by Tilda Booth
George rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I can already tell that you were your normal charming self.”
“He listened to me well enough before Nissl and Alzheimer began to show some promise with their neurochemicals.”
“This is an argument for another time.” George unsuccessfully stifled the beginning of a yawn and set his shoulders. “Right now, we must decide what we are going to do.”
“Do?” Tesla drew his head back in bemusement. “Why, you are going to rest, after the ordeal you’ve been through.”
“We should contact the PM tonight, let him know that I am all right and that there was indeed a plot to move against the scientific advisory council.”
“And you say I have no sense of how to talk to the PM. It is nearly two in the morning, George. You are in no shape to have an audience with PM Huxley, and I’m sure vice versa. I will let the Yard men on duty tonight know that you are here, and they can inform the PM tomorrow morning.”
At a choked noise from Jane, George hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. You see, Jane is a bit worried that Easton’s men are on the lookout for her, and she suspects that he has spies in Scotland Yard.”
“You will be perfectly safe in my home, I assure you,” reassured Tesla.
“Please, I know that you mean well, but it would be best if no one knew I was here.” Jane looked at Tesla with such pleading eyes that he sighed and relented. “Thank you.” She went back behind the armoire to gather up her clothes. “I’m very tired now. May I be shown to my room?”
“Certainly. I’ll take you there myself. Come, George. You can sleep in your usual room.” Tesla led the way out and up the stairs. It was indeed extremely late. The house was completely dark and deserted, with not even a solitary servant around.
Tesla showed her to a neat little bedroom on the second floor, and George opened the door immediately opposite to indicate that was his room. He tossed his own clothes onto the bed before coming back to her and taking her hand. Ignoring Tesla, who was watching them with amusement, George told her, “I’m right across the hall. If you need anything, you only have to call out.”
She nodded, tempted to give him a kiss, but not daring to in front of the other man. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Hoping George didn’t notice the catch in her voice, she shut the door. On a moment’s reflection, she took the little chair tucked under the desk by the bed and wedged it under the doorknob.
Chapter Seven
Exhausted, George expected to lose consciousness the moment his head hit the pillow. Instead he tossed and turned, unable to still the thoughts in his head. He was simply too keyed up to rest. Which was why he was awake when the door across the hall clicked softly open about an hour before dawn.
In a flash he was out of bed and at the door. He opened it a crack and saw Jane, fully dressed, creeping down the hall. He caught up with her before she got to the top of the stairs.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Shh,” she whispered. Glaring at him, she tried to jerk her sleeve out of his grasp. “You’ll wake everyone up.”
“I don’t care. Where are you going?”
“We can’t talk about it out here.”
“Very well,” he said, refusing to moderate his voice. He dragged her back to his room and shut the door, turning the key in the lock. “Now you can answer my question.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Let me out.”
“Or what? You’ll scream?” George slipped the key into his robe pocket. “I should think that would attract exactly the kind of attention you’re trying to avoid.”
“You’re impossible.” To his astonishment, she sat on the bed, put her head in her hands and cried.
“I’m not falling for your tears.” George made his voice icy, but she didn’t stop.
“I told you, I never cry. I don’t know why I keep doing it around you.” She sounded nearly as confused and angry as he was.
Against his better judgment, George sat next to her and put his arms around her, soothed her with his hands and murmured nothings under his breath.
“I can’t stay.” She put up a token struggle, pulling against his embrace with no more force than a butterfly. “I have somewhere that I must go. Someone I must see.”
“Where? Who?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Is it a husband?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“No, but…” She drew in a quavering breath. “It’s my sister. She’s only fifteen, and she’s my responsibility. I need to get her and then the two of us can get out of England.”
“What, now?”
She trembled against him. “As soon as possible. I’m sure that Easton doesn’t know about her, but I’m afraid that once he starts searching for me, he might discover her.”
“It’s four in the morning. You can’t do anything now that couldn’t be done twice as quickly in a few hours. You can’t even catch a hansom cab at this hour.” Putting a hand to her face, he tilted it up to look into her eyes. “Let me help you. Please. I have an idea. I have a friend who keeps a private airship at the General Steam Navigation Company’s yards. One of the new French designs, but on a smaller scale. He has given me permission to use it freely, whenever I wish. I can have it take you and your sister wherever you like, within its traveling distance. We’ll go together, as soon as it’s light, to get your sister and arrange for passage.”
“But what about your meeting with the PM?”
“It can wait until I’ve seen you off.”
Jane sniffled. “Why would you do this for me?”
“Because I don’t want you disappearing without a trace. This way I know where you’re going.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Can’t you guess?” George’s voice was an embarrassed whisper.
He couldn’t bear to look at her, so it was a surprise when she reached up and kissed him on the mouth.
He pulled back. “I didn’t mean… That is, I don’t expect…”
“Oh shut up, George. You talk too much.”
When her hand slipped to the collar of his nightshirt, brushing open the buttons and caressing the skin there, he couldn’t help but agree.
