A Riveting Affair (Entangled Ever After)

by Candace Havens

  “Intruders!” Marbury shrieked from the hallway outside. “Someone has come for the Viscount of Esselford. There are armed brigands in the house! Guard His Majesty the Prince. That crazy Irish bitch of his has come to kill us all!”

  “Oh, mercy.” The cook dropped her spoon and shooed us toward the door. “What are you two waiting for? Go on!”

  “Thank you.” We rushed out the kitchen door and ran across the yard and through the gate, slipping into the woods beyond.

  “What do we do now?” Julian pulled me through the forest, the short chain around his ankle making a scraping sound as he dragged it along behind him.

  I watched the road nearby, certain we’d see torchlight and hear angry shouts at any moment. My heart raced from the exertion, and I nearly twisted my ankle when my boot heel caught in the moist earth.

  “Deverly and my father will send out a search party, and they have dogs. We can’t outrun them. Especially considering the trail this chain is leaving behind.”

  “We don’t need to,” I said when we rounded the bend. Once we’d gotten clear of the house, I spied Leopold’s driver parked beside the road, the horses pawing at the ground nervously.

  “Why?”

  “Leopold is allowing us to steal his coach. Although he’d probably prefer if we left it behind when we’re done with it.”

  “You think of everything, my darling.”

  “Practicality is the key to romance,” I said when we reached the carriage and he lifted me inside.

  Julian swung into the carriage and the driver laid his reins across the horses’ backs.

  “The Royal Parks,” I called out when we reached the road, and the driver let his whip crack. The horses ran at full speed, and the Welsh countryside flew by.

  “What will we find at the Royal Park?”

  “A dirigible known as the Queen Katherine,” I said. “Beyond that? The freedom to live as you choose. At least once we get you unshackled.”

  “Will you be beside me?” He leaned down so that his face was close to mine. “Will you still be my wife? Be my wife again, in fact?”

  “I…” I felt my breath hitch.

  “I know that I didn’t marry you for the most noble of reasons the first time, Aida,” he said. “But I would very much like to do it properly this time.”

  “Are you saying…”

  “I love you. Rather passionately, in fact.”

  “Oh.” My mind went blank, and I wasn’t sure what to say.

  “So will you? Marry me? Be my wife? Live in my home and in the very center of my heart?”

  I choked out a sob, trembled as my nerves caught up with all the things we’d done tonight. “Do you think I would break into the house of a Duke, shoot a clockwork dragon intent on burning us to a crisp, throw a pistol at a Viscount, and perform a daring nighttime escape just to walk away now? Husband, you don’t give me enough credit for follow through.”

  “So is that a yes?” he asked, his own voice tense. He pulled me into his side.

  “Of course it’s a yes, you silly man. I love you and even more importantly, I’ve grown quite accustomed to your help in my lab.”

  “Well as long as you keep loving me for something.” He leaned down to kiss the column of my throat and nipped lightly at the place where the high-necked gown met my skin.

  “Although I was wondering,” I said as he let his free hand trail up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher as he went.

  “Hmmm?”

  “How would you feel about my building us a dragon?”

  “Aida…”

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people I’d like to thank for this little gem so in no particular order of importance here are the ones I can remember off the top of my head:

  At Entangled—Kerri-Leigh Grady, Liz Pelletier, Jaime Arnold, Danielle Barclay, and Debbie Suzuki.

  Here at home—my lovely family, Angie Kirsch and Melissa Stark for critiquing this baby in its infant stages and all my darling friends who have listened to me gush, then whine, then complain about this particular story. All of you are fabulous.

  But most importantly—to my darling Ben. The man who makes me wake up every day and think how lucky I am to have him in my life.

  About the Author

  Patricia Eimer is a small town girl who was blessed with a large tree in the backyard made for reading in on summer days. Mixed with too much imagination it made her a bratty child, but fated her to become a storyteller. She currently lives in a small town near Philadelphia with her two wonderful kids and a husband that learned the gourmet art of frozen pizzas to give her more time to write. When she’s not writing she can be found fencing and arguing about with her dogs about who’s in charge.

  Demon Express

  Candace Havens

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Candace Havens. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Guillian Helm and Liz Pelletier

  Cover design by Jessica Cantor

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-064-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition March 2013

  Dedicated to Twitter

  Thanks for the hookup.

  Chapter One

  Chisholm Cemetery

  Fort Worth, Texas

  October 1897

  Maisy pulled on her night vision peepers, and three forms appeared in the cemetery below the copse of trees where she hid. Her hunch had paid off. Two swarthy men dug a fresh grave, while a third man wearing a cowboy hat seemed to direct them. She recognized the diggers, but the cowboy was new.

  She pressed the button on her pocket watch and held it near her mouth. “There are three,” she whispered. “Would you prefer I kill them or do you intend to question them?”

  Killing the grave robbers was the best option. Not only were they involved in a horrid business, disturbing the dead, but their association with Julian Darvil was assured. And anyone willing to work for someone as evil as her ex-fiancé—especially in his business of gathering corpses for his nefarious concerns—was better off dead.

