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Michael Flores sucked in as deep a breath as he could manage before he stepped through the doors to the Lion and Pentacle, which wasn't as as deep as he'd have liked. Damn this stupid starched cravat constricting his throat. He knew there was a reason why he preferred to wear string ties during the day.
But evening had fallen now, the stars twinkling bright and clear over the city of Harfleury, and Michael was about to enter the most exclusive club in all Ishcala. So exclusive, indeed, that it only allowed in those of proven bloodlines. Even the wealthiest commoner could never hope to buy his way through the Lion and Pentacle's elaborately gilded doors.
"Good evening, Lord Michael Flores. Welcome to the Lion and Pentacle. We have been expecting you." The footman at the doors bowed, sweeping out his arm in welcome. Michael was half amazed his stiffly pressed suit didn't creak like a board.
"My pleasure to be here," Michael said, plastering on a smile that he hoped didn't look too fake.
The footman bowed again, and whoever controlled the doors must have decided Michael was of appropriate status to enter because they opened soundlessly. Michael gripped his walking stick tighter, feeling the cold metal of the lion-shaped head even through his kidskin gloves.
Of course they'd let him in no contest. He was the eldest son of the Duke of Harfleury, the man who not only ruled Harfleury, capital of Ishcala, but also its surrounding lands. One Harfleury ancestor had, in fact, cofounded the Lion and Pentacle along with a member of the now-defunct Grimsbane family. Hence the club's symbols, a combination of the Harfleury lion and the Grimsbane pentacle.
Another servant waited in the long hallway, floored in black marble polished to such a high shine Michael could see his own reflection staring back at him - as well as that of the ceiling, inlaid with gold Lion and Pentacle symbols, and the walls lined with ancient oil paintings. Ceiling chandeliers cast pools of dramatic golden light around the corridor at regular intervals.
Tacky, Michael thought. And you could tell just from looking that a Harfleury must have had a hand in designing the damn place. This kind of the over-the-top grandeur was right up his father's alley.
The servant guided Michael down the hall, then took a left to a smaller, more intimate hall lined with cherry-wood doors. When they reached a door at the end of the hall, the servant glided forward and opened the door before stepping aside to let Michael through.
Michael held in a sigh. Others might praise this as good, unobtrusive service, but to Michael, it seemed like the servants were implying that he wasn't even capable of opening a door on his own. Then again, for some nobles Michael knew, that might as well be true.
Time for the moment of truth. Michael couldn't put it off any longer. Feeling like a man walking to his execution, he trudged across the threshold and entered the small, intimate lounge beyond the door. His footsteps made no sound upon the plush scarlet carpet.
He knew the drill already. Chat with the lady sitting in one of the two armchairs facing each other across a table, sip glasses of rose champagne poured by the attending servant, and then after about an hour the two of them would sweep off to the restaurant at the club's top floor for a formal dinner. Lather, rinse, repeat with another lady in a week or two.
Twenty-five and unmarried? his mother's voice shrilled in his head. This is unacceptable. One way or another, by the end of this year, you will have at least formed a betrothal contract with a highborn lady.
Honestly, Michael had hoped that his bachelorhood would have escaped his parents' notice for just a few years longer. Yes, most noblemen were married at his age, but the prospect of marriage seemed so dreary to him he'd rather push it off to thirty at the earliest. Did he really want to end up like his own parents, who occupied separate floors of the Harfleury townhouse and stayed in separate manors during the summer? All because they'd tied the knot too early.
Michael figured that in his case, wasn't it better to sample a variety of ladies before settling down? At least then he'd know what he liked. Ladies both low and high, ladies from the docks and the streets and the nightclubs where commoners flailed to awful percussive music and overdosed on ecstasy. All right, so maybe lower-class women held more of Michael's attention at the moment. They knew better how to have a good time than the prim, tightly-laced, perfumed and powdered ingenues his parents kept pushing on him.
He expected tonight's date to be no different. So when his eyes landed on her, a thrill of genuine surprise ran down his spine.
An ice princess, was the first thought that crossed Michael's mind. With her pale skin, platinum hair bound in elaborate twist with a spray of snowdrop flowers, and shimmering, silvery-blue evening dress, she looked less a creature of flesh and blood and more a sculpture carved from ice and snow. Even the pattern of the lace trimming her neckline and ruffled skirts resembled snowflakes.
