Page 2 of Kiss of Steele (The Royal Occult Bureau #9)

TWO

RENNIE HAD BEEN right.

The moment I started eating, my appetite roared back to life. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until I sank my teeth into a delicious slice of roast beef with spinach and roasted potatoes. Everything was spiced to perfection, not too salty or too hot, and the potatoes melted in my mouth, leaving the taste of rosemary and oregano on my tongue. Despite my hunger, I took small pieces of the food. Ladies’ manners. Hard habits didn’t go away quickly.

“You don’t have to impress me,” Rennie said, after chomping on a big mouthful of beef. “You must be starving.”

I was about to tell him I’d been raised a lady and it was difficult for me to forget my manners when I eyed a waiter carrying a bottle of wine.

“I think you’re right.” I wiped my mouth with my napkin. “I’d like to have a glass of wine as well.”

“No.” His forehead furrowed, and the single word rang sharply.

“Excuse me?”

He lowered his knife and leant closer. “I said no.”

“And I say you can’t order me around.” The nerve of this man.

He coughed into his fist. “It’s not an order. I was strongly suggesting you not drink wine or any liquor. You took the green serum. You shouldn’t drink wine. Green serum and wine don’t go well together. In fact, it’d be better if you didn’t dance either, just in case the green serum has an unexpected side effect.”

“You don’t even know what’s inside the green serum, but now you’re an expert on what I should or shouldn’t drink, or what I should do or shouldn’t do?” My pathetic plan to convince him to talk was crumbling. “I want a sip of wine.” I jutted out my chin.

“Monia.” It was a warning. His green eyes flashed.

“I want to dance, and I want a glass of wine.” I raised a hand to call a waiter. Yes, yes, I was being childish. But dash it, I blamed him. No one ordered me around, especially since he refused to answer my questions.

I didn’t see him moving. One moment, he was sitting and glowering from across the table. The next, he was standing in front of me, blocking my view of the waiter.

“Please, Monia.” The corners of his mouth stretched when he said ‘please.’

I bit down a comment about the fact that I was Miss Fitzwilliam to him. “Tell me why you are here.”

The annoyance in his face—which was likely matching mine—morphed into surprise, then into annoyance again. “Are you blackmailing me?”

“Strongly persuading you to tell me the truth.”

“There’s no truth to be told.”

I lifted my hand and looked past his bulky figure. “Garcon!”

“What are you doing?” He took my hand and lowered it, holding it between his. A strange, fleeting flutter started in the depths of my chest. I wasn’t sure it was due to seasickness. “This isn’t a hotel or a French restaurant. You can’t call the waiter garcon. It’s rude.”

Ha! Listen who’s talking about manners . Besides, he pronounced ‘garcon’ as ‘gross-on,’ which made me giggle.

“I’ll go to him then.” I rose from the stuffed chair in a bold gesture that actually proved to be a disaster. I was half an inch from him when I stood up and he was still holding my hand in a rather intimate fashion.

As close as I was to him, I could see a scar on his neck and another one along his jaw. And blimey, his eyes weren’t just green, but a lovely shade of Irish shamrock with golden specks around his large pupils. Unfortunately, in my haste to stand up, my shawl got caught in the ear of the chair and slid off my shoulders. I let out a breath and spun to grab it, but the darn thing slipped to the floor.

“Tarnation.” I turned around, showing him my back.

“You’re naked,” Rennie half-hissed, half-whispered. I could swear his voice sounded all breathy.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cheeks turning into an inferno, I snatched the shawl and wrapped it around myself before facing him. “Since my parents didn’t think of hiring a maid for me, for some absurd reason, I couldn’t button my dress fully. But I’m not naked.”

Thank goodness the hall wasn’t busy, or my moment of hysteria would have had a few witnesses.

His frown deepened. “You could’ve asked for help.” Were his cheeks slightly flushed?

I put a hand on my chest. “From you? Are you out of your mind?” It was outrageous enough to be travelling alone with him. I didn’t need him in my cabin, helping me dress and watching my naked body while he fastened buttons and pulled strings.

“Not me.” He gritted his teeth. “This ship is full of ladies. Why didn’t you ask one of them?”

