Burning for Love Page 13

  “Hush, now, hush,” he muttered, getting himself settled more firmly on the red velvet cushions. “Let’s come to order here and get this business done with, shall we?”

  This did not seem to be an auspicious beginning to choosing the man who might be with her for the rest of her life, Rissa thought. But she hoped that things might get better soon and tried to keep a positive outlook as she waited for the Steward to go on.

  “Princess Ka’rissa,” he said, squinting at her from under his crooked wig. “There you are. Now let’s see—there has been some talk of me not doing my duty by you and finding you a suitor of your own age.”

  “Indeed, I have not heard such things, Uncle,” Rissa said politely. “Though I am happy to hear you may have a new suitor for me?”

  “Yes, indeed. Indeed, I do.” He nodded decisively. “And since my stomach is sour this morning, let us dispense with formalities and get to the announcement.” He looked at the herald standing to one side of the throne. “Well? Go on—announce him!”

  The herald blew a blast on his trumpet and called out,

  “Announcing, His Grace, Duke Ferdinand Grabbington the Seventeenth of Elersham!”

  17

  Before the words had quite sunk in, the double golden doors to the right side of the throne opened with a flourish, revealing the Duke himself. He was wearing a scarlet coat and buckled shoes with heels that were at least four inches high. His long, drooping mustaches twitched like excited dogs wagging their tails as he gave Rissa a lascivious smile.

  “Duke Grabbington?” Rissa gasped. She looked up at the Steward, who seemed to be barely paying attention. “Your Stewardship—Uncle!” she exclaimed. “Please, this man cannot be your choice for me!”

  It was, of course, extremely improper for her to dispute the Steward’s choice. She had held her tongue when she had been presented both with the old man and the boy but Rissa found she could not hold her tongue now.

  “Uncle, you cannot do this to me!” she protested. “Do you not know the Duke’s reputation? Why, he ruined poor Prunella Ascott only last Season!”

  “Lies—all salacious rumors and lies, I assure you, your Stewardship,” Duke Grabbington said smoothly, as he came to stand before the throne.

  The Steward, for his part, glared down at Rissa as though he was angry with her.

  “What’s this? How dare you complain about my choice for you, girl?” he demanded.

  “I’m not complaining, exactly,” Rissa said desperately. “I would just…like to know your thoughts, your Stewardship. Why would you think the Duke would be a suitable match for me?”

  The Steward scowled.

  “You’ve apparently been saying that you wanted to marry someone your own age for some ridiculous reason, so when the Duke came to me and proposed himself as your suitor, it seemed the perfect solution.”

  “The perfect solution?” He’s twenty years older than me!” Rissa protested.

  “That’s nothing. Anyway, tis better that the husband be at least a few years older—then he may better lead the wife,” the Steward remarked.

  “But…but he ruined Prunella Ascott,” Rissa pointed out again.

  The Steward waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing her words.

  “Show me the Royal who hasn’t sewn his wild oats, girl! Such rumors do not signify.”

  “But—” Rissa began.

  “But nothing,” the Steward said, frowning. “The Duke has Royal blood aplenty and will be able to breed babies into you that come out with the Sheen to their skin. Also, he’s almost your same age, so that TittleTattle bitch—whoever she may be—can’t stir up rumors about me that I’m trying to hold the throne for myself by assigning you unsuitable suitors.”

  “But Uncle, I cannot—” Rissa cried again. However, the Steward wasn’t about to let her get a word in.

  “Let’s hear no more about this,” he said, glaring down at her from the double golden throne. “If you have some objection to the Duke, you have only to wait a month and then you can reject his suit. Until now, this matter is finished!”

  “But I don’t know if I can wait another month!” Rissa said desperately. “My Heat Cycle—”

  “Is a blasted nuisance, girl—as are you, yourself!” the Steward said sharply. “I cannot be spending all my time trying to find you suitors that are to your exact specifications. I have a planet to run! Servants, help me up!”

