The Pirate, the Bride and the Jewel of the Skies
Page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
The Pirate, the Bride and the Jewel of the Skies
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
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The Pirate, the Bride and the Jewel of the Skies
An Erotic Gem Story
By Abigail Barnette
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
http://www.resplendencepublishing.com
The Pirate, the Bride and the Jewel of the Skies
Copyright © 2013 Abigail Barnette
Edited by Christine Allen Riley
Cover art by Les Byerley
Published by Resplendence Publishing, LLC
2665 N Atlantic Avenue, #349
Daytona Beach, FL 32118
Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-624-0
Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Electronic Release: January 2013
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
For Miss Stella Price, airship pirate extraordinaire and full time mood booster.
Chapter One
She was, Valentine decided, breathtaking. All graceful lines and bountiful curves, she practically begged him to get inside her, to bend her to his will and show her things no other man would dare. There was only one problem with her, and that was the woman in white sitting forlornly at the end of the gangway.
Jewel of The Skies, the most sensual, visually striking airship ever built, floated at her landing, open and ready for the plundering. Christopher Valentine, the most sensual, striking pirate to ever make a lady swoon (though he admitted to making that title up for himself), had planned his “inheritance” of the ship down to the last detail. All day, he’d watched the four-man crew load her up then he’d followed those four men down from the air docks to the tavern, where he’d loaded them up on free rum. As their speech had slurred, so had their wits, and they’d gladly answered all of his very keen inquiries as to who captained their ship and exactly how many canisters she was carrying for her two-burner system.
He’d also learned that the Jewel was meant to transport its owner, Cecil Butler-Llewellyn, away on honeymoon with his new bride. They were scheduled for a departure at four on the dot, but it was two o’clock and what appeared to be a bride already waited beside the ship. That complicated things mightily.
The cold January wind tugged at the long tails of his burgundy coat. High above London, the weather was always windy, heated only by the occasional burst from a gas spout raising a craft into the soot-choked air, or a bit of sun, if the air patrol’s cloud buster ships were running on schedule.
The bride looked up, her white dress more gray from the flakes of ash that fell like snow over her. Her brown ringlets, pushed back from her face like the mane of a very posh lion, had gone gray with a dusting of ash, as well. She looked like a French lady in a painting, powdered wig and all, and she shivered in her dress that looked more fitting for an opera than a dirigible trip. She peered up through her emerald glass goggles at Valentine’s slow approach, berry-red lips parted in sudden anticipation. It took her only a moment to see that he was not the man she’d hoped for, and when she did, it was apparent by the way she seemed to curl in on herself, disappearing further into the ridiculous nest of taffeta that was her dress.
If there was one thing Valentine had learned about women, it was that he was terribly good at charming them with what was his considerable lack of charm. He adjusted the fit of his goggles and tipped his hat to her. “Forget your coat, love?”
“Did Cecil send you?” She scoffed, the haughty illusion broken by the trembling hitch in her next breath. “He needn’t have bothered. I won’t be cast off so neatly. I will speak to him, face to face, and he can explain it all then.”
“He’s…very sorry.” Valentine could only assume the man was sorry; he wasn’t entirely certain what they spoke of, but it never boded well when one was being spoken of tearfully by a woman in a soot-covered wedding gown.
“Sorry? He has humiliated and ruined me!” The bride buried her face in her gloved hands, the elegant ivory satin coming away dirtied with black streaks. “Oh, what would you care? You’re probably on his side.”
“I take no side, I assure you.” A flicker of inspiration came to him, and he hefted his heavy pack from one shoulder to the other, the tools of his nefarious trade clanking inside. “I’m only here to service the dirigible. To make sure it’s in top shape for the wedding trip.”
“There isn’t going to be a wedding trip, you fool!” she snapped, her hands clenching to fists in her voluminous gown. “Do I appear dressed to travel? Do you think these are tears of happiness? He’s jilted me. I don’t care a sparrow’s teat for this stupid barge. In fact, I’d rather like to go on board right now and smash anything that’s smashable!”
“You’re furious, that’s understandable.” He kept calm, to mask the terror he felt when he imagined what a woman scorned might be capable of doing to the fine polished surfaces and delicate chinoiserie embellishments inside the ship. “But I do have a vested interest in making sure the vessel runs smoothly. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I went ahead and took a look?”
She made a noise of pure disgust and dragged her long skirt out of his way. It did seem a bit cheap to leave her sitting there, tears streaming down her dirty face, doomed to freeze to death as a result of her own stubbornness. But he was so close to his prize, the famed, pristine Jewel. He could fly her to the colonies with the load of gas on board. He could fly her to the islands! Just the thought of the hot sun and glittering waves warmed him. He might never return to London. Wouldn’t need to; with a ship like this, he’d be content to die in her.
