Brian slid to the side and pretended not to see yet another latecomer sneak into the group. This tour had been touted as the opportunity to understand Eisengau’s arms industry’s intellectual foundations. It actually seemed to offer a low-key moment for buyers to sleep in, should they need to recover from the previous night’s debauchery, before departing on the more intense summer maneuvers.
He did agree Eisengau provided for its technical studies very, very well. The granite edifice was more Renaissance palace than humble study hall. Set into a hillside, it was both light, airy, and a supreme work of engineering in its own right. Window after window overlooked its series of interlocking, inner courtyards or opened onto the outside world from an office or lecture hall.
Fog blurred its outlines, slinking into the alleys that bordered it.
Doors proclaimed themselves boldly or crouched hidden in dark corners. Books were racked neatly on shelves, unnamed potions lurked in glass jars, steel rods and blocks of all sizes and dimensions waited in storerooms.
The visitors had been conveyed quickly by elevator to an observation gallery on the top floor. From here, they could see both the building’s outside and the inner courtyards’ details.
A few students were industriously tidying up glass cases or writing up long descriptions in marble-backed notebooks. But they were all male and most of them wore uniforms, typical for a Germanic country, especially one dependent on the arms industry. He hadn’t found any light, quick steps matched to a faint, Scottish burr.
Brian began to stroll down the hall away from his companions, always keeping a watchful eye into the exterior courtyard. A city carriage would probably arrive there or a pedestrian striding quickly up from the market square. Gareth Blackwell joined him, equally casual.
“If you look down into this courtyard, you can see where we assemble our prototype rifles when the weather is good, like today,” Grand Duke Rudolph continued.
Brian looked up to the heavens and prayed for patience yet again. He was allowed to inspect cannons—however informally as a private citizen—but only the official military could select rifles. They were the idiots who’d come up with something chosen to save ammunition but not kill the enemy quickly. The resulting, so-called military rifles had done such a purely pitiful job that his friends had been picked off like flies in Cuba, unable to match fire with a few sharpshooting Spaniards. America had won the battle and the war but the War Department didn’t seem to have learned much. No, now they were out buying a new type of rifle with damn similar requirements to their last one.
He’d found a simpler answer: he’d bought one of those fine German rifles like the Spaniards had used to damn near defeat him. His Mauser 98 was a pure joy to him, especially since he’d had it shortened a bit to make it easier for carrying on a horse.
He’d be damn happy to be sure nobody had created a cannon which could be a similarly nasty surprise for his countrymen, the way the German rifle had been.
But that wasn’t today’s hunt. Right now, he was looking for a flash of woolen skirt, swirled by lithe hips. Meredith Duncan was a student somewhere in this university, but probably not in the engineering department. The question was where could he find her?
“I can answer all of your detailed questions,” a man’s high-pitched voice rasped.
Silence followed, etched in astonishment, during which the assemblage took care not to look at the grand duke. He’d been answering every query himself. God only knew what he’d think of this usurper.
Brian glanced back down the parapet at the speakers. Grand Duke Rudolph was rapidly polishing his monocle, his black uniform and gold insignia melting into the fog like an extinguished torch.
Behind him stood the massive, curving bulk of Colonel Heinrich Zorndorf, Eisengau’s chief cannon designer. His offer of a tour could have been heard a block away—or two.
“With His Highness’s permission, of course,” Zorndorf added, not sounding obsequious in the least.
“Herr Colonel is—indispensable,” his highness commented and unclipped a hip flask from his belt. “You could not be in better hands.” His lips had narrowed to a thin white line but he waved permission to continue.
“You will start by observing the courtyard there,” ordered Zorndorf. “I parade my staff there every morning to review their assignments. For example, my assistants are regularly drilled on range tables, while my secretary can draw blueprints from memory.”
“Maybe we won’t observe, if we want to keep the grand duke’s good graces,” commented Gareth quietly and joined Brian at the outside wall. “D’you think the Colonel plans to point out every door and window?”
“Yes, if it means he can tell us exactly what he does at each one.” Brian winced and moved farther away, matched by his friend. “We’re still missing at least a half dozen buyers, too, so he’s got plenty of time.”
Gareth groaned. “It might be worth while if he had some female students to brighten up the landscape.”
“Do you ever think of anything else?”
“Not when I’m off duty,” Gareth retorted. “Besides, they’re so much more interesting than the range calculations the old goat is spouting now.”
Brian choked with laughter and thanked God his friend was speaking softly.
“Eisengau has some very fine specimens to offer, too,” Gareth continued. They strolled after the others, with Gareth leaning on his cane far more than his limp required. “Take that young lady of yours last night, for example.”
“What about her?” Brian shot a quick glance at him.
“Nothing, nothing at all. Certainly wouldn’t dream of poaching on your territory, old man.”
Brian bit his lip, imagining Meredith’s reaction to Gareth’s typical insouciance about feminine education.
“But I certainly much preferred your Miss Duncan’s level-headedness to the former Miss FitzAllen’s frequent giggles.”
