Mechanical Rose

by Nathalie Gray

  Eleanor could not help but watch him until he had disappeared around the corner. His long, sleek form embodied quiet strength, vitality, neither of which she had expected from a man of his profession. And where had he built shoulders like those? And his smell. It still permeated the air. Smoke and something deeply masculine yet subtle.

  Lady Frivolous beamed. “He likes you.”

  “I doubt that. I just invaded his privacy, made a mess of his kitchen floor. He must wish I were gone.”

  Brown curls bouncing, the young woman shook her head. “He likes you, otherwise he would have gone straight to bed and not said a word. Are you hungry? I could find Max and we could share a meal, just the three of us. He is an excellent cook.”

  Eleanor was. But not for food.

  “No, thank you. Perhaps you would show me around your charming home? From what little I have seen, it is quite unusual.”

  Lady Frivolous winked. “He likes you.”

  “Ah…erm…yes. You have told me. He is a likeable fellow himself.”

  “Have I? Oh, I guess I did. Repeating myself is something I tend to do.”

  “Good, because I tend to forget,” she lied.

  Lady Frivolous’ smile caused a stitch of remorse in Eleanor.

  The young woman had made a mess of sugar on the tiled countertop by the time she swung off, dusted her dress. “His Great Aunt Agnes—she sounds like a terrible woman, that one—tried to marry him off. Twice.” Lady Frivolous smiled wide, shrugged. “The prospects she found for him were boring and dumb, dreadfully not good enough for him. But you are.”

  Eleanor cleared her throat, kept busy putting the dishcloth back against the slop stone. She pretended not to hear. And tried not to agree.

  She spent the rest of the day chatting with Lady Frivolous, who would lapse in her temporary fugues, humming to herself, only to emerge a few minutes later and resume the conversation as though nothing had happened. Eleanor learned to predict these episodes by watching Lady Frivolous’ eyes, which would cloud over shortly before. All in all, Gunn’s cousin proved a remarkable, astute, if strange, woman. Conversation topics ranged from men—Eleanor caught herself asking about Gunn’s recent love life, questions his cousin answered with obvious delight—to the machines populating the house and beyond. They visited the grounds, which were vast and more or less cared for, and the ragged cliffside where a metal framework caught her attention. Like railroad tracks that jutted out over the cliff for thirty or so feet then ended. A launching ramp? It was obviously a spot Lady Frivolous did not appreciate as she gave it a wide berth. As with the rest of the house and its odd inhabitants, a timeless, unfashionable beauty and shabby grace emanated from every corner, indoors or out. Clearly Gunn had no use for trendy things.

  The rugged charm of the place filled Eleanor’s head with images of living here. In another life and time. When she would not have to convince a man to give up his dream using any means necessary. Even the most lethal.

  When the day darkened to evening, Eleanor took a long bath—after spending a good two minutes trying to figure out the strange copper contraption hanging high over the tub—and slipped into flat shoes, a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a belted shirt. She had to look detached and relaxed if she wanted to convince him she just happened to be standing on the balcony at this hour of the night when he left for work. She had to initiate dialogue, learn his ways, earn his trust if she were ever to convince him to abandon his project. Seducing him would be easy since she suspected as much interest from him as she felt for him. But not tonight. Slow and steady. Perhaps a conversation, a shared interest. If it came to sex—Eleanor tried not to fidget at the prospect—it would have to look natural and not rehearsed. She knew her attributes and would employ them. Emotions would not play a part.

  At five to ten, the time Lady Frivolous had told her Gunn would leave for the laboratory, Eleanor padded on silent feet out of the house using the door Gunn had taken coming in, fluffed her hair and leaned against the handrail. Waiting. Baiting.

  Not two minutes later—punctual then—she heard a faint click up above, followed by a quick but light tread from left to right then spotted Gunn’s tall form climbing down the steps. In the twin moons’ bluish light, she watched wind pick at his hair and toss strands into his face. He did not seem to mind for he kept going, talking to himself, in fact arguing, and reached the balcony in quick, energetic strides. He did not wear a jacket that evening and only a pair of dark trousers, shirt and sleeveless vest that underlined his slim and long figure.

