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Table of Contents
Cover
Synopsis
Title Page
Copyright Page
Other Books by Lise MacTague
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Bella Books
Synopsis
At the height of Britain’s Industrial Revolution, steam power and magic join forces to create wonders the world has never seen. But those wonders have a dark side—one that will soon force a reckoning few could have anticipated.
Half-demon Briar is content with her structured life as an archivist, a far cry from the chaos of her background and upbringing. Briar’s simple and predictable existence is rocked when she discovers something sinister powers one of the grand, new inventions of her era.
Isabella Castel, the only daughter of Viscount Sherard, is far from the brainless socialite she pretends to be. Isabella is everything Briar is not: passionate, creative and impulsive, but with secrets to rival even Briar’s own. Two more unlikely partners should not exist, yet if the women cannot find a way to work together, they will lose far more than their reputations.
Can a half-demon and a debutante work past their secrets before all hell breaks loose?
Copyright © 2018 by Lise MacTague
Bella Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 10543
Tallahassee, FL 32302
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
First Bella Books Edition 2018
eBook released 2018
Editor: Medora MacDougall
Cover Designer: Sandy Knowles
ISBN: 978-1-59493-567-1
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Other Bella Books by Lise MacTague
Five Moons Rising
On Deceptions Edge Trilogy
Depths of Blue
Heights of Green
Vortex of Crimson
Acknowledgments
Thanks as ever to my army of alpha and beta readers: Lynn, Christina, Nita, Amy, Eden, Brooklyn, Fern, Shari, and of course Penny. You are amazing, and I couldn’t do this without your critical eye and encouraging words. Every book I’ve written is better for your contributions, and this one is no different.
Many thanks to my amazing editor, Medora MacDougall, for helping me make this book all it can be and more. We’ve polished this one until it gleams, and I’m hoping there will be many more. Thanks to the entire crew at Bella for giving lesbians their own voice in publishing, and for including mine in that multitude. Our stories deserve to be told and I’m glad I get to be a part of that.
Thank you to Sandy Knowles for being willing to work with me on the cover. It’s fantastic, but I know it took us a few tries to get there! Thank you for your patience and your creativity.
Finally, to my readers: I can’t thank you enough for continuing to stand by my work, even when I keep jumping from one genre to another. Knowing that you’ll be reading and (hopefully) enjoying my stories keeps me writing them.
About the Author
Lise writes speculative lesbian fiction of all flavors. She is the author of the science fiction trilogy On Deception’s Edge, the paranormal adventure Five Moons Rising, and this steam punk novel. She grew up in Canada, but left Winnipeg for warmer climes. She flitted around the US before settling in North Carolina where the winters suit her quite well, thank you very much. Lise crams writing in around her wife and kids, work, and building video game props in the garage, with the occasional D&D break. Find some free short stories and more about what she’s up to at lisemactague.com.
Dedication
For Lynn. I can’t put in words how glad I am that you came into my life. Every day is brighter because you’re in it, and every night I sleep sounder by your side. I am honored beyond measure that you agreed to be my wife. I love you, sweetness, and I can’t wait to see what the rest of our life has in store for us.
Chapter One
“Here it is, Miss Riley. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in all your life?” Charles Yorke, Eighth Earl of Hardwicke, gestured expansively at the horseless carriage that gleamed under the coach house’s electric lights.
From her vantage point by the door, Briar had to agree: it was certainly impressive. She cast her eyes over its curving lines. As with the other horseless carriages currently on the market, it differed very little in design from a conventional carriage. The driver’s seat was forward and up from the passenger compartment, which was larger than that in the earl’s other horseless carriage. The motor housing seemed much smaller than that of his older model, and there was no seat at the back for the fireman who had been needed to keep the boiler stoked on it. That was some progress. The lone horse still in residence in the coach house looked lazily over its shoulder, then blew out a long breath as if in disapproval before bending its head back to its evening basket of oats.
“It’s certainly shiny.”
“More than that,” Hardwicke said. “It improves upon many of the deficiencies of previous models. The engine isn’t steam fed, for example. Instead of stoking it with coal, the boiler takes a cylinder.” He nodded. “So much cleaner than coal, and it lasts much longer as well.”
Briar had no particular desire to know so
much about the mechanics of this nor any other horseless carriage, but her employer was excited. It behooved her to at least pretend to be interested. She stepped into the coach house and stopped in her tracks.