The long-forbidden name made Brian miss a step, nearly stumbling on the limestone pavers. He caught himself, unhappily aware Gareth knew the trigger all too well.
“I rarely think of her now,” he answered, choosing to bite the bullet and spit out the truth. Lying wouldn’t protect him now against the one man who’d been present when he’d met that Irish chit.
“Truly?” Gareth stared at him. “I’m sure you’ve had many opportunities elsewhere but—”
“Truly,” Brian said firmly. It was the absolute truth. “Once I realized my fury was injured pride—”
“What better cause could you have?” Gareth murmured.
Brian didn’t answer that. Some memories were best not relived. “I knew she’d meant nothing to me. I’m sure she’d make any man a good wife and I wish her and Giffard every success.”
Gareth hooted. “Two more mercenary people were never joined in holy matrimony.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Brian agreed heartily. They leaned back against the railing in complete harmony, while their companions hoisted antique rifles to their shoulders and sighted down the barrels.
He glanced sideways at Gareth and read the same thought in his friend’s mind: Hadn’t the old fools studied any of the weapons in their own armories before coming here? With one accord, they turned away and studied the engineering college’s entrance.
“I never quite understood what you saw in Miss FitzAllen anyway,” Gareth murmured.
Brian shrugged and gave him part of the answer.
“I was ready to settle down and she seemed exactly the sort of girl my parents would approve of—young, Irish, Catholic, sweet-tempered, obedient…”
A carriage stopped in front of the main door below them, performing the maneuver with neatness rather than style. A man sprang out and handed down a woman, whose hat carried so many feathers it could almost take flight.
Brian frowned and leaned a little farther over the edge, his voice dying away. He’d never seen that hat before so why did she look familiar? Her escort was too tall, too thin—too much l
ike a saber poised to strike.
A young woman climbed out unaided, followed by a sturdy black dog. Meredith? What was she doing here? She looked around the narrow street, taking in every person, every movement.
The older woman shook out her skirts to straighten the flounces, before accepting the man’s arm.
Good God, they were Meredith’s mother and stepfather.
They sailed up the stairs to the portico where the doorman greeted them obsequiously, their voices echoing over the city noise.
Meredith picked up her skirts and opened a door hidden in the college’s ornate façade, using the carriage’s bulk to screen her movements from her parents. She paused a bare instant, letting Morro enter first, then silently disappeared.
What the hell?
“Daughter dearest?” Meredith’s mother turned around. “Where are you?” She stepped back onto the steps to survey the street, bereft of any young women. “Drat the girl, how dare she disobey us again, especially now?”
“Don’t worry, my dear. She’ll learn not to disappoint us again.” The Judge tapped his cane against his boot, his eyes glittering in the darkness under his top hat when he looked around.
Brian cursed under his breath.
Chapter Five
Meredith bent quietly over her desk, unlocking it as fast and as quietly as she could. She’d been able to reach her office fairly easily, thank God. Most of the building was deserted, empty of students now that regular classes were out. As Zorndorf’s secretary, she knew where all the demonstrations were scheduled so they’d been easy to avoid. That luck wasn’t likely to hold.
All the other copies of the plans were gone, as she’d thought. Zorndorf always had the intermediate drawings destroyed when a gun was ready to be sold, to cut down on the chances for theft.
Now she needed to retrieve the little money she had hidden. After that, she’d have to find Sazonov, which was probably best done through the Russian embassy.
Footsteps resonated through the building, punctuated by the rumbling notes of men’s voices. The grand duke and Zorndorf were showing off the engineering college to the arms buyers. If she didn’t leave soon, they’d catch her here—and hand her back over to her parents.
Would Brian be equally quick to do so? Americans did have different notions—not that it mattered at the moment.
She had a small, so-called office, barely large enough for her desk, her chair, and the two other chairs set aside for Zorndorf’s visitors. Colonel Zorndorf had designed it, like the rest of the office suite, lecture halls, and laboratories. He’d also trained her, his top assistants, and his students in how to use the facilities, although not everyone learned all of the capabilities.
The only window was barred, barely large enough for Morro, and so high only a monkey could have climbed through. The room’s real purpose was to guard the doors into Zorndorf’s office—and the even more important vault which held Zorndorf’s designs.
The drawer eased open silently. Thank God for an engineering school which oiled locks no matter how often they were used or not. She grabbed her pitifully few coins—Mother kept all almost of the funds allocated for living expenses by the trust, claiming they were needed to maintain the family’s position in society. But they might be enough to get her to London on a third-class ticket, if she didn’t eat anything, with a little left over for Morro.
Her faithful guardian growled.
“Tell that damned dog to shut up,” Sazonov hissed.
“What on earth are you doing here?” He never came to the university before noon, although he did know his way to Zorndorf’s office, like all the other attachés.
She signaled Morro to let him through and came around the desk to face him. Morro obeyed, rumbling deep in his throat, and stayed close at hand. She cocked an eyebrow at her dear friend’s continued intransigence but didn’t take the time to make him settle down.
“Do you have the plans yet?” Sazonov hissed.