As Michael entered, the lady, the ice princess, rose to her feet and spread out her skirts, lowering in a curtsy. Michael responded with a bow of his own. Sure, he thought most of the nobility's manners were an inefficient waste of time, but his etiquette masters had drilled him too well.
"Greetings, Lord Flores," the lady murmured to the floor, her eyes still downcast. Her voice was agreeably low and smooth, unlike the high trills preferred by most noble ladies, and it had a sharp edge that also reminded Michael of ice.
"Greetings, my lady," Michael said, returning the courtesy. "I don't believe I've had the fortune to meet you before."
"I am Elizabeth Brownley, eldest daughter of Baron Bluewall," she said stiffly.
Daughter of a baron? Curious. So far, the lowest-ranked woman whom Michael's parents had tried to set him up with was the daughter of a viscount. Well, Michael would welcome any change in routine.
"Pardon me, my lady, but I'm not quite sure I remember where Bluewall is, exactly," Michael said as he strode toward the empty armchair. Elizabeth remained standing, as was polite, and as he came closer Michael realized that she had to stand at least half a head taller than him. Not much of an accomplishment, really - Harfleury men weren't known for their height - but it pleased Michael. He liked his women tall.
Elizabeth turned to the side, a loose lock of platinum hair swinging. "I understand why you wouldn't, my lord. We're really very minor...just a few islands by the southeastern coast."
Oh, right. Michael's photographic memory placed the location instantly. Bluewall did have a reigning baron, but he was known for being reclusive. Then again, southerners didn't often leave their comfortable equatorial holdings.
After Michael took his seat, Elizabeth sat back down, her skirts rustling. He admired the careful precision of her movements - it was more than a typical lady's primness, but seemed almost awkward as if she was unused to moving in such a way. It seemed genuine.
Probably not. Most likely Elizabeth's movements were just as careful and studied as that of all noblewomen. And men. Nobles didn't do genuine.
The servant served them champagne before melting back in the background, but Michael never forgot his presence. No doubt he was recording every word in a hidden mike and relaying them to Michael's parents.
"So, Lady Elizabeth, what do you think of the Lion and Pentacle?" Michael said pleasantly as he sipped at the sweet rose, wishing it were something stronger. "Is this your first time?"
Yes, maybe he could amuse himself by ensuring everything he said contained a sexual innuendo in some form or another. He had managed to scandalize three consecutive dates in such a way. Hopefully he wouldn't break his streak tonight.
"Hmm." Elizabeth still wasn't looking directly at him, which struck Michael as a little rude, but that just made him more interested in her. "Yes, it is, my lord. It's quite impressive. Especially...size-wise."
Huh! Michael raised his eyebrows. Was he imagining things, or had she parried with a shot of her own? What kind of a lady did that?
He might as well figure out how far he could push her. "To be honest, my lady, I've seen bigger. The Lion and Pentacle merely looks more impressive from the inside."
Elizabeth pressed the back of her gloved hand to her mouth, but not in time to entirely stifle the snort she unleashed.
That was a first. A noblewoman laughing at Michael's innuendos - which he had to admit were more ribald than clever. Since he hadn't been expecting this reaction, he didn't have a response prepared. To buy a little more time, he took another sip of the too-sweet wine.
Didn't matter, because she turned to face him for the first time. Her eyes, framed by pale eyelashes like a dusting of snow, were a very pale gray, almost silver. Michael had never seen eyes that color before.
She must get marriage offers left and right, he thought dreamily, even if she was rather tall and not curvy, despite her corset's best efforts, and her cheekbones were a bit sharp and nose a bit long to be considered pretty. But who cared about minor issues like those. Her eyes were captivating, and she had the most beautiful bow-shaped lips, painted silvery blue like her dress.
"To be honest, my lord, I've never been in a place like this before. I'm a little...overwhelmed." Elizabeth leaned forward, cradling her wineglass in both hands. Michael didn't know why that jumped out at him, until he realized that most noblewomen held wineglasses delicately by the stem.
