. Fiore considered these all very handsome features but ones which marked the viscount as not quite old enough for his purpose. Still, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give him a chance.
Lord Vazzoler stepped forward with a brisk bow. “Your grace.”
Enzo returned the gesture and presented Fiore, who did his best to imitate them both. Several of Lord Vazzoler’s companions, once they understood Fiore’s purpose there, looked him up and down with appreciation and shot approving glances at the viscount. Fiore caught these out of the corner of his eye, for he kept his own gaze fixed on Lord Vazzoler. Let him feel as though, to Fiore, he were the only person in the whole ballroom. Judging by how the viscount’s notice flicked to the bitten-back smile on Fiore’s unmasked lips before meeting his gaze again, the stratagem was working.
The viscount held out his hand for Fiore’s. “Shall we?”
Fiore delicately placed his left hand in Lord Vazzoler’s waiting palm. With the other he passed his wineglass off to Enzo. All the while he never took his gaze off the viscount.
Lord Vazzoler’s eyes flew wide for the barest instant. Then an appreciative smile caught at the corner of his mouth. Behind him, his friends’ fans fluttered afresh with whispers. Fiore supposed few courtesans could boast a duke for a cup-bearer.
In truth Fiore would rather have had Enzo and Lord Vazzoler switch places. But he’d promised to give the viscount a chance, and so he allowed Lord Vazzoler to lead him out onto the dance floor proper. Leaving Enzo behind betrayed all his instincts. He kept his smile fixed on Lord Vazzoler regardless. Foolish Orpheus had lost his Eurydice by daring a backward glance. Fiore would not make the same mistake.
No sooner had they assumed their post amidst their fellow dancers than the viscount settled his hand onto Fiore’s waist. Without a word of enquiry regarding Fiore’s preference, the viscount stepped forward. Evidently the viscount intended to lead and didn’t consider or didn’t care if Fiore had other ideas. Fiore supposed he ought to have expected as much. Not every aristocrat could be as thoughtful as his Enzo.
He had some confidence in his ability to dance backwards, having practiced a little of it with Enzo; though it wasn’t to either of their liking, it was nonetheless a valuable skill and one which proved its worth at present as the viscount advanced and Fiore withdrew.
Fiore could still feel the eyes of the entire ballroom upon him. But now he was performing. And, be it an audience of one or an audience of one hundred, he could feel how he had them in the palm of his hand. Since he didn’t intend to accept the viscount’s offer, there were no stakes beyond his own pride. This lifted a great deal of pressure from his performance. There were none who would not feel swept away by the sight of his grace. Already over the viscount’s shoulder he caught the glances of a few who looked eager to have him for themselves.
He did not, however, catch Enzo’s glance.
And he found he sorely missed it.
The music ceased. Fiore ended his step perfectly on the final note—despite having to do so backwards. The viscount bent to kiss his hand. Fiore smothered his irritation with a smile.
“Shall we find some refreshment?” the viscount asked as he arose, his arm already insinuating itself through Fiore’s.
But they’d not gone two steps past the ring of revelers bordering the dance floor before a dark and welcome shadow swept over them.
“Your pardon,” Enzo said to the viscount, coolly, as a duke had every right to do to his inferiors. He still held Fiore’s wineglass safe in his delicate grasp.
The viscount released Fiore at once. He bowed to them both—far deeper than he had before the dance—and vanished into the crowd. Fans fluttered in his wake.
Fiore accepted his wineglass back from Enzo with a smile.
“All right?” Enzo murmured, laying a feather-gentle hand on Fiore’s arm.
The hundreds of bodies crowded into the ballroom had made the air quite warm. Enzo’s touch, even through his woolen coat and linen shirt-sleeve both, felt warmer still. It set Fiore’s blood deliciously aflame.
As much as Fiore would’ve liked to indulge that heat, however, he had more pertinent business at hand. And so to Enzo he admitted, “The viscount is a touch too young for my purposes, I think.”
Enzo nodded sagely.
Fiore sipped his wine and studied his dance card. “Del Cavallo?”
“A mere cavaliere,” Enzo explained with an apologetic tone. “But wealthier than the viscount.”
Fiore asked the most pertinent question. “How old?”
“If he is not yet in his sixties then his valet has done him a great disservice.”
