The Aviator (4 page)

“Has my wealth made you happy, Mr. Lanchard?”

He cursed under his breath, rocking her against the metal with his hips, his naked shoulders spread above her own, the solid weight of him pressed at her back. She slipped along the wall, gaining the space to move then reaching back to find the length of his cock. She closed her fingers around it, feeling it pulse in her hand, fully engorged, her palm stroking its soft head. Nathan stifled a helpless sound, his head bowing forward, his body shaking under her touch.

She glared up at him, using her hands to find the full sack at the base of his shaft and massage it with a bit of insistence. “Admit it. You play the calm one, the responsible one, but inside you’re just the same as I am, just as selfish, just as unacceptable in the eyes of proper society. We’re the very picture of dysfunction, the two of us, formed by the same elemental forces, the same fingerprints in the clay, the same uneven fires. You cannot walk away from that.”

He peered down her, his breathing harsh through his teeth.

“You might despise my little eccentricities, but you won’t betray my father, the one man who believed in you and gave you everything, by going against his wishes now.”

Nathan drew an anguished breath, his cock thrusting deeper into the warm of cradle of her fingers, searching for more. Shaking his head, he slid his hands down to grasp her wrists and pull her forward. She felt herself yanked against him, his strength too much to fight, his grip painful.

“I betrayed him the night I took your innocence,” he reminded her, his tone dark and unforgiving. “In his own house, while he slept. Selfish of me, but it was gently done, with reverence. I knew nothing of you then, save how beautiful you were, how a man might drown in the blue of your eyes and the sound of your laughter. It was done with future plans in mind,
yes
. Dreams set too high,
yes
. Those are my crimes. Now tell me, madam, what are yours? Why did you offer yourself, all those years ago, to a boy you never intended to marry? Why offer yourself again now to the same idiotic fool? To preserve Sinclair Airship? Or to continue my suffering, continue your revenge against the memory of a father you don’t think loved you enough, a world you don’t think gave you enough?”

Gilda struggled to reply, feeling his breath whispering on her lips, his body strained and waiting for an answer. She was somehow falling where she stood, unable to reply, or to move. He filled her senses, the crisp hair on his chest tickling her fingertips, the scent of his skin warm and close, his mouth almost touching hers, so near it made her heart ache.
This isn’t hate. It can never really be hate. Not even after all I’ve done, all the mistakes I’ve made…You’re the one person on Earth who can never really hate me.

His grip softened, as if for one moment, he could hear the truth of her heart, without the words she usually twisted just to taunt or rile him, the things she always somehow said and later regretted.

“You can’t build airships for the Navy,” she said softly, made breathless by the close embrace. “You can’t undermine our contracts, betray us and destroy us like that. Someone else might, but not you. I know you. No matter what you think of me, I know you can’t do that.”

A soft, humorless laugh escaped his lips. He shifted her against the wall. She heard a click and winced against the bright spill of light from the corridor. Then she was tripping through the doorway, propelled by a firm push. She staggered into the cooler air, finding her balance in the empty hallway before turning to glare back at him.

He shook his head. “If you knew me that well, you might have become aware, over the past ten years, that I don’t just build airships.”

Don’t just build airships?

“I will be building something else entirely for the Navy. It will have no effect on Sinclair whatsoever.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The contracts are already signed,” he said without triumph. “I will be dining with a group of investors tomorrow night on the island. I intend to sell them my shares in Sinclair Airship and leave by the end of the week.”

“
This
week? Impossible, Nate—”

“The company has good managers, well trained and well experienced. As long as you don’t go crashing through their doors in the middle of the night, Sinclair will do just fine after my departure. As for shares and wealth, you
have
been given enough, Lady Sinclair—far more than most. And what great things, may I ask, have you done with it all?”

He didn’t wait for a reply, simply slammed the door again, this time sliding the bolt securely in the lock.

G
ilda cursed as she adjusted the engine throttles, carefully aligning the six shining levers that would bring the giant airship
Goliath
to full power and lift its massive length up from the floating docking mast. Her gaze flitted over the half-moon console of glass gauges and copper dials to find the row of metal wheels that controlled the angle of vertical thrust. Stretching forward, she wrenched the master steer bar down and locked the wheels into place with an angry hiss.

The bass thrum of
Goliath’s
huge propellers vibrated through the airframe, shimmering along its silver skin. The beast was ready to take flight, and yet everything felt wrong, entirely out of place.

Those are my crimes. Now tell me, madam, what are yours?

Scowling, she slid a pair of round, gold-tinted spectacles over her eyes and focused past the laddered aluminum bulkheads to the control deck’s curved shield of thick glass. The ocean outside was a crisp blue, the sky above it bright and cloudless, the bulky gray outline of the
Avenger’s
fantail looming somewhere in between.

Anxious boat crews waited below the airship, their tug-lines ensuring that the floating mast platform maintained a respectful distance behind the battleship. A shuttle was one thing, but no one wanted to see a full-sized dirigible, at 200 meters in length, mating with a steel stack at 60 knots. Such mishaps were often so difficult to explain to the press, not to mention to His Majesty, the King.