  Besides, questions took time, and she had little enough of that to fully explain the situation to her client.

  “Capture only,” came the reply.

  “Bugger,” she whispered and sprang the trap she’d laid hours ago. Two nets flew out from the headstones surrounding the fresh grave. The mechanism she’d designed pulled the rope tight, tangling about the trio and dragging them onto the hard Texas earth with a thump. Dust choked the air, as did their cursing.

  Maisy rose from her position and, pointing her modified revolver at them—a girl could never be too careful—moved in until she was fifteen feet away and had to push the peepers onto her forehead to avoid being blinded by the gas lamps they’d stupidly brought with them. She smiled. These men were easy prey. She would have answers from them in no time. Even as she watched, the diggers struggled against and swiped at the ropes tethering them to the ground.

  “Stop fighting,” she said. “If you do not desist, the ropes will work around your neck and strangle the life out of you. Alas, the only grave robbing you’d see then would happen to your own grave.” She moved around the corner of a nearby mausoleum and scanned the area for anyone else, but the cemetery and surrounding grounds seemed clear. She swept the area once more with her goggles back in place to confirm then stowed them in her pack. “I promised my client I wouldn’t kill you, but accide
nts do happen.”

  The cowboy, whose hat miraculously remained atop his head, as if it hadn’t the sense to topple as gravity insisted, looked at her with something beyond irritation and bordering on hatred. “I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you let me go.”

  Maisy gave an unladylike snort. “I suggest you stay quiet until my client gets here.” She kept a few feet away from the net and circled her captives as Mr. Garretson rode up on his horse.

  “Calloway?” he asked when he dismounted. “Is that you?”

  The cowboy gave Maisy a look of disgust. “James, what the hell is going on? You didn’t mention some woman planned to tie me up when you asked me to check out the gravesite.”

  Garretson smiled with some chagrin. “Professor Clark, perhaps you would be so kind as to release your trap so my friend can stand.”

  “If he’s a friend, why is he in the company of grave robbers?” Maisy asked, but she pulled the lever to loose the nets as requested.

  “Grave robbers?” The cowboy sounded rather indignant.

  One of the diggers said, “We’re grave diggers and only helping Mr. Calloway here with his investigation.” He pointed a beefy finger at her through the loosening net. “He’s the law, missy. Not some criminal.”

  Maisy bristled. Her client had brought in an investigator? This case was hers. She didn’t like to share her stash of Earl Grey, much less the intellectually and physically stimulating cases that kept her focused now that she no longer taught at university. She especially didn’t like sharing in her hunt for Julian.

  “Before you get angry, Professor, this here’s Marshal Jake Calloway. I sent a telegram to the marshal almost a year ago, but he was busy helping out the Texas Rangers,” said Mr. Garretson. “Looks like he’s back in town. Perhaps you two could put your heads together on my case.” He held out a hand to his friend when the last of the ropes fell away and helped him stand.

  “I see,” Maisy said. Indeed, the last thing she needed was a meddling cowboy bent on derailing her investigation and the best lead she’d received in months. She lifted another lever attached to the net’s motor, and the ropes slowly retracted.

  “Got here as soon as I could.” Calloway’s voice was rich and dark, like the vile swill Americans liked to drink in the morning. “I saw the mutilated cows earlier today. It’s the same kind of thing we saw in Amarillo last year, though it looks like there’s a lot more of them now. Amarillo didn’t have that much damage.” He nodded toward the grave. “Any humans dying mysteriously now, or is it still just the cows?”

  “Just cows,” Garretson replied as he moved his horse away from the nets. “At first it was just one or two, but I’ve lost fifty head of cattle in the last month. The professor has a theory that the animals might be related to what’s going on with the graves.”

  “Perhaps you gentlemen could carry on your conversation elsewhere.” Maisy reset the traps as the last net wound to the ejection spool. “The grave robbers will decline to show if you insist on tea and crumpets over a fresh grave.”

  The lamplight revealed more of his face as he shifted to look at his watch. “Sun will be up in a couple of hours. Doubt your culprits will show before then. Maybe tomorrow night.” His dark brown hair hung almost to his collar, and a long, jagged scar ran from cheekbone to ear.

  Two minutes ago, you thought he was a grave robber. She cleared her throat and busied herself checking the ropes of the trap. “Just the same, I’d appreciate it if you men could take your conversation elsewhere. Your grave diggers, too.” Assured that the traps were properly reset, she picked up her gun and started toward her hiding spot in the copse of trees.

  “What kind of gun is that?” the cowboy asked from behind her.

  “Revolver.” Her hands shook slightly, so she stiffened her back and walked faster. But when he pulled alongside her, she stopped and faced him, her shoulders squared and her chin high.

  “Doesn’t look like any revolver I’ve ever seen.”

  “I modified a Colt so that it connects to an ammunition belt. This way, I have thirty shots before I’m forced to reload.”