  She wondered for a second what his mouth would taste like, if he was a good kisser or enjoyed making love to a woman with the lights on. Saliva pooled under her tongue. Eleanor berated her lack of self-control. For good fortune’s sake, she was baiting herself more than him. She rubbed her palms against her thighs to wipe the sweat. His body looked fit and firm, contrary to what she had expected from such a man. He exuded vitality as he fished inside his vest pocket, pulled a watch and angled it at the moons’ light so he could see its face. He seemed content for he nodded, pocketed it.

  Eleanor, heartbeat quickening, admired his sharp profile, long narrow nose, incisive chin and high brow while he looked up at the sky, even if the business part of her watched how he moved, where he stood, how he placed his hands.

  Those long hands. All over her body.

  She shook her head. She had to focus. The more time she needed to do this task, the more dangerous it would become. For her self-discipline. Already, he was all she could think about. His tall and spare body, his intense gaze and that sharp mind of his—gears always turning.

  “Good evening, Mr. Gunn,” she said.

  He started, looked around. Spotting her, he put a hand to his chest and smiled. His teeth flashed in the gloom. “Miss Violet, next time you startle me this badly, you may have to call a physician.”

  He joined her by the balcony, stood a good foot away, both fists around the handrail like a man in fear of drowning. She knew the feeling for she too held onto the metal bar hard enough to hurt.

  “Why are you here?”

  She could have laughed at his directness. So refreshing. So unlike her. “I came here for the fresh air. Nothing fresher than this.”

  “Are you not cold?” he asked, turning to her. His angular cheekbones reflected moonlight in a way that mesmerized her. She could have watched that face all night.

  “No. I am hardier than I look.” Now why had she said that? Truth would get her nowhere in this mission.

  “I have noticed, yes.” He looked up at the second-level window and pointed. “You will have to show me how you did that. In a dress.”

  “With the results you have seen, I think I would rather not ruin another dress.” Or show her pistol again, although no one seemed to have noticed the little silver barrel pointing out of the fabric. It had been a close call.

  “There was nothing wrong with that dress.” He smiled without looking at her. That mocking grin must have caused him a lot of trouble. Had caused him a lot of trouble since the Gunns had in all intent banished him to this seaside estate.

  Before she could stop herself, Eleanor moved her hand closer until his heat touched her if not his skin. She heard his breathing catch in his throat.

  “So, Mr. Gunn, what are you working on?”

  He shrugged. “It would not interest you, I am—”

  “Why? Because I am a woman?”

  He laughed hard. “No, because only fools like me waste their eyesight on machines that explode in their faces.”

  As much as she hated herself for thinking this way, she liked his answer a lot and leaned an elbow on the handrail so she could stare up into his face. He seemed to become ill at ease and looked away.

  “So those machines you are working on, are they merely meant to explode, or do they have other uses as well? I have seen quite a fair number in your house. Very useful.”

  Gunn’s blond eyebrows furrowed, his eyes narrowed. “I am not a weapons mon
ger, Miss Violet, if that is what you are insinuating. I design machines that help people, do things for them they cannot do themselves. There is nothing wrong with that.”

  “Forgive me if I have offended you,” she replied, genuinely sorry. “I only tried to be light.”

  He fanned the notion away. “Oh, do not mind me. I become testy when people ask about my inventions. It is usually to make light of them. Pardon me.” Licking his lips and looking seaward, he inched closer, close enough for his elbow to graze hers. Exhilarating. “To answer your question, I am working on a project that will help with crops to the south. With the winds there becoming more violent, they need a way to spray their fields without the seeds or fertilizer flying away. I am designing a powerful jet condensator that can be attached to any type of flying machine and…” He stopped abruptly, chuckled. “I am such a bore.”

  “No! Not at all, please go on.”

