A Melanie Dickerson Collection Page 17

  They both stood, and Odette placed her hand on his arm. What would he think if she slipped her arm through his? The mask was making her bold—and foolish. But she slipped her arm through his anyway.

  They wandered through the deserted gallery. At the end, Jorgen opened the door to a balcony. They walked to the stone half wall and gazed down at the deep ravine at the bottom of the rocky hill that lifted the castle out of the landscape. In the distance, beyond the ravine, the town of Thornbeck winked its tiny lights, while the moon looked down over them with a peaceful white glow.

  “The air is perfect tonight,” Odette murmured. “Not too hot or too cool.”

  Jorgen turned to look at her. “Are you sure you do not want to be inside meeting all the countesses and duchesses?”

  “We can go back inside in a little while. It is pleasant here.” Alone with you. She could stay here with him all night, allowing herself to imagine what it would be like if he kissed her, if they were free to fall in love. If only she were truly a swan princess and he were truly a prince.

  20

  JORGEN COULD NOT take his eyes off Odette. The mask somehow made her even more mysterious . . . and desirable. The white feathers were oddly appropriate, hovering around her perfect face. The memory of her pressing her cheek against his chest after he had taken her and Kathryn out of The Red House was never far from his thoughts tonight.

  She turned her back on the scene below the balcony and faced him. “I know your parents died in the Great Pestilence, just as mine did. But how long did you live on the streets before you went to live with the forester and his wife?”

  The question jarred him from his pleasant ruminations. He ran his hand through the back of his hair and cleared his throat. “It must have been about a year, or a little less.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, Odette’s hand moved down his arm, and she slipped her hand inside his. His heart beat like a thundering of horses’ hooves as she gently squeezed.

  “What happened when you were on the streets? Where did you live?” she whispered.

  He had to swallow before he could answer. “My sister was much younger than me. I had to take care of her. We slept in people’s courtyards and gardens behind their houses when the weather was good. When it was cold or rainy, we slept in the wealthier people’s stables. After Helena died, my father, the gamekeeper, found me one day, sick and lying in a little shelter I had made in the woods.” He didn’t like thinking about that time, how helpless he had felt. He had never told anyone any of this except his adoptive parents. But somehow it felt good to tell her.

  Odette took his other hand in hers, and now she was holding both of his hands. After a short pause, she said, “When my father and mother died, the neighbors took me in. I was only five, but they made me empty chamber pots and scrub floors. They only fed me twice a day, and they gave me only pea pottage and black bread.”

  Odette stared down at their joined hands while she talked. “I sometimes went through people’s garbage. Once I stole a meat pie from a nearby house. I shared it with another orphan I knew. And I sometimes asked other neighbors for food. The way they looked at me made me feel lowly and despised.”

  He hated that she had felt those feelings, and yet it bonded them together. She understood what he had been through because she had experienced the same things. For the first time in his life, he could see that the pain he felt could have a purpose.

  Already very near to him, she moved a bit closer. He disengaged his hand and touched her face. Her skin was like silk, and he let his fingers glide along her jawline. Her lips parted, and he noticed the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed more rapidly. His own breath felt shallow and raspy. He leaned down. Before he could let his reason take over, he pressed his lips against hers.

  A tiny sound escaped her throat, and his mind seemed to leave him entirely. He cupped her cheek in his hand and pulled her mouth full against his.

  Even though her hands slipped around his neck, she had not responded to his kiss. He pulled back. The sight of her closed eyelids and parted lips was too much for his weak restraint, and he kissed her again.

  She put her hands on both sides of his face and started to kiss him back. He let urgency overtake him. Was this happening? If not, it was the best dream he’d ever had. So sweet . . . so sweet.

  Wait. What would she think of him? He had no right to kiss her.

  He pulled away. She laid her head against his shoulder. Dear, sweet saints. If the feathers in her mask and headdress hadn’t been tickling his cheek, it would have been a perfect moment.

  “Odette. I have been looking for you.”

  She stepped away from him, pressing her hands against her face.

  He turned to see Rutger standing at the other end of the balcony, and Jorgen blinked to clear his thoughts. Would her uncle be furious? He had every right to be.

  “Jorgen. Odette. The ball is inside.”

  “Yes, of course, Herr Menkels,” Jorgen said.

  “Odette, I have some people I want you to meet.”

  But instead of going with her uncle, she took hold of Jorgen’s arm. “We are coming.”

  She held on with both hands, and Rutger waited for them to catch up. “I want you to meet the Duchess of Peisterberg,” he said to Odette, not including Jorgen, “and Lady Augenhalt, as well as Lady Keiperdorf.”

  Jorgen might not be able to speak to her again the rest of the night, now that Rutger was taking her over.

  Instead of responding to Rutger’s conversation, she looked up at Jorgen, her eyes startlingly blue and luminous, as if there were tears in them. O Father God, have I made her cry?

  But perhaps he was imagining it, for when Rutger was not looking, she pressed her cheek against his arm before moving away and joining Rutger. As they passed from the gallery into the ballroom, she looked back at him, her eyes wide and a tender smile on her perfect lips.

