* * *
Derbyshire
Riding this speeder was nothing like running in his polecat form. Bumpy and noisy, the night landscape sped by, one smell just tickling Daeryn’s nostrils before it got whisked into the next.
Wind roared in his ears, but Rivley didn’t seem to mind it or the sharp turns. As they navigated down the hill from Gapton, he plied the brake only enough to keep them from flying off the rails. After a few nervous minutes, Daeryn relaxed. Rivley rode the curves as though gliding on air currents. Derby and Annmar were again within reach.
Rivley slowed through a town. Rowsley, the sign said. They’d have to note the signs to know when they reached Derby. With it past dusk, the streets were mostly deserted, and some of the tightness eased from Daeryn’s muscles. The fewer people they met, the less chance of their differences being noticed.
On the other side, the rails stretched ahead. Now they’d make time. But Rivley let the machine slow, stopped it and rose.
“What are you doing? Let’s get go—” Daeryn snapped his mouth closed on the order. Damn, he had a long way to go before asking and listening to his peers would be natural. “I appreciate you wrangling this ride for us, but what’s wrong?”
Rivley stretched his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. “Before we go on, I have to know: Why aren’t you an emotional wreck about leaving the Basin?” He leaned back and crossed his arms, smiling through a yawn.
Great Creator. Daeryn wiped a hand over his face. They had left the Basin. “I…I didn’t give it a second thought. My head’s been filled with worry for Annmar, when I haven’t been kicking myself for not recognizing such a stupidly basic meaning of our lesson. And there was the matter of getting you through the Gateway.”
“That so?” he deadpanned.
If it hadn’t been so sobering, Daeryn would have punched him. “Yes.”
Rivley blew out a breath. “So, you all right? No repeat thoughts like after what happened to Sylvan?”
Wanting to die himself, Rivley meant. Daeryn looked away. “That close call up at Forestridge hit me hard, including you stepping in front of Jac. But I wasn’t helpless. We each tried. We acted to protect the others, and”—he shrugged—“this time it worked. I must be over it, because I’m only grateful and worried more about Annmar. Can we go?”
Rivley yawned again. “I’m falling asleep. Might miss a cow on the track. You have to drive.” Daeryn scooted forward, and Rivley climbed on behind.
Daeryn released the hand brake, and as the speed increased, he called over the softly clicking engine, “I appreciate you insisting on coming with me.”
“One of us deserves a second chance with a female.”
Ouch. Riv sounded done with Mary Clare. Unlike the other times. Each of those splits had lasted…what? Two days…three? Daeryn hadn’t paid too much attention. On a straight section of track, he leaned around. “Do you like Mary Clare?”
Rivley’s eyes blinked open. “You know I do. Did.”
“I mean, as a potential mate?”
Rivley looked away. “What does it matter? I can’t have her.”
Daeryn faced into the wind again. He’d never asked Riv which females he liked and which he might…love.
He turned back to Rivley. “I’ve been an outright louse about her,” he said. “I’m sorry. I-I’ve been wrong the last few years. Mary Clare is the right girl for you.” Rivley scowled, and Daeryn’s instincts said this still wasn’t right. “I’ll make an effort—I mean, I will get to know her.”
“Mary Clare is with Leander now.” Rivley pulled his cap brim lower. “She and I haven’t stuck yet, so we’re not going to. If it’s not Leander, it’ll be another bloke. Forget Mary Clare.”
No, he wasn’t going to forget her. He’d make this up to Riv in some way. Later. After he freed Annmar from that kidnapping bastard’s—
“Ah, hell. Just thought of the ropens.”
“What?” Rivley shifted behind him. “Paet is locked up.”
“Not Maxillon. He could still be working for Shearing, and I’m sure he’d like revenge for us grounding his son.” Daeryn tightened his grip on the control lever. “What if Annmar runs into him?”
