Page 21 of Dark Gambit: The Play

Was he deflecting her question?

Sofia tried to see what he was looking at, but all she could discern was a dark, rectangular shape on top of a cliff. Whoever was inside either hadn't turned any lights on, or the windows were shuttered.

Still, it wasn't the first time that she'd noticed Marcel could see better than she could in the dark.

"I know what your talent is. You have paranormal night vision."

"That's part of it." He put his arm around her shoulders. "When we get to the house, I want you to be respectful toward Tom. He came all the way out here to help you. It would be rude of you to give him a hard time."

So she'd been right, and they were going to see the boss of their organization.

Was he as bad as Igor?

Worse?

Better?

"Are you implying that I'm rude?"

He chuckled. "Fates forbid. But you get prickly when annoyed."

That was true. "Tell me a little bit about him. Should I be scared of him?"

"Not at all. Tom is a novelist who comes from a very old and wealthy family. He's old school, and modern vernacular might sound offensive to him. Act as if you are meeting a prince, and you should be fine."

"What if I say something that he finds offensive? Would he compel me to stand on one leg and crow?"

Julian chuckled. "The worst he would do to you is look down his nose at you and make you feel like a bug. Tom is a good guy, but he's condescending without meaning to be. It's just his natural sense of superiority."

She hadn't detected any resentment, and there was real fondness in the doctor's tone, so maybe their leader wasn't as bad as Igor; but he was still a compeller, he was still a man who imposed his will on others, and that couldn't be good even if he was human.

In her experience people seldom, if ever, chose to use their talents and other advantages to help others. Mostly, they used them to get a leg up and step over those who were less gifted.

14

MARCEL

As they neared the structure, Marcel let out a relieved breath. The ride had taken less than an hour, but it had been difficult sitting next to Sofia and pretending that her closeness didn't affect him.

He was still waging a battle with his determination to never fall victim to a woman's wiles again. His heart was demanding that he stop resisting the pull and embrace the rose that Sofia was, with all of her soft petals and prickly thorns, but his mind knew better than to listen to that squishy organ that had led him astray before.

But even his mind wasn't as steadfast as he would have liked it to be.

So Sofia wasn't perfect. So she'd been sent as a spy and used him to get close to Emmett. So what?

None of it had been her choice.

But had her feelings for him been real? Or had it been a superb act, and he'd fallen for it like he had done in the past because he was putty in an attractive woman's hands?

If it had been an act, Sofia must have studied method acting under a masterful teacher because her performance had been flawless. Her anger after he hadn't shown up as she'd expected, her refusal to let him explain, had all of that been for show?

It very well might have been.

After all, they'd ended up in bed together the same night, and she had rocked his world, demolishing the last of his resistance.

Fates, he was such a fool.

Summoning the vestiges of his resolve, he forced himself to enter the familiar state of indifference and looked at the house Turner had chosen for their rendezvous with Toven.