“I want love.”
Oh, hell. Where had that come from? Apparently he’d unburied twenty-year-old Cliff and his fairytale imagination. Or maybe he was stating a simple truth. He wanted the impossible. Knowing you weren’t going to get it didn’t always stop you from wanting it.
“I will never marry anyone I don’t love,” he vowed. “Therefore I will never marry.”
“One has nothing to do with the other,” Amy replied, matter-of-factly.
“In your world, perhaps.”
“It’s the same world, Hartleigh. You might not like it, but we all have to live in it.”
Three young ladies and three older women he assumed were their mothers paraded into the room, circling him like a pack of wolves stalking their prey. One of the young women wore eyeglasses and carried a book. Another wore trousers and a suit coat. The third had her hair cut short. A pair of goggles hung around her neck, and several tools jutted from her wide belt. Cliff glanced at Amy and raised a single eyebrow.
“Your Grace,” the duchess announced. “Allow me to present some of the most accomplished, unconventional, and independent ladies in all society.”
“Hi,” Cliff said, before she could start in with names and titles. He lifted a hand in greeting, then covered a cough. “I’m afraid I’m not in the best health today, so I suggest you all vacate the room before you come down with something. I’m terribly sorry I can’t meet you properly. Perhaps another time.”
Perhaps never.
“But, Your Grace,” Amy said, fixing her icy glare on him, “you said you were tired of being shut up all alone in your suite.”
“I was. But as it turns out…” He coughed again, louder and harder. Talking made his throat hurt. “I’m not yet ready for this level of excitement. Please excuse me.”
“I knew it,” grumbled one of the mothers, just loud enough for Cliff to hear. “I knew your goggle-wearing engineer ways would turn him off. We’ll never find a man eccentric enough…”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” Cliff interrupted. “Your daughter is a lovely woman who appears to possess both intelligence and spirit, and I’d thank you not to try to crush it out of her. My advice: send her off to college and let her pick her own husband if she wants one.” His forceful words triggered a coughing fit, and Amy hustled all the women from the room, babbling apologies.
When the coughing finally died down, Cliff slumped back on the sofa, his chest aching. Perhaps getting up out of bed hadn’t been the best idea. He picked up the Sphinx device and opened it, examining the rotors as he awaited Amy’s inevitable return. Perhaps the wheels would show patterns of wear that might give a clue to the proper settings.
“You are impossible!” the duchess moaned, barging in without bothering to knock. “I went out of my way to find women I thought you’d like and you didn’t even talk to them.”
“Sick,” he reminded her, not looking up from the wheel he was examining. “I’m thinking of going back to bed.”
She sank down onto the edge of the sofa beside him. “One of them would have suited you, Clifford. Maybe you could even have fallen in love.”
Her use of his given name made him raise his head. She looked weary, defeated. “Amy, everything will be fine. When this is over, I’ll make certain all the debts are taken care of so you and Luella and all your staff can remain in the house without worry.”
“When what is over? I don’t even know what you’re doing. Is that machine part of it? What does it do that’s so valuable?”
“It’s going to lead us to a treasure, but now that I think about it, this machine alone could bring us a great deal of money if sold to the right people.”
“A treasure.” Her brows arched skeptically. “A treasure and a valuable… typewriter-sort-of-thing.”
“Yes. I promise, Amy. I won’t leave you penniless. But in return, I’d like you to please stop trying to marry me off.”
“You need to marry someday or the line will end.”
“Then let it end. I really don’t care. I’m an American. A Chicago businessman. I make a terrible duke.” He fell into coughing again.
Amy smiled at last. “Actually, I think you would make quite a good duke if you let yourself try.” She rose and shook out her skirts. “Get some rest, Hartleigh. You look pale and that cough is terrible. I’ll order some tea sent up. Good luck with your treasure machine. Keep me informed of your progress.”
Cliff eyed the door to the bedroom for a moment, considering a nap. Unfortunately, getting to the bed would require standing up and crossing the room. The sofa wasn’t so bad, really. Plus, he did want that tea to soothe his burning throat.
He set the cryptographic wheel back into its slot and adjusted the position, trying to think of any words the duke might have used to encrypt his directions. Nothing obvious sprang to mind. Heart was too long. Ra, too short.
A-M-U-N, he tried, going with the Egyptian theme. He typed the first letter of the mangled line of text Sabine had copied for him from her encrypted letter.
The machine clanked and whirred, the keys suddenly moving of their own accord. Paper spooled from the slot in the side.
“What the hell?”
Cliff held his hands away from the machine as it churned, hardly daring to breathe lest he knock something out of place. When the device at last fell quiet, he ripped the strip of paper off and examined the row of printed numbers and letters.
“My God.” He set the machine carefully aside, then threw off the blanket and leapt for the door. “Sabine!” He raced through the halls and down the stairs. “Sabine, are you here?”
He didn’t see her anywhere, but he found Amy in the parlor, chatting with two of the young women from earlier. Apparently he hadn’t scared them all off.
“Amy, is Sabine here? I need to speak to her at once.” He grabbed hold of a chair to steady himself. His legs wobbled and his head spun from the overexertion.
