In Pursuit of Dragons

by Anne Renwick

  “Lady Stewart?” Incredulity laced his voice. “What are you doing here?” The beam of light lowered, and he dropped his hand from his hip, away from the TTX pistol hidden beneath his coat.

  Adrenaline buzzed through her veins as the inevitable attraction flared. Impossible to leave now without playing their old game of cat and mouse. This time, however, if he let himself be caught, she had no intention of allowing him to slip away with a mere kiss.

  Curving her lips into a smile, she sauntered back to the desk to lift her glass. “Enjoying a glass of whisky, neat. I’d offer you one, but you appear frustrated.” Smoothing a gloved hand over the curve of her hip, over her close-fitting trousers, she invited his interest. “As if satisfaction is just beyond your reach…” She let the suggestion hang between them.

  “Are you offering to help bring my evening to an exciting finish?” His broad shoulders relaxed, and his eyes—a narrow rim of brilliant blue surrounding dark pupils—flashed. To his credit, only then did his gaze drop. “Or merely offering a professional consultation?”

  Her answering laugh was low and throaty. Despite the gravity of his mission, Nick found it impossible not to respond to her teasing. Like him, Lady Stewart was garbed entirely in black. A hooded cape about her shoulders. A shirt beneath a buckled corset. Pouches hung from a low-slung belt. Leather gloves stretched to her elbows. Trousers hugged her hips and thighs. But the boots… As always, those held his gaze with the tenacity of a pteryform trap. Leather and laced, they rose from her trim ankles, sheathing her long and shapely legs before releasing their grasp a few inches above her knees. Those brain cells that had not entirely abandoned work noted the stitching at her calf. Since they’d last crossed paths, she’d added a long—and likely sharp—blade to her attire.

  His heart gave a great thud, then took off racing while the room grew warmer by several degrees.

  Aether, he’d missed her. Missed the bustled and skirted woman who wore tinted spectacles and hugged the walls at society events. Missed the leather-clad seductress whose amber eyes flashed as they glinted back at him across the dark room, daring him to—

  What, exactly?

  His eyes lifted to her full lips, and he found himself stepping closer, not at all certain that she wouldn’t bite. After disappearing from her life—from London—these past three months, she’d likely draw blood. But, like cream rising to the top, finding out the answer had become an immediate priority.

  So much for a formal call that landed them both upon a settee in a parlor while her aunt supervised awkward courtship conversation. Better, perhaps, that they’d met here, where he could speak freely about the possibility of merging their realities.

  As soon as he’d claimed a kiss.

  He chanced another step closer.

  “That would depend, Mr. Torrington, upon your goal.” She set down her glass and propped a hip against the desk. “I certainly can’t assist you if we’re working at cross purposes.”

  Ah, she did indeed hold a grudge. He couldn’t blame her. But the lead he’d chased into Scotland this winter—one involving a snowy owl—had required he depart immediately and under an assumed name. When Nick had finally located the cryptid hunter, the slitty-eyed purveyor of rare and unusual creatures had denied selling any animals, let alone owls, to men involved in medical experimentation. Was he trustworthy? No. But the man swore up and down that he wanted nothing to do with any of “that shape-shifting nonsense.” Nick had stopped by the Department of Cryptozoology in Edinburgh, but found it a tangled, bureaucratic mess. Abandoning hope of their assistance, he’d left the north and returned to London to find himself once again an uncle, but his sister’s health worsening.

  He pushed aside all grim thoughts. There would be plenty of time for them later.

  At the moment, the woman he wished to make his bride required his full attention. New leads concerning the shadow committee operating in London had emerged in his absence and, should those prove valid, Nick would at last have means to infiltrate the group—which would once again mean abandoning Lady Stewart. This time, however, he vowed he would not leave her wondering at his intentions.

  His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “You want me to divulge secrets to an employee of a private agency?” He kept his voice light and teasing.

