The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1)

by Anne Renwick

  No. It was impossible.

  Dark eyebrows arched over half-closed eyes. Long lashes fanned over pink cheeks. A delicate nose rested above full red lips. All that attention focused directly upon his person.

  Other parts of his anatomy began to ache, every instinct insisting she returned his interest despite her now intimate knowledge of his weakness.

  She shifted and her breast brushed against his knee. There was a slight catch in her breath, the slightest hesitation in her touch. About her face, dark locks of hair were twined with black velvet and pinned into submission. All but a single lock that had worked itself free and skimmed over her cheek.

  He reached down, gently tucking the strand of hair behind her ear.

  Her hands stilled, then released his leg.

  With one finger, he traced a path down the side of her neck to rest where her pulse beat strong and fast. It echoed his own racing heart. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest, waiting. Her lashes lifted, and two dark pools met his eyes. Her lips parted, and her breath hitched. Something between them shifted. He slid his gaze to her lips, making clear his intent.

  Yet still he waited, giving her a chance to stop him, to back away, but desperately hoping she wouldn’t. Anticipation burned in his chest as he reached out with both hands to capture the base of her skull, tugging her upward. His fingers slid into her soft hair as she rose to meet him halfway. He tilted her mouth to his, the warmth of her breath a soft caress, and her eyes fluttered closed as he claimed her lips.

  Lips that were warm, soft and inviting. They parted, inviting him in. She tasted of champagne and strawberries, of longing, of a future he’d not dared to hope for in years.

  Her hands gripped his thighs. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer against him, driven by a primitive need to claim her as his own.

  Beyond the rushing of blood in his ears, Thornton became aware of a commotion in the hallway. He released her, already missing her warmth, and left desperately wanting more.

  Breathless, they stared at each other for one long incredulous moment. Then the realization of what he’d done crashed down upon him.

  “I…‌ we…‌” she began.

  Now was not the time.

  “Shh.” He held a finger to his lips, then offered a hand. She accepted. Thornton pulled her to her feet as he himself stood. Together they crossed the room, stopping before the door.

  He heard the deep timbre of Black’s voice. Black would know Thornton was here at the ball. His carriage waited outside. If his partner had tracked him to a society event, it followed that there was pressing news. Likely of the bad variety.

  He would have opened the door immediately, but for the presence of Lady Amanda. To be seen emerging from behind a locked door with a man would expose her to scandal. He turned his gaze on her. A rare combination of beauty and intelligence, one to which he was not entitled. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “You go first. I’ll delay.” Amanda did not meet his gaze. “I understand the potential repercussions. Romantic liaisons between female students and staff is forbidden and grounds for my immediate dismissal.” She spoke the very words about to form on his lips then, passing him his cane, reached for the key and unlocked the door.

  He waited for relief to follow as he stepped into the hallway‌—‌and kept waiting.

  One kiss and he was perilously close to tossing aside those cursed rules and regulations, damn the consequences.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DECIDING SHE CARED more about learning the cause for commotion than she did for her reputation, Amanda waited mere moments before emerging from the room.

  She followed the deep rumble of Thornton’s voice to the library, where he stood beneath the low haze of cigar smoke beside both Black and Father. “Father. Mr. Black.” She swallowed. “Lord Thornton.”

  “Amanda.” The corners of Father’s mouth pulled downward. His eyes narrowed and his bushy eyebrows drew together. She knew that look. It always proceeded a reprimand and certain dismissal. “What are you doing here?”

  Black gave a slight snort, but when she returned his look with a glare, every hint of troublemaker fell away, leaving behind only the gravest of expressions.

  She lifted her chin and returned Father’s stare with the knowledge that she had every right to be included. “If this concerns another gypsy, under similar circumstances, my consultation is required.”

  Thornton nodded his agreement and, despite knowing another man might be dead, a certain thrill ran through her at being treated as a professional.

  “My men have sent word that another body has been found,” Black said. “Putney Heath.”

  Putney Heath, a known winter stopping place for gypsies, was a distant part of southwest London.

  Father shot Thornton a dark look.

