by Landra Graf
The scuffling and low conversations behind him died. She’d appeared. He turned and inhaled. A white satin dress with rhinestones clung to her figure; a mink stole covering her shoulders and hiding the dress’s bodice. Her hair was a mix of shoulder length tresses at the back and short, rolled bangs at the front. With a little help, no doubt, from Bonita, she had transformed herself into a true princess. Where the hell she’d gotten the dress, he didn’t know.
Men and women lined the deck, then, from technician to swabbie, each person bowing as she walked by with her guards flanking either side. When she reached Ian, she extended her gloved hand, and he held it in his own while bowing over it. If only they were different people…. He would wax poetic on her beauty and plan to hold her close until they returned home where he’d undress her. Instead, he hoped she didn’t have a knife hidden somewhere and that they’d pull this off.
“Are you ready?” he asked, letting go of her satin covered palm.
“Yes.” She snapped her fingers, and Bastille pulled the lever to start their descent. The rectangular platform they stood on was designed for cargo, but, in this case, it served as a lift to get them to the ground without ruining the train of his captain’s dress spread out behind her.
Once on land and in the car, he turned to her. “You look gorgeous.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to reply with a compliment?”
Ian smiled. “That would be proper.”
She looked him over, taking her time to peruse his form from his shoes to his hair. “You’re very dapper this evening.” The words came with a flash of her perfect smile, something people would expect tonight.
“Wow. Even the smile is genuine. I do believe there’s truth to the remark.”
Sorella blushed. The auto moved them through the St. Pauli streets, the red-light district where airships ported, at a quick pace. Before long, they’d passed into the merchant district, Sternschanze, home to the expensive shops and townhomes of the wealthy, and not far from the City Centre where all political gatherings took place. Considering Hamburg the port to the entire world, the Germans allowed Britain and several other northern countries to open up embassies within the heart of the city.
Time to get things sorted. “When we arrive, I’ll do the talking. Women are granted less authority, so let me lead.”
“Funny how they think such a thing important.” She spoke her musings with a soft, far-off voice as she looked out the window at the buildings passing them by.
“Such is the way of powerful men.”
“Yes, but when you’re outside of these trappings, power is wielded with weapons rather than words.”
Nothing like a good ol’ debate before dining and dancing. He couldn’t resist. “Yes, but is it, really? These men are the gatekeepers like powerful men in most countries. Either through war or because of the nature of the world, they help determine with their words and decisions if you’ll need to fight or yield your weapons to live.”
She angled her head away from the outside view and narrowed her eyes at him. “Then we should just eradicate them.”
“Never solves the problem. Someone else will always take their place.” Ian had seen such things first hand when his father had slaughtered his uncle and taken over the family land. It wasn’t long before he’d inherited and spent more time watching his back than managing his responsibilities.
“Then how do you live?”
“One day at a time, enjoying whatever happiness you make for yourself.” Once he turned Tuul in for his freedom, his plan involved exactly that.
“What if killing makes me happy?” The question hinted at a challenge as if, somehow, her talents at blade-wielding made her less desirable. Too bad he wanted her more because of those skills, because of the sheer strength she possessed. The idea of merging their strength made his cock twitch. No sense in tempting the beast.
“If it does, then you should be given every opportunity to pursue it by killing men like that rapist you dispatched in New Orleans.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs so they peeked out from the edge of his jacket sleeves, anything to get his mind away from thoughts of her lips and sliding across to her side to sup from them.
“You’re a marvelous speaker, Ian. You could convince someone of anything.”
If only her words rang true. “Unfortunately not. If that were the case, I’d be resting somewhere in the Caribbean or maybe running a small café in Budapest. I wouldn’t be attempting to infiltrate the British Embassy of Hamburg to find out where an infamous gang of cutthroats is hiding so I can claim a bounty.”
She didn’t respond, but the bright, cheerful look on her face faded away as she returned to looking out the window at the passersby.
***
They exited the auto and approached the monstrous red brick manor house, which had been transformed into a location for parties and meetings concerning Britain and the German Empire. The line of Hamburgers attending trailed out the front entrance and onto the circular drive. Autos were dropping guests off at the street because of the crowd.
Sorella spent the idle minutes analyzing the outer structure of the mansion, the number of windows on the front and right side of the house, the height of the wrought-iron gate enclosing the property, and the number of stuffy British guards in full ceremonial dress, complete with buffed black boots and bearskin caps pointing toward the sky that guarded it.
Meanwhile, Ian integrated himself into conversations by eavesdropping. He didn’t make introductions, merely listened in on discussions, no doubt cataloguing anything of interest without appearing nosy.
Each passing minute brought the rules, rituals, and required comportment back to her. She must always stand straight, no fidgeting or swaying from side-to-side.
The line moved along at a quick pace, and in less time than it took to cross from one end of her ship to the other, they’d entered the main door. Four footmen were posted inside the doors, taking top hats and coats from guests. She didn’t want to leave her mink behind in case they needed to make a quick getaway, but there seemed no other choice.
