Iron Dominance (27 page)

Except when she’d reached the top step with the two guards behind her, a familiar yet subtle sign was affixed to the doorway. A tiny stain on the painted steel. A smell of lemon she’d forever associate with one person. With her stomach curling up like a dying animal, she felt at the hatchway frame as she stepped through. It was there. From the message bumps implanted and the distinctive odor, she could tell that Francine had been here. Her special ability would have let her breach the ship. That woman could get in anywhere given smoke or shadows.

Inkline wants to see you at the ball.

Inkline was not just alive. He was here. Her knees threatened to fail and deposit her onto the green carpet.

Panic didn’t come close. Her insides had turned to ice. When she so desperately needed logic, it deserted her.
Frick, frick, frick. What am I going to do?

Act normal. Act. Normal.

When she got to the study, she pushed the door shut in the face of the house guards, turned and leaned on it, then slid to the floor.

Fate had come back to bite her. She covered her face with her hands and bowed her head. What was she to do? She bit back a moan. She’d been backed into a corner.

After wiping her eyes, she pushed to her feet, then straightened her clothes. She’d find out what Inkline wanted. First…find out what. Then decide. Maybe she could still wriggle out of this. As long as Theo was safe, she had room to move.

For the rest of the day, she struggled to appear normal. The visit to Hinchcliff and Co. was the only thing that distracted her from the growing sense of dread—the feeling she was walking into her own grave.

The clothing shop was located on one of the busiest and richest streets in the center of town. While Theo made purchases, she poked about the shop with wide eyes and a determination not to appear naive. Even the walls were decorated with accessories—whips, coils of rope and some rather suspicious pieces of machinery that reminded her of Henry’s penchant for inventing sexual toys. There were skirt and bodice sets, where the breasts were bared. Long leather frock coats teamed up with crotchless leggings. The lingerie looked like it’d been shredded by shrapnel…and there were chainmail bras and panties.

On the way past a set of knightly armor, she found it too had been curiously altered. At the groin a segmented steel cock projected outward. After one long openmouthed stare, she tried not to look again.

When they left, Theo’s house guards were burdened with several new packages.

“For you, dear,” Theo murmured in her ear.

She blushed momentarily, until she remembered what awaited her at the ball.
Inkline.

Chapter Twenty-three

The steam limousine pulled up next to a bevy of blue-uniformed valets. Steam hissed, and their engine gyroscope whined to a stop. Their door was swiftly opened by one of the male valets. Theo disembarked, then reached in.

“Allow me, my dear.”

She placed her white-gloved hand in his and let herself be helped from the carriage. Her white ball dress was demure with a neckline that went up to her throat, a cutaway section at her cleavage, and long star diamante gloves that matched the stars sparkling on the silk dress. The wide petticoat showed at the back in a bustle, and if any more material had been added to her apparel, she would surely have fallen over from the weight.

Being hampered by her clothes felt wrong, especially as the security here was so hefty. Some guards were in plain view, in black and gold dress uniform; others were less obvious. The bulge of hidden weapons, their stance, and the way they scrutinized the crowd were telltale markers. One guard noted her interest.

She was getting soft, losing her finely honed attitude of concealed wariness.

But was this normal for such celebrations, or did they suspect? Inkline had originally meant to send her to a state ball of some sort, and here she was, as a guest.

“You look beautiful, Claire.” Theo swept her hand to his mouth, kissed the knuckles of her glove before adding, “Though I look forward to seeing you in your other garments.” His gaze held an evil hint of laughter.

She ducked her head.

If he saw her expression, he’d know something was wrong. Luckily, the stream of people into the palace and then the formalities of their entry into the grand ballroom proved distracting.

She drew in a long breath. How strange she, of all people—and heavens, how she enjoyed slotting herself into “people”—how strange to be here, about to be presented to the president of the Hellene Nation.

Reality was only a misstep away. All those guards would have her on the floor in a flash with a pistol to her head if they knew what she was. She focused.
Stay calm. There’s still hope. Got to be a way out. There has to be.

The announcer, a slim bespectacled man in a black suit, standing by double doors of ebony and glass, bowed and took the card from Dankyo. The current assignment of four of Theo’s house guards moved ahead to carry out their security check.

