Asher's Invention

by Coleen Kwan

  Asher’s Invention

  By Coleen Kwan

  Five years ago, Asher Quigley broke his engagement to Minerva Lambkin, believing she was an accomplice in a scheme to steal his prototype for a wondrous device. Minerva swore she was innocent, though the thief—and Asher’s mentor—was her own father.

  Now, sheer desperation has driven Minerva to Asher’s door. Her father has been kidnapped by investors furious that he’s never been able to make the machine work. Only Asher, now a rich and famous inventor in his own right, can replicate the device. He’s also become a hard, distant stranger far different from the young idealist she once loved.

  Despite their troubled past, Asher agrees to help Minerva. He still harbors his suspicions about her, but their reunion stirs emotions and desires they both thought were buried forever. Can they rebuild their fragile relationship in time to save her father and their future together?

  29,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  June is a good month for us here at Carina Press. Why? Because it’s the month we first started publishing books! This June marks our two-year anniversary of publishing books, and to celebrate, we’re featuring only return Carina Press authors throughout the month. Each author with a June release is one who has published with us previously, and who we’re thrilled to have return with another book!

  In addition to featuring only return authors, we’re offering two volumes of Editor’s Choice collections. Volume I contains novellas from three of our rising stars in their respective romance subgenres: Shannon Stacey with contemporary romance novella Slow Summer Kisses, Cindy Spencer Pape with steampunk romance Kilts & Kraken, and Adrienne Giordano with romantic suspense novella Negotiating Point.

  From the non-romance genres comes Editor’s Choice Volume II, and four fantastic novellas: paranormal mystery Dance of Flames by Janni Nell, science-fiction Pyro Canyon by Robert Appleton, humorous action-adventure No Money Down by Julie Moffett, and Dead Calm, a mystery novella from Shirley Wells.

  Later in June, those collections are joined by a selection of genres designed to highlight the diversity of Carina Press books. Janis Susan May returns with another horror suspense novel, Timeless Innocents, following up her fantastic horror debut, Lure of the Mummy. Mystery author Jean Harrington offers up The Monet Murders, the next installment in her Murders By Design series. And the wait is over for fans of Shawn Kupfer’s debut science-fiction thriller, 47 Echo, with the release of the sequel, Supercritical. Rounding out the offerings for mystery fans, W. Soliman offers up Risky Business, the next novel in The Hunter Files.

  Romance fans need not dismay, we have plenty more to offer you as well, starting with The Pirate’s Lady, a captivating fantasy romance from author Julia Knight. Coleen Kwan pens a captivating steampunk romance in Asher’s Invention, and fans of m/m will be invested in Alex Beecroft’s emotional historical novella His Heart’s Obsession.

  If it’s a little naughty time you’re longing for, be sure to check out Lilly Cain’s Undercover Alliance, a sizzling science-fiction erotic romance.

  We’re proud to showcase these returning authors, and the amazing books they’ve written. We hope you’ll join us as we move into our third year of publishing, and continue to bring you stories, characters and authors you can love!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  England, 1870s

  Never in her worst imaginings had she thought it would come to this. Minerva tilted back the drooping feather of her hat and wiped a raindrop from her nose. All day the rain had been unrelenting. The draughty third-class train carriage had rattled and jolted all the way down from Manchester. She couldn’t afford a hansom cab from the station, so she had walked, and now she shivered on the porch of a fashionable Kensington villa, waiting for her door knock to be answered. Mizzle and murkiness surrounded her. A chill had settled deep in her bones. A chill that had started days ago. Raising her gloved hand to knock once more, she started back as the door silently swung open. A tall, cadaverous manservant peered out at her.

  Minerva drew herself upright, conscious of her unprepossessing appearance. “Is Mr. Quigley at home?”

  The servant assessed her in a blink of an eye, pausing only a fraction before granting her entry. “Who shall I say is calling?” he asked as he led her into the front parlor.

  “Tell him it’s Miss Lambkin. Miss Minerva Lambkin.” She had debated the wisdom of giving her real name—more than likely Asher would refuse to see her at all—but she would not resort to pretense. Either he would see her or he would not. If he did not…

  The man retreated and left her alone in the warm parlor. With a sigh, she set down her carpetbag, took off her sodden cloak and drew closer to the crackling fire. As she peeled off her damp gloves and rubbed her hands, she surveyed the graciously furnished room, her curiosity mingling with a feeling of suspense. She noted the walls hung with striped silk, the black walnut settees richly upholstered in rose damask, the fireplace carved from the finest Italian marble. Asher Quigley was no stranger to wealth these days.

  The door swung open, accompanied by a whirring noise. Minerva straightened in surprise as a large mechanical dog entered the room. Its multi-jointed body was made of polished brass joined together by hundreds of minute rivets. It had ruby eyes, copper claws and a small, articulated tail. She’d seen automaton animals before, but never one so detailed. The dog lifted its head and approached her, then stopped. Its red eyes glowed as it crouched and bared steel fangs at her.

  More intrigued than afraid, Minerva inched closer. A menacing growl rumbled out of the dog’s mouth.

