Wizard's Masquerade, page 49
“No, actually.” She tore her eyes away from Jester and focused on the tapestry. “I’m trying to find the lord chamberlain. Have you seen him?”
“Perhaps I did. Why, what do you want with the chamberlain?”
She sighed. “Just tell me where I can find him.”
“Wouldn’t you rather stay and talk to me?”
“Not particularly.”
Jester laughed. “Why don’t we do a trade? You tell me why you wish to see the chamberlain, and I’ll see if I can remember where I saw him.”
Leyna crossed her arms. She was grateful that Finnigan only possessed an ounce of the jester’s personality—the former was charming, whilst Jester was just plain irritating.
“Well?” he prompted, lips pursed in a mock-smile, and even with the mask, she knew him well enough to know that his eyebrows were arched.
She contemplated telling him, but the surrounding nobles put her off. What would they make of a huskarl discussing weapon applications and Court Massacre evidence with a jester? It would raise at least a few eyebrows.
“I’ll tell you later,” she mumbled, glancing around them and hoping no one would take too much notice of their closeness—and Jester was indeed standing close. She shifted slightly away from him, intent on avoiding a scandal.
He smiled coyly. “Begging your pardon, Huskarl Leyna, but I didn’t catch that. Could you kindly repeat it? A little louder, if you please?”
She gritted her teeth. “I said…I’ll tell you later.”
“You’ll tell me later?” he repeated, raising his voice. “How wonderful! Well, I’m pleased we’ll be seeing more of each other today, Huskarl Leyna.”
To her chagrin, his statement drew the attention of several nobles standing nearby. She suspected they had already been listening in on their conversation, but now there were several people openly staring and whispering. For someone skilled in political intrigue, Jester was going out of his way to not be subtle—and was clearly enjoying her flustered reaction.
“Stop teasing.” She sniffed, lifting her chin and trying to fix her attention on the red tapestry as if the apple orchard depicted there was far more interesting than the masked man standing mere inches away.
“Stop teasing?” he gasped, his voice only a modicum quieter. “Well, I suppose I could have gone straight for the kiss, but I didn’t wish to be presumptuous.”
“Quit it,” she growled, then lowered her voice to a quiet plea. “Can’t you be more subtle? Please?”
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, and she heard Finnigan’s voice near her ear. He was leaning far too close for a public setting, and his warm breath made her shiver.
“But I’m a jester, remember? It would only arouse suspicion if I didn’t…tease you.”
Swallowing, she forced herself to look at the tapestry. The brown threads of the apple-laden wheel barrow were a poor distraction from the jester, who hummed a playful tune.
Finally, he drew back, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. The tension between them was so thick she could have cut it with a knife, and soon her ears were burning. A part of her wanted to flee the crowded Gallery, but the other part wanted to stay.
Should I stay? Or should I go?
“I’m wondering how I should interpret your silence,” he said, peering down at her through the mask.
She should have made it clear to the onlookers that she had no interest in speaking with Jester—much less a desire to flirt with him—but she could not hide the smile that played on her lips.
What’s wrong with me? Just turn and leave.
“Why, Leyna, surely you aren’t embarrassed to be seen with a jester, are you?”
She didn’t respond.
“Or are you?” he pressed, a mischievous smile beginning to form.
“Jester,” she warned in a whisper, trying to avoid the lure of his piercing blue eyes. I’m definitely blushing, she realised, resisting the urge to touch her cheeks, which had grown as hot as her ears. “Last chance,” she said breathlessly. “Take me to the chamberlain. Now.”
“Hm, I suppose I could take you now,” he purred, slipping a hand around her arm. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” She made a half-hearted attempt to pull her arm back even as her disloyal feet followed Jester down the long hall.
“To where I saw the chamberlain earlier,” he said, pulling her into a deserted side room before shutting the door behind them.
Through the door, the sound of giggles erupted in the Gallery. The damage was done; her mother would be outraged when she heard the rumours of her daughter running around with a jester. Still holding her arm, Jester led her across the room, which she recognised by the enormous piano in the corner and the row of chairs alongside one wall. She hadn’t been here since the night of the feast, when she’d eavesdropped on Patrick and the jester.
“Are you sure he’s here?” she asked doubtfully.
He opened a familiar door, and gestured for her to go first. “He was in here.”
“The Trophy Room?”
The room was brightly lit, and contained hundreds if not thousands of trophies, plaques, and medals that gleamed proudly in glass cabinets and tall shelves. Dust particles floated gently through the silent aisles. The room was still. There was no one else here.
“Lord Chamberlain?” she called, tugging her arm free of the jester’s hold and peering down the aisles. “Percy?”
“He’s not here,” said Jester.
She rounded on him. “But you said he was here!”
“No, I said I’d take you to where I’d seen him earlier, and I did. But I also saw him leave, which I might have failed to mention. I’m so sorry for any confusion…”
“I’ll bet you are,” she snapped. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Why, Leyna, so we can converse more freely.”