The announcer flicked on a voltaic-powered speakerphone. “Presenting Lord Theodore Kevonis and his consort, Claire.” The lack of a surname had befuddled him initially. She gave him as confident a smile as she could muster, and he nodded, then swiveled on his high boots and waved them on.

“Come.” Theo took her hand and drew her into the ballroom. Scent, sound, and sight overwhelmed her. Enough perfume and cologne seemed to have been used to poison an elephant. An orchestra playing a gentle waltz competed with a thousand voices and a thousand tapping heels. On all sides there were swirls of rich clothing, the flash of jewelry and laughter. Looking down on the ballroom from terraces were at least twenty guards. Likely, an equal number circulated with the guests.

Claire took a deep breath.
Concentrate. Somewhere here, Inkline is watching
. Each couple, after they’d entered and been announced, were greeted by another, elegantly dressed couple. “The president and his consort,” Theo whispered.

Claire blinked. The president was as tall as Theo and just as imposing. He was older, perhaps fifty, with the red of his beard paling with gray flecks. Narrower at the shoulder yet muscular, from the way his coat draped him. It was curious to see such a long elegant nose allied with broad cheekbones.

Pale blue eyes… She stilled, seeing him studying her in return, only his gaze traveled blatantly down to her feet and back up, pausing momentarily at chest level. She tried to stay calm but felt the tension between her eyebrows and knew the frown showed. He smiled back.

“Good evening, Theo,” the president drawled. “I see you have a lovely catch with you for tonight’s festivities.” He addressed Claire. “And if rumor is correct, my dear, you are the reason for Theo’s”—he cocked an eyebrow, like a hawk poised before a dive—“avid pursuit of the Frankenstruct Bill?” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Theo chuckled. “Of course. I make no secret of this. Claire is worth anything to me.” He looked sidelong at her, winked. “Anything.”

She held her tongue, not wanting to make a fool of herself.

“Good evening, Theodore. I’m pleased to meet you, Claire. Theo has spoken well of you.” The woman beside the president spoke quietly, but her voice was deep and assured. Her aubergine gown was so dark it seemed to consume light, except for at neckline and hem, where a wide row of brilliant white gems scintillated.

She added, “I do hope your passion is returned, Theo. If not, I’m sure others will be in pursuit of your lady tonight.” She smiled at Claire, as if to say this was a joke between them. The lustrous black curls that framed her face and slender neck bobbed when she shifted, as though caressing her.

Claire squeezed Theo’s hand, and he squeezed back. “His passion is returned, my lady.”

The woman’s smile deepened. “It’s Antheia. Please, do call me that. I look forward to learning more about you tonight at our little party.” She put her black-gloved hand on Claire’s shoulder. “You’ll find it far more exciting than this sterile affair.”

And that settled it. Antheia was flirting. Claire blushed. A woman flirting with her? If she hadn’t already grown used to Theo’s strange ways… Then Theo said something that almost slipped past her.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

The president laughed. “Theo, you’ll have to watch my Antheia. She has low intentions with regards to Claire. Your Theo was introducing us. The brash man stole my name. I too am a Theodore. Theodore Christakos at your service.”

Laughter echoed around her. She managed to stumble through the rest of the conversation. Since others awaited their turn to meet the president, it was merely seconds before Theo continued on into the ballroom, and found their seats in the large alcove reserved for them. Arrowhead-shaped lamps illuminated the white linen of two oval tables and plush red chairs.

Theo directed her to throw her light fur wrap over a chair, then whisked her onto the dance floor. All the lessons in dancing over the past years allowed her to dance automatically without making a fool of herself. Her feet slid and spun across the shining timber floor while her mind skittered off into a maze of anxiety.

Above them hung crystal chandeliers, dangling from the ceiling three stories up. She knew who Inkline wanted assassinated.

The name had penetrated like a spear—Theodore Christakos. He’d been her target all along. Inkline would have already instructed her to eliminate her Theo if he’d been the target. Why wait for a highly guarded ball?

