“Aida?” I heard a familiar voice call out. I froze. “Aida!”
I turned and found myself staring at the one person I never thought I’d see again as he ran toward me, waving his hat and yelling on a Paris street.
“Leopold? What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you, of course.” He reached me and stopped, grabbing my upper arm. “This, darling Aida, is a rescue.”
“A rescue from what?”
He glanced over his shoulder and pulled me into a winding side street. “From Capshaw, of course.” The prince sniffed. “All of London is talking about how he took leave of his senses and kidnapped you, forcing you to marry him at gunpoint.”
“Julian didn’t—”
“Lady Teesil has been your fiercest advocate,” Leopold said, pulling me farther down the street. “She told everyone how Capshaw forced you into matrimony with the gun pointed at that small child’s head to force your hand. Although, why anyone would have such a small boy on board a pleasure cruise is beyond me.”
“There was no boy.” I pulled away from him.
Leopold froze, staring at me as he tugged at the sleeves of his coat, a nervous habit that made him look more than a bit like a very fidgety parson. “I don’t understand.”
“There was no gun.”
“But—” He tugged at his cuffs again then reached up to finger the knot in his cravat.
“Julian didn’t force me into marriage.”
“He didn’t?” Leopold jerked harder at the knot at his neck and I could see it was loosening in a rather alarming manner for a public street. “You can’t mean that you truly did elope with the man. Can you?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, we must consider you and me.” Leopold stepped closer. “I would have found a way for us to be together, Aida, not to mention I’m a prince. Capshaw is…”
“My husband.” I stepped away from him. “And, may I respectfully remind you, Your Highness, that you have a fiancée back in London waiting for you to return.”
“But Aida.” Leopold reached for me. “I’ve come to save you. You’re the woman I love, and I’ve come to rescue you.”
My heart thawed as I looked at the silly boy who truly had been one of my closest friends. He was fickle and weak, but deep down Leopold did have a good heart. Not that it would do me much good in my present circumstances.
“Thank you, Leo.” I stepped closer and rose on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. “But I don’t need saving. I’m quite in love with my husband, you see. Even though it is rather bourgeois of me and there is a very good chance that it’s a one-sided infatuation.”
“You’re in love with Julian Capshaw?” Leopold asked, stunned. He swallowed, his eyes wide.
“I am, even though it is horribly inconvenient to find myself mooning over him when there’s science to be done.”
“You don’t think he feels the same?” Leopold let go of his neckwear and crossed his arms over his chest, his face a mixture of shock and fascination. “What do you intend to do about this—well this affliction of yours?”
“I don’t know.” I bit my lower lip and tried to keep from curling my shoulders forward in misery and more than a little shame at what a desperate and silly little girl I’d become over the man. “I’ll learn to live with it, I suppose. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make my way to the Montmarte to meet a black market smuggler about some necessary parts for a piece of clockwork technology I’m illegally making.”
Leopold put a hand out and touched my cloak over my arm. “Pardon me, but could you repeat that?”
“I’m making automatons and selling them on the black market for income.”
“And?” Leopold tilted his head and scrunched his nose, looking less like a member of the royal family and more like one of his mother’s rather sad looking Pomeranians who’d lost his bone.
“If I am to have parts I need to go and buy them from a rather interesting little fellow who has a black market stall in the Montmarte and goes by the rather picturesque name of Horloge Jacques. The name is the only nice thing about him though since he charges ghastly rates of interest when I’m forced to buy on credit.”
“Why not have your father simply send you the parts?” Leopold cocked his head to the other side and I had to fight the urge to pat his head for putting together the obvious.
“The French port police keep seizing my supplies after a rather hefty bribe by Julian’s father. Now if you’ll excuse me.” I turned and took a step away from him.
“Stop,” Leopold said loudly and I froze in midstep. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To the docks.” Leopold reached out and took my elbow in hand and gave me his most endearing little boy smile. “If you won’t let me be the chivalrous knight who saves you from a villainous husband, at least let me use my position to clear up this small bureaucratic snaggle. Last I checked, the bribe of a Prince still outranks that of an Earl.”
“Are you sure?” I followed him out of the narrow street and back toward the Seine.
“It’s the least I can do for the woman I’ll always regret losing.” Leopold raised his hand in the air, waving down a hansom cab. “But let’s keep this quiet. I can’t publicly be seen counteracting my mother’s decrees. No matter how ridiculous they might be.”
“Thank you, Leopold.” A cab stopped beside us, and he helped me inside. “I promise this will be our secret.”
“Consider it a wedding present,” Leopold said. “Not that I approve of Capshaw, mind you. You’re much too smart for him, you know.”
“I do, Your Majesty,” I said with a smile. “But I’m willing to overlook that.”
“Well they do say love is blind,” Leopold said. “In your case it may have made you selectively stupid as well.”
“Apparently so,” I said.
Chapter Nine
The door to our apartment opened three weeks later, and a chilly spring wind tore through the tiny front room, fluttering my papers and breaking me out of my musings. Julian stood in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the door jamb with a smug smile. “You forgot.”
