by White, Gwynn
“I don’t pretend to be one,” he said, feeling suddenly out of his depth. “I only meant, I was worried about you. I’d feared the worst.”
“Oh.” Comprehension dawned in her eyes. “I’m sorry—I should have sent word. I didn’t think you’d fret over us.”
“I did.” He didn’t feel the need to mention he’d lost sleep over her for the better part of a month. “In fact, I organized a raid on Breggy’s, thinking he’d got the two of you into his clutches.”
Her eyes widened. “I never thought you cared.”
“I did care.” He caught her hand. “I still do.”
Their gazes caught. Held.
“If ever I leave again, I’ll tell you before I go,” she said in a soft voice. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” His heart thumped in his chest, so loudly it drowned out every other thought.
A burst of laughter sounded by a nearby group of gentlemen and Diana blinked, as if recalling they stood in the midst of a crowded ballroom. That single, trembling moment was gone.
“At any rate,” she said, her voice turning brisk, “you must come over for dinner sometime. I’m sure Tipper would be delighted to astound you with his cookery skills.”
Derek wanted to accept immediately. But despite the growing sense of connection between them, he was still Officer Byrne.
“I don’t imagine Tipper would be too happy to host the man who arrested him,” he said.
On the other hand—and he felt like a worm for even thinking it—Diana had daily access to the spaceport, and could help provide the information about the shipping routes the INR needed. The resistance hadn’t elaborated on their plans, but Derek gathered that they planned to smuggle political fugitives off-planet, out of reach of the Empire’s cruel justice.
“Ahem.” A woman’s voice cut into their conversation. “Sorry to interrupt.”
He glanced up to see Molly O’Rourke standing before them, hands on her hips and a look of annoyance on her face.
“Miss O’Rourke,” he said, feeling suddenly guilty. “I was hoping to cross paths with you this evening.”
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, it was probably best if he and Molly kept up the appearance of courtship.
“Were you, now?” She sent a pointed look at his hand, clasped with Diana’s.
“Yes.” He let go. “I’m afraid I’ve promised this next dance to Miss Smythe, but I beg you to save the following dance for me.”
He kept his gaze on Molly’s face, aware that Diana was watching them both.
“If you insist.” Molly lifted her nose. “Really, Officer Byrne, I didn’t think you were the kind to play lightly with a lady’s heart.”
“I’m not.” Damnú, how had he gotten into this mess? And how was he going to get out? “You know you’re the one for me, Molly.”
“And don’t you forget it!” She shot Diana a haughty look, then turned and walked away, her back very straight.
Derek hoped she wasn’t laughing at him.
“My apologies.” He turned back to Diana. “I did come here to meet Molly. I should’ve told you so.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations, officer.” She sounded a trifle unhappy, which pleased him an unreasonable amount. “I should bid you a good evening, I suppose.”
“But what about our dance? You did promise, and I’d like to dance with you.”
She flushed slightly. “If you insist. I believe they are announcing a waltz.”
“Excellent news,” he said, “as I can count to three.”
That earned him a slight smile. “You’ll be glad to hear that I can, as well.”
“Then we’re well matched.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”
They found a spot on the dance floor, and he took her in the proper hold. Her gauzy blue skirts drifted around them. Despite their utter impracticality, he had to admit they had a certain appeal—as long as they didn’t get in the way of the dancing.
The orchestra struck up the music and he took the first step, only to have Diana go in the opposite direction.
“I’m sorry,” he said as they stumbled to a halt.
“No.” She looked up at him, eyes shining with amusement. “I believe that was entirely my fault. I’ll begin on the right next time. Ready?”
He nodded, and at the next downbeat they tried again. This time they both went the same way, and it didn’t take long to adjust his steps to the rhythm of the dance. It was more of a challenge to steer them safely around the other couples on the dance floor, and for a few moments his concentration was fully taken up with that task.
Then they reached a clearer portion of the floor and he risked a glance down at her face. It was still difficult to believe that the streetrat known as Diver was now this elegantly-dressed young woman waltzing with him at a ball, sapphires sparkling about her neck, her dark blonde hair held up by an ornate headpiece.
And yet, she did not look out of place.
Whether dressed as a ragged boy, a young woman visiting the Turkish baths, or a lady of Quality, Miss Diana Smythe had the ability to seem perfectly at home in her surroundings.
“What manner of work are you doing at the spaceport?” he asked.
“Counting the ships.” She gave him a slightly mischievous look.
Very well, he’d rise to the bait.
“How many do they have?” he asked, keeping his expression serious.
“That’s the real question now, isn’t it? They keep coming and going, you see.”
“Good thing you’re there to keep an eye on them.”
“It is.” There was a somber note in her voice now. “The truth is, I helped avert a major crash, and the director gave me a job on the spot.”
It was an answer that only created more questions in his mind, but he really couldn’t subject her to a full interrogation there on the dance floor.
“I take it you and Tipper have a flat somewhere?”
“Number 54, in Queensway Tower. As I said, you should come visit.”
“That’s rather a step up from West Quay.”