  Nick could, however, do exactly that. Tonight, he wasn’t acting as a Queen’s agent. Instead he was chasing a rumor, one that promised hope for his ailing sister. For years, he’d worked to develop a treatment, but none of the cardiac medications he’d worked upon improved her condition. If anything, they worsened it. Then, recently, he’d heard a whisper about a medical device used to stimulate a paralyzed heart to beat once more. Quietly, he’d begun asking questions.

  A board member involved in the oversight of Lister Laboratories, Lord Aldridge had denied the technology’s existence. “I’ve yet to lay eyes on a convincing blueprint,” he’d scoffed. “The theory is in place, but for now it remains nothing but a future possibility.” Yet a nagging feeling in Nick’s gut insisted that the earl knew something more. If there was a treatment under development that might help his sister, he would find it, and searching the earl’s private residence was a first and obvious step. Alas, it fell outside the bounds of the task assigned to him by the duke and, therefore, he could not request direct assistance from the agency.

  Tipping his head, he considered the woman before him. Lady Stewart would make a most excellent silent, stealthy partner.

  She narrowed her eyes as she pushed off the desk. “If your task this evening does not involve the contents of that safe, we might be able to find common ground.” Lean, lithe, and light on her feet, Lady Stewart circled about him, inching closer. But Nick didn’t reach for her. He had the distinct feeling that should he make the slightest move in her direction, she might leap out the window.

  The open window.

  He’d watched her do exactly that too many times to count.

  “Was that why you watched from the corners?” he asked, turning to keep her in his sights. “Was there something in the safe you wanted?”

  “What I want is for all its contents to remain securely locked within.”

  Nick had found nothing of interest in the safe, nor the entirety of the study. Save a certain lady who had interrupted his search.

  “Done.” Perhaps Lady Stewart could help. He’d never before considered partnering with her—heat swelled in his chest—leastways not in terms of working a job together. His eyes slid once again over her form-fitting trousers. Yet they’d passed each other in the dark for years, prowling about London in the small hours of the night. So many untapped skills paced before him. “Any chance you—and your cat—would consider working with a new partner?” He glanced behind her, searching the shadows. “Where is your familiar?” Lady Stewart rarely prowled London at night without the overlarge, black cat who shadowed her every step.

  “Sorcha often wanders off on her own. Cat business.” She shrugged. “She’s always returned. No need to worry.”

  But she did. Nick could see it in her eyes.

  Lady Stewart lifted her eyebrows. “Why would a Queen’s agent consider hiring a common sneak thief?”

  “Please, you’re anything but common,” he scoffed. Society might look askance at her unusual eyes, but they conferred upon her amazing nighttime vision. Her other senses were heightened as well, not to mention her physical prowess. “Four years living this dual life and not once caught.”

  “Five,” she corrected, stopping in front of him. Close enough so that he could see the fine locks of hair that had wrestled free from a twisted knot at her nape. “A lady without plans to marry needs to look after herself.” The faint, familiar scent of wildflowers drifted past—now mixed with a hint of whisky—and his breath caught, trapping the scent within his lungs.

  “Without plans, or without offers?” Yes, he was fishing. And hoping for a glimmer of encouragement. He knew a few agents who mixed business with pleasure. A few ended u
p married, the exact state to which he aspired. Would a brief alliance with a competent—his gaze skimmed over the curve of her neck—and beautiful thief help or hurt his cause?

  Her eyes narrowed. “Does it matter?”

  “Only if you’re about to inform me I’ve competition for your attention.” Her face froze, and a crack shot through his hopes, threatening to shatter his plans. He prayed she wouldn’t mention another man’s name. “Work called me away before I had a chance to speak.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  “It is.” He stared into her amber eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Marriage,” she huffed. “I’ve no interest in agreeing to terms that would force me to curtail any of my activities.”

  “Nor should you.” The crack retreated, and he found himself able to breathe deeply once more.

  A single step brought her body mere inches away from his. “Most of the ton—most men—would disagree.”

  “Not this man.” He struggled to hold on to the thread of their conversation. “A woman should not be forced to waste her talents.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Yet, more often than not, we must hide them.”