“Forgot what?” I smiled up at him and he moved closer, his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers, as he leaned over the desk and let his eyes dance over the blueprints I’d been working on.
“We’re having dinner with the American Ambassador and the Vicomte of Ravelleine tonight at his townhouse. The Vicomte wants to discuss the newest work coming from Mulvaney’s Black Market European Emporium and arrange for a private viewing of his available options.”
He ran his finger across one the cross section of the miniaturized Babbage device that I wanted to test as a potential source of basic reasoning inside of an automaton, narrowing his eyes before turning to look at me again.
“Meanwhile, the Ambassador believes that he has favorable news for me in relation to our potential fortunes in America. A firm in Boston is beginning preliminary research for a low etherospheric mass transit system.”
“Flying hansom cabs?”
“Flying hansom cabs, indeed.” Julian straightened and brought his hand up to trace along the nape of my neck, drawing circles into my skin, and I shivered, even though the room was quite warm now that we could afford coal to heat it. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you forgot about the dinner.”
“I didn’t forget. I was simply trying to work out a production schedule since business has started booming finally. Besides, I have plenty of time.” But then I looked out the window at the setting sun. “Don’t I?”
“Three hours.” Julian took out his pocket watch and opened it, face forward so I could read the time. It was already a quarter past five. Drat. “So I suggest you hurry.”
“I have everything prepared.” I untied my work apron and dropped it onto the desk in an untidy heap. “I can be ready in less than two hours without any difficulties.”
“Good,” Julian said with
a slow smile.
His mood had eased since money had started to come in from my work and he’d managed to find a few discreet jobs to keep him employed until we could make arrangements to emigrate. I hadn’t told him what role Leopold had played in our sudden reversal of fortunes. After all, how practical would it be to bring about illogical resentment when the remedy had been so effortless? I’d just enjoyed my good luck and allowed him to think that it was possible his father had finished with his vengeance streak.
I stood and ran a hand up across my cheek, pushing back a stray curl that had slipped free of the tight knot I’d put my hair in that morning. Julian’s hand reached up to follow mine, tracing the line of my cheek.
“Go get yourself sorted and into a bath,” Julian said quietly, the backs of his fingers still lingering near my ear. “Then, since we have time to spare, perhaps I’ll scrub your back?”
“Hmm.” I stepped back from his touch and let my own hand slide down to trail my fingers along his hip as I turned toward the bedroom. “Perhaps I’ll let you.”
“We shall see.”
I opened the door to our bedroom and looked at him over my shoulder, smiling, before I slipped inside the room and closed the door behind me.
Once I was alone, I moved over to the bedroom fireplace and was happily surprised to see that my newest home invention had worked. The clockwork water heater had activated as it should, dropping a large pile of snow into the kettle hanging over the fireplace. Now it had melted and—I leaned down and dabbed my finger into the water—was the perfect temperature for a bath.
Lifting the heavy cauldron, I staggered over to the copper bathtub and dumped in the steaming contents. I wiped the sweat off my brow and heaved a deep breath. Since the heater had worked, my next invention would have to be some form of automaton to haul water, perhaps a modified version of one of our warehouse trolleys? This one kitted out to haul water instead of parts? Although how would someone steer it?
My fingers itched for a sketchpad so I could begin trying out various ideas, but there wasn’t time. I hung the heavy kettle back over the fireplace and peeled off the layers of clothing I had swaddled myself in this morning to stay warm. Even though we could now afford coal for the stove, Paris winters were still bitterly harsh, and every time the wind blew I shivered at the draft that tore through my lab.
When I stepped into the tub, the heat radiating from the water stung my skin. I hissed and gritted my teeth. Perhaps I’d gotten the water a bit too warm? Regardless, I wasn’t going to get clean just standing there. I sank into the bathtub and let my head drop against the high back, sighing as the heat worked its way into my bones. I let myself doze, musing about clockwork automatons that could do math, as I started to drift further off to sleep in the warm water.
Something large and heavy crashed somewhere nearby, and I jerked upright, fully awake now, my heart pounding. What had happened? Where was Julian? How long had I been asleep? The water was still warm-ish so it couldn’t have been long. So where was the husband who’d agreed to scrub my back?
Another crash rattled, this one definitely against our door. Something was most definitely not right. My heart pounding in my ears, I pulled myself out of the tub and hurriedly pulled on my dressing gown before rushing to the door.
In the main doorway to our flat, Julian struggled with two much larger men in rough clothes, and he didn’t seem to be faring well. One of the men butted his head forward so that his forehead connected with my husband’s nose, snapping Julian’s head back.
“Julian!”
“Run, Aida!” Julian yelled as he punched one of the men. The man dropped to his knees, cradling his bleeding nose, but the other man punched Julian in the stomach. I watched in horror as Julian doubled over in pain.
The bleeding man stood and drove his knee hard into Julian’s stomach, and Julian dropped to the floor, curling inward to protect his vital organs from the man’s furious punches. The second man kicked him heavily at the back of his kidneys, and Julian moaned. The man laced his fingers through my husband’s hair and lifted his head before he landed a heavy blow against Julian’s jaw, knocking him unconscious.