“Because—”

May the most bloodthirsty hounds of hell chase him. He was right. My mind had conjured up visions of him and me alone and half-naked in my cabin for no reason.

I pulled at the shawl again. “I didn’t actually think about that.”

“Come.” He took my elbow and led me outside, away from the blinding lights of the hall.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You can’t dance naked.”

“I’m not naked.” I shrugged my elbow free. “And didn’t you say I shouldn’t dance?”

“Let’s make a deal.” He shut the glass door behind us. The music was cut off as we stood on the deck. A warm wind caressed my skin and carried the scent of the sea. “No wine, but I’ll let you dance.”

“You’ll let me? My, how generous of you,” I quipped. “Will you let me have a nightcap too? A quilt against the cold? I’m sure you won’t object if I decide to sleep until seven in the morning.”

“All right. You’ve made your point.” He held up a hand. “It’s for your own good. I’m trying to help.”

“While being bossy. Will you tell me something about you?” I asked. “About the job you do for my father? Surely, you can at least tell me that.”

He didn’t flinch at my harsh tone. “Turn around.”

“What for?” I narrowed my gaze.

He heaved a sigh. “So I can button up your dress, and you can have your damn dance.”

After a moment of hesitation and scoffing, I turned around. “Honestly. No one has ever talked to me like this before.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he muttered as he shoved aside the shawl.

“Sorry?”

“Everyone needs honesty. Now stay still.”

“That’s rudeness, not honesty. You’re impossible—” All my bravado froze when his fingers touched the bare skin of my back. With surprisingly infinite gentleness, he worked his way up the dress. Each time he brushed my skin, my breathing came out a little faster. His movements slowed down. His fingertips lingered on my skin a bit longer than necessary with trepidation, as if he were worried I might scream.

He cleared his throat and quickly buttoned up the last button. “There. You’re well-covered. Would you like to dance?”

“With you?” I spun around to face him, astonishment giving me extra energy.

Rennie draped the shawl over my shoulders, avoiding my gaze. “If you want to.”

Did I want to? Yes, why not? I hadn’t had a lot of fun in the past few days, and even though there was something he and my parents were hiding from me, he’d been reasonably kind to me.

His large frame went still as he waited for my answer, and his eyes widened a bit. “I believe it’s rude for a lady to refuse an offer to dance.”

“Everyone needs honesty,” I said.

He chuckled, a sound so deep and rich it brought a smile to my lips. “I deserve it. Is it a no?”

“No.” My word, answering as he did was fun.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. He looked more handsome when he smiled. “So it’s a yes.”

“It is. Let’s go.” I could always change partners later.

The beam he flashed my way stunned me into silence. I couldn’t remember having ever seen him smile like that. Or maybe he had, but I’d been too focused on feeling sick to notice.

The ballroom was right next to the dining hall. Well, one of the ballrooms. The ship had three of them. Ridiculous. The notes of a waltz floated in the air, and excitement sizzled in my chest.

“So, what’s your job?” I asked as we walked towards the room.

“I work with your father.”

I skidded to a halt. “You promised to give me some answers.”

“I didn’t.” The fabric of his waistcoat stretched over the broad wall of his chest when he inhaled deeply. “Your father is my superior. I work in his unit.”

“Are you a soldier?” Father had been in the army, and he was now working at a government office.

Certainly, Rennie looked like a warrior with his hard muscles and sharp gaze. But why would a soldier leave his job to supervise me on a cruise I’d never wanted to take?

He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth, somehow attracting my attention. “More or less.”

“What does it mean?”

He resumed walking, leading me to the ballroom. “It means I can’t tell you more than that because secrecy is part of the job.”

“Fine. Then tell me why my parents chose you, then.”

When he pushed open the glass door to the ballroom, the music and chatter hit my senses and distracted me for a moment. The ladies’ skirts twirled over the polished floor, and the lights from the chandeliers gleamed over the glossy black dinner suits of the gentlemen. Except Rennie’s. He wore his clean but plain grey suit.

“Well?” I prompted him when he didn’t answer.

