by A R DeClerck
“Where is that dratted bird when you need him?” Lucia muttered with a sigh. “He should be able to take one look at the two of them and tell us outright if they’re being puppeted.”
“We both know that Elizabeth is not what she seems, but the rest of our company is in her court. We cannot act against her without risking them all.”
“Bastion is well, you think?”
“I think Bastion is occupied with the Romani.”
Lucia’s smile went cat-that-ate-the-canary. “One Romani in particular, I’d say.”
Archie chuckled. “A matchmaker after all? I thought Cora Mae had the bids on that title in our company?”
“I know what I see.” Her face went still as she swallowed hard. He felt the tremors in her fingers where they still held his.
“Is it worsening?”
She nodded. “When we were inside Bessemer’s fence there was blessed relief. No hard press against my heart, like it’s trying to drill its way inside me to live.” She pressed the flat of her palm against her chest, as if she could feel the prick of the drill. “But out here it’s constant. So much dark aether calling to me.”
“We’ll go.” He took a step, as if he would pick her up and carry her away as he spoke.
“It won’t help. It knows me and it wants to be inside me again. It takes all the strength I have to keep it out. To deny its siren’s song.” She pressed her forehead against his chest and breathed out in a long, slow sigh. “We must see this through. You and I know that whatever is going to happen will happen tonight. We are the only ones who can stop it.”
“I cannot bear to see you suffer.”
“I can fight this.” She raised her head and pressed her lips to his. Hers were cold, but they rose a fire inside him instantly. The smell of oranges floated around him, tropical in the sharp cold. “I will fight this and I will win,” she promised against his lips.
She stepped back and raised her chin despite the pain in her eyes. “Now let’s go in. I need tea and rest if we’re to face our villains tonight.”
Archie let her lead him into bustling house. Romani men carried lights and boxes of delicate décor in robust arms and the women hurried about with trays laden with food. He breathed in deep as his stomach growled. Lucia’s quiet chuckle warmed him more than the fire in the hearth of the solarium.
“See,” she said as they dropped with relieved sighs into the soft wingbacks before the flames, “tea will set us to rights.”
“All I need is you,” he told her, just to watch the bloom of heat color her cheeks.
She smiled as the door opened and Stella carried in a tray laden with tea and scones.
“I heard you had a spill in the carriage.” She put the tray on the table. “I hope you’re well.”
“We’re fine, but our driver wasn’t as lucky.”
“Yes, Josef. His brother went to fetch his body. We will make sure he is well remembered.” She turned to leave, but stopped and turned back.
“Is it dangerous here for the children? Should I take them away?”
Her keen instinct surprised Archie. “Keep them away from the ball,” he told her. “There may be trouble.”
“I wanted to run, but Bastion told me to trust you. He promised me that you would not let Yasmin be hurt.”
Archie could not lie to the woman. He liked her honesty and her dedication to her young sibling. “I will do my best to keep everyone safe, but dark magic is unpredictable and capricious. Stay away from the ball if you can. Keep Bastion close, he will protect you.”
“He also said you would never lie.” Stella left, closing the door behind her.
Archie dropped his pounding head to the back of the chair and closed his eyes. The weight of so many lives was like bricks on his chest, pressing and pressing. Was it a testament to his strength or his stupidity that he had not been crushed already?
“I knew, back on that street in the pouring down rain as my blood ran into the mud, that I was dying.”
He raised his head to look her in the eye. She was beautiful in a wholesome way so many women tried to emulate but never got right. Cheeks wind bitten, lips chapped and chewed with worry. Her hair was shining in the firelight, but it was her eyes that captivated him. So dark, so unbreakable. There was fire in them, too.
“I made my peace with it, you know. Dying. I figured it was the least I could do to pay for my sins. But I also prayed. If God didn’t want me to die, if I had a purpose beyond the pain I’d caused, I asked Him to send me a sign.”
“Did He?”
“He sent me you.”