“Fraulein?” A blond, fair-skinned servant stepped forward and extended his arms.
She nodded and turned. It was a chore to stay relaxed as his gloved hands removed the wrap, and she stepped away once her shoulders were free. “Danke.”
“Bitte,” the footman replied and then moved on to the lady behind her.
When Sorella looked at Ian, he was staring at her bosom. Then he took a few steps away to take in the missing back of her dress.
She tugged his arm, and he came willingly, brushing against her and sparking the latent desire she wanted to ignore. Damn.
“Quit pretending like you’ve never seen this before,” she whispered.
“But I haven’t,” he murmured, smiling at an older couple who walked past them.
“Let’s go into the room.”
They’d planned to crash the event under the guise of brother and sister, allowing them to stay close to one another with Ian in the role of her chaperone. This ruse would still give them the opportunity to move freely within other circles as needed. If he kept looking at her like a starving man, those false identities would never hold up.
A herald blocked the final set of doors leading into the main room. He called out the names of anyone who entered the room at large. Sorella heard names being announced, though no one of consequence. A viscount here, a lord and lady there, and, finally, it was their turn. Her shoulders were stiff, her body paralyzed at the mere thought of entering the ballroom. It’d been years since she’d performed like this, and nerves were fast to make her believe it’d be impossible to try again after her less-than-appropriate profession.
Her escort separated from her and approached the guardian of the door, whispering their chosen announcement.
When he returned to her side, he squeezed her shoulder. “Relax. You look marvelous.” Then he brought her hand to his lips and kissed he
r knuckles. She swore the kiss somehow touched her bare skin through the layer of silk glove separating them.
Those last words were also pushing their way through her determination to remain cold; making her want to give in to the promises such intimacies with him spoke of.
To make things worse, he trailed his other gloved hand down her exposed shoulder. “Such perfect skin.”
She shivered, and then the announcement came.
“May I present Mr. and Mrs. Ian Marshall.” The herald’s voice filled the air. He moved to the left and let them pass.
“We’re supposed to be brother and sister,” she said through gritted teeth.
He tucked her arm under his and clasped a hand over hers. “Yes, but since you pointed out my staring, I realized I’d never be able to pull that off. As husband and wife, people will believe the attraction because, let’s face it, you’ve bewitched me.”
Into the room, they swept, the long train of her dress trailing behind her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust because the lighting was much brighter inside this room than anywhere else she’d been recently. The marvel of Tesla was the power behind his vision of electricity. Where America and Edison were plagued with power shortages and even outages, Tesla and his polyphasic alternating current provided stronger, unlimited light, illumination needed to battle against the dark world. If only everyone were allowed to possess it.
Where Janken’s club had been an opulent red, the embassy boasted gold-gilded everything. The trim on the walls, chairs on the sides of the room, the draped curtains—the color gold reigned supreme. It made her wonder how much was real and how much paint. No tables in this main room, merely a dancing floor filled with couples twirling to the music. Chairs lined the walls. Open double-doors on the left gave way to another room where refreshments were served. Straight ahead, a half orchestra, strings, horns, and percussion, played on a stage. Loud, lilting music sounded, a classical touch with a sultry, smoky voice providing lyrics to go with it.
The canary, Eva Sonne, stood out in a floor-length, red-beaded dress that shimmered with each shift of her hips. Men stared from the sidelines as couples on the floor moved to the beat in a free-style dance, which was uncommon in the mother country, according to her teachers. Yet here, in this faux British ballroom, they moved out of sync with one another, sashaying from side-to-side or simply swaying back and forth. The movements spoke to her in some primal way, and she wanted to jump out there, to attempt the very same thing.
“If you want to, just say the word.”
“How did you know I wanted to dance?”
Ian leaned in, blocking out the cloying smells of cigar smoke, powder, and various perfumes with his own cologne, a citrus scent reminding her of fresh oranges and sitting outdoors on sunny days. “You’re tapping your foot in time to the music.”
“It’s catching.” She inhaled sharply as his arm circled her waist.
“Yes, even more so when you’re on the floor.” He guided her toward the center of the room and twirled her around to face him.
Like the night before, the motions came effortlessly. His hand on her waist, her hand atop his shoulder with their opposites clasping. When he moved, she followed, gliding across the floor, a smooth experience compared to the previous night’s practice in her heels. These floors were polished until gleaming, so slippers moved smoothly, and boots didn’t scuff.
She let herself get lost in his arms, just as she had during practice, except this time, she focused her attention on his cravat, his fancy tie covering up the thatch of hair she’d seen behind it. For a moment, she’d been afforded the chance to forget her past, the opportunity to be a woman dancing.
They’d traversed the entire floor and were on a second pass when the song changed. Miss Sonne launched into a pretty round of verse and encouraged the guests to begin the waltz. Sorella let Ian lead, moving her effortlessly. “You’re very good at this, in case I didn’t properly compliment you before.”