The bride was none of his concern. He whistled as he strolled up the gangway, not bothering to look down. The soot and smoke from the older, coal-fired dirigibles obscured any hope of seeing the river below. Jewel of The Skies was state-of-the-art, as gas leverage ships went, but Valentine was reasonably sure his tools would adapt. The door opened by way of a huge wheel, brass spokes radiating out from the center and topped with padded leather grips. He spun it once, caught another handhold, and gave it another hard spin. The rubber seal around the door hissed as it released, then swung outward, and Valentine stepped aboard the most luxurious airship he’d ever laid eyes upon.
The entrance was narrow, the floor grippy, to prevent a gentleman or lady from slipping as they exited. A simple tumble at the height of the gangway could be catastrophic. But beyond the plain foyer, sumptuous carpets and burnished wood awaited his tread. The walls of the narrow hall leading to the pilot’s chambers were richly upholstered in a masculine shade of green silk. The pilot’s chambers themselves were up a delicately wrought spiral stair. Valentine had the damndest time hauling his tools up the narrow steps, but once he followed them through the round hatch, he was terribly glad he’d made the effort.
The pilot of the Jewel was very well provided for, indeed. The whole of the cabin was surrounded in glass, allowing ample scope of vision from the helm. The pilot’s bunk was made up with thin-as-paper linens and a thick down duvet. He jumped o
nto it, backward, relishing the guilty pleasure of a stolen moment in the middle of what would be, unquestionably, his most difficult triumph.
When that moment was over, he set about emptying his bag of tools, setting them on the floor according to function and relative placement in the ship. Flying the Jewel was, after all, a five man job, and he couldn’t possibly be everywhere at once. That’s where his machines came in. The Perpetual Stoker would toil in the boiler room, scooping and flinging carefully measured coal into the furnace that heated the vapors inside the ship’s enormous gas bladder. That machine, he was particularly proud of, as it worked on a system of weight and counterweight to achieve perpetual motion, as the title suggested. The Course Steadier, when cranked down tight, would allow him to leave the helm without the wheel tilting and sending them off their charted navigation. There were long-handled lever adapters, which would operate the finicky double-ignition fail safe switches. He also employed a few small clockwork drones on simple tasks like securing the solar shields once they rose above the cloud cover. They were all his own design, and worked flawlessly in a laboratory setting. He hoped they would work as well on the ship.
He’d just set about affixing the Course Steadier’s stand beside the helm when loud footsteps clanged up the staircase. A cloud of filthy, frothy white preceded the figure that pulled herself, grunting, through the hole in the floor. She grabbed the railing above the hatch and hauled herself up with much difficulty. There was a tearing of fabric and she tumbled into the cockpit, sprawled in a pile of taffeta.
“Excuse me,” she gasped, blinking up at him, her eyes surrounded by the clean, phantom shape of the goggles pushed high on her head, “But are you about to steal Cecil’s ship?”
Chapter Two
“S-steal?” The pirate stepped guiltily away from the contraption he’d just bolted to the floor. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to be on this ship.” Lady Catherine Stelling knew a pirate when she saw one. She’d been utterly fascinated with them, ever since she was a little girl. She’d seen all the telltale markings in the man who’d climbed aboard the Jewel: The coat that was at least a season out of fashion, yet far too fine for any common dockside maintenance worker, as he’d claimed to be. The heavy pack slung over his back, certain to be full of a pirate’s tools of the trade.
Oh, and this particular pirate’s face stood out from nearly a thousand bills posted all over the riverfront. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the name, unless he’d been christened with such an unfortunate moniker as “Wanted For Piracy”. But she was reasonably certain she would have picked him out as a pirate, even if she hadn’t recognized him from a poster proclaiming him one.
“You,” she continued, struggling to her feet, hampered by yards of fabric, “are not supposed to be on this ship.”
“I beg your pardon.” He pressed a hand to his chest as though he were affronted. “I was sent here by Mr. Cecil Butler-Llewlyn, who assured me that this dirigible needed tending. As you can see, I’ve already fixed this…” he gestured at the device anchored to the floor beside the big wheel with all the handles sticking off it.
She chewed her lip. Pirates, she knew absolutely scads about. Airships, she hadn’t a clue. “Well, what does it do?”
“Ah.” he cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “This helps maintain a steady course, should the, ah, Captain be called away from the helm. If it isn’t in proper working order—”
“Wouldn’t the first mate steer, then?” She balled up her massive train and carried it at her side to get closer to the device. “If the Captain is called away?”
“Oh, but there may be times that the first mate is called away, as well,” he protested, and when she reached out to touch the copper clamp at the end of the swinging arm, he waved her hand away. “This is a very sensitive instrument, please respect it as such.”
“It looks like a vise on the end of a shaving mirror stand.” She arched a brow. This man was no more a repairer of dirigibles than she was. “You are a pirate.”
When he began to protest again, she cut him off. “You know, I am content to let you steal Cecil’s ship. After all, a man as cowardly and cruel as Cecil Butler-Llewelyn deserves to have something taken from him, as he’s taken all my happiness from me.”