  “I should have a prototype ready in a day or two. If all goes well and nothing else explodes in my face.”

  A day or two? The Society had not been aware of the imminent completion. She was under the impression a couple of weeks or so still remained. Gunn worked fast.

  “Let us hope for that.”

  He turned to her, his face angled down to study her. His scrutiny made her heart beat that much faster. “How long will you be staying with us?”

  Eleanor’s heart sank. “Are you tired of me already?”

  “No, but I am wondering if there will be sufficient time for me to work up the courage to ask you out for supper.”

  The heat spreading from her chest to her throat flushed her cheeks. Fortunately, he would not notice. Acting like a debutante. “Have you not just done so?”

  He shook his head, swallowed. A generous curve to his upper lip gave his slim mouth a dramatic look she found difficult to ignore until all she could do was look at those lips. When he spoke, she did not look up to meet his gaze. That mouth.

  “Would you consider it? I know you only just arrived.”

  “I would love it, Mr. Gunn.”

  “Leeford.”

  The fricative in his name made his bottom lip glisten in the moons’ light. She smiled. “Leeford then.”

  “Would tomorrow be terribly inappropriate?”

  She chuckled. “Terribly. And I accept.”

  When his hand touched hers, she sighed without reserve. She was not faking. The man really did create a jumble of emotional responses from affection to the basest lust and most burning urges. She wanted him to do things to her she would never tolerate from any other man. Her plan began to unravel like a badly knit stocking.

  When he cocked his head to one side and leaned forward ever-so slightly, Eleanor stood frozen to the spot, prey to the deepest fear that should she move, she would break the moment and regret it for the rest of her life.

  And when his eyelids lowered by increments, his intent obvious, she raised herself to receive him.

  Heat heralded imminent contact. His lips pressing against hers triggered havoc in the rest of her. Fever-like heat wafted in great surges out of her shirt collar. Surely he could feel each! His gentle hand landed on hers and wrapped long, tender fingers until he enveloped it in a warm and flexible cocoon.

  She used the handrail as a brace to keep from keeling over in a rush of carnal abandon, but also as an anchor to push up against him. His mouth parted, slow and tentative at first, the tip of his tongue brushed the fleshy peaks of her upper lip as one would taste something delectable but bold and new. Testing. He must have enjoyed what he tasted for Leeford cupped the back of her head for a deeper kiss. Which she returned with fervor!

  From her nape, his hand slid down to her neck and jaw, both of which he caressed with the tip of his fingers before slipping inside her parted collar and brushing her fevered skin. The combination of thrill and chilly winds hardened her nipples to painful points. She raised herself higher, pushed against his mouth. Dexterous, his fingers curled deep into the collar of her shirt and grazed the dawn of her breast, a gesture that elicited a soft groan through her nose and a tingling in her sex. She wanted this man more than anything at the moment. Everything else could wait.

  She could feel his hand shaking when he slipped it all the way into her shirt and cupped her breast, which he elevated like an offering. Arching, Eleanor crushed herself against him, used her free hand to press his harder around her breast. He did. With exquisite precision, he allowed her tender nipple to slide between thumb and index finger before squeezing with just the right amount of force to prompt one fine peak of heat to shoot down to her belly.

  She could no longer keep it in. “Mmm.”

  His kisses left her mouth to travel down her throat. She knew where his destination lay and rolled her shoulder so the lapel would slip lower, denuding her skin to his lips. Clavicle, the base of her neck, the dawn of her trapped breast, his mouth covered every square inch of her until he zeroed in on her nipple and kissed it with delicate precision.

  “Ohh.”

  She felt teeth against her skin and surmised he was smiling. “Inventors are good with their hands,” he murmured.

  “I…I would agree. Are they good with their mouths as well?”

  “Some of them.” He wrapped her nipple with burning-hot lips and sucked.

  “Ahh—fortune—you certainly are one of them.”

  Because she enjoyed the pressure in her lower back, she rolled against the handrail until she stood trapped between it and Leeford’s hard front where a lump pressed against her belly. She cupped it, squeezed.