The bleeding man turned toward me and smiled, the light glinting off of his few remaining teeth, and I swallowed, fear clawing at my stomach. “Take him and go,” the man said to his accomplice in English. Fear spread to the rest of my body.
They were Englishmen. And they had come during the day while Julian was home. There could be only one explanation for their appearance here. Lord Capshaw was sick of waiting for his son to see reason and had taken the matter into his own hands. The man licked his lips, and I felt my hands tremble. Julian was unconscious, and I was trapped in an apartment with what appeared to be a very dangerous man.
“You know ducky.” The man stepped closer and I swallowed again. “I have to wonder what the old man would say if I saved him the cost of an annulment? Much cheaper if his son comes home a widower instead and you and I both know how these nobles are—they’re terribly worried about the state of their shillings.”
“Oh St. Patrick and Lord Babbage help me…” I said as the man slowly stepped closer, still smiling.
“Don’t worry love. We’ve got a bit of time before it comes to that. I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.” He licked his lips and it was enough to wake me up. Acting on instinct I turned and ran into the bedroom, pushing the door shut behind me, then bolted for the window and the tiny fire escape outside.
Before I had the window open, the door flew wide, bouncing against the wall from the force of his shove. I fought to get the window open. I had to get out of here. I had to—
“Come here lovey,” the man said, his voice cruel and biting as he stepped into the room. “I won’t hurt you. Much. Then we’ll put you on a ship back to Ireland and no one will ever know. Disappeared is as good as dead isn’t it?”
The floor creaked from his weight as he moved closer and I still couldn’t get the window to budge, my fingers slipping against the edge of the frame. I looked around the room again, desperate to find a weapon. Why did I not have any bits of machinery lying about that I could throw at him? There weren’t even any books piled on the floor for me to use.
Then I saw the fireplace and the heavy iron kettle hanging from its hook. It was bulky and a pain to lift, but the bottom was brutally hot from warming my bath water. I bolted toward the fireplace, not bothering to grab a towel before I snatched up the kettle, uncaring that it burned my palms. I spun back around and saw the man staring at me from the middle of the room.
“Now what are you going to do with that ducky? Give me a good washing?”
He stepped closer still, his hands in front of him. “Put that down and we’ll talk. You’ll see how reasonable of a man I can be. You be nice to me, girl, and I’m willing to forget you were even here. Give you time to slip away on your own.”
He stepped closer still and I swung at him from the waist. It hit the man solidly in the gut, and the impact zinged up the length of my arms. He screamed in pain and dropped to his knees.
I released the kettle, hopped over his writhing form and sprinted for the door. It didn’t matter if I was in my dressing gown. If I could simply get across the street, I knew one of my neighbors would give me refuge and send for the police.
A tight grip wrapped around my left ankle, jolting me to a stop, and I fell face first onto the floor next to our bed. “You bitch!” The man crawled on top of me and brought his fist down on my cheek. Brilliant white stars of pain filled my vision.
“Help!” I screeched, hoping that someone, anyone, might hear me.
“Enough of that.” The man punched me again, this time in my jaw.
I tried to stay conscious despite the persistent blackness bleeding into the sides of my vision. He brought his fist back a third time, and I turned my face away, trying in vain to avoid the blow, and spied a piece of machinery underneath the bed. A clockwork heart, forgotten last night after I’d brought
it down to work on it before bed.
When the man brought his fist down, I bucked, trying to throw him off balance. His fist lost its momentum, and instead of hitting me, he grabbed for my shoulder and lifted his hips. It was enough to give me a clear shot at his more sensitive parts. I brought my knee up and tried my best to jam his testicles up to his ears.
He let out a roar of pain and jerked upright, still straddling my lower legs but leaving my arms free. I grabbed the metal heart, sat up, and swung my hand up to cuff him on the ear. The extra weight from the heart turned what might have been a light smack into a solid hit, and he fell sideways.
I scrambled to my feet and stared down at his dazed form. Blood trickled from his ear, and he curled up like a newborn. I pulled on the heavy fisherman’s boots that Julian had brought me a few weeks earlier, hopping from foot to foot.
“That’s the least you deserve for assaulting me.” I kicked him in the stomach once and winced as my toes banged painfully against the inside of the heavy boots. Then I turned on my heel and ran for the front door.
Once I reached the entryway, I raced outside and through the gate. There had to be a gendarme nearby. I needed help. Julian needed help. The muscles in my stomach clenched thinking about the beating he’d taken, and acid burned in my throat at the thought of what Lord Capshaw would do once Julian had returned to England.
I had to stop the men who’d kidnapped him. Julian could not leave French shores.
“Whoa!” a man said when I raced across the street. I spun around and found a pair of hooves dancing before my eyes. I’d narrowly avoided being run over by a hansom cab.
“I need your help! Please!” I said loudly in my best French, stumbling over the words. From the look on his face, I wondered if that was indeed what I’d said.
A Riveting Affair (Entangled Ever After) Page 18