Agamemnon Frost and the House of Death

by Kim Knox

  Agamemnon Frost and the House of Death

  By Kim Knox

  Book one of Agamemnon Frost

  Liverpool, 1891

  Decorated artilleryman Edgar Mason was forced to find new work when the British Empire replaced its foot soldiers with monstrous machines. Now he waits on the Liverpool elite as a personal servant. He has just one rule: he won’t work for fashion-addled dandies.

  Agamemnon Frost, however, is far from the foppish man-about-town he appears to be. He’s working to protect the Earth from an alien invasion being planned by a face-changing creature known as Pandarus. And on the night he plans to confront the aliens, he enlists Mason to assist him.

  For a man to love a man is a serious crime in Victorian England. But when Mason meets Frost, his heart thunders and his blood catches fire. And when Pandarus drags the two men into the torture cellars beneath his house of death to brainwash them, Mason’s new passion may be all that stands between him and insanity.

  The trilogy continues with Agamemnon Frost and the Hollow Ships.

  26,000 words

  Dear Reader,

  I feel as though every month I start my letter the same, gushing over our month of releases and telling you how amazing and fantastic they are. This month, I’m going to change things up and start by telling you that they’re all quite awful. Okay, not really. Poor authors, I wonder how many of them reading this just had a mini heart attack? Of course you should be excited about this lineup of releases, because it’s another wonderful and diverse month.

  In the new-and-unique category, this month we have our first ever decide-your-own-erotic-adventure. Christine d’Abo’s Choose Your Shot is an interactive erotic adventure that not only lets the reader choose who the heroine ends up with, but what kinky fun the characters get up to along the way.

  We’re thrilled to welcome Karina Cooper to Carina Press. She’s moving her steampunk series, The St. Croix Chronicles, to Carina Press—starting with a prequel novella, The Mysterious Case of Mr. Strangeway, in which a young Cherry St. Croix takes on her first bounty, only to find her efforts challenged by a collector whose motives run deeper than a hefty purse. Look for book three in The St. Croix Chronicles, Corroded, releasing in September 2013.

  We have a strong lineup of contemporary romances this month. Fiona Lowe returns with her next Wedding Fever book, Picture Perfect Wedding. Tamara Morgan brings us The Derby Girl, in which a roller-derby girl lives up to her “bad girl” image to woo an unattainable plastic surgeon, only to discover that he’s the one man trained to see past the surface. In the humorous contemporary romance category, Stacy Gail’s Ugly Ducklings Finish First will be a hit with fans of high-school reunion romances, and with those who like their romance on the more lighthearted side.

  I’m also thrilled to welcome three debut authors to Carina Press this month, all with contemporary romances. In Kelsey Browning’s Personal Assets, book one of the Texas Nights series, a recovering good girl needs the right man to help her find her inner bad girl—which is easier said than done in a small Texas town. Next, when the bank refuses Emma the loan she needs to save her family home, she must turn to her neighbor Mitch McKenna, a sexy real-estate investor whose reputation she’s spent the past six months pulverizing into sand, in Unexpectedly You by Lily Santana. And last, but certainly not least, Knowing the Score by Kat Latham features a smokin’ hot rugby player with a scandalous past who gives up his vow of celibacy to help a virgin overcome her fear of intimacy. Three debut authors offer up three terrific contemporary romance novels—make sure to give them each a try!

  This month we also have three fantastic male/male romances. Kim Knox kicks off a fun-filled science-fiction historical trilogy. As described by the author, Agamemnon Frost and the House of Death is Sherlock Holmes meets The Scarlet Pimpernel. With aliens. Check out further Agamemnon Frost stories in September and October 2013.

  John Tristan j oins Carina Press with his male/male fantasy romance, The Adorned. A beautiful young man indentures himself to a tattooist and becomes a living canvas for the artist and his inhuman patrons. And for those who like their male/male romance in the contemporary genre, Libby Drew’s Bending the Iron is sure to hit the mark as she builds a brand for emotional, wonderful male/male romance.