Archie grinned in spite of himself. “I’m no angel.”
“I didn’t ask for an angel. I asked for a sign.” She moved to kneel in front of him, her palms pressed flat against the tops of his thighs as she looked into his eyes. “You saved me at great cost to yourself. Not because you had to, or because someone told you to save me. Because you are a good man, Archimedes Merriweather.”
“What did that mean to you, then?”
“It meant I could be a good woman, too. I promised myself that if I lived I would be like you. Courageous. Strong. Willing to give up a part of myself for someone else.” She stroked his metal hand. Her eyes were shimmering and he smoothed his human thumb along her cheek.
“You are a good woman. The best woman I know,” he promised her.
“I have you to thank for that.” She turned her head to press a kiss against his palm. “You are not alone in this, Archie. I am here with you. Do not try to bear the burden of it alone.”
“I want to tell you that it’s not safe. I want to make you leave this place and get as far away as you can.”
“And where do you think that might get you?”
“In a bit of trouble from your sauce-box I’d guess.” He grinned. “You’re a bit too much like another Adept wizardess I know to ever take off from a hullaballoo such as we’re sure to see.”
“Then don’t bother trying to send me away and let me help you. I believe you once offered the same advice to Icarus.”
“I did.” He leaned forward to press a kiss against her mouth. “Where would I be without you, Lady Lucia Conti?”
“Likely half-rats in the pub or shaking a flannin with some o’ the boys,” she teased.
“Up with you now,” he said, helping her stand. “We’ve a tea to finish and then I’m to hope they have a supply of headache powders.”
She handed him his cup and stirred milk into her own with a frown. “The ache should subside with rest, but I’ll check you over to be sure.”
“The touch of your magical hands?” He winked and she hid her smile behind her cup. He enjoyed teasing her like this, as if this was their parlor and their fire. Their night. No danger. Nothing but them and the promise of Christmas just a few days hence.
“Drink your tea,” she scolded, but the smile never faded as she leaned close, her shoulder rubbing his. This, he thought to himself, was the feeling he was fighting to protect. The feeling of being home.
Corrigan looked at the device in his hand. It was smaller than his palm, and round. He felt the irregularities in the casing and the slight hum of the energy coming off it. He frowned at it and wondered where it had come from.
“Just put it in your pocket, Captain.” Atraxas patted his shoulder. “That’s all you have to do.”
“What is it?” he asked. His mind was fuzzy, the edges soft. When had he come here to the laboratory in the secret ninth room?
“A trinket, nothing more.” Trimble tinkered with one of the larger machines, the same subtle humming coming from its casement. He raised his head to grin at Corrigan, but the captain could not fathom the joke. “You must play your part, too, captain.”
“Part?”
“Go. Rest. The ball begins promptly at six and it’s half past eleven now. Just remember, when you hear the caroling of the bells you must act.”
The words reverberated in the captain’s head. “Caroling of the bells.”
> “Yes. No go.”
Corrigan was propelled to the door; no matter how much he resisted the notion of leaving before all his questions were answered. “Machiavelli?” he managed.
“Safe.” Trimble patted the metal of the machine. “Nothing will happen to the most important piece of our puzzle.”
Corrigan’s feet wanted him to move, even as his brain resisted the idea. Wait. Something about this was wrong. All wrong. His hand clenched on the item in his pocket. What was it? He blinked as Atraxas’ face suddenly appeared in front of his.
“Resisting it already?” The elder Trimble rubbed his chin. “No matter. I can fix this. Let us hope the other pieces of the puzzle will fall into place so easily.”
“What. Are. You. Doing?” Corrigan bit out each word as his mouth tried to hold them back against his will.
“Relax, captain.” Atraxas bent so that his gaze captured Corrigan’s. No matter how hard he tried to turn his head, Corrigan found he could not move even an inch. “Look deeply.”
