Inventing Love

by Killarney Sheffield

  Back Cover

  A Steampunk Historical Romance by Killarney Sheffield

  Alexandra Evans is a female inventor. Unusual, unconventional, assertive, and definitely not a lady. Lord Weston Grendal is your typical London gentleman. Dependable, stiff, stuffy and out of place in America. When they are thrown together to build a killing machine they must decide if the price of the innocent is worth their own freedom. Together they can re-invent love, but apart? Does love stand a chance?

  To Cyrus,

  who is never afraid to read a romance and give great feedback from a man’s perspective.

  Inventing Love

  Killarney Sheffield

  MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  Chapter One

  Washington, 1813.

  Weston Grendal skirted a suspicious looking puddle of black goop, picking his way through the debris-filled alley to the door of the warehouse. It was obvious this was the right address for Alexander Evans, the inventor, judging by the sprockets, bolts, springs and other various discarded paraphernalia littering the narrow passageway. Relieved to have finally tracked down the subject of the general’s summons after weeks of searching, he lifted his hand and knocked on the weather worn door.

  The sound echoed followed not by a bid to enter, but a curse.

  “Bloody hell, go away!”

  Frowning, Weston pushed the door open. He stood on the threshold a moment, blinking his eyes to adjust to the lamp-lit interior. The large room was cluttered with all manner of strange objects. Tables, shelves and stools were piled high with bizarre connections of sprockets, wire, bolts, cogs and other bits of hardware fastened together to make just what he was not sure. The steady clang of metal against metal drew his attention. The sound came from a large metallic apparatus taking up most of the available floor space. Two feet, clad in brown leather boots stuck out from under it, twitching in time with the rhythmic clanging.

  He paused scant inches from the exposed appendages and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, I am looking for Alexander Evans.”

  The clanging stopped, the feet ceasing their spasmodic movements. “Who wants t’ know?” came a rough, muffled reply.

  “I am Lord Weston Grendal, I have been sent by General James Madden to ask that Mr. Evans attend a special meeting with him.”

  The voice rose in a higher tone than before. “What does he want?”

  Weston blinked, the voice sounded suspiciously feminine. Did it matter what Madden wanted? A summons from him was a command to appear no matter the subject of discussion. “General Madden would like him to build a special carriage to help defeat the British.”

  The figure under the hunk of iron snorted. “Mr. Evans is not interested.” The irritating clanging started up again.

  “I beg your pardon?” Weston stared at the boots that had resumed their twitching. “Is Mr. Evans here? Perhaps I should talk to him myself,” he shouted over the din.

  The clanging stopped. There came an exasperated sigh before the boots began to shimmy backward out from under the contraption. Inch by inch a soot-blackened figure emerged. Brown breeches, smudged with dirt and oil gave way to a stained, once white shirt, finally a pretty face ringed by short brassy curls appeared. The woman sat up, pulled a rag from her pocket and wiped the grime from her hands in a pathetic attempt to clean them. She squinted up at him, a frown puckering her brow.

  “Sir, I have better things to do than listen to your flowery words. Now if you don’t mind, hand me that wrench there and be on your way.” She pointed to a curved metal object next to his foot.

  Trying not to show his surprise at her filthy appearance and abrupt demeanor, Weston fixed a polite smile to his lips and picked up the requested tool. He held it out to her, gingerly betwixt his thumb and forefinger.

  She gave him a once over and snorted again. Snatching the tool from him she shook her head and shimmied back under the metal contrivance.

  “Are you not even going to say thanks?” Weston crossed his arms annoyed with her rudeness.

  “No.” The reply was muffled. “Please leave.”

  Weston sighed. “Fine, just tell me where I can find Alexander Evans and I will be on my way.”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no? I am not asking much.”

  With a groan the woman slid back out from underneath the contraption and glared up at him. “If I have to tell you then you really are cork brained.”

  Weston glared back at her taken aback by her uncouth attitude. “I beg your pardon? There is really no call for rudeness...Miss?”

  Her glare turned into a smirk. “Miss Alexandra Evans.”

  Damn! This is Alexander...Alexandra Evans? Now I have seen everything. Perhaps it is a jest. He looked behind him to the empty doorway surprised to find no one there chuckling at his expense. With a sigh he flipped open his date book and checked the address. Yes, this is the right place. His eye traveled to the top of the page. Friday, March 13, 1813. Egads! What else would go wrong today? He frowned again, looking down at his trouser bottoms, splattered with mud from a passing curricle. Add that to burning his lips on his morning cup of chicory coffee, finding a hole in his favorite leather Hessian boots and having to disrupt his whole routine to deliver a message to the rudest, most obnoxious woman in America... This is turning out to be a very unlucky day. He sighed, maybe most obnoxious in America was a slight exaggeration. He glanced back at the woman. She pointed to the door and then slid back under her project without so much as a by your leave. All right, maybe the rudest, most obnoxious woman in Washington, at the very least. He cleared his throat, stuffing his book back into his breast pocket. “Listen here, Miss Evans, General Madden himself has bid you to come meet with him—”

  “I don’t care if God himself, bid me come. I’m not at the beck and call of any man. Now off with you.” The clanging began once more.

