Clockwork Blue (The Lumière Chronicles)

by Gloria Harchar

  "You're still trying to be my mother."

  "I'm the only semblance of a mother you've had for fifteen years now." If his mother hadn't died in the carriage accident along with her own, how different would they be today? Had she in some way made him impulsive and reckless? From a very young age, she had involved him with the stockingers' families and their plight. Even now, he visited families who had suffered misfortunes, brought gifts and sent servants to see to their needs. He had developed such responsibility that when the Luddites evolved, he had been a natural to join them.

  "And when are you going to notice I'm full-grown? Besides, you're the one who needs a mother. You're older but not wiser. You're too trusting."

  If he was so wise, he never would have gone to Falconwood's workshop and smashed the loom. Then neither of them would be in this predicament. But to voice her thoughts now wouldn't help their situation. Instead she followed him upstairs, hoping to assuage his discontent. "I always assume the best in people unless they prove undeserving." Entering her cousin's bedchamber, she noted the chambermaid had recently replaced the bouquet of daffodils and roses on the bidet cabinet. The tent bed appeared freshly laundered with its jade and gold chintz hangings drawn.

  Ramsey strode to the wardrobe and retrieved a small satchel. "That's your problem. You only see good in people. Why, the man is not only a womanizer, he's a murderer." He froze with his hand in a drawer. "If he laid a hand—"

  "And I'm telling you, he was the perfect gentleman. When I asked him to show compassion and assign you to muck out stables instead of the gaol, he bowed to my wishes immediately."

  Ramsey groaned. "I should have known this was your idea. Give me a year locked away rather than scoop out horse droppings for a week."

  "Deportation, not gaol."

  But his nose wrinkled and his lips curved downward. He appeared so disgusted that Nicola patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. You won't have to clean them for long," she declared, thinking she would send word to Mr. Hamilton, Ramsey's former teacher, to get Ramsey out of the country.

  "That's for certain. I plan to escape." He moved to the whitewashed table and began collecting his shaving equipment.

  Alarm bells rang. "How? And to do what? You can't come back here. It will be the first place he'll look for you. And you certainly cannot just hide in the woods. Where would you sleep? What would you eat? How would you live?"

  Staring with yearning at his bed, he lifted his chin. "The forest leaves will be my mattress and my hunting skills are nothing to laugh at. It would be a grand adventure."

  She gave an undignified snort. "It would be folly."

  "Why do you say that?" He threw her a surly look.

  "Because Falcon won't relent in his search for you. I'm sending you far away."

  "Ah. You do sense danger in him. Admit it."

  "He's merely strict."

  Ramsey's eyes gleamed. "Malice and revenge suit him better." With force, he snapped shut his satchel and walked out of his chambers. "Where would you send me then, hmm? To get me out of the Earl's reach?" He continued down the hallway with the peach-and-blue-striped papered walls, and the octagon-designed carpet that had been woven on looms.

  Close to his heels, Nicola descended the stairs with him. "I'll post a missive to Mr. Hamilton. He always goes abroad with his students. You could go with him." Although the thought of not seeing Ramsey for a year caused her throat to thicken, she knew she had to convince him to go.

  He stopped on the bottom step, causing Nicola to bump into him. The collision didn't faze him; he took the last step down and turned. "Why, that would take me away from Nottingham for a year. I can't leave the Luddites for that long. They need me. I'll hide in one of the neighboring villages, but I'm not leaving England."

  "Be sensible, Ramsey. You must go, or risk deportation. Or worse... a hanging."

  "My death would be for a good cause."

  A shiver of fear tickled the backs of her arms. "Cease this ridiculous talk. I'm sending a missive to Mr. Hamilton, so just be patient and do what you're told. I will get you out from Falcon's imprisonment and hide you for a while in London with your former tutor, and then we'll decide what to do next."

  Although, no matter how much she loved him and was willing to sacrifice for his sake, she also realized she wasn't doing him any favors. For him to accept responsibility for his actions would be a good thing—but she couldn't allow the repercussions to be too harsh. Perhaps forcing him to leave England would be punishment enough. But for now she would compromise, then devise a plan to send him to Europe, even if she had to knock him silly to do so.

  He switched his satchel to his other hand. "All right, London it is. Hurry, then. The Falcon already wants to lengthen my stay."

  "Truly? Why?"

  "I told him what I thought of his reform plan."

  "Reform plan?"

  "He thinks mucking the stables will reform me."

  "What exactly did you say?"

  "He didn't like me calling him a baboon."

  "Cogs." She cringed at Ramsey's reckless words. "What did he say in return?"

  Hand on the doorknob leading to the treacherous outdoors that contained Falcon, Ramsey gave a dignified grunt. "Can't repeat it in front of a lady."

  Suddenly, the urge to keep her cousin from danger was almost overwhelming. "This whole nasty business will be over before you realize it, so don't be rash." Then, a bark of laughter over her admonishment almost escaped her. Imploring Ramsey to think before he acted was akin to asking a fish not to swim.

