Athos had officially lost his ‘king of poor decisions’ crown.
Dana found a shirt which was not hers, and took a deep breath before committing herself to the embarrassing process of locating every item of clothing she had discarded between the antique desk and the bedroom.
Milord actually sat at that desk in the living area of the hotel suite, tapping away at his shiny black clamshell. His eyes followed her as she made the rounds of the room, and his mouth creased into a small smile. Dana could not help returning it, rolling her eyes at him.
Would the situation be funnier if he knew that she knew that they were enemies?
“I’m just going to –” she said, waving her armful of clothes in the general direction of the bedroom.
“Take your time,” he said.
Keep it light, Dana. Don’t get weird. Just because he dragged you home from a bar fight does not mean he trusts you.
Asking about Conrad Su right now would be obvious and dangerous, but when was she going to get another chance? It wasn’t like she was going to let this happen again.
Dana left the bedroom door ajar as she dressed herself, tossing Milord’s shirt back on to the bed. She could hear his fingers tapping over the clamshell, and wondered if he was attempting to contact the “Marquise.”
“Hot piece of correspondence that couldn’t wait?” she asked as she strolled back into the room, attitude firmly back in place. She was the brash young wannabe Musketeer with a crush on him. Nothing more or less.
“A correspondent who won’t respond,” said Milord, frowning at the screen.
“Sucks to be you,” Dana said unsympathetically.
He rolled his eyes at her. “So kind.”
“I’ll be –” she started to say, because her extraction from this hotel room was her highest priority right now. The door chimed.
“Enter,” said Milord before Dana could protest, and in strolled Miss Kitty Columbina.
Kitty wore lavender today, a tulle skirt beneath a tiny crop top that stretched the image of a space unicorn around her impressive cleavage. She didn’t bat an eyelid at Dana’s presence, but held her empty hand out to her boss, making grabby motions. “Since apparently a Raven isn’t good enough for your highness?”
“This gift requires the personal touch,” Milord said calmly, and placed a small box wrapped in gold tissue into Kitty’s hand.
“Just reminding you that I have this afternoon off,” she said and trotted back out the door, her heels clicking against the polished floor. “It’s non-negotiable, because pedicures are involved. Don’t call me!”
The second she was gone, Dana gave Milord a sheepish grin. “I should go too.”
“I highly recommend it,” he said. “My sister and her awful friends will be coming back to the suite shortly.”
“How’s Sheffield doing?” she asked, not entirely caring except that she didn’t want Athos carted off for murder. Not everything could be fixed by medipatch.
“He has been cured of his interest in authentic Parisian duels,” said Milord with a smirk.
Oh no, not this. Dana couldn’t let herself like him, not even a little. She gave him a small wave, oh let’s be so casual about this, and let herself out of the hotel suite.
Well, that was less awkward than it could have been.
“Arms-Sergeant D’Artagnan!” called out a voice, not three paces from the hotel entrance. Spoke too soon. Dana spun around and realised that she should have kept on walking.
Kitty Columbina stood leaning against a decorative pillar, unimpressed.
Dana could see her point.
“Playing with fire, aren’t you?” was all Kitty said.
Dana winced. “It’s complicated.”
“I’ll bet.” Kitty marched forward and handed the parcel to Dana.
Startled, her fingers curled around it. “What’s – I don’t understand.”
“Milord de Winter sent me to present this to the Marquise de Wardes, as a token of his ongoing affection and interest,” said Kitty, reciting it as if it was a poem. “But I’m not an idiot, so.”
“So,” Dana repeated, because apparently she was an idiot. “Hang on, what?”
“I know,” the assistant said slowly. “You ended up with that clamshell, didn’t you? The Matagot screens all electronic devices taken on and off the ship. You’ve been carrying on some kind of – weird fake romance with Milord via text message as the Marquise and to top it off you decided to jump his bones as you.” She batted her glittery eyelashes at Dana. “Don’t freak out, I’m not going to snitch. But I am judging you very hard.”
Dana shifted on her feet. “Why would you keep my secret?”
“I told you. Little rebellions, that’s how I sleep at night.” Kitty crossed her arms under her unicorn boobs and scowled. “Also, you’re not a completely terrible lay.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Kitty leaned in. “If he catches you out, don’t you dare take me down with you.”
“Understood,” said Dana, swallowing.
“Fine,” said the assistant, turning around with a sniff. “My work here is done. Enjoy your present and don’t feel super guilty that you basically stole a priceless gem under false pretences.”
Once Kitty was out of sight, Dana tore the tissue off the little box and stared at the gleaming blue stud inside. Milord had decided to express his affection for the Marquise de Wardes via an antique sapphire.
Dana’s fictional love life had become embarrassingly profitable.
Dana headed for the Musketeer dock, rather than going home. It was early, and she didn’t see anyone she knew on her way. Even Treville was not yet ensconced in her plexi-glass office.
The dock was deserted. Dana kept walking until she reached the four familiar ships, lined up in berths next to each other. Morningstar. Hoyden. Pistachio, freshly restored and ready for war. Buttercup.
