Chapter Ten
The Masquerade Ball
The ivory-handled hairbrush stung as Marta brought it down onto the top of my head. “Stop moving.”
“Ouch! Damn, Marta, stop it,” I grumbled, reaching a tentative hand to inspect my head for lumps—or any other injuries. Tentatively, because Marta had been rather heavy-handed this afternoon. I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to find an oozing gash from the repeated bludgeoning the older woman had zealously delivered over the past hour. However, my fingertips encountered only smooth hair that had been gathered and piled high on top of my head in a style that would have been an elegant up-do if not for the damage Marta was repeatedly inflicting on it each time she told me not to move. It was hard to say who was doing the most harm to the hairdo—me by moving, or Marta by flattening it every fifteen minutes. Still, I had to give credit where it was due, the woman was downright lethal with that hairbrush.
If I was ever called upon to do battle or otherwise defend life and limb, I fervently prayed to have Marta at my side, preferably in a hair salon. Or a kitchen. She was just as lethal with her cast iron cookware.
I yelped again as she yanked hard on a strand of hair that had escaped its confines. “You do realize you are messing up my hair each and every time you hit me, right?” I pointed out the obvious with an eye roll, one that I was secretly grateful she couldn’t see.
“Well,” she huffed, temporarily removing her nimble hands from my hair. “I keep telling you to hold still. It’s your own fault if you’ve got a headache.”
“I never said I had a headache,” I muttered, though, of course, I did. “I said you’re messing up my hair.”
“I’m almost done. Just another minute yet,” she sighed, reaching for what had to be the one hundredth tiny opaque hair pin in an effort to tame my long mane, all the while bitching about my overabundance of light brown hair.
“My hair is the same as the last time you saw me.” I felt obligated to defend the abused tresses. “I’ve only grown it out a few inches. And that’s only because I keep forgetting to have it cut.”
“Uh-huh,” she spoke around hair pin number one hundred and one before shoving it into place. “Well, it’s still a pain in the ass, much like yourself, which only makes sense, as it’s your hair.”
Ouch. “Gee, I love you too.” I winced as she delivered another tug that I was sure was harder than necessary. “Lord, are you about done? How long does it take to do one woman’s hair?”
“Well, now, that depends. If said woman wants to ruin the most important night of her life, then it takes twenty minutes. If you actually want to make tonight a success, then shut up, hold still, and stop asking me if I’m done yet. It’ll take as long as it takes.”
“I see.” I didn’t, although I understood the hidden message in, “shut the hell up” well enough. “I don’t know about this being the most important night of my life, though. I was hoping to save that title for my wedding day. Besides, I’ve been to plenty of dances. I think I know what to do.”
“Have you ever gone to one in order to plant a skirt full of explosives?” she countered, probably only half in jest.
“No.”
“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got a fifty percent chance of getting killed, quite possibly by blowing yourself—and my boy—sky high. Wedding day, hell. I say anytime a girl needs to get through an evening without getting herself killed, it’s the most important night of her life.”
“Maybe…” I frowned, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. She had a point. “Anyway, you’ll be happy to know I won’t be keeping the explosives in my skirt. They’ll be in my handbag,” I informed her when her fingers hesitated at my nape.
“You do realize it’s a clutch purse. A very tiny clutch purse.”
“So? I’ll just take a full size evening bag instead of the hand-held.”
“You clear that with Mark?”
“No, but I can’t see why he’d care, so long as I’ve got my share of the bombs with me. The thought of wearing explosives just doesn’t do it for me.” I barely managed to suppress a shudder that surely would have set Marta into another semi-brutal attack.
“You and me both. Okay, that’s as good as it’s gonna get,” she pronounced, stepping back and whipping the velvet cape from around my neck.
“You’re done?” My voice was thin with hope. Oh please let it be true…
“Stand up and see for yourself.”