  Following book one of her Magick Trilogy, Magick by Moonrise, Laura Navarre takes us back into her historical paranormal world. When the Angel of Death falls in love with life, will a secret Tudor princess pay the ultimate price? Tudor England and the celestial realm collide in Midsummer Magick.

  Last, Love Letters Volume 4: Travel to Temptation continues the collection of A to Z erotic short-story romances penned by Ginny Glass, Christina Thacher, Emily Cale and Maggie Wells. Volumes 1 through 3 are now available. Look for volumes 5 and 6, Exposed and Cowboy’s Command, on sale in September and October 2013.

  As always, we have a significant backlist of books that I hope you’ll browse and take a look at, in genres from horror to mystery to fantasy to female/female and across the ranges of romance. There’s an adventure waiting for every reader!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  To the Ladies of Writechat.net, who offered encouragement through the flailing...

  Acknowledgments

  To the staff at the University of Liverpool Special Collections and Archive and also the staff at Liverpool Central Library, who didn’t complain when I took over their photocopier with giant Ordinance Survey maps.

  To my editor, Deb Nemeth, who simply rocks!

  Contents

  Chapter 1. Mr. Frost Comes to Dinner

  Chapter 2. Revelation–and More–at Dinner

  Chapter 3. Night Escape through the Streets

  Chapter 4. The Chamber

  Chapter 5. The Transfiguration of Edgar Mason

  Chapter 6. Frost and His Preparations

  Chapter 7. Miss Theodora Cadwallader

  Chapter 8. The Battle for Holt Hall

  Chapter 9. The Aftermath

  About the Author

  Copyright

  1. Mr. Frost Comes to Dinner

  Liverpool, 1891

  “Mr. Agamemnon Frost is a trifle...eccentric.”

  Mason said nothing. It wasn’t his place to comment on the strangeness of Sir Randolph’s guests. The Cadwallader family had secured his services from the registry that morning, as Mr. Frost had declared himself without a personal servant for the evening dinner party.

  Mason was glad of the work. With a glut of former soldiers swelling the books of the servant registry, pickings were thin. The field of battle had changed. Men were no longer needed. Not in the way they once were. Monstrous machines were the foot soldiers of the British Empire now.

  The butler, Williams, strode along the lamp-lit passage, setting a quick pace. “You will see to his every need, acting as his valet. You will also attend him at table tonight.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “I believe Mr. Frost to be a most fastidious gentleman. Very particular in his ways. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? A very fashionable
man.”

  Mason held back a wince. A dandy. A man no doubt obsessed with the perfect waistcoat and the absolute shine of his shoes. Mason had specified early on at the registry that he was never to be hired out to an over-perfumed fashion plate. Now he didn’t have that luxury. There were too many men who would eagerly take his place, even for so brief a situation.

  He resisted the urge to pull at his collar. Just one night. He’d been hired to wait at the Twelfth Night dinner. Nothing more. He’d be gone in the morning and would ask the registry for a more stable situation. Something out of the city. Anywhere. Any part of the empire. He had to stop being particular.

  Williams was talking again. “Also Mr. Frost is very important to the master of the house. I believe—” his voice dropped, though there was no one on the landing to overhear them, “—that there is an...understanding between Mr. Frost and Miss Theodora.”

  Mason stopped himself from frowning. From the other servants with their hints of hushed gossip, he thought that Frost had never set foot in Holt Hall. He was intrigued, despite himself. “It’s of long standing?”

  “Lady Cadwallader was married before. Theodora’s father, Mr. Isaiah Holt, owner of this house originally, had a long association with the Frost family. Their engagement was something talked of...and now the master, it appears, wishes to cement that tie.” A thin smile touched his mouth. “But enough gossip.”

