The thing hovered just above Nicola's head, whirring softly. "What is that?"
Allegro buzzed toward Glissando and his contraption, waving his arms. "You just violated Article 5 of the Law of Futuristic."
Glissando shook his head. "Allegro, me boy, I had high hopes for you, but you're simply too rigid."
"I'm coming with you and will do what I can to alleviate the damage, because I know this little adventure will end in grief. But why the devil do you have to use that contraption?"
"It's my own design. It's not a helicopter, so don't worry about it."
Nicola's impatience overcame her curiosity. "Can we proceed? Remember the cutthroats and criminals?"
"Aye, quit stalling, lass. We've got important things to do," Glissando said, his chest puffed out.
Allegro fluttered near her nose. "Are you sure about this, Nicola?"
"Yes," she said. A shiver of dread snaked down her spine. The shadows were long. The wind whipped up, causing the sign over the door to creak on its hinges. From a distant street came a scream suddenly cut off, followed by bawdy laughter.
"We'll be sorry," Allegro said.
Nicola stiffened her spine. "I'm tired of your predictions of gloom and doom. Begone," she said with a flick of her wrist. Dismay flashed over Allegro's features, followed by the dimming of his yellow light.
Glissando's bright green aura bobbed in his miniature invention, which lurched and dipped down the street. "This way, lass," he called.
Allegro, fluttering along behind, and kept muttering predictions of disaster. Nicola reminded him, "If you don't like what we're doing, then leave."
"As I said before, I'm in charge of cleanup. Someone has to be." Allegro darted forward to peer around comers, obviously looking for potential danger.
"This way," Glissando called again, flying his machine into a dark alley.
In the watery light of the moon, Nicola saw the warehouse. The structure leaned at a dangerous angle and paint peeled from its rotting sides. Smells of decayed fish and rotten boards assaulted her. Glissando flew through a crack, the darkness inside so heavy it swallowed him up, and the green speck of his light lent a sinister atmosphere.
"I don't like this," Allegro muttered.
Glissando suddenly reappeared. His aero-chariot had disappeared. "You probably want to get help, right Allegro?'
Allegro gave a relieved smile, and for once the pixies seemed to be communicating on the same level. "Yes."
"What help?" Nicola asked.
As quickly as blowing out a candle, Allegro vanished. The suddenness of his disappearance rattled her, along with the fact that a strange fog came rolling in almost out of nowhere.
"Come on," Glissando said.
Nicola ventured closer to the old wood door of the warehouse, listening for scuffling shoes or other noises. Nothing sounded but the creak of moorings and the occasional seagull.
She opened the door with a creak. Glissando had flown to the end of a large area filled with crates. As she approached, Nicola realized his green glow filled the room, making it easier for her to see.
The warehouse was full of crates. Glissando said, "Ah, the finest silk I have ever encountered."
She saw him slip through a slat and wallow in folds of the soft fabric. "I've got to get this open so I can take a swath to young Mr. Busby."
Casting around for something to pry the crate open, Nicola found an iron bar. Fitting the end between two slats, she bore down on the tool. The nails squealed in protest, and then the lid popped off. Glissando had disappeared. Keeping a tight grasp on the iron so she could retrieve more samples if need be, she grabbed up a swath of exotic cloth and looked for the pixie's green light. She saw it on the far side of the warehouse.
"Over here, lass, you'll find a scent made in heaven." Weaving her way toward his pulsating brightness, she called, "You discovered the musk?"
"Two hundred boxes," Glissando sang out. Glancing off to the side, he stiffened. "Run, lass!"
Before she could obey, three shadows materialized from behind the crates. One gripped a long, wicked knife at his side, sending her heart into her throat.
"What have we here?" the man in the middle asked. Thomas Hill. Oh, dear heavens, she had come to catch a thief and the thief had caught her. Her epitaph would read: SHE WAS TOO HEADSTRONG AND THE TENDENCY CAUSED HER TO SACRIFICE HER LIFE.
Perhaps they wouldn't kill her, she thought as her heart pounded in her chest. After all, they were thieves, not murderers. Then her gaze focused on Hill. He was a thief with a tremendous amount to lose—his sterling reputation, his position as head of the Textile Guild, his fortune, his family, his freedom. A man with that much at stake might well find murder an easy remedy.
Drawing a deep breath, she opted for bluster. "Mr. Hill, I have caught you at the scene of your crime."
He stepped into the light of the moon shining from a dusty window above. "Ah, Lady Nicola. So nice of you to visit, if rather dangerous." Hill's thugs surrounded her. "To whom were you speaking?"
She considered telling him of the pixies but decided it wouldn't do her any good. "No one. I like to talk to myself."
He motioned to the crate where Glissando had been sitting. "Look anyway," he told his tall, gaunt-looking cronies.
Glissando was gone. She was on her own. "Mr. Hill, your days are numbered. I do believe that stealing is a crime subject to deportation."