  Thornton nodded slowly. What had just passed between them?

  Emily.

  Emily and Luca were there. Thousands of icy spider feet ran down her spine.

  “Word is the gypsies call him the eye doctor,” Black continued.

  “Wonderful,” Father grumbled. “Let’s hope the newspaper men don’t catch word of that sobriquet.” He waved a hand. “Go. Sort this all out. And fast.”

  Eye doctor. Her device and Emily’s potion were now at the center of it all. Amanda desperately hoped the discovery of the latest body had nothing to do with Emily herself.

  “What of our test subject? And the device?” Thornton asked Black, ignoring Father.

  “For the moment, both transmitter and receiver are in good order. The man, however, is a bit green. I sent him home. Came directly here.”

  “We’ll take my carriage,” Thornton said, turning for the door.

  “There’s a faster way,” she said, and all eyes focused on her. “Lord Whitmore keeps a dirigible. On his roof. Sparrow class. Designed for two.” She paused, tipping her head. “Assuming someone knows how to fly one.”

  Black scoffed. “Permission to commandeer the airship, Lord Avesbury.”

  “Permission granted,” Father answered. “I’ll sort it out with Whitmore.”

  “I’m coming,” she stated, in case she’d not already made that clear.

  Voices rose in dissent. “A lady…‌ that dress…‌ campground…‌”

  “It’s my neurachnid.” The grumbling subsided. “We’ve spent the last week improving upon the design. Who’s to say this eye doctor hasn’t been doing the same thing? The sooner I evaluate the body, the sooner you may have leads. The Sparrow class has a jump seat in the tail.” She crossed her arms and sized up Black. He wasn’t short, but Thornton was a good six inches taller. “You’ll fit.”

  “Me?” Black’s voice objected, but his eyes took on a teasing gleam, and Amanda knew she’d won an ally. “You’re the shortest,” he retorted.

  She returned his sly grin with her own, gesturing to the volume of her skirts. “You’d consign a lady in a ball gown to the jump seat?”

  With a stage-worthy roll of his eyes and a theatrical sigh, he conceded. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait.” Thornton pulled off his coat and held it out to her. “In that dress you’ll…‌”

  Amanda raised her eyebrows. “Be a distraction?”

  Father frowned, as if reconsidering the wisdom of allowing his daughter to go.

  “Be cold,” Thornton finished.

  She pulled the coat over her bare arms. The shoulders hung loose and the sleeves extended past her fingertips. Still warm from his body heat, it smelled of him, like soap and exotic spices and something that was uniquely male. It was probably the closest she’d ever get to having his arms wrapped around her.

  “Button it,” Father grumbled as she passed by him.

  She ignored him.

  Minutes later, the three of them stepped out onto the dark roof. The blue light from the phosphorescent lamp Black swiped from a hallway sconce struggled to illuminate their path. Thick fog obscured everything more than five feet away.
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br />   She hoped the men were capable of instrument flight alone. She glanced at them. They seemed unconcerned. Nervous excitement coursed through her. She’d ridden in dirigibles, but never in one so small. Never at night. Never in a fog. Never with a man who made her lose her grasp on proper behavior.

  She was certain, absolutely so, that Emily was at the Putney Heath encampment. She missed her sister fiercely. Emily had been her only ally in a house full of people hell-bent on societal acceptance. Only because of her sister’s flight had Amanda found it within herself to challenge Father, to threaten him, to bargain with him so that she might achieve her dreams, and not Mother’s.

  So, while a man might have died and died horribly, the life Amanda had dreamed of was finally in reach. Not just medical school, not just research, but the field application of both. Emily would be there. Emily would understand. Emily would help.

  But first Amanda had to get to her.

  Small, light and brown, Sparrow class dirigibles were designed for gentlemen of business‌—‌and the occasional passenger or two. With a streamlined open cabin and a narrow, cigar-shaped balloon, the Sparrow class carried a bare minimum of fuel and water. With a maximum range of eighty miles, they traveled easily from London rooftops to country manors, and could do so in a quarter of the time it took a steam carriage to negotiate the crowded, sometimes poorly maintained, roads.