He sighed. “Your parents were worried about you.”

“Because of Sandro?”

“Who the hell is Sandro?” He slid an arm around my waist, and I was distracted for the second time as a little shiver crawled up my neck. Blimey, everything he did distracted me.

“Would you please mind your language?” I rolled my eyes. “Sandro is the prince I met at Lady Thompson’s ball. He’s the reason my parents decided to send me away. I expected to be punished, but they paid a fair amount for this madness, and then they told me you’d come with me.”

On the notes of the waltz, he twirled me around, one hand on my waist, the other holding my hand with a gentle touch. I had to admit I’d been with better dancers. Not that Rennie lacked technique, but his feet moved heavily, almost stomping on the floor, and his shoulders were too tense, as if he were ready to fight off an attacker at any moment. Not to mention, he steered me dangerously close to other couples. I didn’t want to bump into that lady covered in diamonds and silk. Sandro had held me like a feather and moved with grace and elegance, smiling throughout the dance. Why couldn’t I see him again?

“I see,” Rennie said, gripping my waist a bit too tightly. “I guess your parents don’t approve of Sandro.”

“You’re an expert at dodging questions and stating the obvious. Sandro is a prince. Mother has been pestering me for months to find a suitable husband. Who can be more suitable than a prince?” My skirts twisted around my legs when Rennie made me turn suddenly. “Besides, I like him, and he likes me. I don’t understand why I’m here with you.” Oh, dear. I wished my last statement didn’t sound like the hiss of a cobra about to strike and wasn’t just as poisonous. As much as Rennie was annoying, he didn’t deserve my anger. He was doing what my parents had told him to do.

Rennie didn’t flinch, though. If my words offended him, he didn’t show it.

“Have you thought that maybe your parents know something about Sandro that you don’t?” The low baritone of his voice reverberated in my chest as he inched closer.

“I have, but then why didn’t they just say so? Why the cloak and dagger? If anything, they made me even more curious about Sandro. If they’d told me he was a scoundrel, I would’ve forgotten about him.” No, I wouldn’t. I would have pursued him with more insistence. Every girl needs a scoundrel in her life.

Rennie gave an unconvincing shrug.

Oh, enough of that! I stopped dancing. My skirts twisted again after the abrupt halt. “You know why, don’t you?”

“Monia—”

“Just tell me the truth.” My voice rose. A few heads turned my way.

He took my shoulders, his strong fingers holding me in place. “I can’t. Stop asking me.”

The good thing was that he finally admitted there was indeed something he and my parents were keeping from me about Sandro. The bad thing was that he wasn’t going to tell me what it was.

“I’ve had enough.” Lifting my chin, I pivoted towards the exit... and promptly tripped on my stupid skirts. How humiliating.

The marble tiles were getting closer as my body threatened to drop to the floor. But Rennie caught me before I hit them.

“Careful.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear.

A traitorous tingle started on my skin, even though the quick touch had surely been an accident.

“I don’t—” I forgot what I meant to protest about when I turned and found my face inches from Rennie’s.

The first thing I noticed was his nose had indeed been broken. A punch, perhaps, or maybe a fall. The second thing I noticed was his scent. It was fresh and soapy, as if he had just finished taking a bath. It had the no-nonsense quality that men, who were used to working with their hands and bodies, had.

Also, the fact he was squashing me against his impossibly hard body didn’t escape my notice. None of it changed the situation. He was lying to me. Or rather, he was keeping secrets from me.

I put my hands on his chest and pushed away from him. “I don’t want to dance anymore.”

“That’s a shame,” a man with a classy Oxford accent said from behind me. “Because I was about to ask you for a dance, miss.” The man flashed a smile that was pure elegance. His blond hair brushed against his cheeks when he bowed, and his sleek dinner suit barely creased. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr Edward Marston.”

I could only bob a curtsy on my unsteady legs. “Miss Monia Fitzwilliam.”

“Monia?” Edward straightened. “What an unusual, beautiful name.”

“It’s short for Sanctimonia.” I probably should stop clarifying it. If Monia sounded odd, Sanctimonia sounded ridiculous, but to his credit, Edward didn’t laugh.