  Weston paced back and forth. What was he going to do? He could not very well go back to the general and tell him the Alexander he sought was not interested in meeting with him...or he was really a she. Good Lord, he was in a most difficult position indeed! Against his better judgment he crouched down beside the woman and peered under the contraption.

  “Listen here now, I have been ordered to escort you back to the headquarters. I cannot very well show up empty-handed now can I?”

  The clanking stopped. “You could. Why should I care?”

  He groaned. “Look, would it hurt to just come with me and hear General Madden out?”

  The wrench skidded across the floor, narrowly missing his toes, and then the woman wiggled out after it. “Listen, sir—”

  “Lord Grendal,” he supplied.

  She rolled her eyes. “Lord Grendal, listen, because I’m only going to say this once.” She sat up and shook a grubby finger at him. “I am not about to open myself to any more ridicule at the hands of a bunch of dandified gents who think a woman should be all frilly and babble silly pleasantries all day about the weather and the latest dress patterns from France. I am perfectly happy here doing what I love, thank you very much.”

  Weston tried hard not to smile at the idea of this grime-covered woman sitting in a parlor, sipping tea and exchanging the latest ondits with anyone. “Just what is it you are doing here anyway?” He tipped his head in the direction of the monstrosity she had been banging on.

  “I’m building a steam powered personal transporter.”

  “A what?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I’m building a machine that runs on steam, able to transport people and things across country faster than a horse and cart.”

  Good Lord, Madden didn’t say anything about Alexander—Alexandra, being a few coins short of a dollar b
ill. Imagine a steam form of transportation! Perhaps the general has lost his mind. Surely there are more capable, male, inventors out there that would better serve his purpose. He cleared his throat and turned to the door. “I will just leave you to your...whatever it is. I am sure the general was mistaken about your abilities then. Good day.” Weston strolled to the door.

  “You think I’m a little touched, don’t you?”

  He peered over his shoulder as she got to her feet, scowling at him. “I said nothing of the sort, madam.”

  “But you thought it, didn’t you?” Arms akimbo she glowered at him.

  This was not a conversation he wanted to have, not now, not here. He glanced around to be sure there was nothing within her reach she could hurl at his head before he could escape out the door. “Well of course I thought it, anyone would under the circumstances.”

  “Men are all alike; a smart woman scares you so much you resort to labeling her a little tipped.”

  “Men? You do not like being judged, yet you have lumped me in with a group of men who fit your own definition. Is that not judging too?” Weston shook his head and opened the door. “Good day, madam.” He stepped out into the alleyway.

  “Wait.”

  He paused, almost afraid to turn back in case she let fly some volley of unnamed objects at him. Stepping to the side of the doorway he peeked around the corner. The woman strolled toward him, her hands empty.

  “How much?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She stopped before him. “How much money is Madden willing to pay me to build this weapon?”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Are you jesting?”

  “I never jest.”

  She eyed him with a skeptical arch of her brow for a moment. “Well, I can believe that, you are too starched to have any sense of humor at all.”

  “I assure you I do have a sense of humor. I sought you out after all.” He grinned when her face turned scarlet.

  With a huff she turned on her heel and marched toward a door on the opposite side of the room.

  He turned to leave.

  “Aren’t you going to escort me to the headquarters?”

  “I thought you were not interested in meeting with the general?” Weston asked turning back around.

  She shrugged, her hand on the door knob. “I am not, but I seem to have found myself in a...um, a little blunt problem these days. My father’s last invention did not sell as he had hoped. When he died he left me in a rather precarious predicament.”

  Weston stepped back inside. “What was his latest invention?”

  “An automatic shoe buffer.” She sighed and opened the door.

  “That actually sounds useful. Why did it not sell?”

  With a slight shake of her head she sighed. “It ran amuck and buffed a shine on Lord Pettenbottom’s pet poodle.”

  Weston couldn’t help but laugh at the visual of the very particular dandy’s dilemma. “Oh dear, was the creature badly hurt?”

  “Not really, but his poodle will be cold for a while until all his fur grows back.” She cracked a small smile. “Wait here while I change.”

  Perhaps the woman wasn’t all bad, he thought, as she disappeared through the door and up a flight of stairs. Calling Lord Pettenbottom a creature wasn’t far from the truth. He shook his head and wandered over to the shelf looking at the various contraptions stored there. When he reached out and ran a finger across the top of a shiny silver cylinder it sprang up like it had a life of its own. It spun around, flashing and making strange beeping sounds. He jerked back in surprise as it dropped from the shelf, rolled across the floor coming to rest against the door jam and becoming silent once more. Should he pick it up and put it back in its place or was it best to leave it be? There was no telling what it was capable of doing. His mind returned to the image of Lord Pettenbottom’s poodle. It was probably best to leave it be, he decided.

