Riveted by Meljean Brook Page A

Kentewess. Not in a little cart at all—and no longer a boy.
    He was still looking at her. Just
watching
her from across the length of the room, his face unreadable and the intensity of his gaze like a strong grip that prevented her from glancing away. She stared back, heart slamming against her ribs. Oh, but surely there was no need for this panic. The impression she’d had before—of him wanting something from her, that he would follow her until he got it—had just been her imagination…hadn’t it? What could Lucia’s nephew want from her? He must be as surprised as Annika was.
    But, no. Why would he be surprised? He’d escorted her to
Phatéon
’s mooring station…and hadn’t said a word that he would soon be traveling aboard the same airship. Why refrain from telling her? Had his silence been some New World courtesy that she didn’t understand? Or had he deliberately withheld the information?
    Perhaps she would never know. But at least now she could ask why he chased volcanoes.
    He looked away when the men at the game table stood and extended their hands to his companions. Oh,
finally
. Annika took a moment to steady her nerves and to study him—a study that was far more interesting that a schematic had been. His legs were likely the same sort of skeletal prosthetics as his hand; unfortunately, his wool trousers concealed their design. Dinner gloves hid his hands now, too—but the absence of the garments he’d removed since she’d last seen him revealed more.
    Without his brimmed hat, no shadows obscured his features. More ragged scars cut through the hairline at his left temple and bisected the eyebrow over his gleaming lens apparatus. His black hair was combed straight back from a broad forehead and skimmed the bottom edge of his collar. The overcoat he’d worn on the docksadded bulk he didn’t actually carry—as did his jacket now. The heavy tweed fit him horribly. His shoulders were wide, his torso tapering to lean hips, but his clothes might as well have been cut to fit a box. She hoped he had not paid much money for them.
    Perhaps he would soon win enough for a new jacket, though. At the game table, the first mate gestured to the patolli board, inviting Lucia and the passengers to join them. The older man responded eagerly, friendly avarice in his tone.
Oh.
Annika glanced down at the generator manual, surprised by her disappointment. A moment ago, she’d wanted to escape. Now she wished that there was enough time before first watch to join the game.
    She looked up and found David Kentewess’s gaze on her again. A moment later, the older man’s eyes lighted on her. He blinked and turned to the doctor, then to her nephew. Annika couldn’t hear what he said, but she saw Lucia’s quick glance in Annika’s direction. After a word with those settling in around the game table, the doctor started across the wardroom.
    Kentewess left the others and accompanied her. Standing, Annika forced herself to look away from him and greeted his aunt, who responded with a curious arch of her brows.
    “Mr. Dooley wanted to know whether you’d had any additional trouble from the port officers. I wasn’t aware that you’d had any trouble at all. Is everything well?”
    “Oh, yes. I was detained at the port gates. Your nephew bravely rescued me.”
    “
Rescued
you? Why, he mentioned nothing of it.”
    When his aunt slanted him an inquiring glance, Kentewess flushed. “It was nothing, Aunt Lucia. Only a miscommunication.”
    “Nothing to you, perhaps,” Annika said. “But considering what might have happened if that miscommunication hadn’t been resolved, it meant everything to me.”
    He seemed to still, holding her gaze. “Did it?”
    “Perhaps not
everything
,” she had to admit, and looked toLucia. “He’s right to question me. Only minutes after he risked himself to confront the port officer, I rejected his company.”
    Oh, she must have exposed her lack of proper sensibilities again. Lucia’s