“Fascinating,” he said in his lovely accent. “Would you care to dance?”

“Miss Fitzwilliam wishes to return to her cabin,” Rennie all but growled, stepping next to me.

I arched a brow at him. “So now I’m Miss Fitzwilliam?”

But Rennie wasn’t looking at me. His keen gaze was trained on Edward, who was returning the glare.

“I’d love to dance.” To break the staring contest, I offered my hand to Edward.

He beamed when he took my hand ever so gently. “Excellent.”

“Miss Fitzwilliam,” Rennie said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll see you later, Mr Steele.” I looped my arm around Mr Marston’s and glided towards the dancefloor, leaving behind a glowering Rennie.

Oh, Mr Marston was a skilled dancer. He guided me through the waltz with soft steps and elegant moves, knowing exactly when he needed to step to the left or twirl me around. He was a protective dancer without crowding me. Finally, I was enjoying the music and the dance without worrying about tripping. Rennie stood in a corner of the room, scowling at us. Served him right. If he’d only told me the truth.

As we danced, Mr Marston led me away from Rennie and towards the opposite side of the room, even though the dance routine dictated we should move in the other direction. In the manoeuvre, we bumped into another couple, a middle-aged lady with too many feathers in her hair and her stiff companion. Great. What had I said about him being a skilled dancer? Was it a curse that afflicted all the men on board the ship? Or was it me who brought bad luck?

“I beg your pardon,” Mr Marston said so charmingly the lady could do nothing but smile in return.

A pretty red-haired girl, who was dancing with a short man, smiled as we twirled close to them. “You’re the best dancers I’ve seen onboard so far,” she said. “So elegant.”

I gave her a nod. “Thank you.”

Mr Marston steered me further down the hall, casting glances at Rennie who was still standing in the same corner.

“Miss Fitzwilliam,” he whispered. His face contracted in a tense expression that wiped the smile from my face. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?” I craned my neck to glance at Rennie. Perhaps my eagerness to get rid of him had been a tad thoughtless. Uneasiness coiled in my full belly.

“I’m a friend of Sandrosarkbach,” Mr Marston said without preamble.

The fluid way he said Sandro’s name surprised me almost as much as his words. “Oh, my goodness.” My dancing posture slackened, and my elbows dropped to my sides. “Where is he? Why did he leave me? When can I see him again?”

He smiled, eyes brightening. “I’m only a messenger. You’ll have the chance to ask him these questions. He’s waiting for you in Lisbon where the ship will dock in two days.”

A warm shock of surprise ran through me. “Sandro.” I’d see him in two days.

Mr Marston threw another glance over his shoulder towards the gloomy figure of Rennie. “I don’t need to tell you it would be better if your companion didn’t know about the meeting.”

No, he didn’t need to tell me. But on second thought... “Why?”

He stepped to the left in rhythm with the music. “Again, I’m following Sandro’s instructions, but he believes your bodyguard will prevent you from meeting him. Apparently, your parents don’t want you to see him.”

I was repeating myself, but... “Why?”

Mr Marston heaved a sigh that caused the blond tendrils of his hair to brush against his jaw. “Alas, this is something you must discuss with Sandro himself. I can only tell you this. He’s a good man. He would never do anything to harm you or your reputation. Your parents must have taken a dislike to him for some misguided reason.”

Mr Marston’s words didn’t make much sense. In fact, he sounded defensive towards Sandro, as if Sandro had already damaged a lady’s reputation. But I wanted answers, so I nodded. “Thank you, Mr Marston. I look forward to seeing Sandro again.”

“There’s more. Miss Fitzwilliam, you must know there are people who wish him harm.”

My breath stilled. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a prince and a wealthy, rich man. He has many enemies. Hence the secrecy. You understand, don’t you?”

“No, not really.”

Impatience flickered over his face. “Sandro will explain everything to you. It’s his story to tell. Not mine.”

I frowned. The conversation wasn’t making much sense. But then again, if I wanted answers, I had to see Sandro.

Rennie shifted his weight. His hard stare was trained on me, and I wondered how I was going to flee from my bodyguard.