“I know.” She blinked, once. “It’s a bit of getting used to, how things have changed.”
“Well, I’m very glad to hear it.”
And those jagged nights where he lay awake, counting his dead, would have two fewer names. It was a blessing. As was this moment, holding her in his arms and counting to three, over and over again.
Too soon, the waltz ended. He had a hundred more questions to ask her, but Molly O’Rourke was marching determinedly toward them from the edge of the floor.
“Thank you for the dance,” Diana said. “We didn’t do too badly, after all.”
“It was my pleasure.” He bowed over her hand.
She glanced up, seeing Molly approach. “You’re welcome to come to dinner. And bring Miss O’Rourke, if you’d like. How about Saturday?”
“I’d like that.” Though he had no intention of hauling his INR contact along.
Behind Diana’s shoulder, he glimpsed Lord Atkinson striding toward them. Clearly their interlude was at an end.
When she arrived, Molly threaded her arm through his. In turn, Lord Atkinson offered his elbow to Diana, and with cordially insincere nods all around, they parted ways.
Molly steered Derek to the stairwell, and then outside, without saying a word. Finally, when they reached the shelter of a large rosebush, she let go of his arm.
“What was that all about?” she asked, her voice sharp. “I thought you didn’t know any of the gentry. Do you realize the danger you’ve put us in?”
He raised his palms in protest. “I swear to you, meeting Diana took me by complete surprise. The last time I saw her, she was dressed in tattered trousers, on her way to pick pockets at the Southampton docks.”
“Then she’s a deep undercover operative?” Molly’s expression darkened even more. “Are you sure she’s to be trusted?”
“She’s not precisely an operative.”
“Then who is she affiliated with?”
The whole thing felt too complicated to explain, so he fell back on the easiest answer. “She’s working for the director of the spaceport.”
“Ah.” The storm clouds in Molly’s eyes cleared. “I see why you’re pursuing her.”
“I’m not doing any such thing.”
Her brows rose. “Whatever you say. But by all means, plan to have dinner with her.”
“It’s not like that.”
She just kept looking at him, skepticism clear on her face. Damnú, women were such difficult creatures.
“It would be beneficial if you could infiltrate the spaceport sooner, rather than later,” she said. “The last ship carrying colonists to New Eire is filling up. If we don’t act soon, our homeland will be empty.”
Maybe it’s better that way. He didn’t speak the thought aloud. In memory of Seamus, in penance for the deaths he’d helped cause, Derek was bound to the INR. He didn’t know if he’d ever finish making amends for the past.
“I’m doing my best,” he said.
“Do better.” She frowned. “By the end of the month, my superiors will expect to hear you’ve gained access to the spaceport. Don’t disappoint them.”
“I won’t.”
Though, in truth, he didn’t think he could stomach using his connection to Diana to pump her for information. Things between them were complicated enough as it was.
Did a streetrat-turned-respectable and a policeman helping a known terrorist organization even have a future together?
He supposed the only way to find out was by trying.
18
Diana was settled at her desk by the vast spaceport window the next morning, charting the ships as they rose and fell, when Lord Atkinson strode up. He set a small box tied with a silver bow on the corner of her desk.
“Good morning,” he said. “I wanted to bring you a little something, as a thank you for attending the ball with me.”
It was a peace offering. Reluctantly pulling her attention from the bustle below, Diana looked at the gift. Would she accept it?
After she’d danced with Officer Byrne, Lord Atkinson had been decidedly cool toward her. They’d only danced one more set, and then he’d made a flimsy excuse to whisk her back home.
He’d walked her to the entry of Queensway Tower, bowed over her hand, and scarcely waited for the door to close behind her before he was back in his carriage, driving away.
It had left her feeling off balance and uncertain. She wasn’t familiar with the rules of the gentry, but she certainly didn’t feel she owed Lord Atkinson anything, simply because she’d attended the ball with him.
Perhaps he thought otherwise, or that she shouldn’t have danced with anyone other than him. Or maybe he was jealous of Officer Byrne and the connection they shared.
She let out a low breath. At least on the streets, people’s motives were clear, no matter how unsavory.
“Please, take it,” Lord Atkinson said. “I fear I behaved rather poorly toward you at the end of the evening last night, and I’d like to apologize.”
“Why did you?” She met his gaze, and he was the first to glance away.
“I… didn’t like to see you dancing with that other fellow,” he said. “I know it’s foolish of me.”
His words rang true, but she didn’t think Lord Atkinson was growing fond of her. Rather, she had the uncomfortable suspicion he regarded her as somehow his property. Would his attitude be different if he knew she’d been born into the nobility?
For the first time in a long while, Diana considered what it would mean to claim her heritage. Provided anyone believed her.
Officer Byrne would. The thought came unbidden.
In truth, she wanted to be accepted for who she was. Streetrat, working woman, well-born young lady; she was still Diana underneath, no matter the label.
Lord Atkinson was still looking at her, a slightly pleading look on his face. Which, for such an insufferable toff, was akin to begging her with hands clasped. She glanced at the box on her desk.