I was out of the less than comfortable hard-backed chair without further ado. Hey, I was on the verge of a serious butt cramp—nobody had to tell me twice. I took a deep breath and spun around to face the enormous mirror that had been built into the gorgeous antique-looking dressing table—and gasped, wide-eyed, when I caught the full effect of my own reflection. I hardly recognized myself.
I was encased in a sky blue gown that seemed to shimmer with the slightest movement I made. That part wasn’t much of a surprise, as I had donned the exquisite garment two hours before when Aries had come bearing it and a small fortune in jewelry, and Marta had announced that it was time to get ready. But to see it in the full mirror left me speechless. It fit like a second skin through the bodice, was halter-style at the neck, and bloomed into a wide, full skirt that reached all the way to my ankles. Tiny diamonds encrusted both the bodice and the hem, adding to its glam. It was a dress fit for a queen, or a princess, of which I was neither, but right then it was hard not to get caught up in the moment. Right then, I felt like royalty. Never mind that by the end of the night I would be armed with enough ammunition to blow up half a kingdom. I forcibly shoved that unfortunate reality away, focusing instead on the magic Marta had worked on my hair and make-up.
Wide brown eyes stared back at me, thick-lashed and languid and shadowed just so. Smooth skin and full lips with just a hint of sheen completed the regal, fairytale princess look. Honeyed hair had been glossed to perfection and gathered high atop my head, with small tendrils left loose to curl around my nape and to frame my face.
“Marta, my God…” I whispered, bringing a hand to the side of my face, to my hair, yet not daring to actually touch the masterpiece that she’d created. I hardly even felt the headache anymore.
“Some of my best work, if I do say so myself,” she preened shamelessly.
“It’s…it’s…” I stammered, struggling to find the words without sounding overly vain.
“Beautiful.”
I turned suddenly at the sound of his voice, my eyes snapping to his. Mark lounged in the doorway, and evidently was not at a loss for words.
“Thank you.” I tried not to notice his intense once-over, turning back to the mirror to gaze at the total package Marta had created for this evening.
“Thank me, I’m the one that did it,” Marta groused. “And it wasn’t easy, I can tell you that much.”
This she directed at Mark’s grinning form.
“Claire is breathtaking all on her own.”
“Sure, but have you ever tried to get that girl to hold still?” She shook her head.
“No, I can’t say that I have,” he drawled. “I like her when she’s on the move. Then again, making her hold still could prove to be interesting.”
“Mark!” Marta was clearly scandalized. I groaned.
“I’ll just go downstairs now,” I said in a rush, hurrying past Mark, only to have him to reach a hand out to halt me before I could pass into the hallway. For the briefest of moments, nothing else registered except for long, tanned fingers wrapped around my arm. Not only that, but he smelled really good—great actually. As much as my inner voice repeatedly nudged me to move, or pull away, or just say something, I continued to stand there, frozen in place like an idiot. Well… I shrugged. At least I was an idiot in a thousand-dollar dress. Hey, things could have been worse. With any luck, or rather, lack of luck, things were going to get much worse tonight in short order. That sobering thought had me glancing up to find Mark?
??s eyes still on my face, and sparkling with amusement.
“If anyone gets to leave this room, it’s going to be me,” Marta announced, bustling past the two of us and shoving me into Mark in the process.
His smile deepened when I sucked in all the breath left in my body, which coincidentally wasn’t much since I had only stopped holding my breath about two seconds prior to being thrust into him.
“You look great, Claire.”
The emphasis he put on my name didn’t escape me. “It must be hard to get used to.”
“What’s that?”
“Calling me Claire instead of Annabelle.”
“Hmm.” He seemed to consider this. “It is, in a way. It’s still a little new. It’s been over a year, but I feel like it was only yesterday that you were Annabelle.”
“Well, I haven’t been back for that long.” I tried to smile, wishing all the while I could kick myself for saying anything in the first place. The subject of our parting was still considered unstable ground. At least, that was the impression I got. I knew it made me damn uncomfortable at least. Mark had probably made a show of saying my true name with the express purpose of goading me into a reaction, and a discussion about how I’d lied about my name, and who I was, and…well, a lot of things. Yes, he probably did it on purpose so he could blame it on me if we argue, I thought uncharitably. Men were just like that.