  “Cerberus! Sit.” A man she recognized all too clearly strode into the room.

  Her nerves seized. She lurched upright, knocking her hat askew. Hotly aware of her bedraggled state, she pushed the damp feathers away from her face. This was not how she wished to meet Asher Quigley again. In fact, she’d wished never to meet him again. Only desperation had driven her to his doorstep.

  He seemed equally displeased at making her reacquaintance. He stopped and held himself some distance away, his expression stiff and unwelcoming, as if she were a proselytizer about to press a pamphlet on him.

  “Minerva.” He gave her the slightest incline of his head, the barest whiff of politeness. He failed to say it was a pleasure to see her, but then, Asher had never been one for dissembling, even for the sake of convention.

  She cleared her throat, dry with anxiety. “Asher, thank you for seeing me.”

  “I apologize for Cerberus.” At the click of his fingers, the mechanical dog moved to his side and sat on its haunches. “I have some adjustments to make. He’s not meant to be so aggressive.”

  “I had no idea you were interested in this sort of automaton.” It was all she could do to keep her voice steady.

 
“It’s just a hobby of mine.”

  An expensive hobby.

  She swallowed. “I’ve been following your recent deeds in the paper. I must congratulate you on your fame and fortune.”

  A year ago, news of Asher’s exploits had dominated the papers for weeks. By saving the Irish potato crop from the dreaded blight, he had singlehandedly averted another disastrous famine, and a nervous British government had been suitably grateful in a pecuniary fashion. It was far easier to reward the ingenious inventor than to cope with yet more starving migrants flooding the English cities. The Royal Society had feted him, Parliament had congratulated him. There had been talk of awarding Asher a knighthood, but shocked rumor had it he’d declined the honor. Such eccentricity had only excited the public’s imagination further.

  He shrugged. “I don’t need the fame, but the fortune has its uses. I’m not beholden to anyone anymore.” His lips thinned, almost scornfully. “I cannot tell you how liberating that is.”

  Dismay spiraled through Minerva. Who was this hard, distant stranger? Less than five years had passed since they had parted, but he had greatly changed. Physically he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His thick windswept hair, his mesmerizing green eyes, and his classically sculptured face, were enough to make an angel weep. In the intervening years his chest had filled out, his shoulders broadened. Dressed in his velvet-trimmed coat, brocade vest and silk cravat, he cut a dashingly handsome figure, though he was no slave to fashion, as evidenced by his unfashionably long hair and lack of sideburns. But all lingering youthfulness had been stripped from him, and he seemed more cynical and aloof than his nine-and-twenty years warranted.

  Had she done this? She and her father? Were they responsible for the tautness of his lips, the adamantine glint in his eyes?

  She hid her unsteady hands in the folds of her traveling dress. “Your rewards are most deserved.”

  The corner of his mouth twisted. “If only one received what one deserved.”

  The none-too-subtle innuendo caused her heart to knot.

  “Please, be seated.” Very belatedly, he waved toward the crimson settees. “And tell me why you’ve sought me out after all these years.”

  Still shivering, she perched on a seat close to the fire, while Asher lowered himself into a winged armchair, his body still rigid, a watchful expression on his face.

  She cleared her throat. “It’s about my father—”

  “That was my first guess! And how is Silas, the old scoundrel?”

  Discomfort throbbed in her cheeks. “Believe me, I need no reminder of his shortcomings, but he’s in dreadful trouble.”

  “That comes as no surprise. An unprincipled miscreant like Silas Lambkin will always be in trouble of one sort or another. What is it this time? Has he stolen an invention from yet another unsuspecting protégé? And has that protégé decided to rise up and exact his revenge? If so, I applaud him. He’s done what I was too lily-livered to do.”

  Her toes curled up in their soggy boots as his words excoriated her. Along with money, Asher had acquired a rapier tongue.

  “You’re understandably still upset by what happened—”

  “Oh, no.” He leaned back and crossed his long legs. “Why should I still be upset? Your father passed off my invention as his own, and you distracted me by seducing me while he sold off all my hard work. But it was my own fault. I was young, naive and pitifully idealistic, but not anymore. No, I’m not upset. You and Silas taught me a salutary lesson. One I will never forget.”

  This time she couldn’t fight the pain of his words. She leaped to her feet, breathing hard. “You’ve always refused to believe my innocence, so I’ll not plead with you again, except to say once more, I knew nothing of what my father was up to. Nothing.” Her chest ached with the vehemence of her feeling.

  He stared at her before rising to his feet too. “So you would still have me believe you were completely unaware of his plans?”

  “Yes.” Despite her vow, she couldn’t prevent the supplication in her voice. “You and I were engaged. Do you think I would betray my own fiancé?”

  “Oh, yes. Our engagement.” He flicked at an invisible piece of lint on his sleeve and examined his fingernails. “I’d almost forgotten that little piece of folderol.”

  The fire blazed merrily away, but the chill inside her intensified. She wanted nothing more than to run from this man and never return, but she couldn’t. She had no choice but to remain and bear his bitterness.

