by Coleen Kwan
He bared his teeth in a smiling snarl. “Do you really think I’d fall for your lies yet again? What kind of fool must you think me.”
Why did she expect her words to have any effect on him? She leaped to her feet and crossed to where she had deposited her carpetbag near the door. Opening it, she delved in and drew out a small snuffbox. A shiver of revulsion ran through her arm as she touched its tin surface, but she steeled her nerves and forced herself to carry the box over to Asher.
“You don’t believe me. Perhaps this will convince you.”
Eyes still filled with suspicion, he took the box and opened it. She studied his face closely, waiting for his reaction when he realized what the contents were. If she expected him to recoil in horror, she was disappointed. Only the hardening of his mouth indicated any emotion.
“Your father’s?” he brusquely asked.
She nodded. Without any apparent distaste, he set the box down on top of the ransom note. She couldn’t help herself—some macabre fascination made her peer at the contents of the box.
The last time she’d seen it was a day ago, when the snuffbox had been delivered with the ransom note. Since then, the thing inside had shriveled somewhat. At first glance, it looked like a piece of pale woodland fungus spotted with red dirt. Except this was no plant specimen. This was her father’s ear, hacked off and sent to her. Bloodied. Viscous.
And beginning to smell rather putrid.
That was Minerva’s last thought before the air around her darkened and the ground rushed up to embrace her.
Chapter Two
Minerva had never been the swooning type. So when she keeled over before him, Asher was too surprised to catch her. Too surprised, and then suspicious. Was this attack of the vapors yet another act? He instantly discounted this when he knelt down and found her cheek cold as a January morning. His discomfit rose as he discovered her clothing was saturated, and he surmised she’d walked a fair distance in the rain. The fabric of her damp skirt was well worn, and there was a crack in the sole of her boot that would have been none too comfortable in this wet weather.
Her body seemed less substantial than he remembered as he lifted her onto the settee. He chafed her frozen hands between his, reluctantly noticing how they felt like bird’s bones in his rough grasp. Life had not been kind to her of late, but instead of draining her, the vicissitudes she’d faced had added character to her high cheekbones and firmly sculpted chin. Despite her pallor, she was still winsome. Her dense eyelashes fanned out against soft cheeks, a hint of freckles sprinkled across her dainty nose. Above her pointed chin, her lips were full and velvety, just as he remembered in the fevered dreams that still haunted him. Annoyed, he wrenched his gaze away from her lips.
Her body remained limp, her face chalk-white. Should he do something, perhaps loosen the collar of her dress? He hesitated. Not for want of knowledge—he knew any number of ways to divest a woman of her clothing—but touching Minerva had always unsettled him, and now was no exception. He dropped her hands. A second later, she blinked open her cerulean eyes and began to struggle upright.
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me I fainted.” She rubbed her forehead. Her hat had fallen off, and her hair was coming adrift from its pins.
The sight of the golden skeins of hair tumbling round her face did horrible things to his stomach. He stalked over to the console table housing his brandy decanter and busied himself pouring out a generous measure, and by the time he turned back, Minerva had managed to bundle up her hair.
“I’m quite recovered,” she insisted, but nevertheless she took the brandy he offered, her hand unsteady as she raised the glass to her lips.
She had never liked to appear weak in front of anyone. That hadn’t changed.
She nodded her head toward the snuffbox still sitting open on the small table near them. “Do you accept now that I’m telling the truth?”
He shut the box with a sharp snap. No need to view that abomination any further. What kind of monster would mutilate a man and send the grisly scraps to his victim’s daughter? It was ghoulish, unnatural, horrifying. Hooking his finger into his collar, he tried to ease the constriction around his neck.
“That’s clearly human. I can’t see you chopping off someone’s ear merely to convince me, so I must conclude you’re telling the truth.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “My stars, your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
His throat tightened again as the dryness of her tone sparked memories. Memories of how he used to seek out her company so eagerly, how he’d found her so enthralling. Ruthlessly, he cut off his reminiscences. Such memories were treacherous. Minerva had used him and betrayed him. That was all he needed to remember.
He rang for Cheeves and ordered tea. The last thing he wanted was to sit and take tea with Minerva Lambkin, but he had no choice, now that he’d glimpsed what was in that snuffbox.
“You should have gone to the police as soon as you received the letter,” he said abruptly. “Despite what the kidnapper told you.”
“And risked my father’s life? I couldn’t. Besides, I doubt they can act with the necessary swiftness.”
“Do you have any idea who the kidnapper might be?”
She lifted her shoulders and sighed. “Unfortunately, there are many people who might have a grudge against my father.”
Including himself. Asher felt his head tightening. He’d been a callow young man when he met Silas Lambkin. The son of a miller, Silas ran a prosperous engineering business and had patented several inventions. He was bluff, charming, and he exuded an air of boundless confidence and success. Asher, freshly graduated from Oxford and keen to make his mark, eagerly accepted Silas’s offer to be his apprentice. In Silas’s well-equipped workshop in Manchester, he would be able to perfect his pet project, so he had thought, and together they would reap the rewards. And once he’d met Minerva, he was keener than ever to throw in his lot with the Lambkins. More fool he.