Trimble’s eyes bled black, the irises and pupils one mass of inky darkness. Corrigan felt repulsed by it, and he wanted to turn away, but could not.
“That’s good, captain. Look deeply.” Atraxas’ voice dragged him down, farther and farther into the thick black sea.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Corrigan screamed inside his mind where no one else could hear him even as it was flooded with darkness.
Lucia had never been surer of herself. As a young girl she’d let fear and hope destroy her confidence, crumbling her before the darkness of Edgar Baiandelio. In the years since she’d let that secret, hidden part of herself burrow ever deeper. Today she’d come too close to losing Archie. She knew now, despite etiquette and social stigma, despite her own inner failings, that she could not let another moment pass without loving him the way he deserved to be loved.
The tea was cold when she took his hand. “Come. I’m tired.”
His eyes went a little wider, but he did not argue. She led him past the Romani on the stairs and to the door of her room. He resisted as she tugged him inside.
“I’ll go, then. You’ll need to rest before the ball.”
“I promised you I’d check you over.” She pulled him over the threshold with a tug. “I am the personal apothecary to the Grand Adept, remember. I wouldn’t want to be remiss in my duties.”
“No. Of course not,” he said hastily. He knelt and built up the fire in her hearth. He stiffened when she let her fingers slide gently into the hair at the nape of his neck. She probed tentatively with her fingertips at the skin of his scalp.
“Do you feel pain here?” she murmured.
“N—no.” He cleared his throat. “No.”
She reached for his hand and he stood.
“What are you doing?”
She held back her smile and continued undoing the tiny buttons of his shirt. “I’m going to examine you, of course.”
“The injury was to my head.”
“I’m the healer, Adept. Let me be the judge of the injuries.”
She pushed the shirt off his shoulders and did not miss the chance to slide her hands over the smooth muscles of his human shoulder and the strong copper of his mechanical arm. He did not resist as she pulled it from his wrists and dropped the shirt on the floor. Her eyes caught the hairline scar from where the knife had pierced his skin. She pressed her lips to it and felt his hands clench at his sides.
He was a beautiful man. She’d always liked the look of the male body, even as a young apothecary still learning the human anatomy. The sun had browned his skin and the hairs on his chest were crisp and dark like the hair on his head. Each plane of his body was taunt with muscle, attesting to the strength he tried so hard to tame.
“You lost your arm and your upper rib.” She let her hand smooth over the copper casement of his shoulder, down to his elbow and over to his side, where the rib would have been.
“This—this is pleasant, but...”
She shook her head. “Allow me to continue, Archie. I’ve seen it all before, you know.”
“I remember.”
She remembered, too. Bastion had called for her help; one of his dearest friends had been brutally assaulted and tossed in a rubbish heap, many of his injuries already festering. The man was near death, Bastion had implored, and he needed the strongest tandem healing he could find. Of course she’d come at his call, he was her mentor. Her friend. The moment she had looked down at the grotesquely swollen remnants of Archie’s face, she had known him.
The puckered scars of his burns were gone, healed by she and Bastion over many days. Nevertheless, she knew the memories of those horrific times remained in his body. His skin remembered the touch of the branding iron and the shattering of his bones.
She moved behind him, studying the broad expanse of his back. He had a strong neck and wide shoulders tapering down to his waist. She explored every inch with her fingers, learning the feel of his skin. When her hand went to his copper one, he pulled away.
“I’m feeling better now.”
She grabbed hold of the metal fingers and held on tight. “I’m not finished.”
“What is this about, Lucia? This isn’t proper.”
“This is about a woman who loves a man. A woman who cannot go one more day without him.”
“Then we’ll be married. But I won’t let you ruin yourself for me.”
“Did you just propose to me in such an offhand manner, Archimedes Merriweather?”
He turned. “I would do anything to be with you, Lucia. Sacrifice anything I have for you. I will not see you shunned for being with me before marriage.”