The carriage crouched in the gloomy corner, drinking in the bright lights from above and seeping shadows across the floor. It looked as though it stared at her and awaited her approach. Its intentions were not good, and she knew it.
You’re mad, Briar said to herself. The smile with which she favored the earl was brittle. She tried to cover her unease by settling the edges of her skirts just so. It’s a horseless, the earl’s newest toy. It certainly doesn’t want to hurt you. How could it? It’s a carriage! When she put it in such terms, her trepidation sounded foolish. Taking strength in the absurdity of the situation, she took a couple of steps closer to the carriage. It won’t hurt you. It’s an inanimate object. The mantra helped, and eventually she stood next to one of the tall wheels at the back. She reached a hand out to touch it, simply to prove to herself that she could. With some consternation, she realized her hand was trembling. Whatever was amiss, it seemed to be getting worse.
“Are you well, Miss Riley?” The earl’s voice was solicitous, though somewhat anxious. He had plans for Briar that evening, hence her evening gown and reticule. Those plans required an entrance. He was eager to show off his latest technological acquisition to the others of his set, but since he couldn’t stomach yet another ball, she was going in his place.
“I am merely overcome by this…handsome contraption.” She wouldn’t say “damnable,” not in his company.
The earl was willing to accept her explanation and didn’t press her further on it. One simply didn’t press a lady. Fortunately, his gentlemanly sensibilities were too deeply ingrained to dig more deeply into her discomfort. By the same token, Briar was loath to reject his offer of the new carriage as conveyance to the ball. It was exceedingly generous, and her fear was irrational and uncalled for. She knew it. However that knowledge did not diminish it in any way.
The chauffeur stood next to the carriage’s open door. Resplendent in the earl’s household colors of black and green, he held his hand out toward her. One eyebrow crooked up a fraction of an inch, the only expression of concern he would allow himself.
Briar gave him a slow nod. A smile would not come, not this close to the hated contraption. It wanted her. The feeling crawled up her spine until she felt the hairs on the back of her neck lift and her scalp prickled with the need to be watchful. She breathed as deeply as she could with the corset binding her ribs.
Another step toward the horseless sent dread rolling through her. She concentrated on Johnson, on his black eyes and high cheekbones, on the dark skin that contrasted so pleasingly with the white shirt cuffs sticking out of the sleeves of his jacket. He was an exceedingly handsome man. It was too bad there was such a taboo on relations with those of a lower social status. She wouldn’t dream of going against those strictures, but it wouldn’t have mattered had she been among her mother’s people. There wasn’t a taboo that side of the family wouldn’t gleefully break. That she was even contemplating the way Johnson’s shoulders filled out his coat while her brain screamed at her to run told her how much her mother’s daughter she was.
But she was also her father’s daughter. That side believed in rationality and decorum, and it would be damned if it didn’t get into that carriage and go to that ball.
She took another breath then accepted Johnson’s hand, grateful just this once for some help into the carriage. She twitched her skirts into the passenger compartment before something underneath could hook them and drag her… Where? Where is it going to drag you, Briar? Her inner voice was scornful. And frightened.
She settled on the seat, fussing with her skirts as she tried to focus on the evening’s plans. Her body knew she was in for a world of pain and was only willing to be overridden by logic for so long. Briar’s heartbeat vibrated behind her sternum, forcing her breath out in short gasps. There could be no doubt that the wrongness she’d sensed when she entered the coach house was centered on the horseless. She sat, poised on the edge of action against a power she could neither see nor hear. It didn’t exist, and yet she felt as though she stood scant inches from a roaring bonfire, one she had to traverse to get to her destination. Briar closed her eyes, and tried to center herself. She opened eyes screwed shut against the terrors she had no doubt awaited her. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen terrible things, she reminded herself.
With a start, she realized they were underway. The carriage’s wheels rattled over London’s cobbled streets. It made for quite the racket. Country roads with their hard-packed dirt were much quieter, though their sudden ruts threatened to throw one from the seat if the driver was not careful. For the most part, she preferred cobbles. This night, however, the noise along with her more metaphysical discomforts promised for an interminable ride.
