‘I consider the kidnapping of one of my friends to be an unspoken invitation,’ Irene retorted flatly. ‘Which makes you my official host, Lord Guantes.’
He chuckled. ‘Not bad, but rather lacking in legal support. I don’t think you could argue that in front of the Ten.’
‘Is that what we’ll be doing?’
‘Only if you push me that far, Miss Winters, and only if absolutely necessary. You know how this sort of thing goes. An anonymous denunciation. Your public exposure. Your arrest. Your … questioning.’ He didn’t give the word the same inflection Silver might have done, to make something unwholesome and lascivious out of it. He merely let it roll out, heavy with the weight of darkness and dungeons and hopelessness. ‘By the time you were standing in front of the Ten, I promise you that you would already have confessed everything.’
‘I’m surprised you haven’t turned me over already,’ she said, as casually as she could. She was aware that she was walking on a razor’s edge, trying to find out what he wanted without pushing him too far.
The lights in the house were dimming again, and the audience noise fell to a hush as the curtains reopened.
Lord Guantes waited until the action had begun again, before continuing. ‘Of course, there are other options.’
‘Yes?’ Irene said, trying to throttle back the eagerness in her voice.
‘But your options are now very limited, Miss Winters. Limited to who I decide will be your new master or mistress, for you are my prisoner now.’ His pause was to allow her to agree to that, but she said nothing. He went on regardless. ‘The Ten would be glad to have you, I’m sure. You could be traded for later advantage. They have no wish to actively start a feud with your organization, so it would probably be a question of wringing you dry for information, then keeping you a prisoner until they had some use for you.’
Which tells me more about how you see things than about how they see things. Irene gave a rigid inclination of her head, waiting for him to continue.
‘Then again, I might gain advantage by presenting you to one of my allies, or to secure a potential ally.’ His pause there could have been designed for her to acknowledge the subtleties of high politics, as expressed by the trade in souls. ‘Some of the powerful of my kind would be glad to have you as a personal enemy in their story, or a student.’
‘A student?’ Irene said, surprised.
‘Eventually. After sufficient training. Or … a toy.’ His tone conveyed sadness at the need to actually mention such unpleasantness, but suggested that he could easily catalogue each possible indignity, torture or worse - or even perform them, should it become necessary.
Irene swallowed. Her mouth was dry. From a clinical point of view, she knew he was only - only? - attempting to frighten her. But the actual experience was indeed frightening, as she felt the compulsion to obey him, and she had to fight with everything she had not to succumb to that power.
Was Lord Guantes already controlling her? Was that why she was sitting so passively, convincing herself she was doing it to discover his secrets? She ran mentally through a couple of plans. Collapse the entire opera box. Shoot him. Threaten him with the gun. Smash his chair and set fire to his brandy. Jump over the edge into the audience. She thought she could do any of them … if she decided to. If she chose to make the effort.
‘Or I could offer you to Alberich.’ Lord Guantes’ hand reached across to clamp down on her wrist, pinning it to the arm of the chair.
Irene jerked against his grip, but his hand ground down, hard enough to hurt, and he turned in his chair to watch her. There was pleasure in his eyes, in the way that he looked at her, but it wasn’t a sadistic amusement at her pain. It was simply enjoyment of his power over her. How very like Silver. I should tell him that, if I ever really want to insult him. ‘Ah no, Miss Winters. That is not an option. You do not leave this box until we have decided your fate, one way or another. Tell me, are you so very afraid of him?’
‘Of Alberich?’ Sheer disbelief coloured her voice. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘Come now.’ He was playing with her. The voices onstage were all male, interlacing in threat and defiance, promising imprisonment and death. ‘What is there to dislike so much?’
‘I’m sure you know the sort of thing he does,’ Irene snapped.
‘I’d like to hear it from your own mouth.’ His eyes caught hers, and this time she couldn’t look away, even if she wanted to. They compelled her. It was his will against hers, and even her Library brand wasn’t enough to save her now.
She barely recognized her own voice as she began to speak. ‘He skins people—’
The sound of her voice broke that moment of control, and she jerked herself back against the chair, her body shaking. Her back ached as if she had been beaten. This was far worse than Silver’s attempt to get under her defences. Lord Guantes had done it.
She’d lost time somewhere. Tosca was onstage and singing now, her voice arcing through the opera house in smooth, effortless sweeps of sound, like a silver pendulum counting away the seconds.
‘Charming,’ Lord Guantes said slowly. ‘Quite charming.’ His hand stayed on her wrist, his glove smooth and unwrinkled, as though he wasn’t applying any pressure at all. ‘I begin to see why Lord Silver likes you so much. You really are quite stimulating, Miss Winters. You are exactly what I want.’