Well. That was convenient. The son of a duq—what's more, the heir himself—might very well serve her purpose of finding a man to share her bed for a night with no risk of entanglement, even though she may not have thought of setting her sights so high.
That he was the very handsome son of a duq was even better. A man of his rank wouldn't be looking for anything more than a dalliance with someone like her.
The likes of him didn't marry women who came from very middling families like hers. Not if they had no dazzling dowry to make up for the lack of rank. Though the du Laq family didn't need money. Unlike some noble families, they held firmly to their power and grew their fortunes with the same level of determination.
But even so, families like his married their own kind.
Which she was not. Though with his gaze still heating her skin, she thought they had, perhaps, at least some level of... connection. Even if it was the most basic kind.
"I see I have stunned you to silence," he said dryly, breaking the silence her whirring thoughts had stretched too long.
"My pardon, my lord. I was trying to recollect your title but cannot bring it to mind." Most courtiers would rather die than admit such a thing. But she wanted him to be clear about who she was. And that his title was of no use to her other than to render her safe from a man seeking something serious.
Anything that might come after would be entered into with no misunderstandings. She smiled at him to emphasize the fact that she had no shame about her lack of recollection. "But I am pleased to meet you, regardless."
"And I am very glad to hear that." His eyes, now that they were so close, proved to be not only gray but full of mischief. "And may I have the pleasure of knowing your name, Mamsille?"
She folded her fan again. He was, when you got right down to it, breaking protocol to speak to her without an introduction. As long as they continued to entertain each other in this conversation, she didn't think it would take any particular convoluted method of flirtation to get to the point. "Lieutenant Imogene Carvelle," she said. One of his brows lifted, and his gaze drifted down. Looking for a ring on her hand, perhaps? Wise. By telling him her title instead of repeating his “Mamsille” or correcting him to “Madame,” she'd avoided confirming his assumption that she was unmarried.
Her hands were bare except for the black pearl ring she wore on the index finger of her right hand—a gift from her parents when she'd manifested her magic.
Indeed, that seemed to please him. His smile widened as his gaze lifted. "Ah, a soldier. Which regiment?" His tone was distinctly approving.
"I’m in the mages," she said, not wanting to provide him with too much information immediately.
Another lift of that very dark brow. "I haven't seen you before."
"You're in the mages?" She couldn't remember meeting him. And he would have been difficult to forget. Belatedly she thought to look for his magic, but if he had any, he wasn't using it. She saw no connection to the ley line that ran beneath the palace and none of the glittering colors dancing over his skin, which was how she usually saw magic.
"No, just the regulars." He shrugged. "I have a little magic but not enough to be of interest to the mages. Fortunately, I have other talents."
Plus no lack of confidence, it seemed. That went with being the son of a duq, she supposed. And, truthfully, it wasn't unattractive. His tone wasn't smug, just matter-of-fact and, unless she was mistaken, somewhat flirtatious. She smiled back at him. "I'm sure you do, my lord."
His nose wrinkled. "Jean-Paul, please."
"That is hardly proper on such a formal occasion."
"It's a ball. The purpose of a ball is to let people socialize and get to know one another, surely?"
"I always thought a large part of the purpose of imperial balls was to get nobles such as yourself safely married off." She looked pointedly down at his hand so he'd understand she'd noticed his inspection earlier. The long, tanned fingers were bare. "Is that why you're here, my lord?"
"I'm sure it's why my parents wish I was here," he said. "But no, Lieutenant, I have no particular desire to rush headlong into marriage. My father is young and healthy, and I have siblings should something unfortunate happen to me. I'm here to enjoy myself. Drink some campenois, dance with some pretty women. Would you grant me a dance, Lieutenant?" He proffered a hand.
She stifled the immediate instinct to reach out and take it. "Is one of your talents dancing, my lord?"
"I get no complaints," he said. "And a new set is forming." He crooked his fingers. "You wouldn't want us to be late."
"I haven't said yes yet," she pointed out.
"You haven't said no either. I'll take that as a promising sign."
"You, my lord, may be overly sure of yourself."
"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean you don't want to dance with me."
He had her there. Because she did want to dance with him. Wanted to feel his hand on hers and see if moving with him to the music was as fun as this initial conversation had been. After months of familiar squad members and politics in the Reyshakan court, which had involved just about the opposite of flirtation, his attention was somewhat dizzying.
So, in the mood to be a little giddy, she reached out and took his hand.