Fantasyland 04 Broken Dove (26 page)

“So in other words, you’re loaded.”

He looked from the lane to me. “Loaded?”

“Loaded,” I repeated. “As in, with wealth.”

He grinned and gave me yet another squeeze as he looked back at the lane and confirmed, “Indeed. I’m
loaded.
”

The dry self-effacing way he said this made me giggle which meant he gave me another squeeze.

I took in the hustle and bustle of the city (definitely more activity there than in the sleepy villages) as Apollo took us directly to Treeburn Lodge, where Derrik and the guys had taken me the last time I was here. It was by far the biggest, and most elegant (but still rustic) of all the hotels that I’d noticed in Vasterhague. I also knew it had bigger, way nicer rooms than the room we had last night.

It also had bigger, way more comfortable beds.

The minute that thought hit my head, I pushed it back. I needed to get through the next minute, then the next and not do it hyperventilating or, possibly, having a spontaneous orgasm.

When we checked in, Apollo asked for what Derrik asked for, their “suite.” This, since I’d stayed in it before, was a suite because it had a small sitting room, a large bedroom, a small bathing room and an even smaller room that held the dread chamber pot. But at least the latter gave the feel of a bathroom, which wasn’t much, but it was something.

He also asked that “Lady Madeleine” have wine to drink and water to refresh and “all our trunks” should be delivered with haste to our room.

I liked “Lady Madeleine,” it was pretty awesome. But it was a crapshoot if I liked that better than “Lady Ulfr.”

On this thought, I knew I was in trouble because it wasn’t just Apollo taking this fast, my brain was taking it Mach Three.

Apollo escorted me to our room, poured the wine for me when it came (but not a glass for himself), explained he’d be “preparing for dinner” somewhere else, and when the trunks were delivered, he also explained them.

“The garments you were met with in Lunwyn were for your journey through this land. But a wardrobe befitting a lady of my House was created for you, this including apparel for a variety of occasions as well as that to wear during travel and in different countries.” He indicated the trunks with a sweep of his hand. “As we’re going to Bellebryn, these additional trunks include wardrobes that are suitable there and in the Vale as well as more of a selection for you while you’re here.”

He came to me as I stared up at him and he lifted a hand to curl around my neck, dipping his face close.

“Tonight, I’ll take you to The Boar. Don’t be mistaken by the name. It started as a simple pub that served excellent fare. But over the years, its reputation has spread wide. It’s since grown and it is now a place where many travel long distances to get to. People hold weddings there. Special occasions are celebrated there.” He paused. “And you dress when you go there.”

I had an idea what this meant, it was nice of him to warn me and I was glad for two more trunks because, although my Lunwynian clothes were fab, they were not what you would wear when you needed to “dress.”

Apollo clarified what he meant even further by stating, “You don’t need to prepare as if you were going to a gale or a ball, but travel-wear is also not appropriate.”

I knew what a “gale” was, the boys had told me. It was, in essence, a ball, so that meant I didn’t know why he made the distinction.

I also didn’t ask.

I just nodded and mumbled, “Gotcha.”

He smiled, bent and touched his mouth to mine and only moved a hint away when he said, “I’ll give you time and then we’ll dine.”

I nodded again.

His hand at my neck gave me a squeeze and he took off.

And as I said, after he left, I looked down at my trunks, plural, marveling at another show of his generosity.

But mostly freaking out because, essentially, we were having our first bona fide date.

“Holy hell,” I murmured.

With nothing for it, I got down to it.

Setting my wineglass aside, I dropped to my knees and opened the first new trunk.

That one was filled with clothes for Bellebryn. I knew this because they were lighter-weight material and they were in the style of what women wore in the Vale.

I wanted to explore but I didn’t. I had a date to get ready for, and I had to admit, I was excited.

But I was also anxious. Near-to-panic anxious.

Therefore, I needed to take my mind off my panic and what better way to do that than get myself gussied up?

So I threw that trunk closed and opened the next one.

He was right. Quickly, but breathlessly pulling clothes from the trunk, I found its carefully packed contents not only included a variety of gowns that were much like what I was wearing, lovely, but warm and functional. It also included another cape. This one was with black dyed hide on the outside, thick long silvery fur with a smattering of black hairs on the inside. And last, it included four ball gowns—
four
—all four of them graceful, sophisticated, beautifully cut and stunning.

But it was the three dresses that were not the normal daywear/travel-wear that I turned my attention to.

And I honed in on one.

It was again a sweater dress, the square neckline, bodice and upper sleeves knitted in a fabulous, paler than pale lilac. But under the breasts and down over the hips, coming to a point in the front and back, as well as from elbow to wrist on the sleeves, was a deep purple, to-die-for supple suede. On the sides, mid-thigh to hem, and from the point of the suede that stopped at my heels at the back, flowing in a short but elegant train, was more of the lilac sweater material.

It was kind of rock ‘n’ roll meets Lunwyn, edgy but elegant.

I loved it.

Sucking back some wine, I used the water to “refresh.” Then I did my makeup for evening, deeper and smokier.

After that, I put on the dress.

It fit like a glove but you couldn’t see that the cleavage was as low as it was when it wasn’t on. And the way the knit and suede clung to my figure, the way it was cut, the design—it highlighted everything a woman wanted to highlight, breasts, ass, collarbone, even legs.

“Holy cow,” I breathed, turning this way and that to check out every inch in the free standing full-length mirror.