  Williams stopped at a bedroom door and rapped on the wood once. A muffled “Enter” followed and the butler did so. He swung the door wide and nodded to the high-backed chair set before the hearth. The new fire spat sparks and trails of smoke, the scent of wood and coal mixing with the distinctive aroma of a Toscano cigar. “Sir Randolph believes that Mason here is the perfect fit for you.”

  “Indeed?”

  A well-manicured hand waved, a layer of grey smoke drifting over the chair. Leather creaked as Agamemnon Frost rose. The flickering light from the lamp on the mantle lit a tall, athletic man, clean-shaven, with dark hair and eyes. Mason kept his face impassive. Over-perfumed fashion plate was a kindness.

  Frost was immaculate in his grey travelling suit, the fine material uncreased, the leather of his matte-brown boots buffed to perfection. Williams had said he’d hired an aeolipile and driven up from down south, possibly London, that afternoon. Only its speed and power could battle the freezing temperatures. And that unholy machine whipped up every kind of road dirt...but Frost was clean and stain free.

  “Mason, are you?” Frost’s dark gaze flicked over him, narrowing briefly on his shoulders. He frowned and turned his attention to Williams. He waved his hand, smoke snaking through the air. “Standard livery? Surely, if he must be liveried, Sir Randolph can do better.”

  Mason’s teeth pressed together. Poor Theodora. He kept his hands loose and his spine straight. One night. Just one.

  Williams opened his mouth, but Frost made an impatient sound and flicked his fingers at the butler. “It’s only for this evening, but Sir Randolph should know, any man who attends me has to reflect my...sartorial perfection.”

  Mason pulled in a steadying breath, tasting the rich aroma of Frost’s cigar smoke. This was no way for a decorated soldier to earn his pay. Come the morning, he’d work hard to find a military man, someone pensioned out from the African campaigns. An officer. A man who didn’t set his teeth on edge.

  “Of course, sir.” Williams gave Frost a short nod. “I will pass on the message to Sir Randolph.”

  “Thank you. Most kind.” His fingers flicked again. “You may leave.”

  The butler nodded once more and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. The catch clunked in the silence. Frost drew on his cigar and pushed a hand into his trouser pocket. He lounged against the chair back. “Are Sir Randolph’s guests all arrived?”

  The tone of his voice had changed and the hairs on the back of Mason’s neck pricked. Something was...off about Agamemnon Frost. There’d been a shift in his expression, his face—so like a carved statue, one with every perfection—had edged from vacuous to a definite sharpness. And something else. The “something else” put an unexpected twist in Mason’s gut. Was there more to the man than overplayed manners?

  Frost’s smile was sharp, as if he were aware of the effect he could have on a man. “The guests, Mason?”

  Mason flushed, too aware that he hadn’t answered. Embarrassment crawled up his back. He was a decorated soldier. Had been one for a good portion of his life. Hardened. Battle-formed. He remembered that and straightened his spine. “Yes, sir. You, I believe, are the last. I understand that all of Sir Randolph’s guests have been here since Christmas Eve.”

  “You were not?” Frost closed the distance between them, the flow of his body elegant and cool. But there was a hint of strength, of power in his frame.

  Who was this man? For the first time, Mason regretted that he didn’t read the scandal-sheets, often full of the riotous life of the upper classes. “The registry sent me this morning, sir.”

  “Extra staff for the party.”

  “And for yourself, sir.”

  “Interesting livery.” Frost traced his hand down the front of Mason’s coat, catching his thumb under the braided lapel, circling the brass buttons stamped with Sir Randolph’s newly minted family crest. His scent caught Mason. Not the cloying floral stench he’d been expecting, but sandalwood and vanilla, hints of the East that tugged at his memory.

  Mason’s pulse kicked up. Was this what Williams had meant by being at Frost’s disposal? Even though the man was here to talk about a possible engagement. Some upper class men had appetites a wife couldn’t satisfy.