She crossed her arms. “Can’t you drop the jester act? I’d rather speak to Finnigan, if it’s all the same to you. And take off the damn mask.”
“I could take it off,” said Jester, his voice growing silky. He reached up to touch the masquerade mask, tracing the edge with his long, slender fingers. She waited with bated breath, but instead of removing the mask, he took a step closer, his stride long enough that they were now standing only inches apart. He tilted his head and smiled down at her. “Although…”
“Al-although what?” she stammered. Her annoyance wavered as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, and she shut her eyes, her breathing still.
“Although, I don’t think you mind the jester half as much as you pretend.”
“Yes, I do,” she argued, but her eyes were still shut as she waited for him to touch her hair again. He repeated the motion, his fingers awaking a thousand pleasures as they swept across her brow.
“I don’t believe you. I think you like the jester, mask and all.”
“No,” she murmured, but then quickly forgot her objections as his hands slipped into her hair. As his fingers combed through, playing across her scalp, she became lost in the sensation of it, and her lips parted as she tilted her head upwards, waiting for his lips to meet hers.
But they didn’t.
She opened her eyes, only to find him smiling ear to ear. “What are you playing at—?” she began, but her question was cut short as his lips met hers. He had trapped her between annoyance and desire, but as he pulled her body closer, she surrendered to desire.
Jester’s costume was an elaborate design of silks and satin, but the expensive material was thin and did little to hide his growing excitement. As their kiss deepened, she was both startled and pleased to feel his stiff member pressing into her, and she made no secret of her awareness of it as she nudged her thigh forward.
“My sneaky little fox,” he said approvingly, kissing her neck. “Why didn’t you tell me you wanted it like this?”
“Like what?” she asked, her fingers halting where they had been rubbing his back.
“Like this, with the jester.”
Leyna was not prepared to admit anything of the sort, but despite all logic, a secret part of her was excited by him dressed like this. She scoffed and was about to say, ‘no, that’s ridiculous,’ but she became too distracted by his lips travelling up her neck. A soft moan escaped her lips.
“Well?” he asked, his breath warm against her neck. He caressed her waist, the light touch sending shivers through her. “Say it. Say you like the jester.”
She didn’t reply. Her eyes were half-closed as she enjoyed the wild sensations blossoming along her neck as his kissing resumed. But when his mouth reached her collarbone, instead of continuing downward as she hoped he would, the jester drew back with a sly smile.
Delirious with longing, she clutched at the cabinet behind her for support. The smooth wood and glass were cool beneath her clammy fingers. “Why are you stopping?”
Jester still had his hands on her waist, but he’d drawn back so there was nearly a foot of space between them—a distance too great for her liking.
“Because I’d like to hear you speak the words. Why not just admit it? Say that the jester excites you.”
She swallowed. His words were too close to truth, too close to the intimate dream she'd once had of him, the one she had tried to hide from herself.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Is that what this is?” she asked, summoning what she hoped was a disparaging look. “You’re trying to prove a point?”
“A little bit, yes. It makes no difference to me, of course—but it seems a rather touchy subject for you. So why not admit that you’ve imagined it like this?”
She could only vaguely make sense of his words as his hands slipped beneath the folds of her cloak. “What game are you playing at?” she demanded, even as his dextrous hands found their way beneath her shirt.
“The best kind,” he replied simply. “Want to play?” His fingers stroked the bare skin of her back, and she gave an involuntary gasp as the aching need inside her grew.
Did she want to play?
“Yes,” she whispered, and as her hands wandered, the flare of Jester’s nostrils showed her touch had a similar effect on him, and she was delighted to find that he wanted her as well. Despite his teasing, however, his hands did not advance beyond her waist and back. He was holding back.
It would not do. Leyna gripped the fabric of his jacket and tugged him closer. “More,” she said.
“More?” he asked incredulously. “What about us taking it slow? I was going to court you properly, remember?”
“Is that what you call this? Flirting in public? Bringing me here?”
“Ah well…I suppose I’m a fool for temptation.” He had the decency to look sheepish, and his hands withdrew. “But you’re right, of course. I’ll stop—”
“No, don’t,” she said. “Don’t stop.” She drew closer, melting against his chest, which was solid and warm even through their clothes.
Jester squinted at her, his voice dangerous and low: “Is that an order, Huskarl Leyna?”
He didn’t wait for her reply.
Half carrying, half steering her, he moved them deeper into the room where she ended up against the wall of a cabinet. The glass door rattled as he pushed her against it, the motion causing the bells of his mask to jingle overhead. She wondered if they would soon ring more erratically, and her racing heart sped up as wicked thoughts entered her mind. Her hands wandered downward, but before she could explore further, Jester cupped her face in his hands.
She stilled.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his gaze soft as his thumb stroked her cheek. The movement was tender and loving, and it gave her a glimpse of Finnigan, the man behind the mask.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He kissed her carefully, as though she were fragile.
The kiss was long and sweet, and she felt like she belonged there, in his arms. She was found. She was seen and wanted.