A tremor of interest stirred inside him. Interest on a different level than simply finding a girl attractive.
"Yes," he said, "I can see why. I can't imagine Bluewall has many exclusive clubs to boast of."
Elizabeth blinked a few times. "No. It doesn't."
"But I'm certain it makes for the lack in other ways," Michael said wryly. "The weather must be much nicer than it is here in Harfleury, hmm? Tell me more about it."
"Mm." Elizabeth turned away again. "There isn't much to say. It's rather dull, to be honest."
"Dull?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "How so? I've always wanted to live close by the ocean. My family does have a beach house, but we only stay there a few weeks every summer."
"It's just boring." Elizabeth raised both shoulders, almost resembling a turtle trying to tuck its head back into its shell. "I find Harfleury more interesting, my lord."
"Ah, so you like city life?" Michael said. "I suppose there's always something to do, hmm? Parties and social engagements and salons and whatnot." Whatever it was ladies did all day.
"Not particularly," Elizabeth said, then swallowed, her throat jumping, and when she spoke again her voice came quicker. "Yes, I mean, yes, my lord. There is much more to do in the city."
Huh, what was she trying to cover for? Then again, she didn't know him well and might think he wouldn't approve if she expressed a contrary opinion. That rather annoyed Michael. He drained his wineglass, a little alarmed to see how empty it had become, before setting it down on the table with an emphatic click.
"You can be honest with me, you know, my lady," he said, trying to soften his voice, infuse a note of kindness in it. "I'm none too fond of social engagements myself."
Elizabeth's eyes widened, and Michael decided he liked her surprised face. It was rather cute. Strange thinking that someone as tall and majestic as her could make cute faces too, but there you go. People had many layers.
And this Lady Elizabeth Brownley seemed to have about as many as an onion. Michael hated onions, but he wouldn't mind unpeeling this onion's layers.
"Is that so," Elizabeth said, straightening her back with an officious little cough. Another one of her none-too-ladylike moments.
Michael was beginning to have some inkling of who Elizabeth might really be, but he needed a little more evidence before confirming it for himself. In the meantime, he might as well enjoy his conversation with her. "So what sort of things do you enjoy, my lady?"
Elizabeth stared down at her lap, twisting her fingers together. It seemed to take her an eternity to answer, and her voice came out soft, hesitant. "I enjoy...umm...I suppose it's a bit of an odd hobby, but I like to mix music. Not sing, I can't sing worth a damn, but...mixing electronic music...I can do that. And I enjoy it."
Well, Michael had to give her points for originality. This was about the last thing he'd expected to hear. "Your parents allow you to?"
"Well, my father doesn't approve," Elizabeth said, a scowl briefly flitting across her face.
"Yes, I can imagine he doesn't like his daughter listening to that kind of commoner trash in the first place, let alone making it."
"It isn't trash," Elizabeth said, a savage edge sharpening her voice. "It's the future of music. Nobles may continue attending their orchestras and operas and playing piano and violin and whatnot for parties, but everyone knows they're completely irrelevant. Music produced by a computer is no different from music produced by an instrument."
"Someone sounds bitter," Michael said, arching an eyebrow.
A brilliant red flush painted Elizabeth's cheeks. Once again, she ducked her head. "F-forgive me, my lord. I may have been too forward."
"No, I like it. You sound like you have strong opinions, and I can appreciate that. I mean, I may not know much about music, but I know that my father's generation is just as stuffy and conservative as you say."
"Oh, are you talking about the Hedler-Raleigh Act?" Elizabeth looked at him sharply, the light playing appealingly across the planes of her face at this angle.
"You know about that?" Michael said, surprised. He'd thought ladies weren't supposed to be interested in politics, and if they were, they certainly didn't discuss the topic on their first date. "Even though your father doesn't have a seat in the Council of Nobles?" (And yes, he knew that for a fact, because he'd long memorized the Council's entire lineup).
"I've, I've heard a bit," Elizabeth said. "Ever since I came to the city. It's ridiculous, isn't it?"
The Hedler-Raleigh Act had passed just last week, though by a narrow margin. Michael's own father, the Chair of the Council, had gone so far as to cast the tie-breaking vote in its favor. And why not? His father would jump on any chance to disenfranchise those nouveau riche commoners, the ones who'd made fortunes from business acumen and ruthless acquisition, now proliferating "like a disease" around Ishcala.