  Frost was his height and their eyes were level. He’d thought his eyes dark, but they were a golden brown. Shining. The hot promise in them pushed Mason’s mind back to when he’d last taken someone to bed. It’d been months. The touch of any hand but his own was a fading memory. A widow who ran his lodging house in Edge Hill, clean and discreet, had served him well, but she’d taken an offer from her sister for a better life in New York.

  Mary. The thought of her sweet body hit him with unexpected fierceness. Her wide bed, the cut flowers on the windowsill, the taste of her skin—always clean and scented with rosewater—and how he’d sink deep into her willing flesh and fuck her hard.

  His chest lifted and Frost’s eyes glittered. Mason was aware of the man’s hand pressed to him, the heat of it somehow burning through the starched layer of his shirtfront to his skin.

  “So you’re here for me?”

  The mask of a dandy had fallen away. And it was a mask, Mason was sure of it. He stopped himself from wetting his lips. The last man he’d had was an officer on the boat back from India three years before. Captain James Garrett. A survivor of Maiwand like himself. Mason had wanted to believe it was trade—Garrett had offered a reference to the registry—but the heat of the man’s sun-browned skin, his hardened body as he shoved Mason up against the wall of the cabin and buried his dick in him, had been all about need. Want. Desire.

  “As Williams said, sir, I’m a perfect fit.”

  Frost’s eyes darkened. For a long second, the man’s hot gaze on his mouth tightened Mason’s gut. “I do believe you could be.” Frost stepped back, drew on his cigar and released a perfect ring of smoke. A brief smile ticked his lips upwards. “But I have to dress for dinner.”

  Mason gave a curt nod and fought to ignore his aching dick. How had a look from the man pulled out memories? Made him offer himself to a complete stranger? He never embraced that danger. One night. That was all he was hired for. And whether Frost would make good on his interest was something about which he didn’t plan to speculate.

  “You served in Afghanistan?”

  Mason pushed down his surprise. A lot of men had been pensioned out of the army with the invention of the aeolipile gun carriages. Rolling Death, as they were known. Th
e new terror weapon of the British Empire. That Maiwand had been in his mind only minutes before was a coincidence. “Afghanistan and India, sir.” He tugged at the front of his coat, unnecessarily straightening it. “E-B, Royal Horse Artillery.”

  “A displaced gunner.” Frost stubbed out his cigar in a convenient ashtray. More smoke thickened the air. “Smoke in the curtains. Lady Cadwallader will curse my bones.” A wry smile twisted his perfect mouth. “Or at least she’ll try.”

  Mason spied Frost’s wardrobe trunk set open and upright at the foot of his canopied bed. Evening and day suits draped over wooden hangers, beside them white silk shirts. A shaving jacket. A dressing-gown. Everything immaculate and more than enough for a single night’s stay. “Should I lay out your clothes, sir?”

  “Yes.” Frost’s gaze slid down his body to rest on Mason’s hands. Mason refused to feel the heat of the man’s look, the sly promise that seemed to lurk in him now. “How are you at shaving?”

  Mason lifted his hand and stretched his fingers. There was no movement. “I have a perfectly steady hand.”

  “Good.” Frost slipped through the buttons on his jacket and Mason moved to ease it back from his shoulders. “You left the Royal Horse when?”

  Mason looked up from working one of the wooden hangers into the coat. “1887, sir. I gave them ten years.”

  “And have been on the books of Mr. Walpole of Bold Street since your return.”

  Mason frowned, his hand paused as he brushed down the heavy grey cotton. That hadn’t been a question. How could he know...?

  Frost pushed a cufflink free. He dropped it into a little ebony dish on the dressing table. “Mr. Walpole is not unknown to me.” The second cufflink clinked against the first. “And he does provide a superior class of manservant. Sir Randolph’s only choice.”

  It made sense. It was logical. Yet...the point between his shoulder blades itched. And his instincts had never failed him. He had to tell himself Frost simply had a very quick mind. But again, the belief he had that Frost was something more pricked at him. The idea was fanciful. Agamemnon Frost was obviously a man who liked to play games.