The gentle stir of her hair beneath his sweet breath sent a mesmerizing signal through her flesh. Her knees threatened to give way.
She stepped back onto someone’s toes. “I’m…ah… Thank you for the breakfast.” Cheeks hot with embarrassment, she swung around and set off blindly for the stairs.
Once she had Dankyo and his guards in tow, her mind calmed, and by the time she’d reached the bottom of the stairs, she allowed herself a small smile and a mental pat on the back. She had the fork tucked into her underwear. That was her practical side. The other side of her, where those words of Theo’s fluttered round and round in the back of her head, well, she’d think of that again, later, when she was alone.
Chapter Six
The sound of her sharpening the fork against the metal hinges of the bathroom cupboard would have been impossible to disguise if it hadn’t been for the regular firing up of some engine on the estate. The cacophony drowned out almost everything at least three times a day.
When an airship arrived that evening, she watched Theo march out to it with a retinue of four men. Dankyo trailed along last in line, like some prehistoric, overmuscled rear guard.
The dire red airship, emblazoned with a black rose and its name, Final Rebuttal, rose into the cloud-strewn purple and orange sky, floating away to the purr of its propellers like some giant bee.
Both men were gone. She smiled bleakly. He’d gone without saying another word to her.
No lady would have let him be so rude to her at the breakfast table, you silly git. Whatever made you think he really liked you?
*
As the airship reached cruising altitude, Theo left the helm to Captain Muir and headed for his study.
The Final Rebuttal showed her age in the worn spots on the brass of the metal apparatus about the ship, in the frayed patches on the Oriental carpet in the gangways and the creaks and groans from the envelope as she went aloft. Not fast enough or well-armed or armored enough to be a warship, but she was his.
Almost every part of this ship stirred memories. He took pleasure in the solidity of the oak door to the study as it silently swung beneath his hand. Dankyo stalked in behind and closed the door. Warm colors surrounded Theo: the plush red of the curtains over the portholes along the far side melded with the golden colors of the timber of the desk and the framework of the leather-upholstered chairs.
“A brandy, Dankyo?” He lifted the cut-glass decanter from the tray on the occasional table.
“No thank you, sir. On duty.” Dankyo stood like another piece of furniture—solid, unmoving, unemotional.
“Dammit, sit, man. There’s nothing for you to do for four hours. One small glass won’t disable you. I give you permission to relax.” He poured a half inch of brandy into two glasses, handed one to Dankyo, and sank into the giving leather of the desk chair.
For a moment Dankyo looked lost; then he took two stiff steps and settled gingerly into the only chair in the room that was bare timber. He sipped. “Very nice, sir.”
The coolness of glass against Theo’s hand contrasted with the rich burn as the alcohol surged down his throat. “Skol. So”—he stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles—“what do you think of our Claire?”
“Our?” If anything, Dankyo sat up even stiffer and straighter. “Sir. Permission to express my opinion?”
Theo cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead. You always have that option, man.”
“We have coddled this woman for several days, and still we know nothing about her apart from her name and that she is a frankenstruct. She was on board a PME diplomatic vessel. I have my doubts about that ship, as well as doubts about who this woman really is.”
“Hmph.” Held at eye height and jiggled, the liquid in the glass swirled like an amber sea in the bottom of the glass. “I like her.”
“That is hardly a professionally assessed fact,” Dankyo said indignantly. “Sir.”
“I know that.” Theo studied the distorted figure of his head of security through the glass. “I admit we need to find out more about her. I shall be careful. But I still like her, and from what I’ve seen, she likes my attentions.”
“In my book, sir, being careful means keeping her ten miles away from you.”
“Ah.” He grinned, knowing his next words would unsettle Dankyo.
“I have plans for her. Have you heard of shibari, Dankyo?”
Dankyo raised both eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “Sir knows it is the ancient Oriental art of rope bondage. Might I also add that though I thoroughly approve of tying the woman up, in the interests of security, I do not believe she is a pleasure slave.” He carefully placed his glass on the spindly table near his chair. “Although sir’s pleasures and hobbies are not mine to comment upon, I doubt she will be agreeable.”