  Jorgen stopped in the doorway and whispered, “How can I ever win her? What must I do? What must I do to ever be worthy of her?”

  Odette felt as if she were floating. She could still feel Jorgen’s lips on hers, could still see the vulnerability in his eyes. He had been reluctant to speak of his past, but his trust had touched her heart. And he understood. He had the same painful memories of childhood that she had. And unlike the children she taught, he had been saved by the gamekeeper and his wife, just as she had been saved by Rutger. And now, in just the same way as she felt driven to save the orphaned and poor children from going hungry, he felt driven to save others, like Kathryn, from the cruelties of oppression.

  Her heart swelled with an emotion she had never felt before. Did she dare call it love? For the second time tonight, she suspected her heart had ignored all her warnings that falling in love with the forester was imprudent and impossible. Oh, dear heaven, what am I to do now?

  Her hand came up and touched her lips. Would the memory of his kiss fade? Would she forget the feelings he had created inside her? Let it never be. She wanted to remember them forever.

  Rutger had led her to a handsome woman and her equally handsome daughter. Odette blinked, trying to concentrate on what Rutger was saying. He had just presented her to them, and they were staring at her. She quickly sank into a curtsy.

  She had to stop thinking about Jorgen and his kiss, at least while Rutger was having her meet all these distinguished people. Her thoughts were in a fog, but she managed to mumble appropriate responses to what they were saying to her, if their languid smiles were any indication.

  Rutger took her to meet several more people, and to speak to prominent people she had met before, like Mathis Papendorp’s father and mother. Several of them commented on how beautiful her mask and dress were, and she was grateful to Rutger for them. She could remember as a child wearing old, stained, and ill-fitting clothing, of people wrinkling their noses at her or otherwise making her feel like an outcast.

  An earl’s son asked her to dance. She almost felt as if she were being
disloyal to Jorgen as she joined the young man on the floor. She tried to behave in her most elegant manner, but her heart was not in the dance, and she found herself looking around for Jorgen.

  When it was over, Rutger appeared by her side. “Let me take you to get something to drink. You must be thirsty.”

  “I am thirsty, thank you.” She followed Rutger to the opposite end of the room where a table was spread with food and drink.

  “Try this, my dear. I think it will revive you.” Rutger placed a goblet in her hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Fruit compote, I think.”

  It was the same red color as the drink Odette liked so much, made from the juice of boiled cherries and other fruit. As she swallowed, she took a second gulp into her mouth, then choked. The liquid burned her throat like a fire. She coughed and sputtered, trying not to spew the drink out of her mouth, with no choice but to swallow the second gulp.

  “Ugh! What is that?”

  “Is it not fruit compote?”

  “No, indeed. I believe it is some kind of strong spirits.”

  “Oh dear. Is there some water?” Rutger addressed the servants waiting on the table.

  A servant handed her another goblet. Odette took a sip. Tasting water, she drank several large gulps. The cool water took a bit of the sting out of her throat.

  Already a warmth was spreading over her forehead. She drank some more water, hoping it would make her feel better. She had never drunk anything stronger than watered wine.

  “I hope no one can smell that on my breath.”

  “I would not worry,” Rutger said. “Perhaps you would like to lie down for a bit.”

  “No, I am well. I just need to eat something and then I shall feel better.” She chose a gooseberry tart and took a bite, hoping it would take the taste of the strong drink out of her mouth, and the smell as well.

  “Very well, but I think you should at least sit for a few moments.” Rutger placed his hand under her elbow, so she let him steer her through the doorway and into a small chamber with cushioned benches.

  A lady was lying down on one of the couches while a servant fanned her face. Odette sat on another one.

  “Go on and lie down,” Rutger said. “I shall come and make sure you are well in a few moments. And why don’t you take off your mask so you won’t get too warm.”

  Since she wanted to do as he asked and had no desire to meet any more of the aristocratic people he had been introducing her to, she pulled off the mask, lay down, and closed her eyes.

  After a few moments of taking deep breaths and feeling the air on her unmasked face, she sat up. She didn’t want to ruin the feathers in her hair.

  She took another bite of her gooseberry tart, which she still held in her hand. The tart was rich with cream and was the best she had ever tasted. Unfortunately, Rutger had placed her goblet of water on the table out in the ballroom, but she managed to swallow the rest of the tart.

  She began to feel restless. Perhaps she should go back into the ballroom. But when she looked around for her mask, she didn’t see it. Where had she placed it? Had she not put it on the floor beside her? She must have, but it was not there. She bent and looked under the bench she had been lying on, but it was not there either.

  Now what was she to do? She would look strange without her mask, since all the other women were wearing theirs. After looking all around the room, she still did not see it. How strange. She had no wish to stay in this room all night, and since she was feeling better, she determined to go and find Rutger and ask him if he knew what had happened to her mask.

  Jorgen talked with various men as he waited for Rutger to tire of introducing Odette to everyone at the ball. When she began dancing with a young man, he tried not to feel jealous or wonder if she found him handsome or interesting. Her uncle probably wanted her to dance with someone—anyone—besides Jorgen.