She walked all the way up to the ship that her friends had found for her, and leaned her chin against the hull, like she used to when she was a little girl, begging Mama and Papa to tell her stories of the old days, of the Royal Musketeer fleet.
A discreet cough alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Athos stood at the open hatch of the Pistachio, holding a freshly brewed pot of coffee. “Breakfast?”
For the first time in three days, Dana thought she might be capable of letting herself cry without the solar system coming to an end. Not in front of Athos. That much emotion might damage his circuits. But soon.
She gave him a smile instead. “When you say breakfast…”
“I basically mean coffee.”
“Works for me.”
Dana sat on the narrow bunk in Athos’ aft cabin, holding a cup as he poured the coffee for her. “I am obliged to tell you,” he said formally. “Porthos and Aramis and Engineer Pigtails are all concerned that they upset you yesterday. I present this information without comment.”
“Noted,” said Dana, sipping the hot, black coffee gratefully. “You know her name’s not Pigtails, don’t you?”
“I’m using it as a placeholder until I care who she is. Do you need medical attention?”
“No, I’m good,” said Dana, flexing her bruised hands. “Not good. I’m – medically attentioned.”
“Fine.”
She leaned her head against the curving outer wall. “You are terrible at this.”
Athos nodded gravely. “It is a crime and a tragedy that I found you first, but we shall have to make do. There will be no hugging.”
“Understood. That’s what Aramis is for.”
“Exactly.”
“Papa died,” Dana blurted out, all at once, not making eye contact with him. “I didn’t – but the ship – that’s why – it’s all still sort of recent. But I’m fine, or I will be, I just.” She stopped talking.
Silence came from Athos. After a moment, Dana risked a look in his general direction. His face gave her no clues.
“I was wrong,” he said eventually.
“I am the right person for this one.”
“Really?” she said in astonishment.
Athos joined her on the bunk, setting down the pot of coffee between them in case she changed her mind about the hugging thing. “Dying was the worst thing my father ever did to me, too.”
“Oh,” Dana said softly. She had not expected that.
Silence unfolded between them, like a coffee-scented blanket.
“I don’t think the others would understand,” Athos added. “Aramis’ family were terrible to her; her life really began when she cut off all contact. Porthos never had a family to speak of. But believe it or not, I once had a father that I loved very much.”
Dana nodded. This was useful information. “When did he die?” she asked.
“I was twelve. Away at school. Suddenly he was gone, and I was expected to be him.”
“The Comte?” she supplied, remembering what he had said about the Comte de la Fere in the basement of the Gilded Lily.
“I won’t talk about that side of it,” Athos said sternly. “But yes. I hated him for a while. He would hate the person I have become. Yours wasn’t like that, I expect. But I can share the general father-mourning experience, if empathy is at all useful.”
“Papa was proud of me, even though I didn’t make it as a Musketeer,” Dana admitted. “He’d – be happy to know you got the Buttercup back for me. I’ll reimburse you,” she added firmly. “I have the opal, and a sapphire now too, I suppose. I know the three of you didn’t let Planchet bankroll the purchase.”
“It’s a good thing you’re keeping the ship,” said Athos. “Pigtails is attached already, and I’d hate to see her cry.”
Dana stared at her hands, tracing the bruises with one finger. “Athos, I’ve done the stupidest thing.”
“What are you, twenty?” he scoffed. “You’re barely getting started.”
“No, I mean specifically today. Last night. I made a mistake which I can’t even count as a mistake because I knew what I was doing the whole time and I still did it.”
“And yet you’re richer by a sapphire? I should make such mistakes.”
“It was a present.” Frowning, she showed him the new stud on her wrist. “You remember how you told me not to sleep with the bad guy?”
There was something awful about Athos’ face when he saw the square-cut sapphire set into her wrist. He reached out, his hands closing around her forearm as if he wanted to snap it in two.
“Athos,” Dana whispered. “Athos, breathe.”
He squeezed her arm painfully tight. “D’Artagnan, where did you get that thing?”
“From last night’s mistake,” she said, still not understanding what had got into him. “I spent the night with Milord.”
“Oh,” he said, and there was an odd twist to his mouth, not a smile, but something cruel and self-mocking. “Your pretty Milord de Winter. Yes, that makes sense. I had one like it, once. Don’t mind me.” For a moment, he leaned into her, his forehead resting against hers. “You have to stop this. Throwing yourself at dangerous men is a distraction you can’t afford. We have a war to fight.”
“So what?” Dana said, her voice shaking. She would not cry in front of him, she had promised herself that. “I should forget Conrad?”
Athos tugged her sleeve back down, so he didn’t have to look at the sapphire stud. “If Conrad Su is still alive, let him damn well rescue himself.”
Some time later, over-caffeinated and swamped with emotions that she needed to jettison directly into outer space, Dana returned to the Buttercup.
It wasn’t exactly the same – there had been some restoration work here and there. She wondered how many hands the musket-class dart had passed through, between Meung Station and Paris Satellite.
The sonic shower worked, which meant Dana could clean her clothes and remove the last sticky traces of her night with Milord. She refused to let herself dwell on it, though it was nearly impossible to think of anything else.