  “Ladies in charge of charities are good with their hands as well,” she remarked, grinned when he stood to capture her mouth.

  Abandoning his trapped erection, she arched back over the void, let her head loll and the wind play with her hair while Leeford resumed ravishing her throat and breast with his ardent mouth. Unable to contain herself anymore, she fisted both lapels of her shirt and pulled them out wide to denude both her breasts and shoulders. He dove for them with hands and mouth and teeth. Sucked, licked, squeezed, caressed.

  And she, who had only planned to seduce him after awhile. Ha! She had been able to think of little else since meeting him and could barely keep her clothes on in his presence. Lust knifed her sex. She wanted more than his mouth.

  “Leeford,” she murmured, whimpered when he sucked both nipples in rapid succession. “I do not usually act this way.”

  “I care little how you act with other men,” he remarked between licks. She felt him run a thumb over the little scar left by the assisted selection vaccine. Not many lovers had bothered checking, as if the onus of procreation—or the management of it—rested on females alone. “That is your private life.”

  She wanted to laugh. Most men cared a lot. Manly pride no doubt.

  “Still,” she countered. “Do not think less of me if I want—”

  Somewhere inside the house, one of the many clocks chimed the half-hour. Leeford froze. He looked down at her, anxiety, embarrassment and something else etched in his expression. Regret. He cleared his throat while he gently pulled her shirt back together.

  “My work, is…er… It gets cold around these parts, Violet—Miss Violet.” He straightened, held her elbow while she adjusted her clothes. “Um. Please, I did not mean to be so impulsive. I hope I have not offended you.”

  She tried to smile despite the insidious blade of disappointment twisting in her chest. Hiding her true feelings had always been easy for her. Until now. Her cheeks ached from trying not to show her pain. She throbbed everywhere with unspent release.

  “No harm done. Perhaps we should, ah, reconvene some other time?”

  He shook his head. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect. But—”

  “Your work is time sensitive. I understand. We all have our masters. Yours is time.”

  He pushed a strand of her hair out of her face. “And what is yours, Miss Violet?”

  “Duty.”

  A quizzical eyebrow arched b
ut he said nothing. After a quick kiss to the top of her hand, he retreated until only his silhouette stood illuminated by the moons’ light. “Is there a way to make it up to you? Tell me and it is done.”

  “I would love to see your workplace, if I could. All these machines fascinate me.”

  After awhile of obvious internal battle, he nodded, perplexed at her answer. “Oh? Yes, I guess I could. Um, not tonight. Dawn tomorrow? At four?”

  She nodded. So she would get inside Leeford Gunn’s laboratory and see firsthand the design that had drawn Spark’s dangerous attention. Just as she had roused it a few years ago. A success on all accounts. The Mechanical Rose Society had trained her well.

  To her surprise, it brought nothing but a bitter taste in her mouth.

  After he turned to leave, she watched his long V-shaped back until gloom swallowed him whole. A moment later, a rectangle of light appeared at the base of the lighthouse, remained for a second or so while a dark silhouette entered then disappeared.

  Pushing any other thought away, Eleanor took the path leading to the lighthouse, padded up the few steps to study the door’s mechanism. No automation that she could spot. No steam-powered trigger. Only an old-fashioned lock. In case he changed his mind and did not invite her in, she would still need to gain access if she were to complete her task. But at least she had accomplished one thing that day—secured Leeford Gunn’s trust. The rest should prove easy. Although she suspected looking at herself in the mirror once her mission was complete would take extra effort.

  The common good…

  Back in her room, she decided not to set the giant clock on her night table—no telling how loud the thing would be, and instead used her own travel version. She set the alarm for three o’clock, to be ready when Gunn came out of his laboratory. She changed her clothes, put on a nightgown, went to bed, rolled onto her back. Everything in her room had some mechanism or other, even the bed, which would rise if she cranked the lever near the headboard. She could see a use for such feature. Especially after her rendezvous of the night.