  “I’m glad you’ve put that misfortune behind you,” she said with all the composure she could muster. “Perhaps it will enable you to hear what I have to ask of you with a more temperate head.”

  His eyes narrowed. She’d always thought he had the most brilliant, wonderful eyes, but now their keenness was too cutting. For several moments she bore his inimical scrutiny. Finally he answered, “Very well. What does Silas wish you to ask of me?”

  “He’s not asked me to do anything, because he is not here. He has disappeared without a trace. I’ve not seen him since breakfast four days ago. I made inquiries, but no one has caught a glimpse of him, and then yesterday I received this letter. I…I’m afraid my father has been k-kidnapped.” She couldn’t suppress the stammer and hated herself for it. From the outset, she had determined to face Asher as a calm, rational woman, to bear herself with dignity no matter what. Now she couldn’t stop her hand from shaking as she drew a crumpled letter from her reticule. “This is the letter.”

  Frowning, Asher read the single sheet of cheap paper in a matter of seconds. The contents were already seared into her memory.

  We have your father. If you want him back alive have the millennium machine ready by Friday. Await further instructions. Tell no one.

  When Asher looked up, his face had turned to stone. “So the kidnapper demands the machine or your father forfeits his life?”

  Minerva nodded. “The deadline is two days away. No time at all.”

  He tossed the letter onto a small table and moved away. Cerberus’s head lolled this way and that, following Asher as he paced up and down with hands clasped behind his back.

  “So do as the ransom note demands,” he said with cold authority. “Deliver what the kidnapper wants and your father will be safe.”

  Minerva gaped at him. “But Asher…this is the millennium machine we’re talking about.”

  “You don’t need to remind me. I’m well aware of my own inventions, even the ones stolen from me.”

  She winced at his cutting tone. She’d known it would be difficult to face Asher again but hadn’t anticipated it would be this wounding.

  “Then you must also be aware that Father has never been able to get the millennium machine to work the way it was intended. He’s frittered away a fortune in his attempts.”

  “Hah! The irony of it all!” Asher rounded on her, acrimony burning in his eyes. “Your father calls himself a scientist and inventor, but he’s nothing more than a charlatan. His greed got the better of him. He sold my invention as his own before it was ready. Had he waited, I might have solved the problems of scale, and he would have had a workable, saleable proposition. Instead, all he has is a boxful of magnets and cogs.” He gave her a derisive smile. “Poetic justice has ensured he has nothing more than a mildly amusing parlor trick.”

  A parlor trick! How could Asher describe his cherished invention thus? Throughout history, men had striven to perfect the perpetual-motion machine. Asher’s invention hadn’t attained the distinction of being a completely frictionless machine, but he had come closer than any man before him. He had devised a machine which, once set in motion, would run for a thousand years, according to his calculations. A thousand years. The millennium machine he’d built was only a demonstration model, no bigger than a hatbox, delivering negligible power, but scaled up with the proper gearing, it pr
omised an endless supply of cheap energy. Industrial-strength millennium machines would power factories, trains, airships, generators. They would bring electricity and mobility to everyone, not just the well-off. They would free the downtrodden from drudgery, shine a light into the dimness of ignorance, and improve productivity and the human condition. Asher’s invention had the potential to change society forever, and yet he had just dismissed it as a plaything.

  She lifted her chin. “Parlor trick or not, my father’s life is in danger. I’ve searched my father’s workshop high and low, and I don’t have anything resembling a millennium machine. Only you can help me, Asher.”

  Suspicion riffled across his face. “Why? Do you think I’ve still been working on the millennium machine?”

  “You have invention in your blood. I cannot imagine you not thinking about the machine during the past five years. Or working on it.”

  “And what if I were? What if I did happen to solve the insolvable?” His eyes had become mere slits of jade as he scrutinized her with all the intensity of a jungle cat. “Do you propose I should simply hand over my endeavors in order to save the man who stole it from me in the first place?”

  Put in those terms, it sounded ludicrous, even Minerva had to admit. Her shoulders slumped. Exhaustion washed over her. She’d barely slept or eaten for the past three days, and the stony cliff of Asher’s hostility felt more insurmountable than the Swiss Alps. Unable to stand any longer, she sank back down on the settee and laced her fingers together to steady them.

  “You’re my last hope, Asher.”

  A distant grandfather clock chimed the hour. A log in the fire crackled. Asher clapped his hands softly. “Bravo, Minerva. I’ve not seen a better performance at Drury Lane. So prettily done. I half expected a piteous tear to roll down your cheek.”

  She gritted her teeth and crushed her fingers into the soft damask of the settee. “You think this is all pretense?”

  “Oh, not all of it. I’ve no doubt your father is in sticky financial trouble. He attracted so many investors with the promise of the millennium machine, and he’s managed to keep one step ahead of them all these years. But finally he’s run out of time. He needs to produce a working machine, something that’s useful, or the moneymen will come after him. But he has nothing. So what does he do but enlist the help of his ever-faithful daughter once again.”