The Diamond Slipper cb-1 Read online

  "Oh, Monsieur Leo's been our friend since our mama died," Amelia confided, losing her stiffness. She put her hand in Leo's.

  "We were only babies then. How could he have been our friend?" Sylvie scoffed, edging forward to put her hand in Leo's other one. "Babies can't be friends with people."

  "Yes, they can. Can't they, Monsieur Leo?"

  Leo laughed. "I don't see why not."

  "I told you so!" Sylvie declared in triumph, giving her sister a little push.

  Amelia pushed back, her cheeks pink with annoyance. "Well, I say they can't. Babies don't talk. Of course they can't be friends with people."

  "Who wants to see what I have brought?" Leo interrupted this escalating argument, dropping their hands to reach into his pockets.

  The girls crowded around him, gasping with excitement as he gave them each a tiny tissue-wrapped packet.

  "Oh, mine's a pony!" Sylvie held up a china miniature. "For our collection, Melia."

  Amelia's fingers trembled as she tore off the paper to reveal a miniature cat. "Oh, she's so pretty. I shall call her kitten." She held it up to her cheek, crooning softly.

  "They have a collection of china animals," Leo told Cordelia quietly.

  "They seem to have little else to play with," she returned. "Will the dragon lady approve?"

  Leo grinned involuntarily. "I can't say I give a damn whether she does or not."

  Cordelia touched his hand. He withdrew it with a jerk. For a moment they were silent. Then Leo spoke, his voice soft beneath the children's prattle.

  "I wonder if it's wise of you to set yourself up against your husband so soon."

  Cordelia said nothing immediately. She stared straight ahead, frowning at the painted panels on the door as if she were trying to identify the flowers depicted there. Then she said, "I must do what I think right. He doesn't wish me to be a mother to the children, but I know that I must be their friend, whether he wishes it or no."

  "It does you credit," he said quietly. "But you should proceed with caution."

  Cordelia suddenly shuddered. It was an involuntary movement and again he saw the shadow flicker across her eyes. Then she shrugged with an assumption of carelessness. "I'm not afraid to do what's right, Leo." But the disturbing shadow deepened.

  He changed the subject. "I understand Michael will be escorting you to Versailles for the wedding."

  "Shall we meet there?" She responded to the change with a note of relief that she couldn't disguise.

  "I shall be at court."

  "Will you be able to do anything for Christian, do you think?" Her eyes kept sliding away from his as if she were suddenly afraid to meet his gaze. But Cordelia was never afraid to look a person in the eye.

  "I have a possible patron in mind. The Due de Carillac," he replied in a neutrally conversational tone that covered his unease.

  "Monsieur Leo, will you take us for a ride in your carriage if Madame de Nevry permits?" The shy approach of Amelia and Sylvie, each clutching her china miniature, brought a welcome diversion.

  "If I give you permission, then of course you may go," Cordelia said. She glanced up at Leo, her chin lifted unconsciously as if she challenged him to argue with her.

  "Are you more important than Madame de Nevry, then, madame?" They gazed up at her in wonderment.

  Cordelia considered this, and her eyes began to twinkle with a return of her usual spirit. "Well, I think I am," she pronounced. "Since I am your stepmother. And you must not call me madame. My name is Cordelia."

  Leo cleared his throat. "I think what they call you should be left up to Prince Michael. He will have his own intentions."

  Cordelia frowned at the warning. But she couldn't fault it. If she were to achieve her own goals where the girls were concerned, she should choose her battles.

  "Perhaps Monsieur Leo is right," she said. "We will discuss it with your papa."

  "But we may go for a ride in your carriage, sir?" Elvira's eyes, twinned, gazed appealingly up at him.

  "I haven't brought my carriage today, but I will do so next time."

  "And then we may all go for a ride," Cordelia declared. "Yes?" She turned as someone scratched on the open door.

  The footman bowed. "Madame de Nevry wishes to know if Mesdames are to dine abovestairs, my lady."

  Cordelia hesitated but Leo said swiftly, "Yes, of course they must go immediately." He bent to take their hands in his, kissing them with laughing formality. "Mesdames, I am desolated to bid you farewell."