“Why not start with the most obvious suspects?” he said. “The investors he duped into sinking their funds in his so-called millennium machine.”
“There are more than a dozen investors left, but three have the most to lose. These three have been coming to the house more frequently in the past few months and becoming more vociferous. The last time they called, Father ordered the maid not to answer the door, but they wouldn’t go away. I heard them shouting outside, and then one of them threw a brick through our parlor window.” She spoke quite calmly, but the muscles in his arm tensed.
“Who are these three investors?”
“Hempshaw, Grimlock and Crowe. I would say Grimlock is the most disgruntled and likely the brick thrower. He has a reputation for being violent and taking matters into his own hands.”
Cheeves arrived with the tea trolley. The butler had strayed beyond his prescribed duties and included a large plate of scones alongside the usual bread and butter. Asher raised his eyebrows. He never ate cake at teatime. Had his dour servant noticed the pallor of Asher’s visitor and taken it upon himself to provide extra sustenance? The butler withdrew without providing an explanation, causing Asher to shake his head. Despite his wealth and status, he kept only a small retinue of servants, and Cheeves combined the duties of butler, footman and valet. The man was punctilious, but sometimes too presumptuous.
He watched Minerva pour out the tea. Without prompting, she placed a single sugar cube and a lemon slice in his cup before passing it to him. So she still remembered how he liked his tea. The notion didn’t sit comfortably with him.
She ate three scones and downed two cups of tea. When she had finished, her color had almost returned to normal, but her expression remained troubled.
“I feel almost guilty for eating when my father is languishing somewhere, bruised and battered and frightened.”
“Minerva, what exactly did you h
ope to achieve by coming here?”
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and squared her shoulders. “I was hoping you might have something that might pass for a millennium machine,” she said slowly, watching him warily. “I thought it might somehow fool the kidnapper enough to convince him to let my father go.”
“It’s a dangerous game you play.” He set aside his teacup. “The millennium machine is a complex piece of engineering. You can’t take any old brass box and throw in some magnets and coils and hope it will pass. The kidnapper will be suspicious of anything you give him. He’ll want solid proof it works. If he suspects you of trying to deceive him, there’s no knowing what he might do.” Judging by the contents of that snuffbox, this kidnapper was capable of the worst atrocities.
“I’m all too aware of that, which is why I haven’t attempted to make my own replica. I know I could trick up something, but it would never do. That’s why I’ve come to you for help. You know the workings of your machine better than anyone. I remember how hard you worked trying to solve its problems, how much effort you put in…”
She trailed off into silence. A spasm of pain twitched in his head, right between his eyebrows.
“I haven’t solved the problem,” he said more harshly than he had intended. “The dilemma of scaling up remains unsolved. What works at fractions of an inch doesn’t work at lengths of feet. At these proportions, the harnessing of the aethersphere becomes unstable, leading to heat exchange and loss of energy.”
“So you have been working on it?” She looked up, filled with hope.
Asher bit his tongue. Never would he admit to her how many hours he had slaved.
He shrugged. “I’ve dabbled in it on occasion, when I have some spare time, which is not often these days.”
“You’ve no wish to prove your theory correct?”
“The only theory I’ve proven is that men will do anything for money.”
Her face dimmed, and the corners of her mouth pulled down. “So my father stole more than just an invention from you. He stole your scientific fervor too.”
There was some truth to that, Asher thought. But no matter what Silas had taken from him, Minerva had stolen so much more. His parents had openly prayed that a suitable marriage would dampen his unnatural scientific proclivities, would bring him back into the fold, but he’d spurned all their matchmaking efforts. Had avoided all emotional entanglements, until he met Minerva. To her he’d offered his untried heart, convinced he’d found a woman who surpassed all his ideals, but he was disillusioned. She’d robbed him of his pride, his sense of manhood and even his secret dream of love everlasting, but he’d be damned if he let her see that.
He scowled at her. “Haven’t I demonstrated sufficient scientific fervor in saving the Irish potato crop?”
“True, but it doesn’t seem to be your driving passion. After all, you have time for hobbies, like Cerberus here.”
At the mention of his name, the dog lifted its head and swiveled it three hundred sixty degrees. Minerva gaped at it in astonishment.
“A small modification of mine,” Asher said. “An improvement on nature, you might say.”
The dog rotated its head again, and then again and again. It wouldn’t stop turning. The head spun faster and faster, accompanied by a whining noise that grew louder with each revolution. Puffs of smoke billowed out from the rivets around its neck.
“Cerberus?” Asher started to his feet.
The automaton let out a dismal squeak. Its red eyes dulled. Then with a sudden bang, its head popped off, leaving behind a mess of rubber tubing, and the rest of its body collapsed onto the floor.