“Very well.” She pulled it over and untied the silver ribbon. “I accept your apology.”
Mostly in the interests of keeping their working relationship amicable.
She lifted the lid off the box to reveal a delicate clockwork flower set on a crystalline base. The center was intricately geared, the five closed petals surrounding it enameled with rose and gold. Carefully she pulled it out and set it on her desk, next to the communication device.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s lovely.”
And rather useless. Just the thing a lord would give a gently-bred young lady—a beautiful, useless trinket.
She could buy herself any trinket she wanted, she realized, and for a half-second she contemplated the possibilities. What might she like? A light-pistol, perhaps? Or one of those gadgets that held a dozen different tools, each one tucked ingeniously away in a different part of the handle?
“Give it a moment,” Lord Atkinson said, gesturing to the clockwork blossom. “It responds to light… Ah, there we go.”
The flower whirred, gears turning, and the petals opened with a graceful mechanical unfurling.
“How clever.” She set her hand over the base, guessing that was where the light-sensing mechanism was located.
He intuition proved correct. After a moment the petals slowly closed back up into their original position. Smiling, she removed her hand and watched as the flower opened again. It was amusing, she’d give it that much. And speaking of mechanisms…
“How is your Calculations Device coming along?” she asked. It seemed that over the last few days he’d been a bit less frustrated, and she was glad of the change.
“Well enough.” He leaned against the side of her desk. “Thanks to watching you, I’ve been able to run several successful simulations, modeling actual trajectories you’ve observed here.”
“That’s the aim, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.” He smiled at her. “Since not every spaceport in the galaxy can have a Diana Smythe working with the control center, my program will be able to replicate much of the work you do here. Why, in another fortnight, you’ll be quite replaceable.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about a device replicating her unique skills—but Lord Atkinson did have a point.
Southampton Spaceport might be the Empire’s gateway to the stars, but as colonists spread throughout the galaxy, other hubs were becoming essential. Clearly, the type of work she was doing could benefit other ports, other space stations. Lord Atkinson’s Calculations Device could be quite helpful.
Elsewhere.
The lift dinged at the end of the large room, heralding someone’s arrival. Diana paid it no mind. People came and went all day, meeting with Director Quinn to discuss the minutiae of running the spaceport.
“What’s he doing here?” Lord Atkinson asked, scowling.
“Who?” Diana swiveled her chair, to see the new arrival pause at Le’s desk.
Uniformed, dark hair—it was Office Byrne. Her breath caught for a moment. Did this have anything to do with seeing one another at the ball? Was he there to verify she was telling the truth about her employment?
Then he glanced up and smiled at her, and her pulse notched back down. She had nothing to fear from him.
Except her own reaction, which was not practical in the least. Yes, attraction was a force in the universe, but it was too weak to keep two bodies in a steady orbit. Particularly ones with their own, independent, trajectories.
Le spoke with Officer Byrne for a moment and then nodded toward Director Quinn’s desk. And though she was inclined—quite foolishly—to jump up and greet him, clearly he was here on some kind of official business. Indeed, the director had stood and was clearly expecting the policeman to join him.
“Upstart,” Lord Atkinson said under his breath. “I’m going to find out what’s afoot.”
Diana bit her lip. She wouldn’t stop him, but sure
ly Director Quinn wouldn’t take kindly to anyone interrupting his meeting. Not even a member of the nobility.
* * *
When he’d made his appointment with Spaceport Security, Derek had hoped to be able to see the director of the spaceport. He was glad that, after he outlined the reasons for his visit, the main office agreed to send him upstairs to Director Quinn’s office with a uniformed escort.
The fact that Derek might also encounter Diana had nothing to do with it, he told himself.
When the lift to the top of the spaceport dinged open, however, she was the first thing he saw. She sat a desk near the wide window, the light falling on her hair and illuminating the wisps escaping from her bun. Her dark gray dress was much more conservative than the ball gown he’d last seen her in, of course, but she still looked as poised and confident as ever.
Unfortunately, that arse Lord Atkinson was standing right by her. A bit too close, in Derek’s opinion. As if feeling Derek’s gaze, the nobleman glanced up and gave him a look of distaste.
Diana turned her chair about, plainly surprised to see him. He smiled at her, and her expression softened.
Derek showed his badge to the man at the entry desk. “I’m here to meet with the director. Officer Byrne, of the Southampton Police.”
“Ah, yes. We received your message.” The secretary indicated the gray-haired man rising from his work station at the end of the room. “Director Quinn is expecting you. Go ahead.”
Derek nodded his thanks and strode forward. Much as he’d like to detour to say hello to Diana, he had business to attend to first.
To his irritation, Lord Atkinson straightened and stalked over. The two of them arrived at Director Quinn’s desk at the same time.
“Yes, Lord Atkinson?” the director asked, his tone mild. “Is there something pressing you need me to attend to before I begin my meeting with Officer Byrne?”
The nobleman’s nostrils flared. “I was interested to see what business brings the officer here.”
“Police business,” Derek said. “Nothing to trouble yourself over, my lord.”