And she wanted him as well—she wanted Finnigan.
But not just Finnigan. As the kisses intensified, the mask grazed her skin, and she realised she wanted Jester as well. She wanted all of him.
He unlaced her doublet, his fingers swift and methodical, and she felt deliciously self-conscious as the fabric parted. His lips found her breasts, and she arched her back to get closer to his touch. His hands travelled lower, much lower, and then lower still, his fingers lingering dangerously close to the broken skin of her upper thigh. No amount of clothes would have made her comfortable with that advance.
“Stop,” she said, flinching.
“What’s wrong?”
She dreaded what he would think of the ruined appearance of her left leg. She had to remind herself that he’d already seen it, that he’d regenerated much of what had been missing while she lay unconscious.
But that had been clinical—this was different. He was touching her as a lover, and she felt vulnerable. What did he really think of her leg?
Time had improved many things, but it was still raw and wrinkled. She might have been proud had she earned the scars in battle, defying anyone who judged her for it, but instead, the injury only served as evidence of her past blunder. So she’d accepted it for what it was: her leg. A leg she was lucky to still have.
It didn’t matter what others thought…and yet, Finnigan’s opinion did matter to her.
His fingers had stilled, his touch still hovering near the top of her thigh where the rippled surface of the scarred skin began.
“Leyna? What’s wrong?”
“M-my leg,” she stammered.
“Which one?”
“You know perfectly well which one,” she snapped. “My left leg. The injured one.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” said Jester, but his tone was cheerful. “Did you have a preference? I was going to explore both, but I’m happy to focus on one or the other if you have a favourite.”
She inhaled sharply and pulled away. “Don’t joke.”
Finnigan gently pulled her closer again, his eyes soft. “I’m not. Leyna—” he brushed the curtain of hair from her face. “You’re beautiful. I love every part of you.”
The warmth of his words rushed over her.
He said ‘love.’ Not ‘I love you,’ but…but he used the word ‘love.’ ‘I love every part of you.’
Before she could analyse his words further, he leant forward and gave her a light kiss on the lips.
It was short and sweet and perfect. And it caused the fire to erupt again, the heat of it flushing her body with waves of heat.
When he drew back, there was a wolfish hunger in his expression. The jester was back. “Now,” he said, his hand stroking along her inner thigh—it no longer mattered which one, left of right, it didn’t matter, as long as he didn’t stop. “Tell me you want it like this…with the jester.”
“No,” she said immediately, even as a vixen-like smile grew across her face. Her body was saying yes.
All of her was saying yes—except her pride.
“Well, if that is truly the case,” said jester, “then how about you take off my mask? Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”
Their eyes met in challenge. Removing the mask would be easy. She had done it before, but that was different. This was the jester’s mask, and there was something thrilling about the tall, mysterious man whose face she couldn’t see, whose piercing eyes bore into hers, only flickering away briefly to rove down her half-naked body.
They teetered on a tipping point. He was fierce and ravenous, and so was she. He was waiting for her, waiting for her to end the charade. To deny the jester fantasy and return to safer territory.
A dangerous tension stretched between them.
As the seconds passed, she made no move to remove the jester's mask. Exhilaration pulsed through her as she lifted her chin defiantly, hoping her lack of action would speak for itself.
“Oh, I see,” said the jester, licking his lips. “My, my, Huskarl Leyna.” He drew her closer, and she did not stop him as he traced her waistline. “Look at me,” he said, and she did, tilting her head upward. He was staring at her intently, his eyes glazed and seductive. “Good,” he murmured. “Don’t look away.”
Without breaking eye contact, his hand slipped beneath her trousers. His touch was long overdue, and she gasped as his hand found the warm place there.
She tried to reach for him, to touch him the way he was touching her, but he shook his head. “No, not yet. Just you.”
There was no opportunity to protest as he stroked her, and her legs wobbled, barely supporting her own weight as her held her up, keeping her pinned against the cabinet with his hard, lean body.
“Ready?” he asked, but they both knew the question was rhetorical. Tightening his grip on her waist, his other hand advanced, and she felt wonderfully helpless in his arms as his fingers encroached, stroking the wetness between her legs before slipping inside. She gasped at the jolt of ecstasy shooting deep within to her core More. She needed more.
“Tell me you like it,” he prompted, his voice a husky whisper in her ear as his fingers eased into her.
“I…”
His fingers worked. “Say it, Leyna.”
She gave her head a small shake in refusal, but collapsed against him, letting him take her weight while she nibbled his neck. His arm moved more forcefully, his fingers driving deeper.
“Say it.”
They were both panting, and if it hadn’t been for Jester pinning her against the cabinet, she was sure her legs would have given out from underneath her.
“Because I could stop…” he suggested, the stroking slowing, the fingers withdrawing.
“Don’t you dare,” she growled, grabbing his forearm firmly. “Don’t stop. Please,” she added.
He chuckled. “Please? Oh, I like ‘please’ very much.”
And she was rewarded as his fingers plunged deep inside her again, pushing harder than they had before.