“No, you haven’t been back that long. You have, however, been gone a long time.” His eyes took on a guarded look. “But we’ve already talked that to death, haven’t we?”
“Yes, pretty much.”
“And, like I said before, I understand why you left. Really, at that point, what were you supposed to do? I get that you were out of options, so to speak. Truth be told,” he scrubbed a hand over his face, “I applaud you for acting as quickly as you did.”
“Yes, well, Mike helped…”
“I wish you had chosen to do things a little differently before your situation became that desperate, of course.”
“Uh…” Here we go.
“If I had been there, things might have gone in a different direction that day.”
“Yeah.” I set my teeth. “Straight to hell in a whole new direction.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, maybe I don’t. But neither do you. And what happened to ‘we’ve already talked this to death?’”
I demanded, hands on my hips. I felt like telling him that he was being very unattractive with all this arguing. I was barely conscious of his scent or his nearness right then…almost.
“Fine.” His hands came up in defeat. “You’re right. So. How long are you planning on staying this time?”
“I don’t know,” I sputtered, feeling defensive—and with good reason. Mark wouldn’t shut up and let it go already. “I have no idea how long Ashley and I will be here. Which I already told you. What’s all this about?”
“What? I’m not allowed to talk to you?” He frowned.
“This has nothing to do with talking to me and you know it. Er. Wait.” I clutched my head, which was beginning to throb.
“You’re going to mess your hair up doing that.”
“Oh, honestly!” I fumed, too mad to care what the hell happened to my party hair.
“Okay. All right. It’s tonight,” he confessed.
“What about it?”
“I don’t want you to do this.”
“Mark, we’ve been over this. I have to do this. And I can do this. Jeez, I can’t believe you would think I can’t handle myself.” I shook my head, thoroughly irritated now.
“It’s not that, Claire. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself. More than capable,” he admitted. “I think I’d rather have you at my back than some of my men.”
“Really?” My hands fell limp to my sides. He’d rather have me beside him than trained soldiers? Personally, I thought that was taking confidence a wee bit far…
“Yeah, well, you’re tough.”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “I am. I really am.”
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you all night long. If something happens to you—”
“Then it happens.”
“Sorry, but I can’t be so cavalier about that possibility.”
“It’s reality.” I shrugged. “Believe me, no one hates the thought of me ending up six feet under more than me. But I don’t see that we have many other options tonight, do you?”
“Sure, we can find someone else.”
“Not on your life. I’m going with you, and that’s final. Besides, it’s too late to get anyone else and get them ready. And that’s assuming there’s anyone else in Terlain who is crazy enough to risk being beaten to death with Marta’s beauty products. Which I highly doubt.”
“Yeah,” he snorted. “You know she only does stuff like that when she’s worried, right?”
“Uh-huh, I figured as much. So. Are we done here? I was kind of hoping I would be able to get a cup of coffee before we leave.”
“We have to be out of here in two hours, so I don’t see why you can’t. Just don’t let Aries or Marta see you drinking anything that could leave a stain on that dress.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I smiled and headed downstairs.
“Claire, wait.”
“Hmmm?” I murmured distractedly, my thoughts otherwise occupied by the blessed caffeine I was about to consume.
“We need to arm you.”
“What?” My eyes went wide as I took in the small pile of straps and disk-like objects that I could only assume were the explosives. Oh no…
“I need to get these on you first, okay?”
“I have to wear them? Oh no, see—”
“I’ve got to strap them to your legs. Sorry.”
“Can’t I just carry them in my bag?”
“No. Your purse is likely to be the first thing that gets searched by the guards on our way in. Standard procedure—never carry bombs in a purse.” He made an attempt at humor.
“Damn,” I swore, marching back into the room and hiking up my dress.
“You won’t even know they’re there,” he promised.
“Right.”