  Footsteps on the stairs alerted him to her return. He glanced up as she stepped through the door and closed it behind her. Her unruly brassy tresses hung in wild disarray around her face, now shiny clean and smudge free. A white man’s shirt was tucked into a fresh pair of masculine breeches that did little to conceal her feminine curves. Good Lord, but the woman was highly desirable, even in her gender confused attire. His gaze traveled down to her shiny Hessian boots and he felt a sense of regret his had been found with a hole. Now I will have to order a new pair made and suffer through weeks of breaking in the stiff leather until it molds softly around my calves...like hers do. He blinked and returned his gaze to her face. “I thought you were going to change?”

  She frowned. “I did. You were expecting some frilly little day dress perhaps?”

  He was, but one look at her tight expression told him it would be best to leave her question unanswered, instead he shrugged. The woman was highly unconventional.

  “Well, let’s get on with it then.”

  “With what?” he asked absently staring at her soft hazel eyes. The woman was definitely desirable.

  “With the meeting.”

  Weston cleared his throat again to restart his momentarily floundering brain. “Oh, yes, right, the meeting.” He hurried to the outer door and held it open for her to exit before him. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she passed and stepped out into the alleyway. Keep your mind on your task, he told himself. There was no room in his life for such an oddball as she.

  Chapter Two

  Alexandra followed Lord Grendal along the alleyway and out on to the street. He opened the door to a rented hackney and stepped back. She climbed up into the conveyance, settling back against the worn seats. Surely the general could have sent a nicer conveyance to collect me. With a frown she turned to look out the window as Lord Grendal sat in the seat across from her. Don’t be vain. No doubt Madden was aware of my undignified mode of dress and does not feel it warrants attracting anyone’s attention to my presence.

  “I like your hair, it is...different.”

  Alexandra shot Lord Grendal a wary look. His face was sincere rather than teasing. “Thank you, I keep it short so it does not get in the way.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I got it stuck in a turning sprocket once. It hurt like the dickens to get it out.” He nodded and she wondered if he even knew what a sprocket was. Not knowing what else to say she returned her attention out the window.

  Everywhere she looked horses drew carts back and forth along the cobblestones. One day my invention will change that. My steam horseless cart would bring America into a new era of prosperity. Everyone who laughed and called me and my father ridiculous dreamers will change their minds. Someday they will call me the greatest inventor of all. Alexandra Evans, a woman, the greatest inventor of all time.

  They pulled up in front of a tall white-washed building connected to the army barracks. Lord Grendal hopped down, extending his hand to help her out. When she raised an eyebrow he flushed and returned his hand to his pocket. Best to show him here and now she would not be cajoled and swayed like the mindless debutantes he no doubt surrounded himself with. She strolled up the steps almost giggling when a passing man in uniform craned his neck around to watch her and tripped, his jaw dropping at the sight of a female in breeches. Silly louts, the lot of them.

  The eyes of the young man seated behind the desk in the reception room widened. He glanced beyond her to Lord Grendal and then back at her with an uneasy look. “Can I help you...Miss?”

  “Well now.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “I don’t know, can you?”

  His face paled and he shifted in his seat. “I beg your pardon, Miss?”

  Lord Grendal cleared his throat. “I am Lord Weston Grendal, this is Miss Evans. General Madden asked me to escort her here to see him.”

  The young man flushed and stood. “I’ll inform the general you’re here.” With one last curious look he marched from the room through a door marked “private.”

  “Do you make a habit out of f
lustering young men?” Lord Grendal asked with a disproving frown.

  She smiled. “I enjoy flustering men, since they persist in staring in such a rude manner.”

  “Perhaps if you dressed in a style more befitting of your station—”

  “You mean like your wife perhaps?” She smiled with false sweetness.

  His face took on a slightly rosy hue. “I am not married.”

  “I see.” She looked him up and down, much as he had inspected her earlier. “I suppose your lack of humor is the cause.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Both his eyebrows rose to an alarming height.

  Unable to resist, she needled him further. “You’re much too stiff and formal to interest an adventurous girl I suppose.”

  Something akin to shock and anger flashed in his eyes before once again his face took on a steady blank look of formality. “Do you always toy with men as a feline toys with a mouse before she devours it?”

  She licked her lips in a saucy taunt. “I enjoy playing with my food.”

  The young man returned. He stared somewhere past her head. “General Madden will see you now, Lord Grendal, miss.”

  Alexandra breezed past him sure she heard an audible sigh of relief and entered the office. With the exception of her father, she had never met a man her intellectual equal or worth her time.

  A short stern-looking, middle-aged man stood from his spot behind a massive oak desk. He looked momentarily confused when the door closed behind them. “Lord Grendal, did you not find Alexander Evans?”

  She smiled, tilting her head as she waited for Lord Grendal to explain.

  Lord Grendal cleared his throat. “I did, he…she is right here.” He gestured toward her. “This is Alexandra Evans, sir.”

  The general stared at her, a frown creasing the brow under his graying hair. “You are Oliver Evan’s son, I mean...daughter?”

  “Yes, I am. His only child, sir.”

  “But...you are a woman.”