  The girls' disappointment dissolved in giggles, but they remembered their curtsies, their stiff skirts billowing around them as they took their leave of their stepmother and uncle.

  Cordelia picked up her fan from the side table, tapping the delicate painted sticks in the palm of her hand. "He wants me to prepare them for their betrothals," she said. "He doesn't want me to love them, or befriend them."

  Leo's lips tightened as he thought of Michael's cold indifference to the children. But he controlled the urge to discuss his own careful involvement in his nieces' affairs. "Michael has very strict notions on how matters in the schoolroom should be conducted. If you wish to improve their lives, you will do so only by inches. If you allow your customary impetuosity to rule you, Cordelia, you will gain nothing in this household."

  "Is this advice based on your sister's experiences, my lord?" Idly, Cordelia unfurled her fan, hoping her eagerness for his answer wasn't obvious in her voice. What did he know of Elvira's life in this house?

  "My sister's marriage has little to do with yours, Cordelia. I'm offering the advice of a friend. One who has known your husband for several years."

  It wasn't much of an answer. But she couldn't believe he would knowingly have let her walk into this prison. Perhaps Michael had been different with Elvira. She'd been older, wiser, more experienced than Cordelia. Presumably, it had affected his conduct toward her.

  Leo came toward her, drawn as if to a lodestone. He knew that the closer he came to her, the greater his danger, but he had promised to stand her friend and he could not desert her simply because he was afraid of his own feelings. He took her hand in both of his, saying with quiet sincerity, "I wish only your happiness, Cordelia. The reality of marriage to Prince Michael may not match up to your fairy-tale fantasy, but it has many advantages if you learn how to take them. Versailles and its many pleasures await you. If you don't antagonize your husband, you can find much to enjoy in this new life."

  "Yes, of course," Cordelia said, averting her eyes. She withdrew her hand from his and tucked a loose ringlet behind her ear.

  Leo took her hand again, turning it over to examine the purpling bruise on her inner wrist. "How did this happen?"

  Cordelia tried to pull her hand free. "I knocked it on the edge of the bath this morning. I slipped as I was getting out. The soap… or… something…" She stopped. She'd always had a tendency to expand fibs, and Mathilde had long ago told her that the best lies were the simplest. Not that she ever lied to Mathilde, only to her uncle.

  Leo's frown deepened but he released her wrist. "I must go now. I'll set up a meeting with Christian and the Due de Carillac without delay."

  He was rewarded by a vibrant smile, a return to the lively Cordelia that he knew. "Oh, that would be wonderful. I knew you would be able to help him."

  "Your faith is touching," he said lightly. "I'll see you at court, Cordelia."

  She nodded and kept on smiling through the forlorn knowledge that once he'd left her, she'd be alone again. Without friends or support in this house. Except for Mathilde. She had Mathilde, and Mathilde's support was worth more than an army of foot soldiers.

  The thought buoyed her as Leo left the boudoir. Sitting on the deep cushioned window seat, she looked out onto the courtyard below the window. The palace flanked the courtyard on three sides, the great iron gates to the street occupying the fourth side. Leo emerged from the main doorway to her left. He stood for a minute at the head of the flight of steps leading down to the cobble
s, slapping his gloves into his palm in a gesture so familiar that a wave of insuperable longing broke over her. She had endured a hellish wedding night, filled with pain and mortification, and she yearned for what the act of love could bring. Now she wanted Leo with a naked lust that at this moment had nothing to do with love, let alone friendship. She wanted his body, the feel of his skin, his smell in her nostrils, his taste on her tongue. She wanted him inside her, each powerful thrust touching her womb, his flesh filling her, possessing her as she took him into her and made him part of her self. She had never experienced the wonders of such loving, but in her blood she knew they existed.

  The need was so strong, a soft groan broke from her lips. Her forehead pressed against the cold windowpane and she touched the glass with her tongue, imagining she was stroking the smooth planes of his belly. She could almost feel the hard contours of his thighs molded beneath her palms, the throb of his erect shaft against her fingers. He would bring her such pleasure, a pleasure that would eradicate the dreadful violations of her husband's possession.

