She snapped open her eyes. “Oh. I’m not used to skirts.”
Another, harder, kiss ground against her lips. When the pressure of his body lifted from her, it took a moment before she realized he’d strode onward. Mouth open, she counted to ten before following.
Two of the manor staff walked across the open ground. Neither cast the slightest look in her direction, though surely they’d noticed the kiss.
“Why didn’t you say? Filip will—”
“Don’t concern yourself. He’ll probably just adore you even more than he already does. Men are like that.” He grinned. “He could see you liked the dogs, and that puts you way ahead of most to start with.”
“Oh.” She took hold of his elbow. “Why do you keep wolfhounds?”
“It’s a tradition with my family. They also patrol with the house guards, and since we pasture a few sheep to the north, they help to deter the wolves. Sometimes, when my schedule permits, I hike up there to help out. Though it’s an indulgence Dankyo detests.”
“Oh. Dankyo does detest a lot.” She cast him a sideways glance. The easy lope of his long legs spoke of an active man who did more than sit at desks. “I’d wondered how you kept fit.”
“There’s also a small gymnasium in the manor, and I swim when I can.” He laughed. “Why? Would you like to join me? I could do with some competition.” His tone and the challenge in his eyes suggested more than merely keeping fit.
A thrill spread from her *, radiated down her thighs. Keep walking; this is nothing.
“Perhaps I would. No horses?” She kept her head down, walking on, thinking cold, clear thoughts, determined not to let her body take charge.
“No. There’s two steam cars in the vehicle depot. And the gyro, of course, if I need something faster. Why?”
She shrugged. “I just thought horses were what you had in places like this.” Her gaze took in the estate.
He laughed. “Mmm. Maybe I’ll get a stable going, then. I do ride.” He eyed her. “You also?”
“Um. No.” She cocked her head, squinting under the midday glare. “I would like to learn, though.”
“I can just see you with the wind in your hair and a horse between those long legs of yours.” They’d reached the back steps. He put his hand to the small of her back. “Though I can think of another animal that would like to ride you.”
She frowned as a servant trotted down the wide stone steps, inclining his head to them. “Shh. Someone will hear. Does everything have to be about sex?”
“It’s the novelty, dear. Give me a decade or two. By then you might be boring as mud.”
“Oh!” She bit back a horrified retort. He was teasing her about making love. Yet that he could be so easygoing captivated her.
Once inside the study, he pulled out the chair before the desk. “Sit.” He waved a hand at a stack of paper on the desktop. “Paper, pen. I’ll send in some food later. Maria told me you ate lunch already. If you want, I can arrange for a stenographer and you can dictate. Or would you rather write this yourself?”
She slid into the chair, flattened her palms on the desk. Leather and fresh paper smells abounded. The last time she’d been here, Dankyo had delivered her trussed up like a chicken, waiting to be slaughtered. She swallowed.
“I can do it myself. What shall I write?”
He reached out and traced the outside and inner whorls of her ear, and she half closed her eyes at the delicate sensations. “This isn’t a test, Claire. But you have to be fully honest. You’re from the PME, and though you mightn’t be privy to the plans of their war cabinet, whatever you tell me will be a big help. We need information about the frankenstruct program. Please, dredge up everything about your past that seems relevant. Can you do that?”
She stared into those cloud gray eyes, summoned her best anti-interrogation skills, and wholeheartedly said, “Yes.” She was lying. But she had to. Even though it scored another claw mark on her heart.
Chapter Ten
By early evening she’d covered twenty pages with the close, tiny-lettered writing she’d been taught.
She sat back in the chair, raised her arms, and stretched until her muscles and eardrums thrummed with shifting blood. Well. That was her life up to a few years after she started on the assassin program, only she’d started lying when she came to her fifteenth birthday—said she’d gone into a bodyguard line of training. The skills were similar; she’d only fudged a bit. If it didn’t need a lie, she told the truth. The ability of every frankenstruct she knew of was detailed, except for Francine. She just couldn’t bring herself to do that. Besides, Francine was more a scout than an assassin.
She picked up the pen, tapped it on the paper. She could leave a hint about the assassinations. The more she pondered it, the more she wondered who the PME wanted her to kill.
Quickly, she lifted the pen and scratched in a last paragraph, hinting at those rumors without saying she was an assassin.
There. Done.