She narrowed her eyes. Did he understand so little of life? “Society is made up bigots and hypocrites, Archie. You think all of them were pure before marriage? This is not about the ton. Or society. We may well die tonight. Or any night to come. You could have died today.” She took his face in her hands, pulling him close. “I will not go one more moment without knowing how this feels. Is that clear?”
“I know you’re afraid—-“
“I’m not afraid. I have gone beyond fear to pure determination. You will be mine, Archimedes. I’ll have it no other way.”
A smile simmered at the edge of his lips, but she could see worry in his eyes. She leaned closer.
“You are temptation incarnate, woman.”
“Then kiss me, Archie. Right now. This moment is all we have. Let’s claim it for our own.”
Time was the enemy of all men. Archie wanted to stop it in this moment, so he could stare at the face of the woman he loved forever. She was confident, her eyes full of desire. Desire for him. It still seemed impossible that a woman like this could love a reformed strong-arm with half a mechanical body. She was royalty. Perfection. He had never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss her. Did he deserve her? Hell no. Did he want her? More than anything.
“You are temptation incarnate, woman.”
“Then kiss me, Archie. Right now. This moment is all we have. Let’s claim it for our own.”
He could no more have stopped himself from kissing her than stop an Underground carriage with a toothpick. She was exotically flavored; the scent of oranges that permeated the air around her was on her lips. She was close, and he could feel the brush of her breasts against his bare chest as he crushed her in his arms. He was careful with her, until she moaned against him and her hands wove their way into his hair to pull him closer.
Where was his worldly restraint now, he wondered. How could he control himself when the woman he wanted most in the world was offering herself to him so completely?
His lips left hers, traveling over her jawline to the elegant curve of her neck. He kissed his way around the silk ribbon of the cameo and it was a possessive feeling that swept over him. She belonged to him. She wore his trinket because she wanted the world to know she was his.
He nipped the skin, and felt goose pimples run over her skin. Her ha
ir was a heavy curtain as he pulled it back to let his lips trail over her shoulder and across her chest to the swell of her breasts above the lip of her dress. He kissed one soft mound first, then the other. She was on tiptoe, pressing closer to his mouth and his body, as eager as he to explore this new path between them.
“Turn around,” he whispered. “I’d see all of you bared for me.”
She gave him her back, shaking with desire that made his trousers tight. The woman was an aphrodisiac to him. He made short work of the buttons, glad his fingers were nimbler than most. The dress dropped to a puddle at her feet and he moved behind her, kissing the valley between her shoulder blades.
Her hand was shaking as he led her to the bed and bade her to sit. He unlaced her boots and removed them carefully. Her silk stockings were black and lace, soft against his hands as he let his fingers travel from her foot, over her ankle and slowly up her thigh. She gasped as he tugged, gently rolling first one stocking and then the other down, pressing kissing over every inch of skin that was revealed.
The corset was next, tossed hastily in the corner as his hand found and weighed her breasts in his palms. “Perfection,” he murmured, his human thumb sliding over her nipple. He pulled gently on the tie to her chemise, letting it fall open to reveal her body in all its glory.
Her head fell back as he knelt; pressing kisses to the skin between her breasts, over her breastbone.
“Archie,” she moaned.
“Yes, darling?”
“Take off your pants.”
He grinned, his own boots off in a moment. Her hands helped unlace his britches, and she pushed them down his legs.
“You’re beautiful.”
“No, my dear. Women are beautiful. Men are rugged. Handsome.”
“You’re beautiful.” She pressed kisses over his chest and arms as he continued his playful exploration of her breasts with his hands. She shivered as his metal hand touched her, and he pulled it back.
“No,” she said, taking the hand and placing gently over her breast. “I want you to touch me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t.” She pulled him to her for a soft kiss. He was hard between them, pressing against her belly. Her hand wandered down to grip him and he could not help the groan of pleasure to feel her soft palm run over his shaft. She gripped him gently, mimicking the strokes of sex and he could not stop the buck of his hips.