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His laughter seemed to increase her courage. She took a step forward. Still clutching her gloves, helmet and a white envelope. He wanted that envelope.
Instead of taking it, as he would in due course, Christo allowed her another question. He knew it was coming. Her brows creased in a slight frown and her mouth was opening and closing a fraction, as if silently practising the words.
‘How did you find out?’
Her voice stroked soft as a feather over his skin. The perfect balance of seduction and wheedling. Lashes downcast. Deferential. If she’d been close enough no doubt she’d have placed a fine-boned hand on his. Gazed into his eyes. Perhaps granted him a few false tears. Such a subtle act, and all too familiar.
He despised it.
‘Take care, Thea. I don’t endure theatrics.’
She tossed her head and the artfully placed curls of her hair flicked and bounced. ‘I’m no performing seal.’
‘Then what’s today been about, if not a performance?’
He’d known she had spark. That much had been evident in the interminable parades he suspected her father had imposed upon her each time Christo had visited their ostentatious home. Thea’s beauty shone fierce and bright, and such beauty came from intelligence. Yet she’d attempted to hide it from him until today.
When he’d lifted her veil there it had been, boiling through her icy veneer. Those eyes...tight and burning with hatred. He’d almost recoiled, witnessing the wild creature beneath. And then her face had smoothed, as if a wave had washed away writing on sand, and it had gone.
But he’d watched her at the reception. She and her friend wandering to and from this room. The furtive whispers between them. After one trip Thea’s skirt had hung more loosely. After another the hem had dragged on the floor. So he’d schooled Raul, had the door to the alley placed under guard and silently thwarted her plans.
Creeping into this room to wait in the darkness was beneath him, perhaps. Still, he’d needed to witness the deception personally. It would serve as a reminder of why he couldn’t trust.
Thea hadn’t taken long to reveal herself.
‘Today? It was about escaping you.’
The words might sting, but he was used to his parents’ rejection so what did one more matter? He’d been the child they’d weaponised to hurt each other, not loved for being their son. That was what the people closest to you were capable of.
He’d inured himself against the pain of those boyhood lessons years ago. Never again would he beg for meagre crumbs of affection from another’s table. All he dealt in now were cold truths and hard cash. And Atlas Shipping, the company his grandfather had founded, was his ultimate and only reward for being born into the misery of his family.
Christo walked towards Thea, towering above her. At six foot four, he towered above most people. It was an edge which many might exploit, but he refused to be known as a bully.
He rolled his tight shoulders. Swallowed down the anger roiling in his gut. Tried again for a smile which was conciliatory. Who knew whether it had worked? As she looked up at him Thea’s face was as blank as a fresh sheet of paper.
‘You want an escape, and yet I still have you.’
Christo plucked the envelope from her hand and slid it into the inner pocket of his tuxedo. Thea wasn’t expecting it. She broke a little. A slump of her shoulders. A tremble in her bottom lip. Her freedom had been stolen, as his had been.
Would she understand? He almost felt sorry for her in that moment, but finer feelings had no place here. Later he might make time to regret what he had to do. Not tonight.
‘Wait. I can’t... I won’t...’
Emotion ran high in her voice as it quavered and cracked. Nothing moved him. He had no choice. She’d realise soon enough and then a deal could be struck—although only on his terms, because her compliance was essential.
‘Did you really think your childish plan would work?’ He schooled his voice, low and sharp as a blade. He’d witnessed grown men crumble at this tone. ‘That I wouldn’t notice the switch immediately with only that monstrosity of a headpiece as a disguise?’ He nodded to the discarded hat.
She dropped her helmet and gloves onto a chair. Brushed a fine strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It was all about misdirection.’
‘So now you’re playing conjuror’s tricks?’
‘I was supposed to be a happy, blushing bride—not a prisoner planning an escape. People saw what they wanted to.’
Well, her confidence was misplaced. Time to show her.
He cupped her chin in his right hand, felt Thea’s perfect skin, silky and warm under his fingers. Her lips thinned, but she didn’t move.
‘I see your cognac eyes. Your skin like mountain honey. And your hair rich as dark chocolate,’ he said, his voice pitched soft as a caress. ‘I see your haughty grace as you walk. The ferocity in your gaze. I see who you try to hide. I see you, Thea.’