“Unlikely, since he’d draw more attention Outside than we will. I think our bigger worry is if we turn up, and Annmar has enacted some punishment on Shearing, he might accuse us as accomplices. After Mr. Yates’ warning about not attracting notice, that wouldn’t be good.”
* * *
Derby
Carrying Annmar’s valise, the bellman ushered her past the stairway to a small gated room. Not wanting to appear a fool, she continued walking to—oh. She stepped in and turned back to face the doorway, barely able to keep a silly grin from her face as he pulled the expanding metal across the opening. He threw a lever, and she rode her first steam-driven lift to the top floor of The Grand.
With perfect decorum, the bellman opened the door to room six hundred and handed her the key before ushering in the floor maid, who curtsied without making eye contact. She lit the lamps and a small fire Annmar didn’t need and closed the draperies, though it wasn’t quite dark. Then the girl, about Annmar’s age, left as fast as she could.
She clearly knew what kind of evening Annmar should expect in Mr. Shearing’s private suite.
“Will there be anything else?” the bellman asked.
“Yes, place settings for two, for…” What did she need exactly? “Dessert. And a paring knife, please.”
His brow quirked at that, but his face quickly returned to an emotionless expression. “Would you care for wine?”
Oh, Lord, no. “Tea, please.” Annmar handed him a tip.
“Very well, Ms. Peach,” the bellman said, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Annmar secured the room key in her reticule, and hearing its jingle with the coins for her return tickets stiffened her spine. She would do this.
After tucking her belongings away, she crossed the room and pulled back a panel of rose-colored damask to reveal a fine view of the city, one she’d never seen from a high vantage point. The sun was edging to the western horizon, but already pools of yellow lit the streets, making it look a wonder. Annmar tore her gaze from the strolling lamplighter below. She couldn’t see the train station from here, so darted into the bedchamber and pressed to its window. Were the Harvesters there—yes! One machine was parked in the yard. She traced the road out to Manning’s farm and found the other en route.
She sighed. If not tomorrow morning, then when? The stationmaster claimed he had bookings several days out. She might need that room at Polly’s yet. She turned, and her spirits fell further.
The bed filled the room, with massive carved headboard and footboard enclosing a thick down mattress. How had she overlooked it? After a moment of queasiness passed, Annmar walked slowly to it, her feet cushioned on the floral hooked rug, her full skirt not quite touching the cream embroidered linens.
As Mary Clare had instructed, she pictured herself on the bed, with Mr. Shearing—George. She had to call him by his given name. It might help, in fact, to set her at ease. It would definitely please Mr.—him, if she made him believe she was a willing virgin.
Annmar drew a breath, smoothed her hand over the ruffled pillow covers and began again, picturing herself on the bed with George.
She would fool him.
chapter THIRTY-THREE
Annmar jumped at the knock on the door, despite having expected it since the sun set a quarter hour ago. Really, she had thought Mr. Shearing would arrive promptly. It probably never occurred to him this would be his only night. She scanned the dining table the maid had set before the fire and reassured herself her Basin food was ready. She dropped a last look at her chest, once again exposed in the low-cut bodice, and then she turned to the door to greet Mr. Shearing.
He smiled and properly extended his hand. “Good evening. Lovely to see you as always, Miss Masterson.” His smile became broader. “I mean, Ann.”
“Thank you,
George.” She gave him a winning smile in return and pulled her hand from his grasp. “We still have business to conduct.”
“Of course.” He extracted the fold of fifty-pound notes from his waistcoat and offered them to her.
She held back her sigh of relief and counted them.
He nodded his approval. “You are already a fine businesswoman. Accurate?”
“To the paper. Thank you.” She stepped to the valise she’d left beside the table and hid the money within her clothes. As she straightened, a click sounded.
He’d turned the lock on the door. Her stomach did the same as he sauntered to her side.
You can do this, Annmar. “I hope my naïveté in these matters doesn’t put you off.”
