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"You will no doubt be happy to know that you won't require a fitting, despite the fact that you chose to spend the entire day playing hooky down at the harbor instead of assisting with the preparations. As it turns out, the St. John twins are both very nearly your size and build, so I was able to use one of them as a breathing manikin. You now have a new suit. Congratulations."
"Man, you were really upset at getting this dumped on you, weren't you?"
"Not as much as it might seem. You are, I believe, attending the small di
"And Tor Flain," Roger agreed, unbraiding his hair and stripping off his chameleon suit. "I don't suppose there's time for a bath?"
"One has been drawn, Your Highness," Matsugae assured him. "And who are you taking to the party?"
"Eleanora, I'd presume," Roger said with a suddenly wary expression, one foot still in his trousers as something about the valet's tone sounded warning signals. "But you said you were going with her, didn't you?" he asked suspiciously.
"Actually, I did. The two of us are going to meet with Sam Tre and Fullea Li'it, the lady who arranged the D'Sley sealift."
"Oh." Roger finished stepping out of the uniform. "Kosutic, then?"
"Being accompanied by Sergeant Julian to a meeting with Bistem Kar, I believe."
"That should be interesting," Roger observed. "Too bad I didn't draw that one. So if not Kosutic, who? Gu
"Accompanying Captain Pahner to his di
"Okay," Roger said, turning to face him and planting his hands on his hips. "Spit it out, Kosie. Who?"
"Actually, I believe Sergeant Despreaux is the next most senior female Marine," the valet said with a bland expression.
"Oh," Roger oofed, his expression remarkably like that of a poleaxed steer. Then he shook himself. "Oh, Kostas Matsugae, I had no concept of the depths of wickedness lurking in your soul. You are an evil, evil person!"
"Moi? Well, perhaps. I can state without fear of contradiction, however, that she cleans up pretty. For one of the 'help.' "
"Such an evil person," Roger whispered to himself as Despreaux came through the door.
The sergeant's blouse was a lovely shade of off-white. The sleeveless and collarless garment was made of an opaque, white linenlike material that was almost paper thin but had an odd translucence, like mother-of-pearl. The base fiber was something called halkha, and it came from the pods of a hemplike plant unknown on the east side of the Tarsten range. The locals used it very much as Terrans had used cotton in the days when there were no synthetic fibers, for everything from wall hangings, to sacks and coarse-woven bags used to hold tubers and grains, to sailcloth. There was, however, an enormous difference between those rough, sturdy utilitarian fabrics and the fine threads and tight weaves required to make such lovely cloth, and Roger wondered where Matsugae had found enough, on no notice, to create several outfits.
Rather than buttoning up the front, the blouse was sealed with soft, beautifully ta
The simple peasant skirt that accompanied the blouse was also white, although a shade darker than the blouse. Its pleats swirled around her long legs, and Roger winced as he looked at her footwear.
"Court shoes? Where in the hell did he find court shoes?"
"Is that all you have to say, Your Highness?" the sergeant snapped, fiddling with the unfamiliar weight of the skirt. It was the first time in months that she'd worn anything but her uniform and skivvies.
"Uh," Roger replied, suddenly tongue-tied.
"I hope your 'associate' meets with your approval," Despreaux said in tones of deadly sweetness, and Roger grimaced.
"Look, I wasn't at my very best that evening, and that wasn't the word I really wanted. But neither was 'servant,' 'help,' or 'slave.' Sometime, maybe, I can explain what I did mean to say, and why. But right now, we have a mission. If it helps, I didn't ask for this, either."
Despreaux's eyes flashed, and she threw her hands up in the air.
"Oh, sure, that makes me really happy, 'Milord'! Now I'm not just stuck with you all night, I'm stuck with somebody who doesn't want his 'associate' to sully the evening!"
Roger grabbed his hair and started to pull it, then drew a deep breath and shoved the disarranged strands back into place.
"Sergeant Despreaux. Truce, okay? I'm sorry. Does that help? I'm sorry for offending you. I'm even sorry for not taking you up on your implication, or at least seeing if what I thought was an implication was, in fact, an implication at all. I am very attracted to you. Was, am, and will be. I was that night. I am tonight. I will be at some future date when perhaps we can sit down and discuss the ... problems of one Roger MacClintock and why they cause him to keep making an ass out of himself in front of beautiful women."
He drew another breath and held a hand up before Despreaux could get a word in edgewise.
"But tonight, we have a mission to complete. A very important one. And that requires that we not be clearly at odds for the entire evening. Now, can we manage to act like we like each other? A little? For a few hours?"
Despreaux closed her mouth and let out her gathered breath through flaring nostrils, then nodded.
"Yes, Sir. We can."
"Very well. In that case, I think it's time." Roger started towards the door, only to be blocked by the sergeant's automatic reflex action-the Empress' Own always went through a door before its principal.
The prince looked at her and smiled. He also noticed that the court shoes, whose high heels had come into fashion once again, made her nearly as tall as he was. He still didn't have a clue how Matsugae had managed to find shoes, but he discovered that it was distinctly pleasant to have Nimashet Despreaux's eyes on a level with his own.
"Sergeant," he said, "tonight you aren't a bodyguard. Tonight, I'm your escort to di
Despreaux smiled back and let him open it. Then she went through first, automatically sca
That's what you think, she thought. And where did the Sergeant Major get that holster? Try to get between these thighs tonight, Your Highness, and you've got a hell of a surprise coming!
It took her a moment to realize that she assumed both that he would try ... and that she would let him succeed.
Oh, Nimashet, you've got it bad.