She twirled and flounced about the dance floor while her thoughts swirled far faster, and she sank deep into a mire of grief. Her lies had returned to torture her.

And still, she could not bring herself to do what she knew must be done. Not yet. One last time to be held in his arms…then, maybe. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. The dance music died away.

Their table was covered in delicate gold-embroidered linen. She stared at the fine needlework as waiters came and went, bringing food, before they withdrew and pulled the curtains across for privacy. The goblets, cutlery, and plates were beautifully designed. She ran a finger along the moisture on her goblet. Bubbles raced to the surface of the pink champagne.

What to do? Inkline wouldn’t just go away.

A scent of lemon came to her. The room jarred, shifting as if an earthquake had struck.

She found the next instruction under the table’s edge. Francine again—some imbalance of her body’s chemistry, something to do with the camouflage mechanism perhaps—meant the fragrance of lemon always accompanied the woman.

Inkline had the gall to request a meeting before she terminated the target. It was the first part of the message that had made the room spin.

Your mission reaffirmed. Kill Theodore Christakos
. She was right. Shocking despite everything.

She stared at Theo.

“Claire? Claire?” He took up her hand, unclenched her fingers from the table’s edge. “What is it? You’re cold.” A deep crease furrowed between his eyes. Stricken, she bit her lip. Tears rolled from her eyes and down her cheeks, across her mouth. Here it was, the end of her world. She would not betray him this way. If someone was to be hurt, it must be her.

She slid off the chair and stayed there on one knee, feeling as if her throat had seized up. Not properly kneeling. True submissive posture seemed wrong. This was business, not sex, and begging off and pretending she was some little brainless type who hadn’t understood what she was concealing… So very wrong. If she’d hurt him, she’d take whatever was coming.

She bent her head, tugged her hand from Theo’s. He let her go, his fingers sliding across hers…and gone. Would he ever hold her hand again? The depth of her sorrow had stung him. He must guess she had something awful to tell him.

Dismayed, terrified, she looked at the tip of his shiny shoe and whispered. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. I’ve lied to you.” Her mouth and voice shook. She paused a few seconds to collect herself, then looked up at him. “I’m not a bodyguard. I’m an assassin and”—she swallowed—“I have just learned that my target was the president.” Behind and to her right, where Dankyo stood, she heard a sharp hiss of shock, then the
thring
of a sword blade being drawn.

“If you would let me make amends, if you trust me enough, I will help you to…to find Inkline. He’s alive, and here, somewhere.”

Theo said nothing. The silence deepened.

Did he not hear her? “The palace security is breached,” she added. The tension ate at the insides of her stomach. Impassive, he gave only more silence, deliberately maybe, to see how big a hole she’d dig for herself. “I… We need to do something. There’s a message in braille, under the table’s edge. I can tell you what it says. Please, please, let me help.”

Enough! I’ve said enough. Stop.

She clasped her hands together, tried to control herself, but the shaking in her hands spread until her entire body trembled. Where had all that training gone? She’d happily, almost, take a knife to the gut rather than wait like this, knowing she was losing him. Her teeth chattered. Bereft, she shut her eyes. His gaze fell on her still, flattening her, making her into a nothing thing, filled up with leaden pain and sorrow.

Slowly, unable to stop, she lay out straight upon the timber, prostrate at his feet, the white gown and petticoat frothing about like a wave crashing over her.

The opposite of heaven is hell, her inner voice whispered, and I’ve gone straight from one to the other. A high keen sounded in her head. That’s me, she thought. That’s me, screaming. But there was no doubt she deserved it, deserved whatever happened next.
I’ve betrayed him all along.

Chapter Twenty-four

With her head to the floor, she couldn’t see what expression Theo wore, but she could hear the grinding of his teeth—this from a man she’d never seen truly angry. He was always in control. Eventually Dankyo broke the silence.

“Sir, we must act on this.”

Theo let out a hiss.

“Very well. Send for the officer in charge of security. Do it quietly. We need to find this Inkline and whoever is with him. Locate, isolate, capture, or kill if necessary.” She heard a sound that made her think he was scrubbing his hands through his hair. There had been no inflection in his voice. Dead and cold and angry.