As he moved toward her, the charming rogue became a menacing predator on the hunt. A bit too self-assured for her taste, so self-possessed, and obviously comfortable in his own skin. She wouldn’t encourage his conceit with any show of admiration.
Dust rose around his black boots but seemed unable to cling to them. When he came to a halt less than a foot away, his six foot two frame appeared less lanky than imposing. Up close, with his broad shoulders and chiseled chest visible through his open shirt, there was nothing boyish about him except perhaps the way he twisted the heavy gold ring on his right hand. Sunlight glinted off its edges, creating the appearance of the golden dragon swirling around his finger. Incendiary blue eyes, sapphire lit with gold flecks and rimmed with thick lashes, might have made another man look effeminate, but the scar slashed across his cheek gave evidence of a life lived dangerously. The black string around his neck held a heavy pendant, a dragon’s eye set in golden swirls.
A gypsy? How fascinating. Not Italian… possibly a neighboring country? When she scanned the airship again, she spotted the recesses where only the barrels of weapons showed. Danger must follow him, then.
“Are you lost, mademoiselle?” Amused, his brow furrowed.
He said it kindly, but Finette realized how idiotic she must appear. Much as she hated to risk another insulting double entendre about tools, she swallowed her pride. “Not me. My wrench. I stupidly left it at home, but am in desperate need to repair my model.” She felt an even bigger fool when she lifted her airship as proof, like a child showing a grown-up her toy. How weary she was of small-scale airships!
A shadow of surprise crossed his face, then vanished as quickly.
Anger tightened her mouth. Mon dieu! Not another arrogant male who expected nothing more from a woman than to sew and cook and fetch while batting her eyes at him. With a tap of her heel, she was ready to move on.
Then he reached into his pocket and retrieved something. “Here. Use this.”
When he handed it to her, she found it to be a wonderful gadget, like a Swiss army knife but containing many tools useful for repair, including a screwdriver, even a magnifying glass and oh, lovely, just what she needed—an adjustable wrench. All of them retracted into one compact unit.
“This is incredible.” She wasted precious moments examining its features. “And exactly what I need.” She hurried to fix her model, then set it on an empty patch of ground and grabbed the control pad from her pocket. When she ran a quick test, the model flew crooked. And slower than she’d hoped.
He stood behind her, so close the warmth from his body registered on her skin like pinpricks.
He pointed to the tail. “Tighten there. And loosen there.”
“But it’s not loose there, it’s perfectly straight,” she argued, straining to see from various vantage points what he indicated. “And if I loosen the tail rudder, I’ll lose precision and the aerodynamics will suffer.”
When she glanced back, his gaze fell to her open mouth, turning her into a mass of warm jelly. And his enchanting smile said he was well aware of the effect he had on her. In fact, everything about him made her uncomfortable in a way she’d never been before. She couldn’t help but see herself through his eyes—and she wanted to be so much more.
“Trust me,” he said.
How tempting... except the last time she trusted a handsome man, she got burned. She snapped her focus back to the model. She’d give this man no reason to believe she’d fall at his feet, or answer a snap of his fingers with anything besides with a smirk.
Instinct urged her to ignore his advice, yet she did as he suggested. In the next test, the ship flew better. Not as well as it used to, but possibly better than the others. And the race was due to begin soon.
She held out the tool toward him. “I’m very grateful.”
He waved it away. “Keep it, I have others.”
She pressed it into his hand. “No, I couldn’t.”
He folded her fingers over the gadget. “Then return it to me when you enter the next race. You’re entering, aren’t you? The British Diamond Cup?”
“I wish.” That would require Papa to advance her money to build the full-sized airship she’d designed, something Jacalyn would never allow.
“Oh, but you must.” He sounded so sincere.
The way he waited for her answer encouraged her to force a smile.
“Yes, you’re right. I’d love to.” Not a lie, exactly.
Through the crowd boomed a scratchy voice. “All racers to the starting line.”