He smiled, the calm and gentle poise of his features a far cry from the man who had tried to drag her away only days ago. “You’ve turned to me to correct the matter.” His appraising gaze rested on her bosom. “I’ll make sure you aren’t disappointed.”
No, she would see to it he was the one who was disappointed.
He closed the distance between them and, without reaching for her, bent his head to hers. Annmar steeled herself for another rude onslaught, but it didn’t come. Instead, his mouth brushed hers, almost as if this were a test to see if she would turn away.
She stayed still, then when he pressed his lips to hers once more, she moved hers enough, but not too much. He tasted of cigar, disgusting. The thought that this was entirely unlike kissing Daeryn made his touch easier to dismiss. She focused on opening her Knack, testing it, like she and Mary Clare had planned. If she could start a tickle at his ear, a little proof the fibers were present, then she wouldn’t have to worry about convincing him to eat.
The blue haze clarified into the usual threads and moved under her direction. A few threads appeared in his body—precious few. The two sets combined…for a moment. Then, like they had with his men, the threads disappeared into him.
He didn’t raise a hand to scratch his ear. Nor did he raise his head. The pressure of his mouth increased. Any longer and she wouldn’t be able to keep her lips closed. When his hand touched her shoulder, Annmar pulled away, her breath catching.
Mr. Shearing smiled down at her, not twitching a single muscle. It hadn’t worked.
“Uh…” Annmar lowered her gaze and cleared her throat.
He stroked her arm, the barest of touches, like he’d done many times on the factory floor. “It’s all right, my dear. Take your time. You’ll be fine with me.” He stepped away. “What’s this? You changed your mind about dinner and had a light fare sent up?”
Dash it all. She’d looked and sounded just like the inexperienced girl she was.
And he loved it.
Oh, Lord, she’d have to work all the harder to fend him off.
She circled the table, waving for him to join her. “I thought you might like to taste the jam I’m working on.” Despite Mary Clare’s insistence, she couldn’t lie and say she’d made it.
“Oh?” He stepped forward and angled out her chair before she could reach it.
My, how used to Basin ways she’d become, not waiting for the gentleman to seat her. Annmar gathered her skirt and sat, then froze as Mr. Shearing placed his hands on her shoulders.
What should she do? The answer came unbidden. She smiled up at him. “I’m so looking forward to hearing about the plans you mentioned this afternoon.” It was something she would have said to him in passing on his factory floor, to gain favor for Rennet’s Renditions.
He beamed at her and took his seat.
Annmar sighed to herself. Of course he’d be willing to talk about his ideas. She put out her hand for his plate, nodding as Mr. Shearing described the shop and its prime location. She liberally spooned Patrice’s preserves on a piece of bread for him and passed it back.
He took the dish with one hand and caught her hand in the other. He squeezed it. “Have I said you look stunning?”
“Uh, no, you hadn’t.” She pulled her hand free. “Thank you.”
“You’ll set a new standard for Bond Lane businesses. The other shopkeepers will scramble to keep up with your beauty.”
Did he want a business partner, a mistress or an ornament? Why did she care when simply being here had compromised her dignity? Stifling a frown, Annmar prepared a slice of bread for herself and began eating, motioning for him to do the same.
He took a bite, but resumed telling her of the machines he had in production, the months of work he could happily provide. Happily, he stressed. “Winning the New Works Competition has brought more business than ever to Shearing Enterprises.”
Heavens, she’d forgotten all about the Derbyshire competition. He’d won, naturally.
“And, of course, as you’ve learned, I have a second operation up and running in Blighted Basin. A local manager does what he can, but certain matters flow best under my special attention.” He smiled. She lifted her brows in question, not needing to feign interest in his special attention. His smile broadened. “Your talents would help both businesses immensely.”
“Pfft.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I only draw what you’ve created. You’re so successful.”