Amy lost none of her cool public demeanor. “Miss Diebin and Miss Lola arrived home from their excursion not long ago, caked in mud. I believe they are both bathing.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Cliff raced back up two flights of stairs to Sabine’s bedchamber. He jiggled the handle, but it was locked tight. He hammered on the door.
“Sabine!” he shouted between coughs. “Sabine, are you in there? I found something important!” He knocked again. “I think I’ve found the location of the Heart of Ra!”
The door jerked open and he nearly fell into the room, barely catching himself with a hand on the doorframe. Little colored sparkles danced in front of his vision, obscuring the image of Sabine clutching a towel to cover her naked body.
“You found the location? But how?”
“The machine. I was playing with it. Using that encrypted text you gave me. Putting in settings. It started going all by itself. Spit out a bunch of numbers.” He thrust the paper at her. She took it with one hand, her other hand still carefully clutching the towel. “Don’t know where it is, but that’s definitely a latitude and longitude.” The room began to sway. “Whoa.”
Sabine looked from the paper to his face. “Cliff? Are you okay?”
“Maybe I should sit down. I feel a little…”
His knees gave out and he toppled. Sabine dropped both the paper and the towel and lunged to grab him. Even naked she still wore that half-armor.
Except it’s not armor, his mind slowly registered as she lowered him to the ground. The metal was built right into her skin—an entire half of her chest replaced with cold steel.
The world went black.
31
“Sabine.” Cliff’s arms reached out, hungering to draw her near. Nothing. Empty space.
His eyes flew open in surprise. He would have sworn he could feel her warmth, smell her scent. He blinked several times, forcing his eyes to focus. He wasn’t wearing his spectacles.
He lay in a bed, under a thick quilt. That explained the warmth. The bed was unfamiliar. Her bed.
/> Cliff turned his face into the bedding, inhaling. A hint of feminine musk. Fresh, clean soap, tinged with lemon. He could imagine Sabine dragging a bar of it across her creamy skin. Skin that he’d seen all of in that brief instant. He wished the memory brought a clearer image with it.
He didn’t sit up, not daring to risk passing out again, but he spent a few moments taking stock of himself. Someone had stripped him down to shirt and trousers. His coat, vest, and necktie were draped across the back of a nearby chair. His boots sat on the floor beside it.
Cliff picked up his eyeglasses from the bedside table where they sat, neatly folded. Sabine had done this, he suspected. With the corrective lenses back in place, he could see more clearly, but another perusal of the room told him nothing new. He was alone, in Sabine’s bed, half undressed. His chest still ached from the persistent cough.
His gaze landed on the bell pull. He could ring for assistance. Request some food and drink. Demand to know how he’d gotten here. It seemed a properly duke-ish thing to do. Might as well make some use of his title, since he couldn’t seem to do anything for himself yet. His fingers had just curled around the braided rope when the door opened.
“You’re awake.”
Cliff’s hand dropped to his lap. “Sabine.”
She was fully clothed, in a dark blue dress topped by a silver corset. Her hair had been done up into a knot at her nape. He caught his gaze lingering on her curves, in an inappropriate attempt to sharpen the blurry memory of her body, and jerked his eyes up to meet hers.
Kinsley, you worthless cad, he scolded himself.
“How are you feeling?” Sabine asked.
“Fine. A bit tired. I haven’t tried standing up yet.”
“Don’t. Hauling you into that bed once was enough.”
So she had been the one to put him here. She’d probably undressed him, too. The thought sparked a stirring in his groin that he was still too ill to act on.
“Sorry,” he replied. “I shouldn’t have been running through the house. I was over-excited.”
“And then the sight of me fresh from my bath did you in, naturally.”
Ripples of arousal raced through his entire body. Dammit, this was not the time!
“Um, right.” Don’t look at her. Don’t think about her bathing. Be content that your body is giving you positive indications that you are on the mend.
“That was a joke, Hartleigh. Funny. You’re supposed to at least chuckle.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not good with jokes. Germans have no sense of humor, you know.”
Cliff at least cracked a smile at that. “Was that a joke, too?”
She sniffed. “Enough nonsense. While you were in here recovering from your inelegant swoon, I spent some time playing with the Sphinx device myself.”
He pushed himself up straighter, grateful to discover that the movement didn’t make him dizzy. “And? What else did you find?”
“Nothing. Typing in the text from the coded message produced rubbish. Your setting may have produced a clue, but our treasure map is far from complete.”
“Damn. Did you at least look up the coordinates?”
“I did. They lead to a point in South America. In the mountains.”
Cliff’s eyebrows rose. “South America. That’s quite a distance.”
“Six days by airship if it’s a fast craft in good weather. Could be twice that if things go wrong.”
“So it could take up to a month to fly there, find the Heart of Ra, and fly back.”
“Why fly back? Once we’re there, you’ll be closer to California.”
“Right.” California. Damn. He hadn’t thought about that part of his plan in days, if not longer. Finding the Heart had become his only goal.
Primary goal, he corrected, his eyes raking over Sabine once again. He was dying to see her naked again, but not by accident. He wanted her begging him to touch her everywhere, desperate to share all of herself.