When Ian didn’t respond right away, she snuck a glance at him. Instead of gazing at her, he eyed the stage where Eva Sonne was performing. “All right, I got her attention.”
Foolishness had struck again. Her damned, fanciful thoughts never led to anything productive.
“How do you know?” she asked, angling her head to the side to get a glimpse of the canary herself, shaped like an hour glass, a white mink stole draped over her shoulders and short black hair framing her face in the latest style.
“She tugged on her ear.”
Sorella scoffed, not bothering to hide her irritation. “A little obvious. Anyone could catch that signal.”
“Oh?”
She had his attention now.
He pulled her close, definitely closer than dance rules called for. His warm breath caressed the shell of her ear as he whispered, “What would be your signal?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her lips near his ear lobe, she nipped it. Anything to make him feel as vulnerable as he’d made her.
Chapter Eleven
Ian was trying so hard to be good, but the world-at-large seemed to be working against him. His intentions had been to leave her alone as her first mate and cook had requested, to steer clear of fanning her sexual enticement, to stick to business.
The tempting, gorgeous picture Sorella painted with her backless dress and low cut bodice didn’t help matters. Neither did her latest statement and the nip she’d given him. Her intent was pretty clear.
If it weren’t for his inherent sense of honor and his parents’ rules, he’d be sweeping her into a dark corner or behind a potted plant to kiss her senseless. The proper thing to do would be to ignore his feelings, evade temptation, and focus on the job at hand. The devilish part of him, the same part that had driven his desire to pursue black market merchant work, and had ultimately led to his downfall, refused to be silenced.
“Maybe you can tell me all about it when we get back to the ship.” He winked. “Along with all the other secrets you’ll be sharing.”
“You’re extremely confident this woman will know something besides how to mesmerize men in a crowd.”
He’d been watching Eva again as she signaled with her eyes the side of the room where she wanted to meet. “She’s Luther’s main squeeze. She’ll know everything. We’ll meet up with her after the song.”
“How do you know that? Did she shake her rump at you?”
Too much anger came with those questions, and then he noticed Sorella’s pouty expression, lips pursed outward, eyes narrowed. “Are you jealous of a singer?”
She shook her head, ducking her gaze. “The concept is absurd.”
“The blush on those cheeks tells a different story.”
Before she could respond, the song ended, and he brought them to a halt. They separated, performing the customary bow. Then she replied, “Lead me to her. I want to get this over with.”
He moved them across the room, happy to know that his captain still succumbed to basic human emotions. He’d love to tell her how charming her envious streak was. The most he’d shared with Eva had been a kiss months ago, which had led to nothing. Although gorgeous, she failed to inspire any strong desire in him. Lack of time and the surrounding crowd equaled a poor environment to confess such things, but he’d do it once they were back on board the Liberté.
As soon as they reached the stage’s edge, he heard his name on a whisper, “Ian, come to the left.”
He reached back to link his fingers with his captain’s, locking their gloved hands together. Strange how, a week prior, he’d never wanted someone tagging along with him on the random jobs he did for The Cursed, but this one connection gave him a sense of reassurance and strength he normally didn’t possess on such outings. Now he couldn’t imagine entering a situation without this dangerous woman at his side. Hell, I’m becoming attached.
They walked between two flowering trees positioned at the stage side and found a small table with three ch
airs. The singer stood next to one, arms open. “Kauffman.” Merchant. “It’s been a long time.”
“Indeed,” he tugged on his captain’s connection with him to bring her around from behind. “Miss Sonne, may I introduce the captain of the Liberté.”
“You have his eyes.” Eva stared at her hard, looking Sorella up and down. Shock clearly lined her face.
“Whose?”
“Your father’s. I’ve met him a few times right here in this very club.” The woman adopted another polite smile.
A tightness rose in her chest. This woman’s familiarity with her visage damned them. Everything would be wrecked. “Is he here tonight?”
“No, but he was here the other night.”
Ian looked between them, confused. “Who’s her father?”
“That’s not what we came here to talk about,” she said, patting his hand. Her secrets were hers to reveal to whomever—whenever—she wanted. Too bad Bonita’s hairdressing job hadn’t been good enough and that Sorella’s looks were so singular. At some point, they’d need to at least address the possibility of other people recognizing her.
“Right.” Ian took over. “I have a bounty for Luther and need to find him.”
“One moment.” The vocalist gestured to the guard behind her. She whispered something to him, and Sorella caught the name of her ship included in the exchange.
The captain waited for Eva’s security to depart then queried, “Why are you discussing my ship?”
Eva’s eyes went wide, and she fluttered a hand to her collarbone. The woman did a fantastic job of appearing fragile and dainty, but those gray eyes showed a steely nature, no doubt as immovable as a mountain when the time called for it. “I’ve sent my man to alert your ship to come here for you.”
“Planning ahead. I like how you think.” This woman feared the same thing she did, that her disguise had been useless and no doubt the polizei were being alerted as they spoke. “Will you tell us where he is?”