  As she had hers. “But not from me.”

  “Trust that I place in your word as a gentleman and a Queen’s agent… and our mutual ability to reveal the other’s predilection for nighttime prowling…”

  “From which you’ve announced your retirement. I do hope you’ll reconsider, but in the meantime, do you propose to resume your celebration?”

  “Possibly.” She tipped her head. “Provided you’ve no conditions, no assumptions that what we share here, tonight, will lead any further?”

  “None. Hopes, yes. But I’ll not force them upon you.” His gaze fixed upon her soft, wide mouth. “Does that qualify me to join the festivities?”

  Her fingers wrapped about the black, silk cravat at his throat, and she tugged him closer. “It does.”

  Dropping his hands lightly upon the warm leather encasing her narrow waist, he lowered his mouth to hers, intending to gently explore the shape of her lips, to tease forth her arousal. But as her lips parted, her fingers slid about his neck urging him closer and shattering the last of his preconceptions about her experience. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness to her response that might encourage him to slow down. Instead, her soft moan was pure carnality.

  Desire surged, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth to tangle with her own, to drink in her taste. Whisky, rich and seductive with a hint of spice. Warm and intoxicating, like the scent of her skin.

  With a throaty growl, he slid his hands down her back, past her bottom to catch at her thighs. Lifting her firmly against his hard length, he spun about to drop her onto the edge of the desk.

  Without breaking their kiss, he circled his fingers about her ankles, then dragged his palms upward over leather and lacing until they reached her knees. With a mewl of approval, she spread her legs, inviting him yet closer. A roar rushed through his veins.

  Aether, she was a perfect fit.

  He nudged against her, and her body shuddered. Kissing her, holding her, touching her was all consuming. His heart raced as fantasies of taking her on the desk swirled through his mind. No, not fantasies, for even now her fingers tugged at the clasps that held his trousers closed. Not in ages had such wild anticipation driven him senseless. He flexed his hips, and she groaned her encouragement.

  But one moment his fingers were dipping beneath the rise of her corset, and the next she’d shoved him away. “Did you hear that?” she hissed. “Someone is coming.”

  Nick heard nothing but the pounding of blood in his ears.

  “Go!” She pushed at his shoulder as she dropped onto her feet. “The window!”

  He heard the footsteps now—growing closer—and turned to follow. She was already halfway out and reaching for a drainpipe.

  “Hurry!” Her eyes flashed green-gold.

  He followed quickly, but by the time his feet hit the ground, she was gone.

  Keep Reading

  Also by Anne Renwick

  The Tin Rose

  The Golden Spider

  The Silver Skull

  The Iron Fin

  A Trace of Copper

  In Pursuit of Dragons

  A Reflection of Shadows

  Kraken and Canals

  Rust and Steam

  To my boys, who love castles, swords and dragons.

  Thank you to…‌

  * * *

  The Plotmonkeys‌—‌Kristan Higgins, Shaunee Cole, Jennifer Iszkiewicz, Stacia Bjarnason and Huntley Fitzpatrick‌—‌who almost never blink at my bizzare plots and always steer me in the right direction.

  Sandra Sookoo, my wonderful editor who mercilessly ferrets out weaknesses and sets my work on a better course.

  My husband and my two boys.

  My mom and dad.

  Mr. Fox and his red pen.

  About the Author

  Anne Renwick writes steampunk romance, placing a new kind of biotech in the hands of mad scientists, proper young ladies and determined villains. Anne lives with her family in Maryland, but makes her online home at www.annerenwick.com.

  You can connect with Anne on Facebook at Anne Renwick. Or join her in the Facebook group: Department of Cryptobiology.

  * * *

  For email updates, sneak peaks, new releases and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter at www.annerenwick.com.

  Copyright © 2018 by Karen Pinco

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.annerenwick.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  In Pursuit of Dragons/ Anne Renwick. — 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-948359-10-8

  Cover design by James T. Egan of Bookfly Design.

  Edited by Sandra Sookoo.