The Eidolon Page 6

  “I mean to leave, sir. You will unhand me. Without making a scene if you please.” She tugged but he didn’t relent. What was it with sticky-handed men tonight?

  “I saw you smile,” he said in a clipped voice that revealed a foreign lilt.

  “Pardon?” He surprised her into ceasing her struggle for a moment.

  He turned his face so his eyes met hers. Sharp and black, they made her stumble. But his hands held her firm. A mask covered the rest of his face, making her relieved he couldn’t use whatever other power he possessed over her. He moved without appearing to exert any thought, pulling her along with him, making it all feel so natural.

  “I—” she tried to reply, and then realized he hadn’t asked a question.

  “What were you thinking of, just then? When you smiled?” he asked. Oddly, his words didn’t sound muffled in the least. “It looked for a moment as though you were not … here.” He inclined his head toward the other dancers, some stumbling more than waltzing. Her last partner among them.

  What was I thinking of? It took her a moment…ah. Suzie. The reminder brought her out of the fog and back to her senses. She straightened.

  “Nothing you would understand.”

  “Perhaps I would surprise you.”

  I very much doubt it. But then her earlier thoughts returned about the similarities between the mask she wore as the Eidolon and the mask she wore tonight, and she snapped at him. “If I give you one minute to convince me not to leave, will that suffice?”

  He leaned in close, his forehead nearly brushing hers. When he spoke, his voice was soft and dark. “Is your life so perfect that you do not need an evening off every once in a while?”

  Her reply came out sharp, swift, “An evening off from what?”

  “The obligations of your positions, of course.” He sounded amused.

  “The obligations…” Veronica sputtered as she missed a step. Something shook loose inside of her. Yes, she took nights off, but not for gratifications like this. What she did mattered, changed lives. The irritating smoothness of this attempted seduction, and his comparison to her own need to be free loosened her tongue. She wore a mask; there was no need to filter her words. Her opinions burst out, a strong, steady stream of steam flowing from a hot engine.

  “Why does everyone speak of the burdens of title and yet do nothing with it but waste their evenings at Almacks or silly masques? Waste their days flying above London, too intoxicated to appreciate the irony of their position. They’ve done nothing of real worth.

  “When have one of these people here visited the factory district? The place they call The Grave? The orphaned children from the latest Continental Wars work, twelve hours at a time, just for the opportunity to be starved and beaten by unregulated guards.”

  Her partner missed a step in the waltz, forcing her to stumble into him. She tried to wiggle free but he kept her even closer, flowing into the next step.

  Veronica could feel him from her toes to the tips of her fingers. It made her words stream even faster, harder.

  “Why do they refuse to see? How can the feel of a silk dress compare to the embrace of a lonely child? How can they waste money at the track, betting on gurney races when so many thousands have never left a table with their stomach filled?

  “It sickens me.” She finally stopped, still breathing hard. She tried to tear herself away yet again but her partner held her fast. One kick and I could make you release me. One second more…

  “So passionate, madam,” he said in a voice no longer soft and seductive, but hard and cold as the metal bracelets snaking up her wrists.

  “Is that not what you were seeking tonight? Someone passionate? Do I not fit your ideal?” She laughed without mirth. “My apologies, sir, but I’m not the girl that’s swept into a dark corner. Nor one to be considered seriously. I spout foolish nonsense.”

  “A man listens little enough to what a woman says. And your figure is pleasing.” His eyes swept her body.

  She tensed. “Now as I may have said, I have somewhere to be.”

  He allowed her off the dance floor but then he did what no partner of hers had ever done—he pulled her away from the others and toward one of those dark corners she’d just mentioned. Shock, once again, made her compliant. And morbid curiosity. Such words were usually enough to earn her the cut direct, in spite of her station.

  Veronica tossed a glance at Matilda—her attention engaged with yet another earnest suitor—before Veronica found herself on a balcony. The outdoor lamps had been turned off completely and when he shut the doors to the ballroom, she could barely make out his figure.