  “You that bad a shot, Professor?” He looked like he might smile at his own quip, and for a moment, Maisy considered triggering the nets again and leaving him there all night.

  “No, Marshal. I’m an excellent shot, and I need all thirty when pursued by a horde of outlaws.” She slipped the gun into the harness at her hip and turned. “Excuse me. I have a watch to resume,” she said as she pushed past him.

  “Sounds like you’ve had plenty of opportunities to use your weapon,” he called after her. He might have sounded a bit impressed, but only an idiot wouldn’t be. Most men didn’t like that she knew how to use a gun.

  “Not this version. I had hoped to use it tonight.” She turned and gave him a pointed look. “How many hours ‘til sunrise, Marshal?”

  He smiled. Insufferable git. Maisy had to find a way to get rid of the cowboy before he ruined everything.

  …

  The Iron Witch

  Two miles outside Fort Worth

  In her lab on the Iron Witch, Maisy stowed the blood samples she’d taken from the dirt around the first grave she’d inspected when Garretson had asked for her help. The blood had been fresh at the time, so it wasn’t from the cadaver, and the cells were normal, which meant it was not related to whatever was killing the cattle. The blood from those scenes was very obviously not human, and as far as she could tell, they weren’t bovine, lupine, or canine, either.

  Henry, her English Mastiff, barked, and Maisy turned on her stool, waiting for a second bark to confirm the warning. When it came, she grabbed the rifle nearest her and dashed to the door of the dining car adjacent to the lab. The dining car was one of the few with windows.

  Unfortunately, she was alone on the Iron Witch, her private steam engine. She could deal with intruders on her own, of course, but fights tended to end slightly faster when she had her butler Barnes at the ready.

  Henry barked a third time, which meant the intruder had arrived at the perimeter. Maisy checked the knives in her boot and corset. Her traps would get him before—

  A loud pop carried through the night air, followed by a hard thump. Maisy grinned. If the intruder didn’t back off, he would fry before he could get within twenty feet of the train. Using her remote conduits, she switched on one of the electric lanterns at the front of the train. She glanced outside again and cursed when she saw the silhouette of a horse and then a man on the ground. The man’s silhouette wasn’t overly large or malformed, neither grotesque nor inhuman, though it was sizeable. Maisy flipped the switch to disengage the security fence. As much as she’d have liked to kill the intruder, others might not appreciate her efforts. Besides, he was a rather handsome specimen, despite his particular ability to interrupt.

  The marshal had found her.

  Gripping her revolver, she descended the metal steps and walked toward the fence several yards away, checking the night sky for shadows blotting the stars.

  Calloway, flat on his back, stirred and groaned. “What the hell was that?” he asked on a gasp. He’d probably had the air knocked from his lungs.

  “Electrified fence.”

  He slowly sat up and glared at her. “There’s no electricity outside of town. How is it powered?”

  She rested the stock of the gun against her hip and reached out to help him up, but he was already on his feet. “Why are you here, Marshal? You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

  “You told me to let you know when I was finished with the gravesite. Since a telegram seemed time-consuming, I thought I’d ride out. I didn’t realize you’d created a fortress with your train.”

  The man had no idea. “Fine, you’ve delivered your message. You may go.”

  He remained silent. “Okay, I’ve been dismissed. Don’t suppose I could get a look at the train. Rumor is you have technology—”

  Henry barked again, and Maisy yanked opened the fence’s gate. “Hurr
y. Get your horse to the stable car. And meet me at the metal steps by the entrance. You were followed.”

  Calloway looked behind him, but did as she asked, shooing the horse toward the stable where Midnight fed. “Followed? By who?” He shouted.

  She slammed the gate behind him. “We don’t have time to chat.” Flipping the switch in her pocket, she triggered the fence’s circuit to close, and it hummed to life.

  Running for the train, Calloway veered to the left toward the stable. The horse seemed to know danger had arrived and went straight in. The marshal slid the door closed.

  “Come on!” Maisy shoved him through the door into the dining car. “Please tell me you can handle a rifle.”

  He flicked a look of annoyance at her and returned his attention to the window where they had an unobstructed view of the perimeter facing away from town. “I wouldn’t have the job I do if I couldn’t handle a rifle.”

  She handed him one she’d stashed near the door then hit a button on the wall that released a shelf of weapons. Knives, guns, whips, and a few of her newer inventions. “Help yourself.”

  He looked incredulous for a moment, but his attention remained on the threat outside.

  “I’m going up top. Keep an eye outside. I’ll get the ones that fly in.”

  She climbed the spiral stairs taking her into the turret she left expanded when they weren’t en route to a new location.

  “Fly in?” the marshal asked, surprised.

  He’d see soon enough, she’d wager. “Just shoot anything that moves,” she ordered.

  When she pulled the cord to her right, a glass dome slid over the top of the train and a ladder fell to the left. Once standing on the dome’s iron grating, she shifted two levers, and a giant modified Gatling gun slipped into place. The glass, which she intended to replace as soon as she could synthesize a sturdier material, offered protection from the monsters Julian had unleashed.