She had to hurry. “Thank you. I won’t forget your kindness.” In rushing off, she slowed to glance back at the stranger. His name—how could she have forgotten to ask?
He scooped up his airship and bounded after her, claiming the spot beside her at the startling line. Flags lined the airstrip, and a taller single flag sat in the center of the strip about one hundred meters away.
To their right sat a tall wooden platform, and a tall man wearing a black tuxedo and top hat stood on it. “Ladies and gentlefolk, welcome to the Third Annual Race of Airships at the beautiful harbor town of Honfleur, France.”
Shifting uncomfortably, Finette moved her sidelong glance from left to right. Had no one else noticed his odd manner of speech? The unnatural clicks that marked the speech of one not human? His stiff expression, even though set pleasantly enough?
At his chest, the tuxedo shifted and two small heads, both of gleaming cerulean, protruded from opposite sites. Out flew two bluebirds and perched on his shoulders, the sun glinting off their metal backs.
More automatons! While others gasped in confusion, Finette clapped. “Bravo!” Their smooth movements equaled the grace of live birds.
At the inquisitive looks of the other entrants, she quieted. Only the handsome gypsy grinned at her with a knowing nod.
The announcer snapped his fingers, and the bluebirds traced the path as he instructed the racers to send their ships down the right half of the airstrip, around the flag to return on the left side. The first one to cross over the finish line would claim the prize. The birds returned to rest on his shoulders, and he then read through the roster of entrants one by one, waiting for applause to fade before announcing the next.
At Antoine and Monty’s name, she clapped slowly.
“Finette Proulx,” the automaton announced.
Papa’s cheer sounded over the polite clapping. She acknowledged him with a grateful smile, then aimed it toward the gypsy, whose applause was genuine.
“Aleksander Dragomir Dalca,” the man said next.
In response to the crowd’s cheers, the gypsy raised a fist above his head.
“Aleksander,” Finette repeated his name aloud to imprint it in her mind.
He leaned toward her. “Please, call me Sacha. All my friends do.”
She inclined her head. “Best of luck to you, Sacha.”
He arched his brow briefly. “And to you, Finette.”
A little thrill shot through her. When he said her name, he made it sound slightly dangerous, and intimate. Somehow it infused her with more confidence.
He gestured to her model.
She didn’t hear what he said. “What?”
“Get ready.” He held up the control pad to his ship.
The race! She fumbled in her pocket for her controller.
“On your mark,” the automaton boomed. “Get set.”
Hurry, you stupid girl! Finette’s finger grazed a button. Her ship jumped sideways at the moment the announcer shouted, “Go!”
To avoid colliding her model with Sacha’s, she delayed her start, lifting off a half-second behind the others. The gap widened between her airship and the rest of them, buzzing down the strip. Panicked, she tapped the gear harder than she intended, and her ship lurched ahead.
Keep your head! With renewed focus, she steered her ship around Antoine’s, at the rear of the pack. Then Monty’s. She managed to catch up to the middle of the fleet just before rounding the flag. T
he precise turn she executed gave her the confidence to spur ahead. Her heart raced as her ship soared into third place. For a second, she was neck and neck in second place. Sacha’s ship held the lead. She held back an excited laugh as she began to close in. Just before the finish line, another ship crashed into hers. Sacha’s airship raced on. Finette’s Folly tumbled downward onto the grassy field, taking Finette’s heart down with it.
“Aleksander Dalca takes first place, and the prize,” the announcer yelled.
Good, she thought as she ran to fetch her airship. If she had to lose, she was glad the only gentleman racer had won. Reaching for her model, someone pushed her shoulder. She stumbled, but righted herself and glared at the man-ferret, Monty’s friend Antoine. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Learn how to fly a ship without destroying someone else’s.” Leaning toward her, Antoine jabbed a finger at the ruined aircraft not far away.
His aggressive stance meant to force her backward, but she stood her ground.
“You crashed into me.” Deliberately, she wanted to say, but didn’t.