Yes, I loved that dress.

But I didn’t have three years to admire myself in it. I needed to be ready by the time Apollo returned.

So I moved on to my hair.

In Fleuridia, when I had ladies maids, they often did my hair in soft, but intricate updos that really rocked.

I didn’t have that talent with hair, alas. But fiddling with it using my small kit of hairbobs that I’d bought in Benies and had been supplemented by the stuff Apollo gave me in Lunwyn, I pulled it loosely away from my face and fastened it in a (not so bad, if I did say so myself), messy, sexy bun at the side of my neck behind my ear.

With this, I slid on a pair of smoke-gray suede boots.

I was hurrying through last minute preparations, spritzing with perfume, shoving hairpins with purple stones in my hair, at the same time inserting silver chandelier earrings with purple beads in my earlobes when a knock came at the door.

My heart flew to my throat, my eyes to the mirror and the doorknob turned.

Crap, I was going to throw up.

I turned to the door when it opened and Apollo entered.

No. I wasn’t going to throw up.

I was going to have that spontaneous orgasm I’d been fearing all afternoon.

This was because he had on a green shirt that was deeper than forest green. I didn’t know what that color was. I just knew it looked really,
really
good on him. The collar came up high on his neck but he didn’t have a neck cloth liked I’d seen on men in the Vale. It was open there exposing the strong column of his throat—something of the many,
many
things that made up all that was Apollo that I especially liked.

With this, he was wearing a black jacket with black leather swatches at the shoulders and tight black trousers tucked into tall, black boots.

His hair, which was almost always disheveled, was now swept away from his face, but the ends curled around his neck and ears in a way that made your hands itch to touch them.

In other words, he looked
hot
.

“You’ll meet me downstairs,” he commanded, his voice terse and my gaze shot from those curls around his ears to his (for some reason) stormy eyes.

“Wh-what?” I stammered.

“If you wish to eat, you’ll meet me downstairs.”

Confused, I asked, “Why?”

“Because if I walk one more step into this room, we will not be leaving it.”

Every inch of my skin started tingling like I’d just sipped some adela tea.

Oh boy.

I was taking it he liked my dress too.

“Right. I’ll meet you downstairs,” I whispered.

His eyes slid down my body, and I swear it felt like his hands did it. So I was trembling by the time he dipped his head to me in a way that was gallant, which was a way I liked a whole lot, then he moved out the door.

I stared at it again then turned back to look at myself in the mirror.

Yes. Definitely yes.

I loved this dress.

Smiling, I walked to my new cloak, threw it over my shoulders and headed to the door.

* * * * *

If Vasterhague was cosmopolitan but rustic (which it was), The Boar was just plain old cosmopolitan.

Actually, it was cosmopolitan elegance.

No kidding, it could be picked up inch for inch and transported to Benies, it was that classy. In fact, if women wore ball gowns, it would not be lost on the décor.

Luckily, they didn’t. They wore much what I wore.

But mine was the best.

The chandelier-sporting, white-tablecloth, silver, china, crystal-laden-table-filled, peach-walls-with-crown-molding interior of The Boar was so amazing that it even managed to capture my attention.

Attention that was diverted to other things seeing as it wasn’t exactly close to our lodge and we’d had to ride there on Apollo’s horse.

And to ride there on Apollo’s horse meant him lifting me up on it to sit sidesaddle and him mounting behind me, his arm then snaking around my waist, pulling me deep, holding me close to his body, my behind snug in his crotch.

Sitting with him that way felt nice.

Scary
nice.

Which felt scary good.

God.

Further making this somewhat short journey epic was him doing it the entire time with his lips at my ear, pointing out different shops or cafés I might later peruse should “we” find ourselves in Vasterhague with time to enjoy it.

His deep voice sounding intimately in my ear, the smell of him in my nostrils (he wore cologne that night; it was subtle but it had hints of cedar and musk, and mingled with his natural smell that was all man, it did a number on me), his arm tight around my belly, by the time we made it to the restaurant (what I guessed was around ten blocks) at his horse’s slow canter, I was in a state.

Luckily, the restaurant took my mind off that state and I was able to behave with decorum while having my cape taken away, being led to the table where Apollo pulled out my chair, being seated and handed a menu as Apollo ordered, “Bring us a bottle of Belle St. Michel and ask our waiter to give Lady Madeleine time with the menu.”

The maître d’ bowed and moved away.

I didn’t look at the menu.

I looked at him.

“What’s Belle St. Michel?” I asked.

His eyes went from his menu to me. “Do you have white wine with bubbles in your world?”

“Champagne?”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Belle St. Michel is champagne from a region in Fleuridia.”

I grinned at my menu, thinking,
Fabulous. Fleuridian champagne. This night just kept getting better and better.

“That pleases you?” he queried and I knew he caught my grin.

I looked back at him. “I like Fleuridian wine.”

At that, his lips tipped up and he looked down to his menu, murmuring, “A lady with excellent taste.”

It was meant as a compliment but it struck me, and not in a good way.

Because I was that lady.

I was exactly that lady. The kind of lady who knew just how excellent the quality was of my boots and cape. My dress. This restaurant. Fine wine. I knew all that and more very well, in this world and my own.

I worried my lip with my teeth, perused the menu, and became aware of eyes on me. Peeking around, I saw Apollo and I getting furtive glances, the patrons here too well-mannered to stare outright.

They knew him here. And Ilsa.

Fabulous.

Oh well.