The Duchess (Montgomery/Taggert 16)

He put his lips close to her ear. “It is a sacred dance of death. All the young priestesses are taught this dance.”

Claire looked at Nyssa on the stage. Nyssa removed her heavy robe and under it she was wearing thin, gauzy garments that barely concealed her lithe, golden-skinned body. Even though Nyssa’s garments were provocative and even indecent, there wasn’t a murmur from the audience. Everyone seemed to realize that he was seeing something that was far removed from a comedy.

Nyssa’s dance, if it could be called that, consisted of slow, beautiful movements, movements that had no spontaneity to them, but were studied and perfect. She moved to the long, slow flute music with precision, her exquisite little face utterly solemn.

“I don’t like this,” Claire said and tried to move away from Trevelyan, but he held her fast.

“Nyssa believes in her religion with all her heart and soul,” he whispered.

Claire continued watching the dance, but it gave her goose bumps, and when Nyssa at last slowly and gracefully fell to the ground in a deathlike pose, no one in the audience moved. Nyssa lay where she was for the longest time, and the audience mirrored her stillness. Then Brat ran from behind the curtains and grabbed Nyssa, pulling her up into her arms.

Nyssa opened her eyes and her laughter rang out through the audience. At that people began clapping.

Claire tried to turn to Trevelyan but he held her fast. “Watch,” he said, and within moments the flute began again, only this time the tune was fast and exciting. Nyssa, smiling, pushed Brat away and began to dance again, only this time the dance was obviously not about death.

“And what is this dance a celebration of?” Claire said with sarcasm in her voice.

“Procreation,” Trevelyan answered over the noise of the audience, which was beginning to clap and cheer at the sight of Nyssa’s undulations.

Claire twisted to look at Trevelyan, saw that he was watching Nyssa with as much delight as all the other men were. “I need some air,” she said, then had to repeat it two times before he heard her. He smiled down at her knowingly, then took her hand and led her outside into the cool night air.

He pulled her to the side of the house and in the darkness he began kissing her.

“Is this for me or for Nyssa?” she asked when she could catch her breath.

“Do you care?”

She laughed. “Not really.” She put her hands in his hair and returned his kisses.

At one point she opened her eyes to see Oman standing behind them. He was standing quietly, his heavy-lidded eyes half lowered, as though he didn’t mean to watch but had to. Claire pulled Trevelyan’s hair. He didn’t stop kissing her, but Trevelyan said something low in another language to Oman.

Oman answered, then disappeared into the darkness.

“What did he say?” Claire asked. Trevelyan was kissing her neck now and she couldn’t think very clearly. Trevelyan kept kissing.

“What did Oman say?” she asked again.

Trevelyan moved away from her enough to answer. “Harry has returned,” he said, then began kissing her throat again.

It was as though someone had splashed her with cold water. She pushed away from Trevelyan and looked at him. “Have you nothing to say?”

“I’d rather not talk now,” he murmured and leaned forward to kiss her again. When she didn’t respond, he said, “Let’s go into the garden.” He took her hand and started pulling her into the privacy of the trees.

Claire followed him, thinking that he was leading them into

privacy so they could talk, but the moment they were alone, he grabbed her to him and began to kiss her.

“Stop it!” she practically shouted as she pushed at him. When she had at last broken away, he stood there in the bright moonlight with a puzzled look on his face. “You can’t act as though nothing has happened. Didn’t you hear what Oman said?”

Trevelyan’s face changed and Claire realized that she hadn’t seen his closed expression for days. It was as though a curtain had come down and he wasn’t going to allow her or anyone else to see into him. “I heard him.”

Claire took a step toward him, but he backed away. Claire’s hands dropped to her side. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“People are free to do what they want in life.”

“What does that mean? Is that something you read—or did you write it?”

“It is fact.” His face was closing more, showing her less of him.