She blinked, startled by his sudden switch to demanding co-conspirator instead of generous mentor, and lied automatically. “No, of course not. Where would I have put them?”
“I thought you might have hidden them someplace in here.” He frowned and spun around to survey the tiny room, before returning to stare accusingly at her.
She propped her hands on her hips and glared back at him. What was he thinking about, when he’d been told time and again she hadn’t stolen them yet? “Sazonov, all plans have very large dimensions. They can be as long as my arm or even two arms’ length.”
“A rifle’s length.”
“True,” she agreed, glad he was showing at least a little sense. If she could distract him by talking about cannons, where could she get help for herself in the meantime? “The plans would be very hard to hide. Plus they’re always locked up in trays in the vault.” She managed not to glance at the enormous steel door next to her elbow. “You know I didn’t have them yesterday afternoon so why would you think I have them now?”
The building was humming a little, thanks to the boots thudding into the floors overhead.
“In that case, steal them now.”
“Now? With the tour coming through?” Was he insane?
“What better time? No one will expect it.” A wicked gleam danced through his eyes.
“We’d never get them out of the building!” Her pulse started to pound, hard and strong, through her veins.
“Give them to me and I’ll claim diplomatic immunity. All will be well.”
She gaped at him, a thousand objections springing to mind, starting with what on earth she’d tell the grand duke’s secret police, who were undoubtedly trailing their master through the building at this moment.
“My dear Miss Duncan,” Sazonov added softly, his lips displaying more teeth than curve.
Was he trying to seduce her, too, not just Liesel?
She shook her head in disbelief, her fingers touching her lips. Her blood was racing through her veins faster than she’d ever felt before, yet her thoughts were assembling themselves into crisp, orderly sets. The workers’ party might need St. Petersburg’s help but could she take the chance on him absconding with their only leverage?
“Miss Duncan…” he warned and lunged for her.
Morro erupted into a storm of barking and Sazonov lashed out with his foot. Only Morro’s lightning reflexes saved him from being hurled against the vault. Why, the cowardly brute, to mistreat a small animal that way!
Meredith flung the trashcan at Sazonov’s feet, catching him off guard and throwing him off-balance. He stumbled against the filing cabinet and rapped his head against a brass handle, triggering a foul curse.
She ran for Zorndorf’s office, the one direction left open. How many times had Zorndorf drilled her in these moves? The man was good for at least something.
“Morro, come!” she called in Gaelic.
Her valiant dog immediately followed her, barking triumphantly deep in his throat. She could only hope it was an omen, since she’d just snubbed the workers’ party’s most likely ally.
Sazonov started to follow and tripped over the rolling can once again. Thank God, it had bought her a little time.
She slammed the door on him, deliberately not pulling the cord to the very loud steam whistle.
“Miss Duncan, you fool, what are you doing?” Sazonov called and rattled the doorknob. An instant later, he kicked the door, making the wood shiver in its frame.
Morro barked a ferocious—and no doubt unprintable—counterchallenge.
She needed to get out of here before somebody else heard and came to investigate. Sweat trickled down her spine under her corset.
Long training came to her aid. Her breathing stilled and she spotted the books she needed.
She canted the century-old trigonometry text forward, careful to keep it on the shelf. Then the chemistry text three books down, followed by the calculus reference on the shelf below. Her hand was very steady and each title seemed to be outlined in bla
ck. Morro’s barking was very far and Sazonov’s profanity even more distant.
A solid sheet of steel slammed down on the far side of the door, between the wood and Sazonov.
“Dammit, Miss Duncan, you almost cut my foot off!”
She made a rude gesture, which she’d learned in Eisengau’s foundries.
An instant later, her desk slid across the floor, blocking the other exit from her office.
“I’ll kill you for this!” He kicked the door again, testing the steel.
Time to go.
He wouldn’t suffocate, not with the window. Somebody would hear and let him out very soon, given all the people around to help with the grand duke’s tour.
Boots thudded through the halls again, echoing like a giant forge beating a death knell to her hopes.
Not while she could find an escape route. After all, the blueprints were still safely hidden, just waiting for the chance to use them to help the workers.
She poked her head out the main door into the corridor—good, there was nobody around—and raced for the nearest staircase, Morro close on her heels.
The tour clustered around the college’s entrance, where its president was delivering an endless speech from the grand portico about the honor of serving Eisengau. The grand duke was listening appreciatively, while most of his guests looked bored. They probably envied their fellows who’d risen late enough to be waiting in the carriages outside. There was less than an hour to go before they’d board the train for the start of summer maneuvers—and the real party.
Zorndorf at least was nowhere in sight. He’d excused himself and gone outside, supposedly to finish preparing for summer maneuvers.
Brian closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, sliding himself into a world where the droning voice didn’t exist. Here tension raced, pounding frantically through the stone floors. Danger was running hard and fast—but where?
He’d been at the crowd’s edge; now he slid into the shadows. Gareth watched him go but said nothing, simply moved to block sight of him. An instant later, Brian had disappeared back into the college, where footsteps raced and sound was magnified by stone walls and ceilings.
Kisses Like a Devil Page 8