  "Is there something of particular interest in the courtyard, madame?"

  She started violently, turned, and stared at her husband, who stood in the doorway, his expression glacial. Her erotic dream vanished into the black clouds of reality. This man was reality, not the man now mounting his horse in the courtyard.

  "I was daydreaming, my lord."

  "A bad habit," he said. "You have many, I am discovering." He came into the room, banging the door shut behind him. "I understand from Madame de Nevry that you have again disobeyed my orders with regard to my daughters."

  Cordelia stood up, feeling slightly sick. Michael had a strange look to his eyes. He was angry, but there was also a curious satisfaction, a hungry anticipation that sent cold shudders through her belly. "I wish only to befriend them, my lord."

  "But I gave you instructions that you were to see them only with my permission. Instead of which, you deliberately disturb their routine, bring them down from the schoolroom, encourage them to disobey their governess-"

  "No, indeed I did not," she protested.

  "Do not interrupt me," he said icily, and that dreadful anticipation in his eyes seemed to strengthen. "Did you or did you not disobey my direct instructions regarding my daughters?"

  There seemed nothing for it. Cordelia put up her chin and met his glare with a steady stare. "If you say so, my lord. But I consider that I was merely fulfilling my duties as stepmother."

  "Those duties will be defined by me, not by you, as you must learn. Come." He crossed the room to the door to Cordelia's bedchamber. "Come," he repeated, the word a whiplash in the tense silence. He opened the door.

  "What do you want of me?" She couldn't help asking, even though her voice shook, and she knew the question betrayed her fear.

  Again that terrible satisfaction flared in his eyes. "I want a wife who knows her place, my dear. And I intend to have one. Come!" He held the door open.

  Cordelia walked past him into her bedchamber. He followed her in and she heard the key turn in the lock.

  Leo rode along the left bank of the Seine toward the Belle Etoile, where he had told Christian to put up.

  As he turned away from the river, however, he spied the musician hurrying down the street toward him with an abstracted air.

  "Christian?"

  Christian stopped in his tracks. He looked up at the horseman, blinking, clearly trying to come back from whatever astral plane of genius he had been inhabiting. "Oh, Viscount Kierston." He smiled, with an air still somewhat bemused. "I was thinking of Cordelia. I'm so worried about her."

  Leo swung down from his horse. He looped the reins over his arm. "There is a pleasant little tavern on the next street. Let's quench our thirst and talk in private."

  Christian fell in beside him. "Have you seen her, sir? That man… her husband… the prince… he seemed so severe.

  To talk to her in such manner and in such a place. I haven't been able to sleep for worrying."

  "I think she worries as much about you," Leo said casually, wondering why he was reluctant to share his own concerns with the musician.

  Outside a tavern on the rue de Seine, Leo handed his horse to a waiting urchin and politely stood aside as his companion dipped his head to pass beneath the narrow lintel. Inside, it was dim, the air musty, sawdust on the floor. It didn't strike Christian as a pleasant place at all, whatever the viscount said. But then, he wasn't to know that it had a very special reputation among those in the know.

  "Wine, mine host!" Leo waved a hand toward the apron-clad tavernkeeper standing at the stained bar counter. "My usual." He brushed off a chair and sat down, swinging his sword to one side. He drew off his gloves and placed them on the table, saying with a smile, "You might find it hard to believe, but Raoul here has as good a cellar as any house in Paris. And I mean any house. There isn't a lord or prince of the blood whose cellar is more extensive."

  Raoul, grinning, put a dusty bottle on the table. He wiped two glasses on his less-than-clean apron, plunking them beside the bottle. "Aye, that's right, milord. But don't ever ask where I gets it from." He tapped the side of his nose with another suggestive grin before drawing the long cork. His expression was reverential as he sniffed the cork, held it for Leo, then passed his nose across the neck of the bottle. As reverently, he poured a measure into one glass, swirling it around until the sides were coated, then he handed it to Leo.

  Leo sipped and closed his eyes on a blissful sigh. "Manna."

  Raoul nodded and filled both glasses to the brim. "I'll fetch a bite of cheese and some bread. It's no quaffing wine."

