With a wet cloth, June carefully wiped away the blood.
The gentleness of her touch confused Claire. One minute Dankyo was instructing them to haul her downstairs like a piece of luggage, yet these two, Harry and June, were being nice?
“Come on, love,” said Harry. “Can you walk down the stairs?” The corners of his mouth curved up, barely—as if he was unsure if he should smile.
Shocked, Claire stared. She’d grown accustomed to Lord Kevonis’s forward ways—after all, he had designs on her body, but were his men insane as well? Nobody smiled at frankenstructs.
In a large niche halfway down, beside a turn in the stairs, a sculpture caught her eye—two naked figures. A man, his hair like coiling serpents, embraced a voluptuous woman, her back arched, and the head of his erect phallus peeked out between their bodies.
“That’s a nice piece of art,” said Harry, at her shoulder.
She’d been standing there slack-mouthed for several seconds. Art? Flustered, she averted her gaze and continued on.
She was led through folded back timber doors to a balcony tiled in granite and suspended at man height above the outside gardens. Theo sat in a wide rattan chair, leaning with one elbow on an armrest and talking quietly to Dankyo, who stood at his shoulder.
Dankyo, as always, somehow radiated both impassiveness and threat. But it was Theo who drew her eye. She’d not seen him at a distance before. His wide, sprawled pose brought to mind pictures of kings ensconced on their thrones—about to dispense justice, declare war, or with regally raised eyebrow, receive the obeisance of a slave.
Her senses pricked to a higher level. Her skin seemed made newborn, so she felt every featherlight movement of the air. The fragrance of flowers came to her. They twined and dangled from the high trellises enclosing the balcony. She judged Theo half a head taller than Dankyo, though he was leaner, with that strong Grecian nose dividing his face. Black stubble shadowed his chin. Those short bristles had rubbed against her fingers and felt exciting and raw. The curls of hair on his forehead reminded her of the sexually aroused man in the sculpture she’d passed on the stairs. Heat flushed her cheeks.
On the long table before Theo were platters of food wafting delicious smells across to where she waited, swaying slightly, between the two guards. Breakfast was overdue.
Dankyo looked up and came to her.
She glanced uncertainly at Theo, frowning. Where was this colonel who wished to see her? Then Dankyo drew near, stopping half a yard away, with his fingers tapping against his blue trousers.
She’d seen a tiger once, outside the fence of the training camp, and its walk was like Dankyo’s, all spring-laden power and casual ferocity.
“Have you checked her, Snow?” asked Dankyo.
Harry stiffened to attention. “No, sir! Uh, sir, for what would you like her checked?”
Harry Snow. She filed that away along with June’s name. Knowledge was power.
Dankyo’s nose wrinkled, but he simply shook his head and walked around her. His hand snaked out, and he grabbed the manacles, raising her hands.
For the first time she saw mirth in his eyes. “She’s been poking at these. Have you been trying to escape?”
She smiled thinly back, determined not to show he was hurting her arms.
“Dankyo,” Theo drawled. “Leave her be. Unless she’s a danger to me, let her sit.”
“She’s tried to get the cuffs off, sir.” Dankyo swung around. “Perhaps it might be safer for you to dine alone? I can take care of her.”
“Ah, Dankyo. I know your maneuvers too well. Safety is important, but I would rather speak to her myself. Claire.” He crooked a finger.
Though suspicion narrowed his dark brown eyes, Dankyo stepped aside to let her pass. “Of course, sir.”
Theo regarded first Dankyo and then Claire as she walked to him and halted before his chair. He had his feet planted in that wide-based manly way. As if he brushed her with the softest of feathers, she felt the drifting path of his gaze upon her skin. It annoyed her. He’d said she was human, yet he looked at her as if she were a thing. Her mouth twisted.
“What is it?” he asked.
She hesitated. Thinking it was one thing, saying it, another.
Theo relaxed back into the chair. “Tell me, Claire. Now, please.”
“You look at me as if I’m an object.”
He nodded. “I don’t think you’re an object, Claire. I’m looking at you that way because you’re a desirable woman.”
She hoped desperately that the somewhat strangled sound in her throat hadn’t carried.
He barely spared her a glance. “Dankyo, you know I gave instructions as to Claire’s apparel at breakfast. Fix that and the cuffs. And, Claire…”
“Yes?”