  “Why are we out here? Haven’t I said enough to scare you off? Can I leave now?” she asked. She watched him carefully, scanning for an opening, in case she had to defend herself. This man must be one of those that enjoyed a chase. The thrill of being denied fueled some kind of sick excitement in such men. Yet the putrid, furtive smell that usually hung about them didn’t afflict this one. He was all confidence, his movements deliberate, calculated.

  He laughed quietly. “You don’t seem nervous. Aren’t you frightened of what I might do? A proper woman should at least feign to be.” His voice was once again soft, the words honeyed and draped in his accent. In spite of his taunts, he stood as far across the balcony from her as possible.

  She leaned on the railing and looked out into the black night. Two, maybe three moves, he would be flying into the garden below. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I would like to see that.”

  She shrugged, and then realized he probably couldn’t see her. They stood in silence for several moments and, surprisingly, she felt herself relax. Without the stench of cologne, the murmur of gaudy conversation, or the beady eyes of the males in the room upon her, she breathed in the fresh air. Her teeth unclenched, her shoulders dropped. It felt wonderful, to say what she really thought. Even if her partner appeared not to care one whit for her opinions.

  “Why did you come tonight?” the man abruptly asked.

  She had no reason to not to tell the truth. “I was blackmailed.”

  He laughed again. “Of course.”

  What did he mean by that? Did she seem like the type of person susceptible to blackmail? Since the moment he’d so rudely grabbed her, she hadn’t once shown any type of meekness or submission. He must then be laughing at her. It was a rather unconventional reason.

  “It was family,” she said.

  “Ah,” he said, without appearing to understand her comment at all.

  She turned in the direction where she thought he stood. “My turn, oh mysterious one. Why did you come to this delightful party? And please don’t tell me it was to bring a girl out here, because you would not have chosen me.”

  It was a moment before he replied, “I too came here for family.” She heard the black cape he wore flutter as he moved to stand next to her by the railing.

  She couldn’t imagine this man had been blackmailed to come, as she had. The way he moved, stood and spoke, she had no doubt he didn’t do anything he didn’t want to. For some reason, his confidence didn’t dissuade her from his company—it had the opposite effect. She found herself wanting to verbally spar, to hear him challenge her. Perhaps because he did what few men ever did—he listened.

  Of course, the whole idea of her having a civil conversation out on a dark balcony with a foreign stranger with beautiful eyes and a strong figure was utterly ridiculous. What would happen next? Would she sprout wings and fly off into the night?

  Still, she stayed. Allowed the rising steam from the buildings’ pipes to both warm and then chill her, wondering what the man was thinking.

  “I’m sure you wanted to come?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied. She thought she heard him shake his head but it was hard to tell. “Though I think…” his voice trailed off and she felt a hand brush her neck.

  “What?” Her skin felt hot where he’d touched her. What was he doing? Was that a caress?r />
  “I think it’s nice to speak with a woman like this.”

  “Out in the darkness?” she asked.

  She smiled, amused by the idea that a man would touch her, the ridiculous spinster. Then she remembered that tonight, she didn’t play that role. This man heard her spout nonsense and still he drew closer. A society man would never find a silly woman like her to be attractive. Desirable. There must be something off about him.

  Then again, there was more than a little something off about her.

  “Actually,” he paused and when he spoke again, it sounded like he’d lifted his mask, “yes.” His hand trailed down her bare arm until his fingers laced with hers. She didn’t dare look at him. Nor move.

  “Does that mean you don’t mind hearing a woman prattle on about orphans?” she asked with a laugh that trembled only slightly.

  He didn’t answer for a moment and then asked, “Everything you said as we danced—does it really matter so much to you?” His words traveled into the night, as if he now stared off into the distance.

  She could hardly prevaricate now, not after her impressive rant. “It is all that matters to me.”