  Two page boys came running to his sides to haul him out of the throne. They took him by the arms and pulled until, with another loud burst of flatulence that left the pages red in the face with repressed giggles, the Steward finally came to his feet. He left the Throne Room muttering loudly about ingratitude and how irritating it was to have to deal with the matters of “young people” constantly and the other servants and the herald followed him. Soon no one was left but Rissa, the Duke, and of course, James, who was still by her side.

  “Well, Your Highness, it seems that we are a match,” the Duke drawled, stepping up to her.

  James growled, low in his throat, and took a step closer to Rissa’s side.

  “We most certainly are not,” she said. Having the big Kindred standing close to her gave her courage to speak her mind. “And I fear I must inform Your Grace that we will never be.”

  “Ah, but I think we will. I think the two of us will be seated on that throne, up there, before this month is out.” The Duke nodded at the double throne and sidled closer, his mustaches twitching.

  “Step back,” James ordered, putting himself between Rissa and the Duke. “You are getting too close to the Princess.” Despite the Duke’s four-inch heels, the Kindred still towered over the other man.

  “And I shall get closer still, Sir Robot,” Duke Grabbington sneered. “Close enough to marry her and put my Royal babies in her belly, I should think.”

  The thought of having the disgusting Duke that close—of letting him kiss her and impregnate her—made Rissa want to retch.

  “Never!” she exclaimed, looking around James’s broad shoulder to glare at him. “You’ll never get that close to me. You should know right now, Duke, that I intend to reject your suit at the end of the month for I quite despise you.”

  “Ah, but as you told the Steward, you might not have a month before your Heat Cycle rises to a crescendo and overcomes you.” Duke Grabbington smirked in a self-satisfied way. “And I dare say that, as much as you despise me, you would prefer having me as your husband to self-immolation.”

  “You are wrong, Sir,” Rissa said coldly. “For I tell you now that I would rather burn to ashes than to let you touch me!”

  For a moment, Duke Grabbington looked taken aback. Then his self-satisfied smirk returned.

  “Well, you shall be obliged to let me touch you tonight, for you can no longer refuse to dance with me, my dear,” he told her. “I am your legal suitor and by Court rules, you must dance every dance with me and hear what I have to say, in order to give me a chance to press my suit.”

  Rissa felt a wave of horror and disgust wash over her as she realized what he said was true. She was in for a miserable month, for she could not break the Court rules, which did, indeed state, that she must dance with the Duke and sit with him at any state dinners in order that he might get a fair consideration before she refused him. Still, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him see her feeling defeated or upset.

  “Very well, Your Grace,” she said with icy formality. “I shall dance with you and dine with you and hear what you have to say. But I shall never, never marry you and at the end of this month, I will refuse your suit publicly. And after that I shall snub you completely and never speak to you again!”

  The Duke’s face sagged with something like surprised realization—he knew as well as she did that if Rissa, as the Crown Princess, snubbed him so publicly, the rest of the Court would too. It would be the end of his social life and it would ruin any chance he might have of finding a wife among the nobility.

&nbs
p; “How dare you, you little bitch?” he began, but suddenly James had him by the neck and was glaring down into his face.

  “You will not speak to the Princess in that way or call her derogatory names and insults,” he growled, his long fingers tightening around the other man’s throat. “The next time you do, I’ll rip out your tongue and you’ll never be able to call anyone anything ever again. Do you understand?”

  The Duke quailed for a moment, then glared back at James.

  “Very well, Sir Robot—I admit, that was ungallant of me,” he said in a rather tight voice, since James still had him by the throat. “But you cannot stand between me and the Princess forever. Tonight we will dance every dance and I will hold her in my arms all night long!”

  He’s right, Rissa thought, feeling sick. I won’t be able to help it—I must dance with him!

  She could feel her Heat Cycle rising, the Fire Blood rushing in her ears and heating her cheeks and neck and points until she felt like a volcano, about to explode. Unfortunately, the Duke seemed to notice her face getting flushed.