With the act's passing, it was now written in the Council Charter that commoners, no matter how wealthy, were not entitled to representation on par with peers. This presented a crushing blow to Dragon Corporation and the Balfour Trading Company, the groups that had pushed hardest for commoner representation on the Council.
"Ridiculous indeed," Michael sighed. "If the corporations want to join that flock of bickering vultures, I say let them."
"It isn't just bickering." A sudden sharpness entered Elizabeth's voice. "The Council gets to decide the highest law of the land. Commoners do have representation in the Assembly, but the Council has total veto power. It's an imbalanced situation all around."
The emotion simmering in her silvery eyes struck somewhere at Michael's heart - and indeed, almost frightened him. With a start, he realized that emotion, that anger, had been with her all evening, tightening her posture, stiffening her movements, sharpening her voice. She didn't want to be here. All of her body language - the glances she kept darting at the door - indicated an overpowering desire to get the hell out of the lounge, maybe out of the club altogether.
Which...kind of made no sense, and threw a wrench into the theory that Michael had begun to pull together.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a flicker of movement; the servant stepping closer. Of course, he had heard every one of Elizabeth's words, and he must not like what he was hearing. If this reached Michael's parents....
Just one more thing he had to confirm before he decided, and then acted. "Say, about Bluewall, my lady. Have you ever gone snorkeling in the kelp forests?"
"Ah." Elizabeth blinked, looking blindsided. "Yes, yes I have, my lord."
"I see," Michael said, carelessly sweeping his hand to the side.
He'd already judged his trajectory earlier, so he didn't have to look to know that he would without fail clip the champagne bottle on the table with the back of his hand. Sure enough, the bottle topped over, hitting the carpet with a spray of pink champagne and glass shards.
Elizabeth yelled out a curse, flinging her hands in the air. Instantly the servant darted over, dropping to his hands and knees and spewed apologies as he mopped up the mess.
"Pardon, my lord, my lady, but if you would wait outside while - I'm so terribly sorry - "
"That's all right," Michael said, standing up. "I was hoping to get some fresh air anyway." (And it wasn't a total lie; the perfume in the lounge was beginning to make his head spin). "If you'd come with me, my lady?"
"Erm...." The servant glanced between the two of them, then at the mess on the carpet. Michael could just see his internal war: he had to clean up the remains of the champagne bottle, but he also didn't want to leave the lord and lady unattended. That would be improper.
Well, screw proper. Michael offered the servant a dazzling smile, then held out his hand to Elizabeth. She blinked at him, that adorable nonplussed look back on her face, before wrapping her long, slender fingers around his.
Still proper, still proper, Michael told himself. Both of them were wearing gloves, so it wasn't as if he was making direct skin contact with a lady.
Besides, he already knew that Lady Brownley was no lady in truth.
He took her arm and led her to the door, walking slowly to accommodate her sweeping skirts, which she kept stumbling over. He watched her face as they strode side-by-side down the hall, enjoying the way she bit her lip in consternation each time she accidentally trod on her hem.
This close, the height difference between them was even more pronounced. With every breath, Michael tasted her moonflower perfume, tickling the back of his throat appealingly. What an interesting couple they must present. The tall lady of ice and stocky dark Michael Flores.
Too bad they had no chance of ever getting married. The thought sent a sudden pang of sadness through his stomach, and that brought him up short. What the hell? Had he forgotten his vow to swear off marriage until thirty? And no way he'd want to marry a woman after having a single conversation with her.
But she was unlike any lady he'd ever met. Not the whores prowling the south side of the city, not the giggling beauties in the manor drawing rooms, not the pierced and tattooed types who he ground against at underground parties.
"Where might we be going, my lord?" Elizabeth's voice cut through his thoughts. She had returned to stiff propriety, but Michael had already seen enough of the real her to know just how fake the act was.
"I figure we could get some fresh air out on one of the second-floor balconies," he said, smiling at her. "Much better than that stuffy lounge, hmm?"
"Isn't dinner starting soon, my lord?" Elizabeth's brow furrowed.