Her chest ached, but she would cry no more tears for Cecil. Not when he was hardly shattered by his callous rejection. He’d had his brother pop in at the church to break the bad news, while he had hidden at his club like a vole hiding from a terrier. When Sinjun had appeared, all ham-faced and blustered, he’d merely said, “By the by, Cecil has decided he isn’t the marrying type. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but be a good sport, won’t you?”
Really, some men were no better than animals.
“While I appreciate your obliging nature, I can steal the ship much easier if you are not on it.” The pirate paused. “If I were going to steal the ship, that is. Which I am not.”
“Oh, that’s a pity.” She batted her eyes and pouted her lips. While it had never worked on Cecil, she hoped this pirate wasn’t as cold and unfeeling as her former fiancé. “I was so hoping for a honeymoon.”
Perhaps he would take a double meaning from her words. After all, he wasn’t the sort of pirate from the woeful dark ages before airships and automatons and gaslights in every home. Far from it, he appeared decidedly modern and clean, despite the soot that covered both of them. His black hair, adorably floppy and unfashionable, swept back from his high forehead carelessly, and he cut a lithe, dashing figure in his close-tailored clothes.
He was just the type of pirate she’d like to be ravished by.
“I fear you mistake my purpose here,” he said, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the hatch. “If, entirely hypothetically, I planned to steal this ship, I would not be taking it on a pleasure cruise. Pirating is dangerous work. If I were caught—that is, if I were not meant to be here in the first place, as I am—I would hang for the crime of stealing this vessel.”
“Perhaps you wouldn’t, if someone, a vengeful fiancée, for example, were to steal it with you.” She dug her heels against the sleek metal floor, for all the good it did her. Really, it seemed he would be fine with tossing her down the ladder hole without a second thought. “Especially if she would vouch for you.”
That stopped his insistent pressure toward the exit. “Would she?”
She met his uncertain gaze head on. “Oh, my dear Mr. Pirate. I most certainly would.”
A breath passed before he answered, while she looked up at him hopefully, every foolish romantic dream she’d ever had of sailing the skies with a handsome pirate captain playing feverishly in her mind. Even the ones in which she’d disguised herself as a cabin boy and stole away, only to discover that the enchanting captain held a particular fondness for cabin boys and—
“Fine. It never hurts to carry an assurance policy, I suppose.” Not the most romantic invitation to piracy, to be sure, but he had said yes, and that was all that mattered. “Just…stay out of the way. Unless I have need of you. And so help me, if we are boarded by air patrol and you claim to have been kidnapped or coerced—”
“I won’t! I promise!” She clapped her hands. Going pirating was so much more exciting than getting married. It almost made up for the shameful way Cecil had ground her reputation in the dust. Not that her reputation would be repairable once she’d stolen away with a pirate. “I’ll be the most helpful non-hostage you’ve ever encountered.”
“Then please, helpfully, leave me to my work.” He lifted a gizmo that looked like a soft-shelled crab with wrenches for claws and one massive glass eye, then looked up at her. “Although, if you want to be helpful, take this little fellow and seal the passenger hatch. When it is secured, wind him up and wedge his hands against the low part of the seal.”
She took the heavy, greasy thing and wrapped it in her skirt. “And after that?”
“After that, stay quiet
ly tucked away in some other part of the ship.”
He’d already turned back to his pirating, so she did as she was told, wrestling the crab-machine down the narrow spiral stairs with her.
“Passenger hatch” must have been aeronautical terminology, because she would have simply called it a door. She went to the entrance and carefully examined the levers beside the open door. Outside, past the gangway, sailors and dock workers milled, perfectly oblivious to the two pirates in their midst. It filled her with exhilaration and no small amount of fear. What if one of them turned, ever so slightly, and noticed her standing there, clearly stealing an airship? Her heart thundered so that she was certain all of London would hear it, and she slammed the door and flipped the porthole closed. She turned the crank that operated the gears, sealing the door closed with a groan and a hiss. Then, just as he’d instructed, she wound the little crab machine and set him beside the door seal.
With a whir of gears and the sproing of an internal spring, the little metal crab gripped the door seal and began a slow crawl around the perimeter, laying a path of something sticky and unpleasant looking. She declined to think of what possible purpose that could have.
When she’d finished that task, she went to the foot of the spiral stairs to the captain’s chamber. “I’ve placed that crab thingamajig beside the door as instructed! Have you need of any further assistance?”
“No!” he called back sternly. Then there was a clank and a curse and a muttered, “Crab thingamajig?”
Perhaps she could have picked a less moody pirate, but he would have to do.
Catching sight of her smudged face in the scrollwork mirror bolted to the wall, she was taken quite aback. No wonder he hadn’t tried to ravish her upon first glance. She looked horrible, gray with soot and beet red from smudged rouge. Oh, that would not do at all.