  After dancing with the man, Odette joined Rutger and walked over to the table set up at the end of the room with drinks and food.

  “Jorgen, are you enjoying yourself?” The margrave stood beside him, leaning on his cane.

  “Yes, of course, Lord Thornbeck.”

  The margrave frowned, with scowling brows and hardened jaw. Was that what he had looked like in battle when he was a knight and the captain of the guard? “I cannot say the same,” he growled.

  “You do not enjoy the music, my lord?”

  “I just don’t like smiling and listening to everyone say how delighted they are with everything. People at parties are insincere, and we all just stand around talking.”

  Jorgen couldn’t help smiling. “I understand that sentiment, my lord.”

  “Fighting men say whatever they want, and it is never anything about being delighted.” He shifted his weight a bit and tapped his stick on the floor. “I came over here to ask if you would accompany us on a hunt tomorrow afternoon. At least that will give us something to do, and no one can go on and on about how delighted they are. They will be too busy chasing a stag or hind.”

  Jorgen suppressed another smile and nodded. “Yes, my lord.” But then his heart sank at the possibility that they might not be able to find a deer to chase. The mysterious night poacher had killed so many that they were becoming harder to find. Such a thing would not sit well with the margrave, especially in the mood he was in.

  “You should dance, Jorgen. You are young and able.” A flash of sorrow seemed to cross his face, then disappear. “I believe that beautiful white swan wishes to dance with you.”

  Jorgen turned to his left to see whom the margrave was speaking of, and Odette was coming toward him, her white feathers swaying with her movements. As she drew near, the margrave was drawn away by his chancellor, and Jorgen focused all his attention on her.

  “Shall we dance?” he asked.

  She reached out and grasped his hand in answer, and he led her to the middle of the ballroom where another dance was about to begin.

  She held on to his hand and caressed his arm. Was she trying to tell him that she did not regret their kiss?

  They faced each other just as the dance began. They stepped toward each other—and she stepped quite close, lifting her face to his, making him wonder if she would kiss him right there in front of everyone.

  His heart beat hard at the way her lips curved seductively. What was she trying to do to him? He had never seen her so . . . uninhibited. She almost seemed like a different person. Was it because of his kiss? What else could it be?

  As she turned all the way around in the steps of the dance, her hips swayed—something he should not be noticing. All through the dance she continued to get closer to him than was necessary, hold his hand longer than normal, and behave in a way that made his heart beat faster.

  When the dance was over, Odette clasped his hands between hers and leaned against him.

  “Odette,” he whispered. “I . . . I do not know if you should let your uncle see you like this.”

  She stared up at him, as if she was hanging on his next word.

  He swallowed. “Do you want to walk out to the balcony again?”

  She nodded and hugged his arm against her side.

  Perhaps Odette felt his kiss was a proposal of marriage. But of course a maiden like her would not let him kiss her if she wasn’t willing to marry him. His heart pounded harder as they moved toward the doorway to the gallery and slipped into the darker, deserted room.

  As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Odette turned to him and kissed him. The kiss was over before he could respond, and she turned around and ran toward the balcony, holding up her skirt as she went.

  He followed after her. He had never seen this side of her, and it felt strange. Had Odette been drinking too much wine? Even her hair looked slightly different, less full and less wavy. But it must be Odette, since she was wearing the same swan mask and headdress.

  Once he reached the balcony, Odette stood at the far end, staring out at the night. As he walked toward her, she
turned her head and smiled that seductive smile again. Then she turned all the way around to face him, leaning back against the railing.

  “Odette.” He swallowed again as he gathered his courage. “I think you must have noticed how I take every chance to be with you, even though I know your uncle doesn’t think a forester is good enough for you. But I love you, Odette, and I will do anything to make you my wife.”

  She stepped closer to him, grasped his shoulders, pressing close, tilting her lips up to his. How could he resist bending down to kiss her?

  Just as he was about to do just that, she whispered in a strange, hoarse voice, “What did you say?”

  “I said, I love you. I want to marry you. Please marry me.”

  21

  ODETTE STAYED CLOSE to the wall as she made her way through the ballroom. A few people noticed her and stared, no doubt wondering why she was not wearing a mask. She kept moving, thinking she saw Rutger up ahead.

  The man turned. It was Rutger. She went toward him, hoping to catch his eye. But Mathis approached him and said something close to his ear, and then they both moved toward the gallery where she and Jorgen had gone before. They disappeared through the doorway.

  Odette hurried toward the gallery and slipped inside. Softly she called, “Rutger.” But as her eyes became accustomed to the lower light, she saw him at the other end of the gallery, slipping out onto the balcony.

  How frustrating. He probably didn’t even know where her mask was, but she didn’t know who else to ask or what else to do, so she kept going.

  Someone was speaking out on the balcony. The closer she got, the more convinced she was that it was Jorgen. Was he asking Rutger for permission to marry her? Her heart beat out of rhythm, stealing her breath. What would she do if Rutger refused him? Her thoughts were in a tangle, like a patch of thorny vines.

  Odette stepped out onto the balcony, but Jorgen was not with Rutger. He was standing with a woman, standing extremely close to her, and she was wearing Odette’s mask!