He nodded. “My machinery is known throughout Derbyshire, so these days it doesn’t take much effort to persuade purchasers, or even mechanics, to my side. But in Blighted Basin”—his cheerfulness slipped for a second—“it’s not simply vying for market share. Those stubborn people aren’t as open to trying new things, so I must work all the harder, sometimes repeatedly, to win them over with my enticements.”
She’d been right. His Knack was persuasion, but she needed more. “How would my drawings help you?”
“By presenting the right image. I can describe the possibilities for their farms, but most haven’t been Outside to actually see them, or my successes. If they had an image to fix on, an image I could also describe, then my efforts would have a point to anchor to.”
“So you’d like me to draw lush farmlands and crops?”
He smiled again. “Exactly.”
“Why not your machinery?”
“For those people, the machines aren’t important. Land is important. Food is important. Their satisfaction comes from both. I don’t understand why, but my Knack works the best when it’s the two together.”
Because the fungus threads connected the three—land, plants and people. He didn’t know, and she didn’t dare tell him. But she didn’t quite understand what he did. “My drawings would be what then, part of a big campaign to reach all of Blighted Basin?”
He snorted. “Unfortunately, that’s useless. Despite the fact that they all live within the same valley, my Knack only works with the human Knack-bearers. And even then, person-to-person works best. You would travel with me, drawing each landscape for the individual farmer. I picture it this way: We meet with the farmer, walk his fields. I stop to describe how Shining Farm Implements could ease his burden, increase his harvest. You would draw that particular view, the specific crops and possibly the machine working it. You would imbue the drawing with your talent to make it seem alive, specifically the end product, the food or the land. Then I do my bit.”
“Your bit?” she asked with a smile. “Don’t be modest now.”
A smug smile settled on his lips. He reached a hand across the table.
Oh, no. If she didn’t put her hand out, he’d think she didn’t trust him. And to learn the rest, she had to see what he did. Heart pounding in her ears, Annmar opened her Knack and nearly gaped. A single thread of light flickered at each of his fingertips.
Where were those fibers a few minutes ago? With a hard swallow, she slid her fingers over his palm, watching in fascination.
“All it takes is a touch,” he said. “A look in the eyes and a straightforward message. This planter will save you time. The reaper will harvest your wheat before any goes bad.” He shrugged. “Nothing special.”
None of his threads had moved. She didn’t feel anything. She glanc
ed up at his face—
“Your role would be simple,” he said as their gazes met. “And for it, I would make you a partner in my Basin business.”
—and in that second, she felt the crawling sensation on her skin. Her gaze fell back to her hand. Threads swarmed over it, surrounding the places where his fingertips lay against her. “I-I don’t know what to say.” Think, Annmar. Thinking was hard, but she knew her mind, she was sure of it. She wanted no part of this. She looked at their hands again. Wait, the threads were coming from her—her threads were holding off his.
She chanced staring a moment longer. Though her blue threads surrounded each of his fingertips, only three had threads.
Either he wasn’t trying or…he doesn’t have many threads.
But those he did have seemed powerful, if it took so many of hers to ward them off. She better play along to remain clear of his influence. She squeezed his hand and smiled. “Allow me to consider your offer.” She extracted her hand, and as she did, the threads slipped back into his fingertips. Hers raced a moment more, then disappeared into her skin. Her head cleared. She had her confirmation. It might take some sorting out, but now she could turn the conversation. “Why did you leave if you have this talent?”
“For broader opportunity, as should any ambitious resident. That land is the most fertile of any in England, but the few farmers who know what they are doing will never make progress while overrun by ’cambire wildlife.”
Mr. Shearing’s comment struck her like a slap. He made the ’cambires sound like…animals. Even if Mary Clare had outlined only a few of the discordant attitudes among different Basin species, Annmar could tell just from Mr. Shearing’s tone where he stood. Any slip of her opinion risked angering him. She lifted her bread, indicating he should eat.
He lifted his as well and touched it to hers as if making a toast. With his gaze locked on hers, he bit into it.
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