Hill's lips curled in a cruel smile. "Ah, too bad you will not be around to tell your tale."
He closed in on her, and she gripped the iron crowbar in her hand and wondered what Malcolm would say when he discovered her new hobby was brawling. She only hoped she lived to find out.
Suddenly, impossibly, Malcolm materialized from the shadowed comer of the warehouse. His attention centered on their enemies. "Stay where you are," he growled in deadly warning.
Hill froze. Slowly, he turned and saw the gleam of a pistol that Malcolm held pointed at him.
"I'm so glad to see you!" Nicola cried. She ran to him.
Malcolm pushed her behind him in a protective manner, but she immediately shifted to his side.
"No need for a weapon, eh, Falcon?"
"As long as you relinquish the pistol you like to keep in your waistcoat. Two fingers, please."
Grimacing, Hill did as he bade, dangling the weapon between his thumb and forefinger before handing it over.
Pocketing the gun, Malcolm motioned to his waist. "And the knife."
Scowling, Hill unsheathed a six-inch blade and passed it over, handle first. "Aren't you going to put that thing away?"
Malcolm looked at his gun, tilting his head as if considering. "It was just polished and hasn't been brandished for a fortnight or so. I think I'll just play with it awhile. Also, if I'm not mistaken, it sounded as if you were threatening my wife." Dangerous anger tightened his jaw.
Hill ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair. "No, Falcon, it was bluster to put her off. Didn't want her ruining a good business deal. No harm done. Escort her away, and we'll forget the whole episode, eh, my good man?"
"Good man? You know I'm not good—as a matter of fact, perhaps I should add a little more to my black reputation. Perhaps challenge you to a duel."
Hill shuffled his feet, clearly uneasy. "Ah, there's no need for that, Falcon." Sweat gleamed on his forehead.
Nicola said, "No, Malcolm, he isn't worth shooting."
"Ah, there you have it. My wife doesn't want violence, and I don't wish to upset her."
Rubbing his hands on the front of his waistcoat, Hill harrumphed. "I'll just claim you stole Busby's cargo—you won't have to lift a finger or exert yourself in any manner. That should help your reputation." A nervous laugh emitted from him.
"No, I don't believe I'll take you up on your offer. You see, things have changed now that I have a wife. You made a mistake—a very bad mistake when you threatened her."
The steel in his tone surprised Nicola. The thief must have heard the threat, too, because he was s
uddenly looking at the ground. "No harm done. Is that not correct, Lady Nicola?"
His question infuriated her. "You are attempting to steal, ruining young Mr. Busby, and your actions are punishable by death, sirrah. My husband doesn't like it, and neither do I." She knew she was pushing, forcing Malcolm to act honorably. Would he take offense?
Hill glanced nervously around. "Falcon? What is happening here? You have never cared about anyone but yourself."
He shifted the pistol to his other hand. "Now there is my dear wife, and I do care about her."
Could he mean what he said, or was he merely playing a game with his old adversary? She could never tell when he meant what he said. Perhaps he felt affection for her, and it took drastic circumstances to reveal those feelings.
She said to Hill, "Yes, and the fact that you malign my husband's honor disturbs me."
Malcolm shrugged. "There you have it."
She threw him an appreciative glance, her heart full of love. What an imposing figure he was—the fierce warrior, her stalwart! If she hadn't glanced down at the pistol, she would have forgotten Malcolm even held the weapon, so at ease was he.
Lips thinning, Hill stared. "Are you going to allow her to lead you about by the nose?"
Malcolm scratched his chin with his pistol's muzzle. "Yes, I believe I am."
Hill glanced once more into the shadows.
Nicola suddenly remembered Hill's cohorts. "Uh, Malcolm, Mr. Hill is not alone."
"Don't fret, my sweet. I believe Gaspar is taking care of them."
An abrupt yelp was followed by crashing crates.
Hill had retrieved a handkerchief from his waistcoat and was mopping his forehead. "See here, we called ourselves even years ago. Let us consider all this water under the bridge and go home."
"What do you have in this warehouse, Hill?"
"My business doesn't concern you."
"Nicola says it does."
"He has stolen Busby's silks and musk, Malcolm."
"Yes. I believe we talked about this." He gave her a look, and then motioned toward the door. "After you, Hill." With creases marring his high forehead, the thief led the way outside. "This will be your last theft upon English soil, at least for a while," Malcolm said.
"What do you mean?"
Just then, Gaspar came out holding the two thugs by the backs of their collars, like pups by their scruffs.
Sweat glistened on Hill's balding head. "There's no need to treat my servants this way."
"When they try to jump me, there is," Gaspar replied. "Falcon?"
Worrying his hands, Hill looked at Malcolm. "Your keys, if you please. Really, Hill, you must take care to padlock your goods better."
"Why do you want my keys?"
"I cannot allow you to steal from your young partner." "I thought you were jesting. Falcon, it isn't like you to put yourself to so much effort on the behalf of someone you don't even know."