  He slipped out the doorway. As he walked the cobbled path, Nicola saw a giant with dark skin follow. Gaspar. The man who'd captured him the previous night; the Falcon's vulture.

  Thinking of the Earl reminded her of their assignation. As she closed the door behind her and followed the path toward the back of the cottage, she remembered that he would want a report on her success with her father. She sensed he was not a patient man. And he would know no boundaries when it came to securing his prey. But she refused to be any man's prey.

  She headed for the stables wondering how difficult it would be to train a Falcon to the hand.

  Chapter 6

  Falcon sat on his huge black stallion, appearing as relaxed as if he were lounging in her father's favorite Georgian-style chair, but his gaze was fixed intently on Nicola. That he could afford a mount like that in addition to a roustabout wasn't lost on her. Consciousness over the awkward-looking, rusty barrelabout pricked her. Shame over that prick of embarrassment washed through her. Ramsey was so proud of the invention. That was what was important.

  Scents from the nearby rose bushes washed over her, even as she resisted the urge to shift her feet while she stood by the barrelabout. She glanced across a grassy knoll in the park and concentrated on the boys who were playing with a toy-sized replica of the fashionable hot-air balloon. Returning her gaze to Falcon, she discovered his regard still on her.

  "Is your father softening toward me?" he asked.

  That he held all the cards caused her no small amount of agitation. She gave in to temptation and fidgeted, then forced herself to lean against the steam-powered vehicle. "I believe he is, my lord."

  Falcon moved his horse closer, and she found herself admiring his ease with the large beast, a stallion she sensed was as wild as his owner. She reminded herself Falcon was dangerous, capable of blackmail, extortion, enslaving decent young men to convict hulks, shipping them to desolate lands such as New South Wales and all sorts of other dastardly deeds. Yes, his ruthlessness might be the reason her heart raced, her mouth dried. His slate-colored gaze seemed more treacherous among the buttercups and bright sunlight than in a darkened workhouse.

  She coughed over the wad of cotton that seemed to fluff in her mouth. "Father is considering having you over to supper. That is a feat in itself."

  "Liar." Allegro's tiny voice near her ear startled Nicola so that she nearly lost her seat. How dare he upbraid her. She swatted at him. He dodged, his
rainbow wings appearing as light as wisps of vapor. Then he landed on a nearby daffodil, his elfin mouth curving up in a delighted smile.

  Falcon watched. "What is it? A bee?"

  She studied his intent expression and her heart did a strange backward somersault. "Did you see something?" Had he seen the pixie? If so, perhaps she wasn't the only one on this Earth the pixies could go to for help in their ridiculous missions.

  "No, nothing. But I would assume this profusion of flowers might attract insects."

  Disappointment tasted bitter on her tongue. But what had she expected? Nothing had ever come easily to her, and she didn't expect the situation to change now. For now she was tethered to the pixies—and to Falcon. "Or other strange creatures," she responded, giving Allegro a meaningful glare.

  Allegro's laugh reminded Nicola of a trilling flute.

  Giving her a sharp look, Falcon next scanned the area in which Glissando sprawled on a downy petal. "What are you staring at?"

  Again, she couldn't believe she would be so ridiculous as to think that Falcon could see the mythical creatures. A hard, cynical man like the Earl would never believe in anything so whimsical. "Nothing. I've discovered a pesky gnat in the vicinity."

  Allegro's attention wandered across the knoll and he stiffened. "Cogs!"

  She would have smiled at his adaptation to her exclamation if she hadn't been so angry at him. It was his and Glissando's fault that she was in this predicament.

  "What is that silly Glissando doing now?" To Nicola's relief, he flew off. She needed all of her energy focused on her clever adversary and didn't need a diversion. Turning, she discovered the Earl observed her.

  "Working on your father to invite me to dinner doesn't mean he will do business with me." Falcon's lips twitched in a superior smile. She longed to rub it away like chalk on her school slate.

  "On the contrary, I believe it does," she said.

  "Over dinner?"

  "Perhaps not at that precise moment, but soon. And you, my lord, are lucky I'm here and that I managed to slip away without an escort."

  "Yes, I suppose I am. Although I have the feeling you frequently forgo such proprieties." He studied her for a few heartbeats. Then his gaze changed subtly, became more … absorbing. He brushed a wayward curl off her cheek. "Let us debate your success with your father in more detail. Come."

  His abrupt command startled her. His tone had turned husky. She realized he was headed for the whitewashed bench overlooking the small lake. He urged his mount toward the secluded area, farther from the frolicking boys at the other end of the park, and she suddenly had the urge to explore dangerous waters as yet undiscovered. Would she, like the moth, be smothered by the flame? Warily she glanced back toward civilization and the world she knew, with plain Nicola and her work in the millinery and dye house, always overlooked by men and women alike. Why couldn't the Earl ignore her also?