She stared back at him, the toe of her boot tapping impatiently. “Well? Are you finally going to ask about it?”
“About what?”
She frowned at him over the top of her spectacles before pushing them securely onto her nose. “This.” She waved a hand across the left side of her chest. “That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it?”
“No.” True, he was bursting with questions. What had happened to her? When? Was the metal plate protecting the sensitive organs beneath, or were there further biomechanics under the surface? Was it uncomfortable, or something she hardly noticed? Would she be able to feel it if he touched her there? None of that was any business of his, however, and he wouldn’t pry. If Sabine wanted him to know, she could tell him herself, the way Lola had shown off her heart.
“No.” She laughed. “Please, Hartleigh. You’re staring at me and practically squirming.”
“I know. Because I desperately want you in this bed with me, both of us naked and aroused, but it’s hopeless because you’re not interested and I’m not feeling well. Damned frustrating.”
Her lips parted and she stared at him, speechless for a long, awkward moment. “I see.” She composed herself. “I suppose that’s what you get for insisting on doing things your way. Go back to sleep, Hartleigh. I have outings with Lola to plan for tomorrow and I need you healthy. We’re going to the theater two nights from now.”
He blinked at her. “We are?”
“Someone noticed that I’m in town and His Majesty King Edward has ‘rewarded’ me with an invitation to a private performance of some new pirate play—where private means half the royal family and dozens of dukes and things.”
“I assume I’m one of those dozens?”
“You are. Go to sleep. Get better.”
“Are you going to search the London Library without me?”
“I’m debating it. I’m not certain whether we’ve lulled our enemies into a stupor or if they’re simply waiting for you to make an appearance. They know we’re in this together. Good night.”
She turned and started for the door.
“Sabine,” Cliff called.
She didn’t look back. “What?”
“If I’m here, where are you going to sleep?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He watched her departing backside, wondering how the hell he would ever manage to sleep surrounded by sheets that had hugged every inch of her body.
32
Sabine leaned against the doorframe, watching Cliff fidget with his cufflinks. He was devastatingly handsome, and the exceptionally tailored evening wear only emphasized his trim figure. Her body hadn’t calmed down since their brief bout of intimacy, and his candid confession of his desire for her had her lying awake at night. If they didn’t return to their hunt for the Heart of Ra soon, she was going to lose what little self control she still possessed.
“Everything is arranged for tomorrow,” she said.
He adjusted his necktie. “I assume you mean the library?”
“Yes. I will have guards posted to watch the entrance. If anyone suspicious follows us in or out, or visits during the time we are there, we will know about it. I visited briefly with Lola two days ago, so it will fit right in as part of her ‘show Daddy everything he missed’ tour.”
Cliff turned away from the mirror, fixing his blue eyes on her. “Thank you for looking after her all this week. Every night before bed she’s come chattering to me about how much fun she’s had. I was afraid after that mess in Switzerland she might hesitate to go anywhere without me, but you make her feel safe and loved and I can’t even begin to express how much that means to both of us.”
Sabine almost looked away, his gaze was so powerful, but it would have done little good. His voice was thick with emotion and it penetrated down to her bones.
“Thank you,” she replied. “She’s an amazing little girl.” I adore her. She’s crept under my skin and I don’t think I can get her out, and I’m terrified you’re doing the same thing. Do you know what happens to t
he people I care about?
No. Of course he didn’t. She hadn’t shared, and she wouldn’t because that would let him even closer than he already was. And that was far too dangerous.
“She is. I’m glad she has a woman like you to look up to.” His eyes drifted up and down, taking in Sabine’s elegant opera gown. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you. This is my ‘meeting with the king’ dress, so no short skirts or trousers.” Her silky black gown brushed the floor, hiding the boots she wore underneath. The sheer silver overlay added some sparkle and covered her arms and neck well enough to conceal her scars. True, the black corset topping the dress might draw some comment from the more conservative ladies—“Girls these days, turning undergarments into fashion! Shameful!”—but not enough to cause trouble. She would be the Heroine of the Royal Family and not a thieving pirate.
“Dressed up for Dirty Bertie, eh?” Cliff mused. “He’ll definitely want to jump you. He’s a skirt chaser.”
“Do not say that tonight. The last thing I need is to have to break you out of the Tower of London or save you from a noose. He’s a very popular king. Be respectful.”
Cliff shrugged. “I’m an uncouth American.”
“You are a duke. Act like one. If you want Redbeard and his lackeys to think we’re in town to mingle and party like devil-may-care aristocrats, you need to play the part. You can drink, gamble, and have mistresses, but you never insult the king.”
His eyes bore into hers. “Very well, then. I’d like a single-malt Scotch and one spectacular mistress, please.”
Sabine stared back. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not easily, no.”
She spun on her heel and strode out the door. “Finish your preparations. It’s time to leave.”
The Countess of Something-or-Other clung to Cliff’s arm, peppering him with questions about America and how he was adapting to life in England. She was so pleased to find him such a handsome, agreeable man, and Sabine was so ready to storm off so she didn’t have to listen to any more of the inane fawning.
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