"Don't worry, we won't take long. Like I said, we're just catching a breath of fresh air. Besides, the view is to die for, my lady."
They scaled a staircase, its banisters topped with gold lions, then entered a long stretch of hallway where the west-facing wall was made of fluted marble columns with red velvet curtains draped between them. Michael pushed aside a curtain, then led Elizabeth onto a semicircular marble balcony just big enough for two people.
He guided Elizabeth up to the balustrade, then rested his elbow on it and peered out the Lion and Pentacle's extensive gardens, the boxy hedges almost black in the darkness, the fountains glittering with an array of colored lights. A few couples wandered around the maze-like hedges, their low murmurs, the tinkle of the fountains, and the distant strains from a string band filling the warm spring air.
"Oh, my." Elizabeth breathed in. "It's beautiful."
"It is indeed, my lady," Michael said, letting a vein of irony slip into the word 'lady.' His hand slipped lower, moving from her elbow down to her waist. He squeezed, pulling her close, taking care to keep his arm above her gown's elaborate bustle.
Elizabeth stiffened, her cheeks staining red. "M-my lord, please don't be so forward - isn't this improper?"
"Is it now, my lady?" Michael whispered into her hair, pressing his nose just above the curve of her ear and inhaling her perfume.
"It is - it is, so please - " Elizabeth was practically squeaking.
"It would be improper, yes," Michael said slowly, "if you were a lady."
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth went stiff. Michael could feel it, the muscles tensing and tightening beneath his arm.
Then she pushed at his side with surprising strength, and Michael staggered backward and his arm slipped away from her. She stepped back, putting as much distance between them as possible on the narrow balcony, and whipped out her fan and held it before the lower half of her face, so all he could see were her fierce silver eyes.
"How dare you, Lord Flores," she said, high and shrill. "To accuse me of such a thing - "
"You know, you'd have an airtight case to present to the staff," Michael said, "if you'd just run back inside. But you didn't, and you won't. Because you've got something to hide, don't you? If you really were a lady, you wouldn't be here talking to me."
Elizabeth drew in hissing, shaking breaths, her shoulders rising and falling as if she hoped to fly away from the entire scene - but she said not a word, and she remained firmly in place.
Michael shook his head, laughing sadly. "I have to admit I'm impressed, my 'lady.' I don't know how you were able to fake your way into the Lion and Pentacle. Daughter of Baron Bluewall...and I almost bought it myself."
"...why didn't you?" Elizabeth's voice came out a fierce whisper. "What...what gave it away?"
"It's true I don't know much about Baron Bluewall - he is a recluse, after all - but I thought it strange that a recluse would send his daughter this far north by herself. Furthermore, for someone who supposedly grew up in the south and never left it until recently, you're quite pale."
Elizabeth blanched, proving Michael's point further. Well, Michael supposed skin tone wasn't a guaranteed indicator of one's place of origin; for northern nobles, the Harfleurys were on the swarthier side. All the same, even pale people ought to tan if they spent their lives under the sun.
"There's more that gave it away, of course," Michael said. "I couldn't help but notice that you're fairly awkward with your movements, and you had trouble looking at me directly. Classic signs that you're unfamiliar with carrying yourself like a lady and that you've got something to hide. Some of your language earlier, too, was kind of suspicious. A real lady would never get caught dead cursing. And oh, the clincher?"
He raised one finger, winking. "Bluewall doesn't have kelp forests. It has a coral reef."
For a moment, there was only silence. Even the sounds from the garden were muffled and distant, as if they issued from another world. And perhaps they did. Right now, the only world that mattered to Michael was the balcony; the only person, Elizabeth.
"So." Her voice, sharp and brittle, shattered the silence like breaking glass. "What are you going to do with me now?"
She hugged her arms close to her chest, digging long fingers into her elbows. The fan dipped down, allowing Michael to see her face again, the way she'd pressed her lips together in a thin, tight line. Even now, she was trying to hold herself with pride, trying to escape with at least some of her dignity intact.
Michael smiled, spreading his arms. "Don't worry too much. I'm not going to report you to the staff, if that's what you're afraid of. If anything, this has just made you more interesting to me."