And so, the little men in the boats waited less patiently now that the wind was rising, some of them waving their arms or pointing skyward, offering not-so-gentle reminders that airships of
Goliath’s
size generally docked on the mast platforms just long enough to drop their cargo compartments and secure new ones.

“Bugger off, you ignorant twats, or I’ll—”

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” A familiar voice lilted across the control deck. “Thought I might ask.”

She glanced back, startled.

The Duke of Sutton stood leaning against a metal brace behind her, one dark eyebrow arched over the shining rims of his spectacles. He appeared gaunt and fashionable in a plum colored suit and matching velvet bowler, his shoes polished with enough shine to reflect the sky.

Gilda shook her head, turning her attention back to the throttles. “I’m touched, your grace, that you would inquire. I fear, however, that you would be much better protected in the passenger compartment.”

“Protected? This is a dangerous mission then?”

“It is only that I must concentrate my attention on the take-off.”

“You never concentrate on anything. Part of your charm, I daresay.”

“And I do seem to be missing my co-pilot.”

“You mean the strong chap who brought this monster in from the island to pick us up? He was understandably exhausted by the task. After some brief discourse, he and I decided that he should rest and I should present myself to assist you here.”

Gilda narrowed her gaze on the ocean. “Is that your inconvenient way of arranging to speak with me alone, your grace?”

“I am afraid it is.”

She shook her head. “Then I recommend you strap yourself in.”

Without looking back, she grabbed onto the master steer bar and turned the wheels until the engines swiveled downward. Reaching for the throttles, she spanned them with her fingertips and slid them in unison, hearing the propellers harmonize in buffeting echoes under the airframe.

Goliath
rose from the docking mast on a thundering cloud of thrust, its massive shadow shrinking on the waves. The outline of the
Avenger
became depthless beneath it, a narrow, colorless island of guns and stacks that slipped away as Gilda swiveled the engines forward, keeping the heading at thirty degrees starboard as she pushed the throttles to three-quarter speed.

The airship sailed into the open sky, into freedom, dazzling and infinite. Gilda focused on the bright horizon, searching for some measure of peace. After so many years in the air, this was her sanctuary, a weightless world of color and wind, of eternal blues giving way to dreamlike spires of pearly columns, or pink and gold sunsets that set the world on fire. It was a sight to right wrongs and heal hurts, lend glowing perspective to the small and petty world of men below.

Today, however, it appeared merely empty, too cold and vacuous, even for clouds. She inclined her head toward the open corridor, imagining Nathan seated on one of the passenger compartment’s red velvet couches, his dark hair falling loose from behind the curve of his ear, his pale eyes catching the sky’s filtered light.

He had ignored her on the docking platform, too busy perhaps, envisioning his grand new destiny, a world no longer filled with airships, production hangars and board meetings, a world without Gilda Sinclair.

The Duke cleared his throat, leaning forward in his seat so that he might be better heard. “My dear, we have some troubling information regarding your air station. That is my primary purpose, I must admit, in accompanying you on such short notice.”

She frowned. “What information?’

“It seems the Sultans may be planning to attack the island. They may already have agents in hiding there.”

“Our island? But access is so restricted.”

“Even so.”

Gilda glanced at the compass, then back to the horizon. “Where did this ‘information’ come from?”

“Admiral Satorin.”

“The one from the southern islands, who supplies us with such small amounts of his precious hydrogen at such a tidy profit?”

“There is only one Satorin, and it’s not his hydrogen, or his profit.”

“Ah, yes. It belongs to his little band of natives, his brood of mystics. Do not tell me that they are your source. The Royal Navy cannot possibly be so desperate as to put faith in a group of isolated psychics living on their sacred patch of earth.”

“I have been sent to assess your security situation.”

“Yes, of course. Do assess. As you like, sir.”

“I see.” He leaned against the seat’s backrest, casually crossing one leg over another. “I take it the great campaign failed.”

“It cannot fail. I refuse to allow that.”

The Duke was silent for a moment. Reflected sunlight moved along the shield in front of them, flaring from tiny imperfections in the glass and glinting from the laddered bulkheads.

Gilda shook her head. “He is not going to build airships for the Navy, after all. It seems the Navy has engaged him for an entirely new project, which I am not permitted to know about. Of course, he refuses to discuss any of it rationally. He’s still furious with me for that prototype crash. However, in my defense, the storm exceeded all predictions. It only became truly impossible toward the end.”

“And it was not the first ship you crashed, after all.”

“It seems my lifestyle disagrees with him.”

“Good Lord. Which part?”

“The unladylike part, my independence, my…manners.”

“The best part, then.”

“My affairs with men.”

The Duke sighed. “Well, we all have those.”

“The way I treat him.”

“Which is?”

“As you might expect.”

“Oh dear.”

