She had opened her mouth, he knew, to apologize, and his words caught her off guard. “You don’t really mean that.” Her voice wavered upward at the end, turning it into a hopeful question.
“Of course I do. I think that time you got a chance to see how the waltz really feels, which will make tomorrow’s lesson go more easily. And I never say anything I don’t mean.” He took one of her hands and bowed over it. The courtly gesture was decidedly out of date, but it felt good to indulge the impulse. “If I were you, I would take the compliment and call it a win.”
Still bent over her hand, he tilted his head to glance up at her and caught her wry smile. “If you insist.”
“I will tell Raoul that your presence will not be required until lunchtime,” he told her as he straightened. “Enjoy your morning off. You’ve earned it.”
Her smile widened into real pleasure. “Thank you.”
“De nada. Good night.”
“Good night.”
After watching her step out of the ballroom, he turned off the stereo and the lights. Whistling Strauss’s Blue Danube underneath his breath, he went to look for Raoul.
He found the other man in the gym, immersed in paperwork in his office. When he appeared in the doorway, Raoul looked up from his work. “How did it go?”
Fortuitous. Behoove.
A ripple of laughter waltzed silently through his soul. He admitted, “There were some frustrations.”
Raoul barked out a laugh. “That bad?”
“Actually, we ended the evening on a positive note.” Crossing his arms, he leaned against the doorway. “I’ve given her the morning off. We need to adjust her schedule. We can’t expect her to start at dawn while also working late into the night.”
Raoul lounged back in his seat, swiveling to face him. “Of course. I should have thought of that already. It’ll be no problem to begin a few hours later.”
Xavier paused as he regarded the other man. Raoul had been with him for a long time, and they knew each other well. “I want you to stop trying to drive her away.”
Raoul gave him a sour look. “Did she complain?”
“No, she didn’t. She made a joke about it, but I could still read the subtext.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’d already decided to stop this morning after she ambushed me.” Raoul twirled a pen between his fingers. “She wants to take things to the next level, and I’m going to oblige.”
“Good. That’s good.” He nodded absently as his thoughts turned in another direction. “You’re the one who orders supplies for everyone, so you must know what size clothes she wears, yes?”
“Of course.” The other man’s expression turned guarded. “Why do you ask?”
He turned decisive. “I want you to order a ball gown for her.”
Raoul’s eyebrows took a slow, incredulous hike up his forehead. He repeated, “Order a ball gown.”
“Yes, one with a long, full skirt. Make it a dark blue one.” Tess would look good in dark blue. He remembered the quip she made about Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire, and added, “Don’t forget to order high heels either.”
Tossing his pen onto the desk, Raoul rose to his feet and strode over to him, enunciating, “What. Are. You. Doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Xavier’s eyes narrowed at the other man’s attitude. “I’m teaching her to dance.”
“She doesn’t need a dress to learn how to dance!”
He shook his head. “Raoul, nobody waltzes in exercise pants.”
She needed to learn how to deal with the long skirts and high heels, along with everything else, should the occasion call for it. Oh, lord. He braced himself at the thought.
Raoul stuck a finger under his nose. “It was one time. In the last forty years, as far as I know, an attendant has been asked to dance with a guest one time, and yet now you’re squandering hours and hours of your time to make sure that Tess knows how to waltz.” He paused to let the sarcasm in the room marinate for a few seconds, then added, “Should the subject ever come up in her lifetime.”
Xavier focused on the opposite wall. “I don’t see that there’s an issue.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Raoul said.
“Do you? Please do enlighten me.” He was very interested to hear what the other man had to say, because he didn’t have a clue what he was doing.
“You’re beginning to invest time and trouble in her—a ball gown, Xavier. Really? Soon you’ll grow attached, and your protective instincts will kick in. Then you’ll never be able to send her out on assignment.” Raoul spread both hands wide. “Which is assuming we get that far, and frankly, right now, that’s a bit of a stretch, since she hasn’t made the most basic of commitments to you yet. And that means all of this will have been for nothing.”
Patiently, Xavier heard him out. When Raoul paused to take a breath, he said calmly, “I disagree with you on several counts.”
Raoul glared at him. “Such as?”
“You’re assuming an end goal that has never been decided upon. Yes, I saw potential in her, but I never committed to sending her out on any assignments.”
Pausing, Xavier considered again how her appearance had changed, and how memorable she had become, and the same thread of disquiet rippled over him again. He had good instincts. They had been honed by personal disaster and tragedy, and he had no intention of ignoring them now.
He continued thoughtfully, “There are any number of factors that may keep me from sending her on assignment, including the fact that she came to me very publicly through the Vampyre’s Ball.”
“Many people ask for interviews, and it never goes anywhere,” Raoul pointed out. It was not for the first time, since they had begun to discuss Tess’s potential merits and shortcomings.
“That may be so, but I don’t ask for many interviews at the Ball, and there are those who take note of every move I make,” he said. “And even if I did offer her the chance, we don’t know that she would accept. The only thing I ever offered her—and she accepted—was the chance to become an attendant. That’s all we have the right to expect, and right now she’s showing signs of becoming an excellent one.”
The other man frowned. “Fair enough.”
He met Raoul’s gaze. “I also disagree with what you said about her not having made the most basic commitment, because I think she has. She’s done everything you’ve asked, and she’s done everything I’ve asked as well, and we’ve not been easy on her. She’s taken every bruise and every fall without complaint, while you’ve worked her to the bone.”
“True, but she hasn’t made a direct blood offering, has she?”
“No, but I like the fact that she hasn’t.” Changing position as he leaned back, he faced the opposite side of the doorway. “I like that it’s difficult for her, because it will have significance when she does it. You know as well as I do that most of the humans at the Vampyre’s Ball would have given a blood offering without a second’s hesitation to any Vampyre who asked for it, while the act itself would reveal nothing about their abilities, character, or their capacity for loyalty. As a ritual, it’s become outdated and meaningless.” He murmured, almost to himself, “And it shouldn’t be.”
Raoul heaved a sigh. “I hate it when you’re right.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “That is your cross to bear, since I am right so often.”
“Yes, well . . .” Raoul turned back to his desk and sat down. “And none of that pertains to teaching her how to waltz, but fine, I’ll order a ball gown for her to practice in. A cheap one.”
He contemplated the toe of one shoe. “A blue one.”
“A cheap, blue one,” said Raoul, as he scribbled it on a Post-it note. “Along with cheap high heels.”
He heaved a sigh. “Raoul, don’t do that to her feet. You do want her to be able to run in the mornings, don’t you?”
“Fine.” Raoul crossed out the Post-it note with strong, dark lines and wrote another one. “Good high heels. Are you satisfied now?”