Asher toed the pile of smoking metal bits. “Well. Perhaps not such an improvement after all.”
Minerva rose to her feet. “I won’t detain you any longer.” She began to pull on her gloves. “Thank you for seeing me.”
He spun around. “You’re leaving already?”
“I must, if I’m to make the night train back to Manchester.” Grimacing, she picked up the snuffbox gingerly and dropped it into her carpetbag.
“But what do you intend to do?”
For a moment despair and complete fatigue flitted across her face before she straightened her back. “I’ll return to my workshop and fashion my own millennium machine. I have a few parts that might do.”
“That’s utter madness—” he snapped, “—and you know it.”
“It’s my only choice, and you know it.”
“Don’t be a fool! This kidnapper is barbaric and vicious. Your life could be in danger.”
“My father’s life is most definitely in danger.” She glared back at him, her face flushed with emotion.
He fumed silently back at her, his nostrils flaring with each harsh breath. “Confound it, Minerva!” he finally exploded. “You know all too well I can’t allow you to go back to Manchester on your own.”
“Oh. I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”
“I can’t let you risk your life.”
Snapping shut her carpetbag, she held it against her chest like a shield. Her eyes sparked as she seethed, “Let me assure you, I did not come here expecting you to rescue me. I’m not some helpless female, and I certainly don’t need anyone to be my nursemaid. I came here only to ask if you could make a replica of your millennium machine. That is all. Since you cannot, that is the end of the matter.” She drew herself up, her tone growing haughty. “Good day to you, Mr. Quigley.”
She moved to brush past him. Instinct made him swifter. He clamped his hand around her arm. She stiffened at his touch, and beneath his fingers, he felt a curious tremor running through her arm, transmitting to his bones.
“I beg your pardon?” Her shoulders were rigid, but her voice had dropped to a quaver.
Her nearness ambushed his faculties. Her body felt supple and feminine against his, and her eyes were wide and uncertain. The scent of roses drifted over him, followed by a sharp desire to cover her mouth with his. The first time he’d kissed Minerva, he felt as though he were inhaling sunshine itself. Her soft lips had been sweet and innocent, and he’d wished the moment could last forever. Now those lips hovered nearby, as irresistible as ever, but this time he knew she was anything but sweet or innocent. Abruptly he released her.
“If you’d get off your high horse for one minute, I might be able to help you.”
“You—you have an idea?” She rubbed her arm where he’d held her, still looking troubled.
“I do, but I won’t go into the specifics. Suffice it to say you’ll have a millennium machine that will fool all but the keenest of observers.”
Her face brightened. “When?”
“I should have it done by tomorrow noon.”
“That is…most kind. More than I expected…or deserved.” Her voice fractured as emotion threatened to engulf her. “I can’t begin to tell you what this means to me.”
Asher shifted his feet. “You’ll stay the night here, of course,” he said gruffly. “Cheeves will prepare a room for you.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip, looking disconcerted.
They both knew how unconventional his proposition was. Unmarried, unaccompanied young women simply did not sleep overnight in the house of an unmarried, unaccompanied man. Even a gentleman’s mistress was visited in her boudoir and would never presume to frequent his home.
But Minerva was not a well-born lady or a conventional woman. And besides, he had already lain with her. It wasn’t as if she had a reputation to protect from him.
“The guest rooms are on a separate floor.” He didn’t know why he added that, as if he needed to underscore the fact he had no intention of visiting her room during the night. Which, of course, he didn’t.
She barely blushed. “Then I should be happy to accept.”
Her reply made his stomach
clench. Hadn’t she used the exact same words when he had proposed marriage to her? At first she’d put on a good show of shock and reluctance. After all, their stations in life were so different, and she knew as well as he the objections his family would raise. But she had accepted him. Had swayed into his arms, hesitant formality crumbling away, and returned his kisses with such surprising and delightful warmth. She’d seemed ecstatic. Ecstatic enough to let him undress her and make love to her on the chaise longue in her attic workshop. The memory of her creamy, naked body unfolding against the midnight-blue velvet flared through his brain. She’d been extraordinary, beyond his imagination, and he’d never been able to forget that night, no matter how hard he tried.
He spun away and yanked on the bellpull until Cheeves came running in.
Chapter Three
In the depths of the night, Minerva woke up. She tried to recall what had roused her. Her sleep had been fitful, as it had been for several nights, and the bedclothes were rumpled and creased from her uneasy tossing. But something other than a bad dream had woken her. Ignoring the frigid air, she slipped from the bedcovers and padded across to the window. At this hour, the garden at the back of Asher’s house was dark and shrouded in thick mist. She couldn’t see a thing, yet she sensed whatever had started her awake had come from outside.
Dull moonlight sifted through the haze. For a moment, the mist thinned, and she made out the rough outline of some sort of stable block at the far end of the garden. The large structure had a solid door and a row of south-facing windows along its roofline. As she watched, a faint glow lit up the windows before the entire building disappeared behind the rolling mist.