The earl simply had to have the newest gadgets. Most of the time, it was a harmless amusement. Briar enjoyed seeing Hardwicke reduced to a little boy over his latest toy, but not when it put her in such an uncomfortable position. His delight made for an odd dichotomy when she considered his other interests. That was, after all, the reason she was stuck in the carriage on her way to an event that promised to be stultifying in its boredom. The earl collected old manuscripts, but only those of a most specific sort. Through the papers of magicians, users of infernal energy, he believed he could track the ebb and flow of human magic-users. He was active in the House of Lords, but that was merely a front, a convenient excuse. Most of his fellow politicians would have been shocked to discover that Charles Yorke, the Eighth Earl of Hardwicke, chaired the Committee on Demoniac Interference (Super Secret).
He hadn’t told her in the beginning, of course. One did not simply announce one’s membership in a secretive group within the upper echelons of Her Majesty’s government. Briar prided herself in being able to winkle out connections, whether it be between people and their possessions, people and other people, or between different objects. She was good at it, or the earl wouldn’t have hired her. For months, Briar had known all of it, except the official name of his organization. He hadn’t been surprised to find out she’d already sussed out the truth when he told her, though he’d been impressed by her discretion.
She released a pent-up sigh of irritation. All of it meant she had no other option than to suffer through the ride to yet another social gathering. There was nothing to do except prepare herself for the tiresome debutante ball to which she was headed while trying to ignore the constant dread gnawing at her bones.
The Baron Selborne was elderly and had a reputation as a gentleman scholar. The earl was practically salivating at the idea of getting his hands on Selborne’s papers and library. Fortunately for the earl, the baron had a granddaughter who was in her first season. Unfortunately for Briar, that meant she had to make an appearance at the ball and charm her way into an offer to see his library.
The carriage door opened and Briar blinked in surprise at the chauffeur.
“Are we here already, Johnson?” It seemed impossible; she hadn’t felt the carriage come to a stop.
“Yes, miss.” He smiled at her, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other and flashing a hint of white teeth at her. “Were you out for a nap?”
“Hardly.” Briar sniffed at the idea but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. The chauffeur never missed an opportunity to needle her or flirt, as long as they were alone, of course. “I’m sure we have naught but your skill to credit for the smoothness of the ride.”
“Of course.” He stepped out of the way and offered his hand in assistance to alight. “This new carriage surely is a marvel.”
This time, Briar ignored the hand held out to her. “The earl does enjoy his toys.”
Johnson gave her a half bow and closed the door behind her. “I’ll be waitin’, miss.”
“Thank you, Johnson.”
He climb
ed onto the front of the carriage and maneuvered it away from the front of the palatial house that rose before them. Theirs was not the only new horseless carriage. Indeed it seemed a full quarter of the carriages now disgorging their occupants and parked along the wide avenue were of the new type; the other horselesses were of an older manufacture. A few horse-drawn carriages counted among the vehicles, though those were far in the minority. Likely, those were the carriages of minor rural nobles who couldn’t afford the newest conveyances. Briar paid them little heed. None of them were likely to have materials of interest to her employer.
For a moment longer she stood, eying the carriages as they came and went. The older models worked well enough, though they shuddered occasionally as their steam boilers needed to be vented. Those carriages required both a driver and a fireman to stoke the coals and keep them running. The new carriages required only the driver, the ramifications of which Briar hadn’t considered until that moment. Supposedly the new engines were also steam-powered, but if that were the case, did those cylinders both feed the engine and vent it so it didn’t explode? She would have to ask Johnson later. A small shudder, more the memory of her disquiet than a true reaction, shook her. Soon. She would find out soon.
“Miss?” A footman stood discreetly at her elbow.
“Oh. Yes.” Knowing her response was rather inane, Briar swept past the servant toward the front of the house. Light glowed from every window, it seemed, turning the darkness of night into artificial dusk confined to the front lawn. She joined the back of a group of giggling young women who were being chaperoned by a much older woman. She looked tired. Briar sympathized. Keeping up with the flitting lovelies would be a monumental task for the night, especially given the glances they were sharing with a group of young men loitering just inside the entryway. The girls’ interest was clearly reciprocated. No looks were spared for her, of course. At her apparent age in her mid-twenties, she was quite on the shelf. Beyond that, her breeding was unknown, which made her an even less attractive prospect for marriage. She didn’t mind. The boys who came to these affairs were pretty enough to look at on occasion, but by and large, she preferred to watch the women.
Demon in the Machine Page 1