She lay on the familiar old bunk and composed the chilliest, least-affectionate break up text that she could summon. Not for herself – he would not expect to hear anything from Dana D’Artagnan, but from the woman he was actually fascinated with: the Marquise de Wardes.
Athos was right. Time to let this game go. Kitty knew too much. It wasn’t like Dana had managed to acquire any useful information, except that Milord was more dangerous to her than she had ever imagined.
She had to get her head into the war, or she wouldn’t survive it. Conrad and Milord were distracting her from what she had come to Paris to do, so many months ago.
To serve Crown and Solar System.
Milord de Winter.
I thank you for your gift, though I hardly think our acquaintance so intimate as to make jewels appropriate. I think perhaps you have misconstrued our recent correspondence.
I shall consider the sapphire an appropriate parting token.
Yours, Marquise Illehandra Concita Mullholland de Wardes
It was the meanest thing Dana had ever written. She kept reworking it, trying to soften the words, before remembering that Milord was basically (probably) evil, and it wasn’t a real relationship she was ending.
When Milord did reply, a full 24 hours later, it wasn’t a reply to “the Marquise” at all.
It was a stark request for Dana D’Artagnan to attend him on the Matagot at her earliest convenience. Dana stared at the blinking message for a long time. It didn’t make sense for “Dana” to ignore him, and it might be suspicious if she ditched him so soon after the Marquise did the same.
She would have to keep up the pretence that she was crushing on Milord for a while longer, maybe until the call to war. One more visit, to throw him off the scent, that couldn’t hurt.
No sex, though. Their night together had been intense and memorable and exactly what she needed in that moment, but Dana could only give herself one pass on sleeping with the enemy. More than that would make a very embarrassing pattern. One visit, no sex. Easy.
Dana hid the sapphire stud and the mother of pearl clamshell in a storage compartment on the Buttercup. With her valuables concealed, she set out to play Dana the Admirer one last time. She dressed in a fresh tunic and cargo pants, with her fleur-de-lis dogtags, the pearl stunner in her pocket and the pilot’s slice swinging in a business-like fashion from her belt.
She would have worn the blue Arms-Sergeant uniform if she thought she could get away with it, but it was hanging freshly-printed in her rooms. Dana didn’t want to risk not being ready when the call to Truth Space finally came.
“He’s not in the best mood,” warned Kitty. She wore three star-shaped piercings in her lower lip today, and worried at them with her teeth as she showed Dana into Milord’s private parlour on the Matagot. He must have evacuated the hotel suite again to avoid his sister and her New Aristocrat entourage.
“He asked to see me,” said Dana, deliberately not saying ‘he clicked his fingers like I was a German Shepherd and look at me, I came running.’
Responding to his summons was a terrible idea. Why hadn’t she thought of claiming she was sick?
Milord was a streak of fury in a beautiful suit. He paced up and down in front of an exquisite false fireplace (a vintage fireplace, on a spaceship, who even does that?) and waved his hand impatiently when Kitty announced Dana as if he could not even bother speaking to his assistant.
His eyes gleamed with anger. For one awful moment, Dana thought he knew everything. Kitty disappeared around the door in a swish of glitter and hairspray, closing it behind her.
“You like duels,” Milord grated out between his teeth, barely even looking at Dana. “Would you take one on for me? I have someone I want publicly humiliated.”
Dana approached him cautiously. She could feel the danger rolling off him as if he was a snake about to bite. It made her want to stroke his head and make him feel better. What was wrong with her?
“I’d do anything for you,” she said, and didn’t have time t
o think about whether she meant it or not (in too deep, Dana, get out while you can!). He grabbed her around the waist, and kissed her with a savagery that made her dizzy. Dana could not help but push back, giving as good as she got.
All her good intentions fell away as Milord pushed her into a tapestry chair, and began to bite her out of her clothes, one piece at a time. Damn it all, but he was good with his mouth.
It wasn’t until she sprawled naked in the chair, with Milord’s tongue opening her up, his fingertips digging into her inner thighs, that Dana realised this was her last chance to find out what she needed to know.
She was never going to let herself set foot on the Matagot again. She would stage her own intervention if she had to, call in Athos and Aramis and Porthos to ensure she kept her word, that she stayed away because obviously she couldn’t – couldn’t be trusted – ohh – and there –
She dragged him into the chair and rode him hard, gaze locked with his. It was the first time they had made more than perfunctory eye contact during sex.
“Does she look like me?” Dana breathed in short gasps against his mouth. “The woman you’re feeling so vengeful about. The one you want me to – challenge.”
Milord flexed his fingers hard against Dana’s scalp, as if he wished she had enough hair for him to pull. “What makes you think it’s a woman?”
She tipped her head back, moaning quite genuinely as he pulsed inside her. “You want me to challenge someone in a duel, to humiliate them, shouldn’t I know more about who they are?”
“I don’t see why,” he said, grazing the dark curve of her shoulder with his teeth. “You don’t need to know someone to pierce their heart with a sword.”
He genuinely thought she would act as his assassin? Damn, she had been convincing.
“Who – is – it?” Dana asked as they quickened their pace together.
Musketeer Space Page 36