  The lads and pixies had disappeared over the rise. Only she and the Earl existed on earth. With deep trepidation and a simmering anticipation, she drew away from leaning against the barrelabout and took a few steps toward him. Perhaps in the light of day, he would see her and decide the Clockwork Blue wasn't worth the sacrifice. In fact, she half-expected him to cry off the whole nasty blackmail scheme, but he stared at her mouth with an intensity that caused her to tingle. Did she have jam on her lips? In a self-conscious gesture, she licked at them but detected none of the strawberry preserves she'd eaten earlier. "There isn't much more I can say at this early date. So I will see you tomorrow."

  "Not so fast." His eyes darkened as he stared at her for another suspended moment before he dismounted. He wrapped his reins around a tree limb.

  "Don't tell me you are about to renounce our bargain," she said flippantly to ward off the buzz of tiny motors under her skin. Nervousness was what caused her to act so strangely. She felt as if she were juggling keeping Ramsey out of the galleys, her father out of the sickbed, and herself out of an unwanted marriage.

  He made his way toward her. "You will have your seven days. But I can use the time to my advantage."

  "What do you mean? Don't you have enough advantages?" she asked crossly.

  He trapped her hand with his and led her to a wrought-iron bench with wooden slats for the seat. "You can work on softening your father, while I will concentrate on softening you." His callused fingers lightly rasped against her bare wrist above the edge of her glove. He drew her near. With studied slowness, he peeled the glove away. Her skin prickled with the intimacy of the act. Then he turned her palm up and nestled his mouth within. The heat of his breath burned her. The outline of his lips caused tiny pixies to flutter against her ears and sizzle down her arm.

  Sly and devious, she mentally added to his attributes. She screwed the radiator cap against the flow of the delightful sensations and tugged against his grasp. When he let go, she smoothed the folds of her dress, hoping the action would calm the riotous sensations ripping through her.

  With a haughty lift of her chin to banish the flutters near her heart she announced, "We won't have to wed so the woo attempt isn't necessary."

  "If I'm to have the Clockwork Blue, it is."

  "Have more faith, milord."

  His knee rubbed her thigh as he turned to drape his arm along the back of the bench.

  Alarm shot down her spine. "Must you sit so near?"

  He gave her a knowing look. "What better manner in which to get acquainted?" He played with a strand of her hair.

  With an effort, she resisted the urge to squirm under his idle play. Instead, she concentrated on their discussion and what she wanted to say. "I can think of a much better way to get acquainted." For instance, what is your stance on Enlightenment, and in educating the masses? What do you enjoy reading? Have you read Candide, the novella by Voltaire?"

  "Please, no politics. And, although I enjoy reading, it is not a subject I would like to broach at this time. Let's move on to a more interesting, pertinent topic, and discuss the details of what happened this morning. Tell me, what did your father say about me?"

  Nettles scratched her scalp at his determination to control the conversation. With an inward sigh, she concentrated on answering. "That you were a cheating rake."

  He threw her a startled glance. "That bad, eh?"

  "Are you?"

  He stroked her neck, sending a riot of tingles along the backs of her arms. "Not a rake. I have never enticed a woman to my bed."

  Unexpected relief surged over her. But he had not answered her question of being a cheat. Evasiveness was yet another quality to add to his character. "You purposely mistake my meaning."

  He stared at her black bowler hat decorated with an old watch face, antique lace and thin gears of varying sizes. As she wondered what he was thinking, he suddenly plucked it off her head.

  "What are you doing?" Her hair must be flat to her head. And mussy. Heat flared against her cheeks. "Give that back."

  "Easy, princess. I just want to try something."

  Leaning over, he plucked a rose from the nearby bush and broke off the thorns. He held it against a lock of her hair, one that dangled nearly to her shoulder. The hank of hair had fallen from her coiffure. The nearness of his hand caused her to gulp. She followed his gaze. Her barley-color hair glowed against his tanned skin. She was conscious of how close his broad, masculine fingers hovered near her cheek. Agitation skittered through her. "You never answered. Are you a cheat?"

  He continued to stare. "What does it matter? Just like this flower, I will break the thorns from your prickly nature." He settled it behind her ear.

  "You had best not make the comparison. I'm more like a weed. The harder you chop at me, the more I'm apt to grow back in a place you won't want me."

  "Ah, but I know where your roots are—at my stables, shoveling horse droppings."

  She gritted her teeth. "So, you aren't going to tell me whether or not you stole from Mr. Hill?"

  He blew gently in her ear and, despite her resistan
ce, a delightful shudder tickled her senses. "What would you do if I said yes?"

  His lips were dangerously close to hers. Bay rum tinged with his musky scent surrounded her, causing her head to swirl with the pixies. "Why …I would... I would knock you unconscious and bind your hands and feet. Then I would hide you so that no one discovered you for several hours. That would give my family enough time to make a getaway."

  Falcon threw her a look reserved for an escapee from Bedlam. "You have fanciful thoughts."

  "Fanciful?" If only he knew. She stared off in the direction Allegro had flown.

  "Knocking me out? Saving your family from my evil grasp?" His sensual mouth curved upward. "Don't tell me you write novels. You own a very active imagination, although I do not think the heroine would be popular if she decked the hero."