The feel of George’s skin under her fingertips, silky warm and covered with a layer of soft hair, intoxicated her. She pressed against it and the muscle underneath tightened. Her hand traveled lower, across the hard ridges of his rib cage and down to the smooth concave planes of his abdomen. As she reached the angular blade of his hip, his hands caught at hers, dragging them upward as he kissed her harder.
The tip of his tongue gently requested entry between her lips. She opened, letting her own tongue play with his, her hand flat to his chest right over his nipple. The little nub tickled her palm, sensitizing it so that she became aware of all the sensations of touch. Embracing him, she stroked the tensed muscles of his back along the sides of his spine. She reached further, cupping the mounds of his bottom, digging her nails into the firm flesh there.
He groaned and the sound thrilled her. Hard against her thigh, he ground his hips into hers. He undid the buttons of her blouse, slipping fingers into the top of her corset to tease her nipple, rolling it between his fingers so that she moaned.
His mouth left hers to trail kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and then across the tops of her breasts, his tongue flicking the place that his fingers had aroused.
She gasped and squirmed against him. He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked, and she knew that if she refused he would respect that and immediately stop this tantalizing dance between them.
But she was sure. “Yes, please.” She dug her nails even harder into his buttocks, urging him on.
He groaned again and this time his hand burrowed under her skirts, sliding from calf to knee to thigh. She was bare-legged, her stockings having been destroyed by the rain, and the slow, delicious journey of his fingers up her leg made her tingle everywhere
.
“You have entirely too many clothes.” As his fingers brushed against her garter, she remembered the tiny parlor pistol she kept tucked into it. She reached under her skirt and grabbed his hand, moving it away from the gun and placing it directly at the juncture between her thighs. He shuddered when he touched the wetness there. He let his fingers glide over her, arousing her, until she thought she would go insane.
“Please, George. Don’t tease me anymore.”
He pulled her under him and, using his hands, tilted her hips upward, entering her. The pressure was exquisite. She bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. Her knees came up and she wrapped her legs around him, ankles crossing at the small of his back.
“Ah, Jane, you’re so beautiful.” His mouth covered hers again, his whole body straining against her, pushing at her until she clutched at him. Convinced she couldn’t take even another second of this ecstasy, she cried out as he collapsed on top of her, panting.
She lay next to him, exhausted and breathless, her body still shivering in reaction to their lovemaking.
His arms heavy around her, he curled against her back, holding her close. As he relaxed into slumber, she resolved to get up and leave him, despite his promise to help her. It was too dangerous to stay with him, no matter how tempting, and escaping now, while he slept, would be so much easier than having to face him and say goodbye. She would leave in just a minute or two, after she was sure that he was sound asleep. His breath in her hair lulled her, and the minute turned into five, then ten, and she forgot how long she was going to let herself stay before sleep overtook her.
George woke up, disoriented. He’d been tangled in the same dream he’d had every night in captivity—entwined in Jane’s hot embrace, her dark hair loose and flowing around them, her scent filling his head. Each time the dream had ended with him starting awake, alone in a cold bed. This time was no different. His arms were empty, the rumpled sheets bare next to him. Rumpled sheets?
Fully awake, he sat up expecting to find her gone. But Jane was at the door, peeking through the crack. She motioned with a finger on her lips for him to be quiet. She made a sharp gesture, a “down boy” motion, and ducked behind the door as it creaked open. George lay back in the bed, feigning sleep.
“She’s nowt here,” rasped a familiar voice. George had to steel every nerve in his body to keep from jumping out of the bed at the rumbling whisper of Easton’s henchman.
“Must have slipped out earlier.” George didn’t recognize the second whisperer.
“You were supposed to be wotchin’ her,” said Cockney Jack.
“I was called back to the Yard. I only left for an hour, and I’d have sworn she was going to stay put for the night.”
“Well you was wrong, wasn’t you?”
“It’s not so bad. He wanted her out of the house, and now she is. We can track her down any time, now that she’s away from Wells.”
“Shut it, you’ll wake him up. Let’s get out of here.”
The door creaked closed again.
George counted to five before opening his eyes and sitting up. Jane was still standing behind the door, face white, body frozen.
Without saying a word, he got out of bed and dressed. When he was done he walked over to her and took her cold fingers into his. That seemed to break the spell of terror she was under.
“Easton knows I’m here.” Her fingers clutched his even tighter. “I’ve got to leave.”
Returning the pressure of her fingers, George nodded. “We’ll go out the rabbit hole. You only need a key to get in, not to get out. We’ll leave now. I’ll leave a note for Nicky.”
“The man with Jack…”
“Scotland Yard. I heard. You were right. You’re not safe. Maybe neither of us is.” George kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of here all right.”
Careful to avoid that pesky creak, he opened the door and looked out. The hallway all the way to the back staircase was empty, and the two of them darted out and down the stairs, slipping into Tesla’s laboratory.
