Iron Dominance (13 page)

“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.

* * *

Theo sat at the end of the long trestle table and surveyed the boisterous end of the evening’s meal. Most of his people were here, apart from those on guard duty and a few other essential tasks. The conversation had grown louder and merrier as wine circulated. Along the horizon yellow and orange washed across the sky. Two bonfires crackled in pits to the side.

At the start of the evening, Claire had been given a place beside him. He’d watched her sit prim in her long sea blue gown, all goggle-eyed through the first course. Since Jonathan was next to her and opposite sat Kirsten and Maria, she’d soon thawed out. He intended her to be drawn out by these most friendly of his staff, expecting to see her enthralled by stories of cooking disasters and triumphs, girly gossip, and fashion. Instead he got…hell, he got this…

Claire stood in a small group of mostly men. The blue dress clinging to her curves and the low neckline surely strained some of the men’s eyes. Oblivious, she took Kirsten’s hand and showed her, yet again, how to throw a knife. Kirsten flung the blade. This time it clunked into the log she’d aimed at. A squeal of feminine glee split the air. Kirsten jumped up and down laughing, then hugged Claire.

“I did it!”

Theo chuckled and stretched his legs out across Claire’s vacant seat.

On this warm night cicadas and crickets clicked and chirruped. With autumn here, they’d soon be silent. The olive crop had been poor.
Perhaps I should get the south field—

“Sir?” Dankyo deposited himself on Kirsten’s chair. It creaked.

Theo looked pointedly at the protesting chair. “You need to lose weight, man?”

“No, sir. I’m at my ideal weight. It’s only the weight of muscle.”

“One of these days, you’ll learn to take a joke.” Theo took a sip of his red wine, sighing at the flavorsome burn in his throat.

“I recognize your jokes, sir. I just refuse to take part in them.”

“Uh-huh. What’s bothering you?”

Dankyo slid a wallet of papers across the table. Theo glanced at them. Claire’s story.

“Finished reading already?”

“Yes.” Dankyo leaned back, making the chair groan again. “Some of it seems…odd. The last paragraph is the most disturbing. Mass assassinations?”

“Mmm. My thought also. Get this copied and off to the right people tonight. I need Claire’s original. I think I can use this to push that bill through. We can pressure the PME with this. Get them to call off any attacks. Right now they’re vulnerable to trade treaties and vetoes.”

Dankyo nodded. “So you still plan to get the Frankenstruct Bill repealed.”

“Hell, yes. It’s a damn injustice. Then we can squeeze the PME with the benefit of a higher moral stance. As it is, we’re not better than them. If the PME free the frankenstructs, I can guarantee most’ll up and leave. Slaves never have liked doing what their masters want them to.”

“Oh?” Dankyo lifted his eyebrows, sniffed. He jerked his chin sideways. “Except that one?”

A personal question? From Dankyo
? Theo tried not to show his amusement…and amazement. He looked at Claire. “That’s different. Contrary to what you believe, Dankyo, it is a consensual affair. We both enjoy the exchange.”

His cock hardened just at the memory of their last
exchange
. So much more to show her too. He inspected Claire’s figure, from those full breasts down over where the dress material swayed and outlined her stomach and buttocks—all the way down her legs to the perfect sweep of calf muscle. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned and smiled warmly, then walked over with Kirsten in tow.

“Really?” said Dankyo.

Surprised at Dankyo’s late reply and the peculiar tone, Theo looked at his head of security. Dankyo watched the women.

No. My mistake. He’s watching Kirsten. Well, well. Looks as if the man is flesh and blood after all.

As the women approached, the hip-tilting allure of Claire’s walk and her lilting voice drew a smile from him. So many little things made her who she was—not as blatantly feminine as some, but underneath was a simmering sensuality.

Kirsten took a seat next to Dankyo. To Theo’s amusement the man stiffened—though most wouldn’t have seen the difference.

“Claire.” Theo snagged her waist, curving his arm about her and pulling her toward his lap. She resisted, ending up standing at his side with her arm braced on his neck.

A little line creased between her eyes. “Um, there’re people watching.”

“So?” He increased the pull of his arm, and she gave in, sitting, with a bump, on his lap. “Better.” He made sure to not let go. “What is wrong with this? Sitting here?”

She mumbled something.

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” He might have laughed, except he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.

“Not exactly.” She frowned again. “I just thought a bit more dignity was in order.”

He chuckled. “Dignity? It has its place, but we’re lovers, and I want to be able to touch you, hold you when I feel like it, my dear. I want you to feel the same way.”

He rubbed his hand down her back, enjoying the warm contours at her waist before venturing lower. He could rest his hand on her bottom all day. From the way she wriggled, Claire liked this too. He nuzzled her neck, bit down.

“Ow.”

He watched her take one small shuddering breath. “Relax, darling. No one here thinks any less of you.”

“Sir.” Dankyo rose. “I’ll speak to you later of some other concerns.” He scooped up the wallet of papers, raked a last black glance over Claire, and left.

