“I’m afraid I’m the lucky one tonight, Marquis. The count has been the most pleasurable company I’ve had in a great while.” In truth, the count was an insecure man who was much too brash in his effort to appear confident.
The orchestra played a gavotte. “May I have this dance, mademoiselle?” The count bowed to Amaia and held out his hand.
“I’d be honored.” Dancing was an aspect of her job that she enjoyed. She just hoped the count would prove decent at it.
As he walked her out onto the floor, Amaia felt a faint pull. She convinced herself it was nothing and focused on the dance. While the count was less than graceful, at least his feet and arms always ended up in the correct positions.
“You dance quite well, my lord.”
“It is made easier by having such a lovely partner.”
Amaia forced her blush. “I’m flattered. The gavotte is one of my favorites.”
“Mine as well. You float across the floor like an angel.”
Angel. Something in his words triggered a memory. You look like an angel tonight. Words said in a different lifetime, by a different man. As she turned on the dance floor, she saw around her masked faces from that night. As quickly as they appeared, they were gone, but in their wake was a hum. A distant vibration.
Michael.
Almost a year had passed since she’d last felt it. Months of peace shattered.
“Are you all right, Christine?” The count peered at her.
“Yes, of course. I’m afraid the wine may have gotten to me.” She quirked her mouth into a charming smile. This was not the time to indulge her wandering mind.
“Come, let me find you a seat.” The count escorted her to a chair. Normally, she would refuse, but she sorely needed time to gather her wits. She couldn’t think about this now. She was working. This count was the only person with whom she need concern herself.
“I’m sorry. Perhaps you could entertain me with stories of your hunting trips?” The count was an avid hunter, and so far he had mentioned no less than half a dozen times that he had bested every man he hunted with. While he regaled her with tales of his prowess as a marksman, she calmed her nerves and focused back on the job at hand. Michael would have to wait. She had always put her work first.
***
Michael’s energy proved an annoying distraction throughout the evening. Her heart wasn’t in her work, making it less pleasurable. She heaved a sigh of relief when the count finally fell asleep.
“I’m done.”
“Good. Was the evening pleasant?”
“Not particularly.”
“I think Meg is waiting for you at Notre Dame. Go have some fun.”
Amaia didn’t want to see Meg, and she felt guilty for it. She wasn’t prepared to talk about the night’s developments, not until she had sated her curiosity and determined the source of the energy. She hated keeping secrets from her best friend, but she felt she had to.
Meg awaited Amaia at the Portal of the Virgin, where they usually met. Meg found the irony amusing.
“How was the party? Did the cardinal really have his jewel collection on display?” Meg’s eyes were wide, eager to hear about a place she had never seen.
“Yes, it really was on display. The amount of wealth he has is staggering. I don’t know what he plans to do with it all. It’s not like he can take it with him when he dies.” They entered the cathedral together. Amaia assumed Liam was inside having a little fun.
“No, but he gets to look at all those pretty things until his time comes. That has to make life more enjoyable.”
Amaia remembered when she had first experienced the thrill of owning something whose sole purpose was to be pretty. “They’re meant for other people to look at, Meg. You and Liam should sneak into the palace and see them some time.” Amaia seated herself in one of the pews, and Meg followed. “What are you two up to tonight?” Amaia hoped they wouldn’t want to be out long.
“Not much. We saw a play.”
“Which one?”
“Heraclius, Emperor of the Orient.”
“How was it?”
“It’d have been better if the writer had actually been to the Orient, but it was good. Afterward, Liam gave me this.” Meg produced a hand-carved miniature from her purse: a perfect rendering of a stag. Amaia handled the wood figure, examining it closely. The delicate antlers were intricately detailed, texture adding to the lifelike appearance.
“Meg, that’s remarkable. I don’t know how he does it with those large hands of his.” Amaia handed the stag back to Meg.