He scrawled a note on the blackboard, Taking our guest somewhere safe. Be back by noon, before opening the secret door and leading her out.
A thought occurred to him as they were making their way through the dark underground passage to the square. “The bedroom door. I locked that last night.”
She was silent.
George sighed. “You got up and unlocked it. You were leaving.”
Her voice was very small behind him. “I thought it would be best if we didn’t say goodbye.”
“I said I would help you get to your sister.”
“I know, and that was very kind of you, but I can manage on my own.”
“You were going to leave without a trace.” Despite himself, the hurt leaked out into his voice.
“After today we’re never going to see each other again. There’s no point in dragging it out.”
“And this morning? When we—?”
She fell silent again. They were at the stairs leading up to the gazebo. He turned around. “So it meant nothing to you?”
“No, nothing.”
He couldn’t see her face in the dark, but when he reached out and brushed her cheek, she ducked away. Too slow. He felt the damp residue of tears on his fingertips and smiled.
“You’re not half as hard as you pretend to be, Jane.”
Grasping her by the hand, he led her up the stairs, out the gazebo and into the weak morning light.
They ran to the street corner and hailed a passing hansom cab. “Dudman’s Dock at Deptford Wharf,” called George as he jumped in after Jane.
“Deptford Wharf?”
“I told you, my friend keeps a private airship permanently docked there.”
“He must be insanely wealthy.”
George shrugged. “Jules does all right for himself, but the airships are more of a courtesy provided by the company that makes them, General Steam Navigation. They use Jules’ design, you see.”
“Jules…Verne? Your friend is Jules Verne?” Jane looked starstruck.
He pretended to be affronted. “Why is it that you are so easily impressed by my friends, but you regard me as nothing more than a jumped-up plebe?”
She laughed. “I suppose because I haven’t seen them in their nightshirts. It does have the effect of robbing you of your dignity.”
George moved across the space of the carriage to sit next to her. His breath caught in his throat at the look of anticipation in her wide eyes. Putting a hand at the nape of her neck, he drew her close and said against her lips just before he kissed her, “Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to live with the consequences of that.”
Chapter Eight
When they emerged at Dudman’s Dock twenty minutes later, they were both a good deal more flushed and disarrayed. Jane remembered they had no money to pay the cabby. George ran off to find the airship while she waited by the carriage. He returned after a quarter of an hour to hand the irate driver a five-pound note along with his profuse apologies. The money improved the driver’s disposition enough to secure his guarantee that he would tell no one about his morning fare if he should be questioned.
“It’s all arranged,” George told her as the cabby drove off. He took her hand in his, and the feel of it, strong and familiar, made her go weak at the knees.
Threading their way through a maze of shipping containers and bales, smokestacks and groups of laboring stevedores, he led her to a cleared area ringed by barrels and bins of coal. In the center, near the water’s edge, she saw a machine that was almost impossible to describe. It looked like nothing so much as a mechanical bumblebee on a gigantic scale, its ovoid shape banded with alternating stripes of copper and steel running vertically along its circumference. Two large windows at the front gave it the appearance of having bulbous eyes, and the whole thing was perched upon six spindly legs ending in runners. A giant fan at the tail made a buzzing noise to complete the overall impression of a gleaming insect, poised
to take flight.
“Come on, time enough to gawk once we’re in the air.” George pulled her to a gleaming silver ramp lowered by two attendants in white gloves and livery. “Thanks again for the fiver,” he murmured in passing to one of the attendants as he and Jane climbed up the ramp.
The man bowed. “My pleasure, sir. May I tell the pilot what our destination is to be, sir?”
George looked enquiringly at Jane, who still stared, open-mouthed, at her surroundings. The interior of the airship was appointed like a stately drawing room, with overstuffed wing chairs, a plush oriental rug and blue velvet drapes hung around the tinted round windows that ran along the walls. From inside, the busy sounds of the dock completely disappeared, although the hissing whoosh of the steam engine continued to pulse in the background.
“Jane?”
“Hmm?”
“Where are we going?”
“Oh.” She blushed hot pink. “Sussex. Can you…?” Unsure of the capabilities of this magnificent machine, she hesitated. “Can you get us close to Worthing? My sister lives on the outskirts of town.”
The attendant who had loaned George the cab fare laughed. “Oh, Miss, we could land the Bumblebee on the turret of St. Mary’s Church, if you like.” Opening the door to the front cabin, he told the pilot, “Worthing, Sussex,” and closed the door again. “May I get you some breakfast?”
George must have decided to take pity on her bemused state, for he ordered a full English breakfast without waiting for her to respond. Within a minute the smell of sizzling sausage filled the cabin as the second attendant showed them to their chairs. As she looked out the window, there was a rushing sound of air above them, like being inside a giant seashell. The ship lurched upward, and she had the strangest fluttering in her stomach as the ground lowered away from the window. She gripped the arms of her chair with knuckles gone white. It remained firmly rooted to the floor, despite the jostling motion.