Kate Cross - Touch of Steel

If she was honest, she would acknowledge that most men would come second to her own work. She really couldn’t fault Franz for having a similar mind-set.

“Bah,” he said. “The Wardens have no idea how fortunate they are to have such an angel in their employ.”

Now he was being grandiose. Perhaps she should give his mouth a new occupation so he would stop talking. Or . . .

“I should go,” she said, throwing back the blankets and slipping out of the bed naked. She had no shame of her body, but neither was she overly proud. She had long, strong legs, a soft belly, good hips and full breasts, which, while not gravity defying, still managed a good degree of pertness. Most men found her appealing because of her mixed heritage. She’d been born in Jamaica, several months after her wealthy Irish-Canadian father decided to marry the granddaughter of a woman who had been a slave and the man who had bought her freedom. Unfortunately, he had neglected to buy his bride a ticket when he sailed back to England. Evelyn’s mother insisted her grandfather had been an earl (sometimes he was a duke) who had been unable to marry her grandmother because of family obligations. Evie had no problem allowing her mother to hang on to that silly thought if it made her happy.

“Where are you going?” Franz demanded, sliding out of bed. The French safe she made him use dangled from his flaccid penis like a little handkerchief poised to wave in surrender. “It is still dark.”

“I’m returning to my hotel,” she told him, pulling on her trousers. “I want to check on your director in the morning and I’m having a breakfast meeting with an old school friend.” It was such a familiar lie that it rolled easily off her tongue. Although this time it was partially true. She was meeting an old friend, just not from school.

“Surely you can stay a little longer?” He graced her with a seductive smile, reaching out to stroke her bare breast.

Evie grimaced. That cajoling tone might work on some naive chit straight out of the nursery, but not with her. He should know the polite and honorable way to play this game. This was why she often went home with her chosen partners rather than taking them back to her rooms. She had learned some time ago that it was easier to do the leaving than to try to show a stubborn lover the door.

She pulled on her shirt, knocking his hand away from her. “No, I can’t.” She tucked the tail into her trousers.

Franz blinked. “But I want you to stay.”

“And I told you I can’t.” She shrugged into her corseted waistcoat. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” She kissed his cheek as an added gesture.

The younger man raked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Unbelievable. So we make love and now you leave like I am a whore.”

He was difficult to take seriously when he was naked and had a condom hanging from his limp cock. She sat down on a nearby trunk to pull on her boots. “I’m sorry, did I mislead you into thinking I wanted something else? Did you hope that tonight would be the beginning of a long and loving relationship? Do you want to marry me?”

“No, of course not.” Too late he realized his mistake, and his distaste quickly turned to panic. “I mean, I had hoped that we could enjoy each other’s company for a little while longer and see how things develop.”

Stincedhe had two choices—roll her eyes or smile sympathetically. She chose the smile. “That’s very sweet, and please don’t think that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but I really do have to go.” With that, she grabbed her coat and rose to her feet.

Franz chuckled humorlessly. “I’d heard you were a cold bitch, and now I believe it.”

Evie didn’t pause. She shoved her arm into one coat sleeve. “What’s the matter? Angry I’m leaving before you have the chance to kick me out? I’m assuming you wouldn’t want to risk your mother seeing me when she gets up in the morning.”

A dull flush suffused his cheeks beneath the golden stubble of his beard. “My landlady is a woman of discretion.”

She fastened a button. “Your landlady is your mother. Did you think I wouldn’t see the photographs and portraits of you as a child when we came in? Did you think I was so enamored of you, I wouldn’t notice the note left on your dresser reminding you to give her your soiled laundry? She signed it ‘Love, Mother’ for heaven’s sake.”

He stared at her with a mixture of horror and humiliation. “Get out.”

“It’s about damn time,” she retorted and yanked open the bedroom door. “And take that condom off. You look ridiculous.”

“Bitch.”

“Give your mother my best.”

Evelyn closed the door behind her and made her way down the stairs, not caring if she was seen or not. She didn’t care if by tomorrow afternoon Franz—and his mother—had told everyone in Germany what a whore she was. That would only make it easier to meet another man next time she traveled there on Warden business. Her reputation as a surgeon had nothing to do with her reputation as a woman. She would always be in demand because she was an expert at what she did, and she would always find a lover because she was an attractive, confident woman. Those few traits drew some people to her and repelled others at the same rate. Life was too short to worry about the ones who turned up their noses and looked down on her.

Mac had taught her that. The bastard.

She stepped outside into the waning hours of a beautiful September night. Perfect for a walk, even though there were plenty of steam hacks in the vicinity. This neighborhood wasn’t far from the airfield where the dirigibles arrived and departed. Consequently, Evelyn’s hotel was within close distance.

She paused on the walk, feeling eyes on her back. She glanced up and saw Franz in a window. She waved. He made a rude gesture that made her laugh. She truly was a bitch. She hadn’t meant to hurt his pride, but if she was truthful, she’d really only been thinking of herself and her own wants and needs.

Regardless, she wouldn’t see Franz again for a long time, if ever. His ambition meant he wouldn’t be content to stay with the Ritters for long. She would enjoy telling this story to Claire and Arden when she returned to London. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to share it with their husbands, though. Men were oddly sensitive about such things, the babies.

Her bootheels clicked on the walk, echoing softly among the sounds of passing carriages and noise from the nearby airfield. Evelyn fieize="-1" kept a cautious gaze on her surroundings. She could still feel eyes on her. Surely Franz had left his window by now?

Footsteps behind her. Light, but there. She sped up, fingers slipping inside her coat for the weapon concealed there. It might be just another pedestrian, but years at W.O.R. had taught her that paranoia was a virtue.

Do not panic. What would Claire do in such a situation? Or Arden? Dhanya? They were smart, capable women, each of whom would keep her wits and be prepared just in case. She would do the same.

The footsteps behind her quickened, matching her own. No question now whether she was being followed or not. She clasped her blade, pulling it free of the sheath as fingers wrapped around her arm.

She whirled around, using her attacker’s momentum to drive herself forward so that the edge of her knife came to settle at the base of a long, smooth throat.

“Jesus on the cross, Evie! Are you trying to kill me?”

Evelyn froze. “Nell?” She hadn’t seen the woman in years, but there was no denying her braided gray hair and bright blue eyes, fanned by pale squint lines in her otherwise tanned face. She grinned, revealing unexpectedly straight white teeth.

“I knew you wouldn’t forget me!” The tall, handsome woman came in to hug her, and Evelyn flipped her blade, moving it out of the way so Nell didn’t slit her own throat. She hugged her back.