From the way Kirsten followed his weaving progress between the little groups of people, there was chemistry going both ways. While he was distracted, Claire hopped off his lap and stepped out of reach.

“I’ll, uh—”

“Claire. Come back.”

Kirsten watched, wide-eyed.

Walking backward, Claire retreated. “I’ll get some more wine.”

He rubbed his chin. He wouldn’t chase her down, but this needed changing. She should be happy and comfortable around him in public. Teaching her that would be interesting.

“Shall I go get her, sir?” Kirsten asked. She sprang to her feet, then tugged her skirt free from the chair.

He eyed the half-full glass of wine already in front of him, drummed his fingers on the table. “Go to her if you wish. Don’t make her come back. I’ll deal with her myself, later.”

“Oh.” Her hand tightened on the skirt. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned as Kirsten scampered off. The woman was no doubt imagining far worse punishment than he intended. A little awe and fear didn’t hurt. He was the lord here. Claire would soon find out that meant more than obeying him in bed. Not even Dankyo was allowed to refuse a direct order.

Chapter Eleven

Next morning, Theo reminded her of the picnic. Claire bathed, wondering where the gyrocopter was stored, then dressed in the clothes laid out on the bathroom divan.

Dark gray leggings went under a strapless white bustier that fastened between her breasts with gold hooks. Next, fitting snugly over the top, came a maroon leather jacket with a flared bottom and a flock of straps and buckles down the arms and front. Completing the ensemble were ankle-high black boots, maroon gloves, a pair of gleaming brass goggles, and an ivory and gold hair clip to hold her hair in a ponytail. Goggles swinging from her hand, she went in search of the gyrocopter.

The bathroom door swung shut behind her with a soft click. Instead of going left along the little hall to the bedroom, she went right toward a heavy steel door that had always been locked. The door swung smoothly open on four oiled hinges.

In the middle of a wide room, a gyrocopter sat on a circular platform, which had a low metal railing curving around its periphery. To the right, timber doors had been pushed back, and a rectangle of startling blue showed the day to be spectacular and cloudless. Theo stood a few yards away at the near wall, turning a crank. By clicking on a ratchet mechanism, he slid the gyro’s platform toward the opening.

Theo wore a hedge green leather coat, along with black boots, gloves, and tight black trousers. A wide belt held a stumpy Gerwelt, pistol and a knife was sheathed at the opposite hip.

He smiled at her. “Here, help me wind this thing out.”

A bedroom with a gyrocopter launch pad. How delicious
. She smiled back and went over, anchoring her hands on the end of the handle and leaning into the turn. The platform wound out faster.

With a
clunk
the platform reached its set position, projecting out the side of the mansion. They strolled over. Claire exhaled as she put her boot on the polished timber slats. It echoed but barely swayed. Beneath was a two-story drop; above was sky.

The gyrocopter had two seats, one behind the other, inside an angular glass cockpit that was open at the back. The steam voltaic engine at the rear started easily when Theo cranked it, coughing out a thin stream of smoke, then sputtering, before settling into a contented purr. A spider web of polished rods formed a golden curved tail, and above Claire, the two tiers of gyro blades slowly picked up speed. All in all it resembled a supersized mosquito with the throaty sound of a contented cat. Tucked and strapped into a wicker compartment behind the last seat were a picnic basket and a pile of cushions.

“Shall we?” Theo offered her his hand, and though she had no need of help, she rested her fingers in his before climbing in.

Once seated, Theo increased the throttle and shouted back, “Seat harness on! Goggles on! Bugs get past the screen sometimes!”

The goggles were brass with silver inlaid stars, quaint, yet functional. She slipped them over her head and did up the buckle, then found the four straps of the seat harness and buckled them also.

The machine lifted off with a blast of power that pushed Claire into her seat. She gulped to subdue the crazy stew of excitement rising in her stomach. Below, men scurrying about the perimeter of the airship shrank rapidly to antlike figures. The land seemed to flatten as if made into a giant green-hued map. A distant river undulated in reflective blue loops like a jewelry snake.

The wind was cold, leaking in the side of the goggles and making her eyes water. She adjusted the leather strap.

“Where are we going?” she cried, but Theo only shook his head. With the noise of the engine and the wind blasting past their ears, she doubted he’d heard a thing. She leaned back, grinning. The view alone would keep her occupied for eternity. Airships were never this exciting.

When at last the gyrocopter descended, she peeked over the side, and her heart plummeted. A long smudged shape lay across the scorched ground near a gash in the land—like a gargantuan beast struck dead by flame with only blackened bones remaining. This was the airship crash. A hundred questions rushed gibbering through her mind. Most of all—why had he brought her here? Did he suspect she had lied?

The bump and shudder as the gyrocopter landed and the engine shut down did nothing to pull her from her bewilderment. Her knuckles showed white where she gripped the back of Theo’s chair. Metal ticked as it cooled. She unclipped the seat’s harness and hopped out. Adjusting the skirt of the jacket gave her time to gather her wits.