Devilish Page 0,104

before the ladies."

Did D'Eon's sharp eyes look disbelieving?

Miss Hestrop, however, was protesting, and demanding the full story.

The countess raised her hand - a strangely naked hand without her extravagance of baubles. "My lord, please do not speak of it!" she said in a rather overdramatic tone. "My head still rings with the explosion. And the screams..." She swayed toward him. "Oh dear."

He put his arm around her, and for a brief moment let himself hold her close. But then he had to lead her toward a sofa.

It was but a moment in his arms, but Diana felt as if those raw edges joined, then ripped apart again as he settled her on the seat and moved away. Leaning back, eyes closed, she gave thanks for her pretense of upset, because it allowed her a moment to recover from shocking pain.

Why hadn't she known how immediate and physical her response would be?

And for him? She slowly opened her eyes and glanced into his concerned eyes.

"My dear countess, a million pardons for distressing you."

It carried layers of meaning, and she said, "This is not your fault, my lord. Please don't distress yourself."

"But I must." He turned away then, however, to command wine for her.

She wanted to argue, but they were not alone. The group she'd been with had flocked with her and hovered, hungry for more details of bloodshed and violence. Hungry too, she was sure, for any morsel of scandal.

"A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At every word a reputation dies."

She shuddered, desperate to order them away. She tried not to stare at Bey as her hope of survival, but even so, when he turned back, glass in hand, she felt as if she could take her first real breath.

But then an equerry came over with the king's inquiries about the incident, and about Lady Arradale's welfare. She summoned control, sipped the wine, then rose to assure the man that she was perfectly well now.

Some around her tried to revive the subject of the attack, but in moments, the king commanded attention for the display of the new automaton. When D'Eon stepped forward to make a pretty speech about peace, harmony, and eternal brotherhood, Diana took a relieved breath. She'd never imagined what it would be like to have to be with Bey under a hundred avid eyes.

Since all attention seemed to be on D'Eon, she risked a glance at Bey. His eyes moved to hers, and she saw all his deep concern.

She smiled slightly and answered an unspoken question. I am all right. With subtle use of the language of the fan, she added her message. I love you.

He turned sharply away to look at the shrouded machine and D'Eon still orating. Diana wafted her fan. She would protect him from the king's scheme. She would try not to burden him with her own pain. But she would never deny the truth of what they had.

D'Eon ended his speech, and with a grand flourish, uncovered the gift. "The dove of peace!"

Candlelight danced on mother-of-pearl feathers edged with silver and marcasite, and flashed from tiny diamonds at the end of each feather tip. Gasps of admiration ran through the room, but Diana shot a quizzical look at Bey, and it was returned. They both saw that the automaton's action must be quite simple to require such an excess of glittering ostentation.

D'Eon moved the lever and the whir of machinery began.

Rothgar concentrated on the machine, warning himself not to look at the countess again. These speaking looks only increased pain, and could betray them.

The shimmering bird turned its head this way and that, flexing its neck a little - mechanically, very simple - then it lowered its head and seized an olive branch off the ground. With a very audible click the branch notched into some connection, so that when the bird straightened its head the twig was in its beak. Then it spread its wings to reveal words picked out in gold underneath.

Peace. Paix.

Everyone applauded again and gathered around. In control of himself now, Rothgar held out his hand to the countess. "Would you care to inspect the toy, my lady?"

She smiled slightly at the word toy, and put her hand in his - a brush of soft fingers that spoke of other matters entirely.

"I would rather see the other machine operate now, my lord. I understand you commissioned it for Their Majesties."

"A romantic trifle." He listened to himself to be sure his voice spoke only of polite interest. "But