  “What’s wrong, Your Highness?” he asked, smirking at Rissa. “Is your Royal blood heating up? Perhaps we had better get married now so that I can slake your Heat.” He leered at her. “It will be my pleasure, you know. Despite your complaints to the Steward about my age, I am in the very prime of my life and it will be my pleasure to ‘plow your furrow,’ as the servants say.”

  “That’s enough!” James’s big hand tightened on the other man’s throat until the Duke’s face turned bright red.

  But Rissa couldn’t watch anymore. Her blood was rising so hot and fast she truly felt as though she might either explode or faint. Turning, she swept from the Throne Room, trying not to wobble as she walked because she didn’t want to display any weakness in front of her odious suitor.

  But though she walked straight and held her head high, inside she was burning up and her Heat Cycle was rising higher and higher.

  It was out of control and there was nothing Rissa could do about it.

  18

  “It’s no good—you’re not cooling down.”

  James stroked the Princess’s flushed face anxiously, frowning at the way her skin refused to cool. He had cooled his own body temperature down as low as it could go—almost to the point where, if anyone besides Ka’rissa had touched him for any length of time—they would have gotten frostbite. But the Princess didn’t seem to be responding to his touch. Instead, she was panting and pacing around her bedchamber as tears leaked from her lovely eyes.

  “Oh James, what am I going to do?” she asked, ignoring his concern. “He intends to marry me and I do not know if I can last another month with my Heat Cycle ramping up the way it is.”

  “It’s ramping up all right,” James muttered grimly. He stroked her cheek again—it was like touching a hot iron. “We need to get you into a cold bath,” he said, frowning. “I can’t cool you down enough just by touching you.”

  “I cannot take a bath until tonight because Lady Mildew has the remote to turn off my Chastity Wire,” she pointed out. “And after what Lady TittleTattle wrote about her, I’m sure she won’t be bothered to come help me.”

  “Don’t worry about the damn wire,” James growled. He drew her into the bathing chamber and turned on the cold tap, causing icy water to gush into the large, oval tub.

  “But I cannot get in with the wire on—it will electrocute me!” Ka’rissa protested. “It’s already shocking me, because I am perspiring so dreadfully,” she added, wincing and twitching her hips as the wire crackled under her clothes.

  “I can take care of it,” James insisted. “Please, Princess—we need to get you undressed and out of those heavy, hot clothes! You’re overheating.”

  Indeed, he could smell the strong, sweet scent of burning sugar and her nipples were glowing a dull red through the white fabric of her formal Court gown.

  At last, Ka’rissa allowed him to help her out of her wig and clothing. Every time her skin brushed his, it was like touching a hot stove. She really was getting close to combustion, James thought. It seemed that a cold hand was squeezing his throat, making it difficult to breathe as he thought this. Was the feeling some kind of emotion? Maybe what the feelers called “panic?”

  He didn’t have time to worry about that now, he decided. Right now he just had to get her into the cold bath before she combusted.

  When she was naked except for the damn wire, he gripped it in his right hand and, using the electrodes in his enhancement, shorted it out with a single dampening burst.

  “Oh!” Rissa gasped at the loud crackling pop. “Oh, what did you do, James?”

  “Took care of the problem,” he growled. He would have liked to rip the wire off her and ball it up or tear it to bits, but he realized that she would need it later to at least keep up appearances.

  “Here, let’s get this damn thing off of you,” he muttered. The locking mechanism wasn’t at all difficult for his enhancements to unlock. Soon enough, he had the wire off of her and Ka’rissa was standing there, completely naked and red-hot all over.

  “James,” she said faintly. “How did you—?”

  And then her eyes rolled up in her head and the smell of burning sugar got so strong, James was certain she was catching fire right that instant.