“Amateur,” he spat.
The worst insult. She’d practiced for years. Embarrassed, she glanced at the onlookers. Monty stood at the forefront with a suspiciously smug smile.
Anger clenched her hands into fists. This was no accident. They’d planned to sabotage her. But without proof, all she could do was go home and fix the damage. After retrieving the model, she wished she were already there. She returned to the starting line, where Sacha and his friend were locked in a back-thumping hug. His laughter faded when he looked at her.
She tried not to appear as dejected as she felt. “Well done. Congratulations.”
“It should have been you.” Sacha’s expression turned stern as he stared across the field.
He apparently understood she’d been sabotaged. For that, she was grateful.
“You’re too kind.”
“And you are too forgiving.” He feathered a finger over her broach. “I was admiring your jewelry earlier. The dragonfly is lovely. So unique.”
“Merci. I made it myself.” She unpinned it and placed it in her palm, then pressed one of its metal eyes. The dragonfly’s wings began to beat, faster and faster until it lifted up, flew upward in a swirl, then descended to land perfectly in place again.
“Beautiful and amazing. Much like its creator.” Long, dark lashes contrasted his striking blue eyes.
Eyes she could get lost in, if she weren’t careful. And no one had ever accused her of being careful. “My dragonfly doesn’t compare to your dragon.” She nodded toward his airship, more impressive at a distance, its logo still visible.
“Breath of the Dragon.” He looked up with obvious pride.
“The name is as breathtaking as the ship. Some legends say the Romanian people fought the creatures, while others claimed they were friendly. Is either story true?”
“Not everyone loved them the way the royal Varujan family did. According to family history, several of the Varujans tamed them and flew on their backs. Centuries ago, of course. The real dragons died out long ago, so we fly airships instead.”
“Fascinating.” How exciting it must have been to ride on the back of a flying creature.
He made a small sound of appreciation. “Perhaps someday you’ll allow me to take you for a ride in my ship? She’s quite tame, I promise you.”
He looked at her the way she imagined a dragon might regard its next meal, with great relish and anticipation, and an undeniable hunger.
Her breath failed her sure as if he’d already lifted her into high altitude. “I’d love to.”
Her father called, “Finette?”
By Papa’s uncertainty, she gleaned disapproval. Sure enough, Jacalyn stood stiff as a tree, horror in her wide eyes and disgust in her downturned mouth. Of course, she’d disapprove of Finette speaking to a stranger, even if they were comrades in the race.
“There’s my Papa. I’d better go.” She spoke more quietly. “The dragon who married my father is much more terrifying than the real kind.”
A muffled chuckle, and then he turned serious. “Tell her you are under the protection of a legendary dragon slayer.”
For a moment, she wasn’t certain what to say. She wished she could hug him. “Farewell, Sacha.”
“Until next time, Mademoiselle Finette.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a light kiss there. Excitement buzzed from her fingertips to her toes, the sensation of suddenly coming alive after having existed in a state of suspended animation.
He jogged to the ladder and scaled its length with seemingly no effort. His crew must have already unfastened the ship from its mooring, because no sooner had he disappeared inside, and pulled up the rope ladder, than the airship turned in place, its propellers whirring. The short blast of a horn gave warning, and then the ship shot away.
So fast, Finette caught her breath. No one would have a chance in catching him. “Safe travels.” To whatever exotic place he might be going.
What must it be like to ride in such an incredible ship? If she ever had the chance, her boots might never touch the ground again.
Her father linked arms with her and guided her away, though she strained to watch over her shoulder.
“Good to see you, Mr. Proulx.” Monty blocked their path.
Papa gave a curt nod. “Mr. Royce.” Her father made no show of false friendliness. Perhaps because he’d learned of Finette’s secret relationship with him. Or he was simply a good judge of bad character.
A thin smile, and Monty stared down at Finette. “Romanians, particularly servants to royalty, are untrustworthy. You should keep your distance from Dalca.”