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his heels clicking on the marble. Elizabeth shrank back further, but Michael didn't stop. He touched her arm and tilted his head up, looking her in the eye, and this time infused his smile with a playful, flirtatious edge.
"I don't know who you really are - whether you're an actress or escort or just some bored city girl, but that doesn't mean we can't still have fun. That this can't be a real date. Right here, where no one can see us...." He moved his hands to her waist, gently squeezing. "We can enjoy ourselves just fine, hmm, my 'lady?'"
"W-wait, Lord Flores...." Elizabeth shivered as Michael's hands crept upward, tracing her sides, then her forearms, and brushing her bare shoulders. Even through his gloves, her skin felt criminally soft and smooth. "Lord Flores, please."
"Don't worry, my dear," Michael murmured, leaning up to nuzzle the smooth curve of her jaw. "I know the meaning of discretion. Rest assured, neither of us will be implicated in any kind of scandal. Now, just relax and enjoy yourself...I know what I'm doing."
"N-no, I don't think you understand what - " But Michael cut her off with a brief kiss, brushing his lips to hers. They felt as soft as they looked. Heaven be damned if he wasn't going to reward her for entertaining so much already. He'd expected this to be yet another interminable date at the Lion and Pentacle, achingly formal and utterly passionless, but instead he'd met this most unlikely lady in this most unlikely place.
Another kiss, and this time Elizabeth responded in some way, tilting her head for a better angle. The tentativeness of the gesture almost made Michael laugh. Who would have thought this bold, opinionated woman would suddenly become so shy in this arena. Well, he'd only encourage her more.
His fingers crept lower, dancing down her shoulder to her collarbone, then even lower, slipping beneath her neckline....
"Lord Flores!" Elizabeth cried, just as Michael stroked her breast.
"Wait a minute." He paused mid-touch, heart hammering a war beat in his ears. He pressed again, and felt the same soft, yielding pressure. But it wasn't a woman's breast. He knew well enough how those felt.
No, this felt like...like....cloth.
"Um." Rather rudely, Michael grabbed her neckline and pulled down - far enough to fully expose her breasts. If she actually had breasts.
Instead of what looked like two small stuffed cushions.
Instantly, Elizabeth pushed Michael's hands aside and pulled up her neckline, covering herself again. She folded her arms over her bosom as if that'd keep it in place and fixed Michael with a ferocious - yet desperate - glare, though it was rather ruined by her scarlet blush.
"You....you're...." Michael knew he sounded like an idiot, all blathering and sputtering, but he seemed to have lost the ability to piece together nouns and verbs in a coherent fashion. "You're...a man?"
"Shut up," Elizabeth snapped.
"You're a man! A man!" Michael blathered as if he'd never heard of the concept before. And really, it sounded too ridiculous to believe. A man dressing up as a woman in order to gain access to the Lion and Pentacle? Was he dreaming?
But the cool air brushing over his face, scented of grass and dew, was too real and sharp to ignore, as was the perfume drifting out from the hall. Michael took a deep breath, straining to fill his lungs, to ground himself.
"If you'd have been using your brain instead of your balls, maybe you would have actually listened to what I was trying to get across to you," Elizabeth said caustically. "When's the last time you got some? Or are all noblemen as horny as you?"
Now, so many things made sense. Elizabeth's height, her angular face. Even her voice - it wasn't a woman's throaty alto, but a man's smooth tenor. Her awkward movements made sense, too. She wasn't a common woman unused to a noblewoman's delicate manners; she was a man in a dress.
"Why? I mean...who....what...," Michael babbled. "Who are you? And why would you do this? I mean, if it's what you're into, more power to you, but - "
Ah, God. He'd kissed a man. He'd thought a man made a beautiful woman, and the worst thing was now that he saw the man in her, he still thought Elizabeth was one of the loveliest ladies he'd ever had the fortune of meeting.
"This wasn't my idea," Elizabeth said, almost spitting. "I'm Ephraim Balfour."
"Ephraim...Balfour." Michael's photographic memory dug up the name immediately. "Son of William Balfour, you mean? President of Balfour Trading?"
The guy we were just talking about? Even more pieces of the puzzle fell in place. No wonder Elizabeth had been so interested in the Hedler-Raleigh Act - it directly affected her. Him. And not Elizabeth, Ephraim.