  Another pause. She waited. Glanced down at their hands, still laced together, his palm warm and rough in hers. She hoped his next words would not crush the growing respect she had for him.

  He spoke, his voice sounding closer, “I grew up in one of them. A factory.”

  “You did?” The strumming beat of the party faded even further into the background. The night seemed to close in on them, as though the world faded to this moment. To him and his confession.

  “Yes.”

  The hand in hers tried to pull away, but she held fast. “You survived. How?”

  “Another depended on me.” The words came out raw, as though it hurt him to speak.

  “You both escaped?” There was no leaving the factories, except as burnt ashes in the wind. Or in the Eidolon’s carriage.

  He didn’t answer but moved her fingers to his wrists. She felt raised bumps circling them, scars. From shackles most likely.

  “I melted them off and…” he trailed off. After a moment he continued, “We left on a dirigible, one we’d just completed.”

  She gently felt the scars. They encircled both wrists, ugly and thick. Mercy. A few of Veronica’s orphans, the older boys, bore the calling card of the cat’o’nine, but their skin was young, new. Once they were in her care, the scars faded little by little, as the child himself healed. Each time Clank cracked his whip on a guard, Veronica felt no regret.

  Until last night. When she’d allowed anger to overpower her control.

  She folded both of the man’s hand inside hers. They were large, calloused. Though he might be fully-grown and more than capable, perhaps he needed a bit of Lady Flowers’ magic. The man didn’t pull away. After a moment, he shifted and sighed, as though her touch relieved him.

  “You’re a miracle,” she said.

  He flipped his hands out and grabbed hers, placing them on his heart.

  It drummed, strong and quick. She kept her eyes straight forward, unwilling to break the spell. This man couldn’t have admitted this to just any one, the Ton would not hear it. But her rant, the darkness, this anonymity—it must’ve made him want to confess. Veronica may be the only person in that prodigious ballroom who comprehended his words. She considered what it meant to be a survivor of the factories, and comfortable enough to move among the Ton. Perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

  “Shall I tell you a story in return?” she asked finally.

  “I’ve already told you I like the words from your enchanting mouth,” he said, his tone lighter. He moved their hands down by his side, fingers now entwined.

  She smiled and related the same tale she’d told Agnes and the new arrivals, of Melilot and the creatures. He listened without moving, without making a sound, as though this were a natural state for him. His calm kept her speaking, the story flowing as effortlessly as it did when she gathered Suzie and the new arrivals by her, their eyes large with wonder, and taught them about hope. It felt natural to tell him, a factory orphan, the same fairytale. The story that lit her dark corners as a child, that now served the same purpose for the orphans she rescued.

  When it ended, she asked, “Does your tale have such an ending?”

  “It did tonight.” He used their hands to suddenly pull her close. Her hips met his. Her calm evaporated. She felt her eyes go wide and her pulse flare wildly out of control. What did he intend to do? Kiss her? She was now closer to this man than she’d ever been to any male. She nearly reacted by taking their joined hands and twisting it around his back, but something stopped her. Good heavens, but she really liked how this felt. A strong man, a factory survivor no less, smelling lovely and touching her with confidence and longing.

  His free hand reached up and landed on her mask. He left it there for a moment, as though giving her time to decide.

  Decide what? Did he want her to slide up her own mask? She still couldn’t make out the features of his face. What would be the harm? She wanted to. Wanted to see what would happen. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted this more than anything.

  But what if someone discovered them? A scandal like this might not only ruin her engagement, but also give her Papá the excuse he needed to pull the funding from Bridges. No, there was too much at stake…

  His hands cupped her face. It felt a little painful, like the shock of a dip in a cool pond on a hot day, but then it livened her senses, as though she were waking up for the first time.

  Heavens. She felt her feet freeze to the cold floor, her eyes search the darkness for the features of his face. The sound of his breath hung heavy in the air between them. She should slide up her mask. Right now.

