Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [71]
"No, no." The other shook his head. "I'll not ruin your surprise." He gave me an ardent, flustered glance. "You're looking hale as well as beautiful, my lady. Are you quite recovered? Will you be making your debut soon?"
Now him, I could have had by crooking one finger; I knew it as surely as I knew my name. Pity. "Soon, yes," I agreed. "I believe Raphael has an event in mind."
Now Denis turned pale. "You're not!"
"I am," Raphael said calmly. "What better way to celebrate his majesty's natality than to introduce him to long-lost kin?"
His companion made a strangled sound. "Jehanne is going to kill you!"
A muscle twitched in Raphael's jaw. "Jehanne," he said with icy precision, "would expect nothing less of me. Don't believe every piece of gossip you hear. You do not know her nearly as well as you think, my friend."
"Do you know," I said to no one in particular, "I would truly have been grateful for a far less complicated destiny, if that's what this is." Both men looked blankly at me. "No mind." I waved my words away. "Raphael, I wanted you to see the gown. But you're not to pay for it. I've a letter of credit."
"I know." He gave me that unexpectedly boyish grin. "I rifled through your belongings, remember?"
"Aye, but—"
"Moirin, let me do this." He toyed with my gown's straps, unobtrusively stroking the skin beneath them. "It helps assuage my conscience for having caused you injury in the first place. Please?"
I couldn't think straight when he touched me. "Oh, fine. Since that's the case, I'm glad you like it."
He kissed me. "Very much. Are you keeping Messire Vallon waiting? I wouldn't advise it."
"All right." I pulled away from him with an effort. "I'll leave you to your mysterious plotting, then, shall I?"
Denis choked.
Raphael merely looked amused. "My dear, if you don't want me to think you sly and uncanny, you've really got to stop eavesdropping." He made a shooing gesture. "Now go! If you earn the enmity of Atelier Favrielle, you'll live to regret it."
I went.
Benoit Vallon was packing his things and looking almighty disgruntled when I returned. It took a good deal of profuse apologizing on my part before he relented and began to unpack them.
"You're young and foreign," he said grudgingly, beginning to help me out of the wonderful bronze gown. "It's his lordship ought to know better."
"He's engaged in mysterious plotting," I informed him.
"Oh?" Benoit's hands went still on the clasp of my collar. "He's a name for meddling in matters he oughtn't," he muttered. "And I don't mean just their majesties' private affairs."
"Magic?" I asked innocently.
He peered into my face. "What would you know of it?" he asked, then thought better of it. "Come to think on it, I'd rather not know." His hands moved briskly, peeling away the gorgeous fabric. "The reputation of your people precedes you."
"Oh?" I stepped out of the gown. "Truth be told, we're quite a peaceable folk."
Benoit folded the gown and snorted.
"'Tis true," I protested. "In the annals of history there is no record of the Maghuin Dhonn going to war, no matter how many times Alba has been invaded. Other follies were committed, yes. Believe me, we are painfully aware of them to this day. But I would ask you not to judge my people based on the actions of one or two of our ancestors."
"You may have a point." He folded away the bronze gown and extended one of fine-spun russet wool worked with intricate trim. "Try this. It's suitable for day wear or even travel, and is based on a very old design created by the atelier's founder, Favrielle no Eglantine herself."
It flowed gracefully.
"And this." A deep green satin with a heart-shaped neckline. Benoit knelt and tacked a few loose, temporary stitches to improve the fit.
In the mirror, I tilted my head this way and that. "If you're so wary of the Maghuin Dhonn, why did you