"M-my stupid friends," Elizabeth - Ephraim - said, glaring to the side, "they wanted to see the inside of the Lion and Pentacle. Thought it wasn't fair that we could never get in even if we had more money than a lot of your peers will ever make in their lifetimes. So...."
"So you dressed up as a lady," Michael said dryly. Impossible to believe, but he was beginning to accept it. Why not? His date had just become even more interesting.
"Tch." Ephraim scowled, raising his shoulders. "Like I said, wasn't my idea. But Clement managed to, uh, hack the attendance records and it turned out Lord Flores was visiting every few weeks with a different girl in tow, so they thought if they could pass me off as a noble lady I could stand a chance at getting in as your date. And it had to be me, since I already have long hair and, well, I guess I've always been the prettiest of them?"
"You are pretty," Michael blurted. The instant the words came out, he mentally kicked himself. What happened to his legendary smoothness?
"That so...." Ephraim blushed deeper, and damn Michael for thinking that a little red in his cheeks made him even prettier. "I just...I guess...I guess it had to fall apart eventually? I thought Bluewall was a safe bet 'cause he does have a daughter called Elizabeth and he's a recluse anyway so I thought nobody would know much about him...but turns out you know more about Bluewall than I thought?" He gave a short, shaky laugh.
"It's okay," Michael said. "Just your bad luck. I have a photographic memory, you see, so my head's stuffed with useless trivia."
"You do?" Ephraim blinked, and damn it all, even though Michael knew he was a man and probably hiding his real face under tons of makeup, he just looked so endearing like that Michael couldn't help but smile.
"It's not something I like to advertise," Michael said, shrugging. "Not your fault you didn't know."
"I see." Another shaky laugh, and Ephraim began pacing back and forth, skirts swishing after him. Michael let himself admire Ephraim's gait, his long, elegant strides. So this was how he really walked when he didn't have to pretend to be a lady. It appealed to Michael; even noblemen, who trained to walk under etiquette masters, frequently couldn't master such grace.
"So now that you've gotten a look at the Lion and Pentacle, what do you think, Mr. Balfour?" Michael said. "Does it live up to your dreams or not?"
Ephraim stopped mid-step, squaring his shoulders. When he cast Michael a glance over his shoulder, a tentative smile lifted his lips. "It's fucking overrated."
Michael breathed out, surprised by how happy Ephraim's answer made him. "You said it."
"But I still went through all this bother to get in...." Ephraim sighed, picking at the bosom of his dress, then sweeping his hand down his back, perhaps feeling at the bustle apparatus. "God, I don't envy noblewomen. How I'm still breathing is a mystery to me."
"You're even wearing a corset?" Michael's admiration for Ephraim jumped up a few notches.
"Had to make it convincing." Somehow, Ephraim managed to pull off a shrug and hair-toss at the same time. Again Michael had the feeling that he was witnessing Ephraim's actual body language, not his poor attempt at Lady Elizabeth Brownley.
Michael began to wonder what Ephraim would look like out of the dress and makeup and padding and, yes, corset. What kind of man he'd be. Not one of the gutter dandies who prowled the city's back alleys in their cheap, garish parodies of noblemen's clothes; he was far too wealthy for that. He would dress conservatively, in black frock coats and plain waistcoats, but tailored precisely to his tall lean body and cut from the best cloth, and maybe allow himself a frillier cravat tied in a bow. Someone like Ephraim wouldn't have to dress fancy to make head turns, anyway. His natural beauty would take care of that easily.
And why the hell was Michael devoting so much thought to this kind of nonsense? He should be more bothered over the fact that he'd very nearly made out with a man. Yes, some men went for other men, but Michael had never counted himself among their ranks. Why bother with fellow guys when an entire world of ladies lay at his disposal? Maybe he'd kiss a guy after he sampled every single kind of woman in the world, but only then.
Well, he knew for a fact he hadn't sampled every kind of woman, but he'd already kissed a guy, and this guy made the loveliest woman he'd ever met. One whom, for one insane fanciful second, Michael had even entertained notions of marrying.
Oh, what a headache.