“I—” She struggled against the words, knowing that they would make her vulnerable in ways she did not want to be, even to an old friend. She could hardly afford to have her oddities laid bare. But then, few people could be said to be as odd as the Duke of Sutton.

And she was the Mad Lady Sinclair, after all.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, he doesn’t quite understand, does he? Mother was a proper aristocrat. After father left us, she lapsed into fits, wouldn’t even allow her hair to be combed at the end. A proper woman is expected to be self-sacrificing, to allow herself to be put aside, or sold off in marriage, controlled to a word. If I have made myself unsellable through my affairs and outrages, uncontrollable through my scandals, then Nathan has been the one to benefit the most. And he has half my fortune to prove it. Life is not fair. Freedom and madness are the only real luxuries we have.”

The Duke looked amused. “Poetry. Most unexpected.”

“You are laughing at me.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“But I am not half as destructive as he supposes. My affairs are not nearly as numerous as gossip would suggest, and all conducted with single bachelors of consenting age, no wives or children hurt in the crossfire. I have a formidable temper, yes, it’s true, and sometimes my behavior is…”

“Atrocious.”

“Less than elegant. Still yet, what right does he have to loathe me so?”

“
Does
he loathe you?”

She grimaced, the feel of his skin still warm in her memory, clearer now without the brandy’s distortion. There had been anger in the hard strain of his body against hers, disgust in the harshness of his grip, certainly. But there had been more as well. There had always been more.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, to herself, or the Duke, she wasn’t entirely sure which. “He cannot simply leave. How dare he
, really
? We have all been made to sacrifice, just so that he could become the proud male heir. Oh, if I had been born a man…But there it is. I was not. He was chosen and I was not. He was trained, and introduced, and supported…Without my father, what would he have become?”

“Something else, but what can one do?”

“It was old Sinclair’s intention that he stay. To leave us like this…It is the height of betrayal.”

“Who is ‘us’?”

“But there is an error in his plan.”

“
Error?
My dear girl—”

“Nathan has planned a grand dinner party tonight at the station. He will be entertaining a group of investors, with the intention of selling his shares in one night and leaving by the end of the week. Dinner parties, however, are not his strong-suit.”

The Duke turned his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if a sudden pain had developed there. “Surprising,” he said softly. “How many clever plans achieve unexpected results.”

Gilda ignored him, leveling her gaze on the horizon, a new resolve brightening its flat and distant line. Let him prepare his most compelling proposal, rehearse his points, greet his well-dressed investors. He would have one additional guest to impress tonight, one that would teach him how unwise it is to slam doors on the Mad Lady Sinclair.

Nathan stared at his notes without seeing them. Thin pages of diagrams lay crisply in his hands, the vibration of
Goliath’s
massive engines causing the papers to tremble against his fingers, blurring straight lines and scribbled thoughts. For a moment, he didn’t recognize any of it, as if someone had simply placed a loose collection of obscure markings in his lap and walked away. But the notes were all his, just written in a clear and undistracted moment, the kind he’d not had since Gilda had appeared from the storm.

He released a frustrated breath through his teeth, glancing toward the window, now desperate for distraction. He should never have opened the door. He knew better. There was no way to talk to her, no way to reason, no way to remain fair, or decent, or honorable, when she decided to draw her tender weapons and show no mercy.

Is that what you’d like? Another man’s hands on me tonight, drawing my skirt up and pushing his way in, just the way you want to?

He still couldn’t believe she’d said it, along with all the other cuts intended to draw blood, even as she rubbed herself against him, teasing and caressing him until he could do nothing but shake with need. In his darkest moments, he imagined losing all control, holding her down and taking her in ways that none of her other lovers had even dreamed of. Let her taunt, let her tease, he could be just as ruthless, every bit as brutal and imaginative.

In the hours after he’d thrown her out, his fantasies had refused to abate, offering nothing but ripe images of her naked stomach, the lush curve of her hip, the plump rise of her buttocks and the tight slit running between them. He was mad with it, unable to sleep, barely able to breathe. When the insanity finally passed, it surrendered no relief, leaving him cold, empty and unrecognizable, even to himself.

He swore under his breath, putting his notes aside.
Why, Gilda? Why taunt me to the very brink of sanity, turn us both into the basest of animals? What purpose can it possibly serve? Just let me go. I can’t stay. I can’t stand the man I have become, the man you see when you look at me. A reflection of a mistress you hate, a father you despise, a thing once used and discarded but still owned. A helpless witness. A jealous fool. Just let me go, for the love of God. Let me go…

The hard clang of a bell rang through the compartment, signaling that landing procedures had begun. There was an audible crackling and folding of papers, passengers shuffling back to their seats, conversations cut short with apologies and brisk laughter.

Nathan straightened his notes and slid them back into his case, leaning against the backrest to catch first sight of the island through the windows. He was lucky enough to be seated portside as the propellers swiveled, forcing the big airship to descend and bring Kiris into direct view below.