"Yes, I'm acting totally out of character. Blame it on my newlywed state."
"Do not listen to Malcolm, Mr. Hill," Nicola said, her heart in her throat. "Sooner or later, he would have risen to the occasion. Goodness is in his blood."
"Unfortunately for me, it has been sooner rather than later," Hill said. The comers of his lips twisted downward. Reaching in his pocket, he casually withdrew a key ring. "What are you going to do after you return the goods?"
"Let's just say I'm casting you out to sea for a while. Gaspar will escort you to one of my ships."
Hill's mouth opened and closed several times. "You can't do this! I'm the president of the Textile Guild."
"I'll have my steward write a letter of resignation for you." A slight inclination of his head was obviously a signal because Gaspar shifted his grip to hold the two other men by the backs of their coats in one beefy hand. He grasped Hill's arm in the other.
"This is an outrage!" Hill tried to jerk away with no result. "I have connections."
Malcolm handed the keys to Nicola, his right hand still sporting the pistol. "Will you do the honors, my dear?"
"Of course," Nicola replied, thrilled to be included.
Not only was Malcolm going to return the stolen goods, he was going to make certain justice was served. Her throat clogged with such fierce emotion that she could hardly breathe. Feeling as if she held the key to his heart, she fit the metal into the lock, twisting until she heard the bolt slide securely into place.
Malcolm pocketed his weapon, clearly dismissing any threat from Hill. "Perhaps you will find a chance to write to your connections. But I don't think they will want to correspond once they learn of your perfidy."
Gaspar pulled on Hill's arm, but the man still resisted, throwing a desperate look at Malcolm. "Nobody will believe you. I've made certain of that."
"You didn't account for Nicola," Malcolm said gently. "Don't you realize yet that she's far more formidable than me?"
At the sight of Hill's wide-eyed incredulity, Nicola stepped forward. "No, you didn't take me into consideration at all. I discovered the old ship logs from your thievery years ago, sirrah. And I have the elder Mr. Busby on my side. He's the first of many." She smiled at Gaspar. "Thank you for cleaning the streets tonight."
"At your service," the giant rumbled.
With wild eyes, Hill struggled against Gaspar's grip. "You won't get away with this, Falcon!"
Dragging Hill away, Gaspar took the thieves to the docks.
Nicola watched until they were out of sight. Even then, Thomas Hill could still be heard. Overjoyed, she swirled toward Malcolm. "Well done, my lord."
"Let us retire from this rat-infested street, Nicola," he said, his tone weary.
"What? Oh yes, I'm ready now."
He took her by the arm in a manner quite similar to Gaspar's handling of Hill, and led her down the street. His carriage had been hidden around the comer. "Home, Lawrence," he told the coachman before handing her up. Then he asked, "How did you discover the warehouse?"
"Glissando led me to it." Nicola was still tingling from the night's events and the heroism Malcolm had displayed. "I'm quite pleased that you came to your senses about Mr. Hill."
"And if I hadn't? Where would you be now?"
"I don't even have to contemplate that. By the bye, how did Allegro communicate with you?"
"I am not falling into your delusions, Nicola. I know very well it was you who spilled talcum powder on your dresser and wrote the address with your finger."
Undeterred, she smiled. "I knew Allegro could do it." Content and more than happy with the results of the night, she peered at Malcolm through the shadows of the dark carriage. The illumination from a gaslight revealed Malcolm's glittering eyes. Her words of praise froze on her lips.
He looked furious.
"Whatever possessed you to wander around the docks at this time of night?" he asked.
"I started out trying to break into Mr. Hill's offices, but Glissando told me he knew where the goods were hidden."
"Cease this nonsense about pixies."
"It's not nonsense. It's the truth."
"I'm not going to talk to you about your hallucinations right now. I want to discuss your behavior. Do you understand you were in grave danger?"
"I knew it. I also knew you would come to save me, that Allegro would get you here," she replied—although it wasn't completely the truth.
"What if I hadn't seen your message?"
"Why dwell on what-ifs? Everything turned out marvelously." She felt Malcolm's stare, so she asked, "Are you really angry with me?"
He didn't answer, instead began releasing the fastening to her Malcolm cottage mantle.
"What are you doing?"
"Appraising your heat."
"My what?"
Not bothering to answer, he laid his hand against her chest. The fire of his touch above her breasts ignited her. She should feel vulnerable but she didn't. The heat was so intense that she wasn't certain the source was her or him. Or perhaps their combined energy generated the
heat.
"You are ripe."
"What?"
"You have asked about the task of making babes, and the midwife said you would be ready when we reached London." His eyes held promise. "Madam, I'm prepared to oblige."
Chapter 21
Anger and fear drove Malcolm to possess Nicola. She had been in incredible danger. The need to examine every inch of her to ensure she was all right propelled him to become lost in her warmth.
Clockwork Blue (The Lumière Chronicles) Page 26