  "Raoul is a sommelier who could teach the stewards at Versailles a thing or two." Leo took another sip of wine, then sat back, crossing his legs at the ankles. He didn't open the conversation until the tavern keeper had returned with a crusty loaf of bread and a round of cheese.

  Christian controlled his impatience as best he could. He was indifferent to wine, and the ceremony and the savoring struck him as a complete waste of time. He broke a piece of bread, cut a piece of cheese, and ate with relish. Food was a different matter. He seemed always to be hungry.

  "Have you heard of the Due de Carillac?" Leo finally began.

  Christian nodded. "He's well known even in Vienna for his patronage."

  "Well, I think he might be interested in offering you his support." Leo refilled his own glass after casting a glance at his companion's barely touched one.

  Christian looked up from the cheese that he was cutting into again, and his eyes sparkled. "Really? Really and truly, sir?"

  "Really and truly," Leo said, smiling. "I promised to bring you to him this afternoon… if you're free, of course."

  "Oh, but of course I will be… whatever else could I be doing?" Christian stammered. "You are too kind, sir. I hate to think that I might have caused you trouble. I would never have asked for such a favor myself, but…"

  "But Cordelia has no such scruples," Leo finished for him with another dry smile. "She's a most loyal friend, I believe."

  "And I would do anything for her," Christian said, his delight fading from his eyes. "I don't like that husband, sir. He makes me uneasy."

  And me also. But Leo didn't say that. He nibbled a crust of bread and said carefully, "Prince Michael is more than thirty years older than Cordelia. It's inevitable that he should feel a need to mold her to his-"

  "But Cordelia cannot be molded." Christian interrupted passionately, banging his fist on the table in emphasis. "Surely you must know that, sir. You've spent time with her. She's her own person." He pulverized a bread crumb with his fingertips against the stained planking of the table.

  Leo put a protective hand on the bottle as the table continued to shake. "Yes, I understand that," he said quietly. "But she will have to adapt in some way, Christian, surely you accept that."

  "Why would her husband forbid us to talk to each other?" Christian took another tack. "I know I'm a humble musician, but I
have some status. If I have the duke's patronage, I shall be at court. I shall play at court. Why should we not be able to talk to each other?"

  "Prince Michael is very conscious of his social status," Leo said lightly. "It's a Prussian characteristic. But Cordelia, I'm certain, will win him over, once he's become accustomed to her and she to him. Until then…" He paused, picking his words carefully, "Until then, it would be wise of you to keep your distance. For your own sake as well as Cordelia's. Carillac is a close friend of Prince Michael's. You don't want to ruin your chances there."

  "Have you seen her since her marriage?" Christian raised his head from his gloomy contemplation of the table. He'd asked the question once already but hadn't received an answer.

  "This morning." Leo drank his wine, keeping his voice calm and matter-of-fact. "Is she well?"

  "Perfectly. And looking forward to going to Versailles."

  Christian still looked doubtful. "I wish I could speak to her myself. Do you think I could write to her?"

  "Give me a letter and I'll see she gets it." Leo wondered ruefully why he would suggest playing postman. Except that he knew how it would please Cordelia to be able to communicate with her friend.

  Christian's face lit up. "Then, if you'll excuse me, sir, I'll go back to the inn and write at once. I can give it to you when I see you this afternoon."

  Leo inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I'll come for you at three o'clock."

  Christian, burbling his thanks, hastened away, leaving

  Leo staring into space. He couldn't shake his own uneasiness, despite his dismissal of Christian's fears.

  "Raoul!" he bellowed across the noisy taproom. "Another bottle. And drink it with me. I've a wine thirst this afternoon and a need for company."

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was late morning when Cordelia stepped out of the carriage in the great court of the palace of Versailles. They had left rue du Bac before dawn, and the thirty miles from Paris had taken hours as the long procession of carriages had wound its way single file along the narrow road. Half of Paris, it seemed, had come to see the dauphin wed. Burghers, merchants, even tradesmen mingled in the court with elegantly dressed courtiers, the women sporting plumed headdresses and skirts so wide they needed at least six feet of space around them.