"So...what now?" Ephraim seemed to feeling the same, as he'd folded his arms and began casting Michael suspicious glances, his pale brows drawing close together. "What happens now?"
You tell me, but Michael swallowed the flippant answer. It wouldn't help either of them. Instead, he stepped forward and extended his hand to Ephraim, who stared back with wide, confused eyes.
Ephraim made the best faces, Michael thought with a little thrill. From haughty reserve to blushing indignity to that adorable befuddled look he had on now.
"Well, my 'lady,'" Michael said smoothly, "I do believe that dinner comes next."
"Um." Ephraim looked as if Michael had just clocked him in the nose. "What are you talking about?"
"Our date, 'Lady Elizabeth,'" Michael said with an exaggerated sigh. "It's not over yet, now is it?"
"You still want to...even though you know who I am....?"
"No, my dear Master Ephraim," Michael said, "knowing who you are just makes me want to continue the date even more."
"Hmm." Ephraim straightened, stiffening his shoulders. Then he shrugged, an amused grin creasing his face, his eyebrows rising. "You're pretty fucking weird, Lord Flores."
"Why, thank you for the compliment." Michael swept into an elaborate bow, inciting a laugh from Ephraim. The next thing he knew, Ephraim's hands were on his arm and shoulder, pushing him upright.
"Come off it! Don't bow to me."
"A man must be polite to the lady he's dating," Michael said, quirking a smile. Ephraim somehow managed to laugh and curse in the same breath, and thumped Michael hard on the back.
God damn it all, why was Michael enjoying himself so much? Really, he hadn't had this much fun in ages. And with a guy. A guy. But that didn't matter, now did it? The fact was Ephraim had now dropped all his masks in front of Michael, and the awkwardness from earlier in the date had dissipated. Whatever connection Michael had felt with Lady Elizabeth had only doubled now that he knew he was talking to Ephraim Balfour.
Maybe he could try a guy just once. Who said he had to exhaust his options with women first?
"I mean, if you don't want to," Michael said, taking Ephraim's hand, enjoying the feeling of Ephraim's long fingers wrapping around his, "you can just leave right now. But I think that would be a shame. Yes, the club might be overrated, but the food has always been consistently good. The best part, even." He winked.
This time, the blush that rose in Ephraim's cheeks was faint and pink, making his skin resemble a cherry blossom in color. And cherry blossoms were Michael's favorite flower.
"Besides," Michael went on, "we've still got plenty to discuss, haven't we? I'd love to hear more about your music-mixing hobby."
"You are one smooth operator, Lord Flores," Ephraim said, his blush intensifying.
"Thanks." Another wink. "I try."
Dimly, he noticed that Ephraim had stepped closer to him, closing the gap between them. His free hand rose to cup Michael's face, brushing his hairline, teasing a few strands of his slicked-back dark hair. His touch was as light as a spring breeze, and Michael let himself lean into it.
The next thing he knew, Ephraim's lips pressed to his, moving with a sweet hesitancy that sent sparks through Michael's stomach. Michael didn't have to think; he leaned forward, standing on his tiptoes, and linked his hands behind Ephraim's neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss.
It was even better than their earlier kisses, because this time Ephraim was kissing him back. Fiercely, aggressively, even stealing the dominance from him. When they pulled away, Michael was panting and red-faced and felt like he'd been spun through a tornado.
Oh, lord. He'd have to somehow stay in touch with Ephraim Balfour after their date ended. Because he wouldn't be satisfied with just one kiss like that in his life.
"So," Ephraim said, smirking down at him. "Is it dinner time now?"
"I do believe it is," Michael said, squeezing Ephraim's hand, willing his racing heart to calm down. "Shall we go, my lady?"
"Of course, Lord Flores." Ephraim replied with an equal amount of irony dripping in his voice, and then, exchanging clandestine smiles - the kind of smiles only co-conspirators shared - they left the balcony hand-in-hand.
As they strode down the hall, passing the landscape paintings, the bronze busts of former Harfleurys and Grimsbanes, the crystal chandeliers blazing with electric lights, Michael couldn't help but put a spring in his step. Because for the first time ever, an hour into a date, he wasn't looking forward to leaving the Lion and Pentacle.