  Scooping her up in his arms, he deposited her into the half-full tub of icy water. A cloud of steam rose around them as her hot skin made contact with the water, nearly obscuring his vision. James ignored it.

  Making sure to keep one hand under her head to keep it above the water line, he began splashing the cold water over her supine form, praying silently—though he hardly knew what deity he was directing his prayers to—that it would work.

  At first he was afraid that the heat would consume her anyway. Her cheeks were red and she was panting steadily, her breathing light and shallow. The water kept steaming away to nothing as it touched her skin and he was afraid she would die from heat exhaustion, even if she didn’t go up in flames.

  But finally the icy cold water seemed to be having some effect. The steam stopped rising and Ka’rissa’s respiration slowed down. She came back to consciousness and looked up at him with glassy, feverish eyes.

  “Oh, James,” she whispered weakly. “What am I going to do?”

  And then she burst into tears.

  19

  “It’s all right, Princess—everything is going to be all right,” James murmured soothingly as he stroked her flushed cheeks with his large, cool hands.

  “No, it’s not,” Rissa protested. Burning hot tears were slipping from under her lids, leaving boiling tracks down her cheeks, but she hardly noticed them. “The Duke is right—I’ll have to dance with him at every ball and dine beside him at every state dinner.”

  “But only for a solar month,” James said, his deep voice calm and soothing. “You only have to endure that fool for a month.”

  “But I don’t have a month! Just look at me!” Rissa gestured to the tub, where she was still submerged in icy water. “If you hadn’t gotten off my Chastity Wire and plunked me in the tub when you did, I would have burned to ashes, just like my dear Mama did! The Duke is right—I will have to marry him and let him slake my Heat. There’s no way around it.”

  “Yes, there is—there has to be,” James objected, frowning. “Though I have no emotions, I don’t like the idea of that bastard putting his hands on you,” he growled fiercely. “There must be a way to control your Heat Cycle, Princess.”

  “If there is, I have no idea what it might be,” Rissa said weakly. She felt so tired—all wrung out—as she always did after her Heat Cycle peaked.

  “Well then, we have to find out. Where can we get information about your family—the Very First Family, as you call them?” James asked.

  Rissa shivered.

  “In the Royal Library, I suppose. But that is where I was attacked,” she whispered, remembering the awful moment when the man in black had grabbed her and put
a knife to her throat.

  “You won’t be in danger as long as I’m with you,” James promised firmly. “We need to go, as soon as you’re able, and do some research.”

  “But we can’t just go to the Royal Librarian and ask for information about controlling my Heat Cycle!” Rissa exclaimed. “Such knowledge is forbidden and Lord Bookish is a terrible gossip—the whole thing will be all over the Court in no time!”

  “Then we won’t say that we’re looking for information on your Heat Cycle—we’ll say you’re researching your family for some kind of Royal event,” James suggested.

  “Well…the End of Summer Gala is coming up at the end of this month,” Rissa said, frowning. “I suppose I could say that I wanted to make a speech about my ancestors and the Very First Family’s long, noble lineage.”

  “That’s perfect.” James nodded decisively. “If there is any knowledge to be had about your ‘Fire Blood,’ it should be in the records of your ancestors.”

  “Do you really think we’ll find a way to stop my blood from overheating?” Rissa asked, looking up at him anxiously.

  “I certainly hope so.” James sounded grim. “Or else I’m afraid you’ll be spending the entire next solar month in a tub of icy water.” He stroked her forehead. “But I don’t think it will come to that, Princess. I’m sure we can find some kind of cure for you.”

  Rissa felt a tiny tendril of hope growing in her heart. Maybe he was right. Maybe they would find the answer they sought in the archives of the Very First Family.

  “I want to go and look for a cure right away,” she said, putting her hands on the edges of the tub to try and get out.

  “Not yet.” James frowned at her sternly. “You nearly went up in flames just now. You can’t leave the tub until you can control your emotions—I believe those are what have caused your Heat Cycle to go into overdrive in the first place.”