Finette batted wide eyes. “Monsieur Dalca was a perfect gentleman. You’ve no need for concern. I’ve become quite good at discerning who is and is not untrustworthy.” She tried not to speak the last through clenched teeth. After an exaggerated sigh, she said to her father, “I’m terribly bored. May we go?”
His proud smile filled his face. “Of course.”
So Sacha was a servant to royalty, eh? At least Monty was good for something—information.
On the carriage ride home, she abandoned her cares with thoughts of the handsome gypsy. In her mind, she stood beside him at the rail of his airship, the world below a blur.
Her sisters’ teasing brought her back to earth.
Daisy snickered. “Finette’s Folly loses. What a surprise.”
Celine collapsed on her twin’s shoulder in hysterics.
Finette kept her chin high. Fine, they could mock her all they wanted. Their disdain only made her more determined to win. Not the next race, of course—she had no chance of entering that.
But someday. A real race. She’d build her dream ship, and paint the name Finette’s Folly in bold script across its stern. Then her family would understand her dreams weren’t nonsense.
Chapter Two
When a familiar, driverless mechanical carriage stopped the next morning outside the Proulx residence, Finette leapt inside without a second thought. Its sleek black exterior hid a complex system encoded to respond to the owner’s direction, though riders could easily adjust the course. Finette needed only to sit on the cushioned seat to set the brougham in motion. It already knew where to go.
The trip was not long enough to rid her of her angry frustration. If only her sisters had shown her more kindness, her airship wouldn’t have been damaged and would have performed better and might have won the race. If only the other racers hadn’t looked down on her, sabotaged her, she’d have had a fair chance. Though he hadn’t said so, Papa’s sadness spoke louder than he could about his silent belief that she was a fool. She might be able to bear it if her dreams hadn’t been shattered.
By the time the carriage halted outside the hangar, Finette’s face was wet with tears. Before climbing out, she wiped them away angrily. She despised simpering females. Only the weak blamed others for their poor circumstances. She didn’t need
sympathy. She needed a plan so she could improve her circumstances.
Hands on her hips, Addie Browning stood in a wide stance, her pilot’s scarf fluttering to her leather boots. The tan jodhpurs and white blouse contrasted her chocolate brown skin. The goggles atop her head helped subdue her wiry black hair, tucked into a bun. She presented an inspiring image of an independent woman and successful pilot—exactly the career Finette intended for herself.
Finette jumped out of the carriage and approached her friend.
Sympathy filled Addie’s brown eyes. “I heard you had a rough go yesterday. Sorry I couldn’t have been there to cheer you on. A last-minute delivery kept me late.”
She gave a wry smile as she stopped in front of Addie. “You missed all the entertainment. Practically a circus.”
“I know what will cheer you up.” Addie inclined her head. “Come on.”
Finette could never resist the warmth in her tone or in her twinkling eyes. She followed Addie to the hangar, where her airship Cloudbreaker hovered over the dock.
Addie began climbing the retractable ladder into the ship. “I’m picking up a shipment in Paris and flying to Luxembourg.” Halfway up, she paused to look back at Finette, still on the ground. “Should be home before nightfall. Are you game to be my first mate today?”
Nightfall? Finette hadn’t counted on staying away all day. “Where’s Adrien?”
“I gave him leave. He’s been missing his sweetheart, and I didn’t need him for any heavy lifting today. So, aye or nay?”
Since no one would miss her anyway, she set her foot on the rung. “Aye, Cap’n Browning.”
Addie pointed to the lines anchoring her airship. “First, free my baby. Then hoist yourself up in a hurry.”
A salute, and Finette ran to the bow of the ship, unwound the knot tying it to the dock, and then hurried to the middle to undo the other. She climbed the thin wire ladder fast as a monkey, hauled up the ladder inside the hull, and cranked the lever to roll up the lines. By the time she’d finished, Addie had the engines purring and they were sailing through the sky.
Finette's Folly Page 2