  He swore and then pulled away, placing his hands on her shoulders, to steady whom, she couldn’t tell.

  “I’ve never,” he whispered. His voice trembled slightly.

  Never what? Kissed a girl? Surely he had. They stood there, not moving. She contemplated stepping forward, into him again, tearing off her mask.

  But his hands dropped and he turned away.

  Veronica felt her cheeks flush. She’d missed her chance. She unnecessarily straightened her mask, taking several moments to adjust it, telling herself she was lucky she hadn’t given in. Doubt swirled and settled in her mind. She might’ve given him insight on how to sweet talk her when she’d ranted, then he’d spun a tale that made her knees weak. That was the manner of rakes, was it not?

  But then, he would’ve seized his moment, done what he’d planned.

  It had all felt so real, sounded so real.

  Veronica might have escaped ruin but the idea didn’t make her as relieved as she thought. She ached all over. Then her body began quivering. She had to get out of there. Away from this man that made her want too much.

  Without a word, Veronica turned and swept aside the curtains, placing her hand on the doorknob. She heard fabric flutter behind her and when she opened the doors, the light revealed the balcony to be empty. He was gone.

  She rushed to the railing but even with the dim light from the ballroom, she couldn’t see over the edge. Veronica sank back against the wall and pressed her hand to her forehead. Maybe it hadn’t happened at all. Maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Yes, that seemed more reasonable than the confession she’d just heard, and her nearly kissing a man she didn’t know on a dark balcony at a masque.

  She had to find Alec. Surely whatever had just happened satisfied what her brother had in mind for her this evening.

  Veronica stepped back inside the ballroom. A wave of sickly-smelling heat doused her as she moved through the crowd, searching for Matilda. She was easy to spot—her white dress shone like a diamond amongst coal. She was attempting to gain shelter by the chaperones, but men continued to approach her, bowing first and then offering a palm for a dance. Matilda’s stiff posture never waivered as she declined each prospective partner with a bob of her h
ead. Her eyes searched the room, most likely for Veronica. When they settled on her, Matilda shoved her latest suitor aside and marched toward her charge.

  “Where have you been?” she asked with a tight smile. “I’ve not seen you these past twenty minutes.”

  Veronica shrugged, her heart tender enough to ache. “Oh, you know me. I was out on a dark balcony with a stranger, sullying my reputation.”

  Matilda relaxed. “I’m sorry, my lady. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?” She placed her hand on Veronica’s shoulder and laughed. “As though you would take part in all this. If it weren’t for that foppish brother of yours…just look at him, why does he enjoy this so much?”

  Veronica glanced in the direction Matilda was looking. Alec sat in a velvet-cushioned armchair with one woman on his knee and several more by his side. All were clearly younger, sporting flashes of metal around their upper arms, shortened skirts, and drop-waisted belts. The one on his lap leaned in, placed a hand on his exposed chest, and breathed something in his ear. He laughed and pulled her in for a hearty kiss.

  Veronica stared for several moments at the way the girls’ cheeks flushed, her eyes fluttered closed and her hands gripped Alec’s shirt. Is that what it would have felt like? To taste the stranger’s lips, to mix her breath with his? His masked face flashed in her mind, her skin tingled with the remembered sensation of his hands on her face.

  She narrowed her eyes and shut out the image. She had to tell herself that the stranger was no different in the end than any other man in this room—simply more skilled at persuasion than any she’d met. Or let regret seize her heart in it’s grip. When it came to her orphans and what she must do, regret played a little enough role, always trumped by love. A trusting hug or kiss on the cheek.

  Had things been different, had she been a normal debutante from a normal, titled family…but then, how could they be? Veronica never would’ve chosen otherwise. Her course as the Eidolon was set. Still, she her world tilted, pushed off its’ axis by a man with a crisp accent, scarred wrists and a thrilling touch.