  Neither man spared her a glance‌—‌or offered assistance‌—‌as she stuffed herself and her voluminous skirts into the passenger seat.

  Thornton and Black worked together seamlessly. Without so much as a word or a look, each pulled on leather gloves and set about preparing the Sparrow for flight, a task usually seen to by servants. Black checked the water level in the boiler, adding several buckets from a nearby cistern. Thornton spread a bed of lamp-oil soaked charcoal and flicked in a safety match before laying in a bed of coal to heat the water.

  These two were no strangers to piloting a dirigible.

  That Black knew how to fire a steam engine did not surprise her. Even with all the trappings of a gentleman, the man had certain rough edges. Rough edges he would need with a habit of running about the streets of London at night.

  That an earl‌—‌a neurophysiologist‌—‌should know how…‌ that he was comfortable taking to the skies in a fog…‌

  Tipping her head, she studied the man in question, considering the conversation she’d had with Simon days earlier.

  A spy?

  Thornton’s shirts stretched and pulled across his broad shoulders. If his arms were as strong and solid as the thighs she’d gripped…‌ Amanda’s face grew warm. She should feel shame. Humiliation. Kissing a professor was forbidden.

  Instead, she wanted nothing more than to try it again. That kiss, sudden and unexpected, would have bought her to her knees had she not already been on them. The brush of his fingertip along her neck had sent shivers across her skin, but it was the touch of his lips that turned her muscles to liquid.

  For hours during class, she’d stared at those lips as the deep timbre of his voice set her body aflame. While he lectured about how myelin wrapped about the nerve axon forming a sheath, she’d fantasized about wrapping herself around him, fantasized about how his lips might feel pressed against hers. Now she’d had a tantalizing taste. It was enough to drive a woman mad.

  But from the moment he’d drawn back, she’d glanced into his dark eyes, seen the inevitable rejection. Such an entanglement would jeopardize everything. Were they discovered in a compromising situation, only she would pay the price. The rules of society favored men.

  Amanda strapped on a pair of goggles and fixed her eyes on the steam gauge. She would not think about such things now. A man had died. As pressure began to rise in the boiler, she took to calling out its progress. “Fifteen psi. Eighteen. Twenty!”

  “All aboard!” With a mighty heave, Black spun the propeller into motion and leapt into the rear jump seat, rocking the dirigible. The netted balloon swayed overhead as the engine roared to life with clangs and hisses, as the cylinders and pistons and rods and gears set up a comforting rhythm.

  The dirigible tipped again and Thornton was beside her, his hands expertly working the various levers even as he folded himself into the pilot’s seat. Between his size and her skirts, it was a tight fit. His thigh bumped hers, and their shoulders pressed tight. Every inch of her skin tingled with awareness.

  Though his leg didn’t seem to trouble him for the moment, pressure point massage only worked a few hours at most before the pain returned. The key to preventing the muscles from seizing, from pinching the damaged nerve, was repetition. Though it would only continue to work so long as the nerve retained a minimum of function.

  What dosage had Thornton used? How much longer could he sustain its use?

  Pulling on a pair of goggles, Thornton called, “Cast off!”

  Black tossed away a final rope, and the dirigible began to rise. Tendrils of fog swirled about them.

  Amanda ignored the warm, solid thigh pressed against hers and instead stared determinedly into the gray night.

  Moments later, Thornton glanced at the altimeter. “We’re clear of the chimneys!” he called to Black. Then he turned to her, a glint in his eye. “Ready?”

  If not for their destination and purpose, she could think of no better way to escape the tedium of a ball. She threw him an answering grin. “Ready.”

  Thornton reached forward, and threw the throttle wide open.

  She shrieked‌—‌from surprise or fear, she wasn’t certain‌—‌as she was thrown back into the seat as the dirigible shot clear of the roof out into the dense fog. For the first time, she heard Thornton laugh. Deep and dark and decidedly dangerous, it scraped across her skin. For once, she felt truly alive.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE THRILL OF LEAVING solid ground behind, of being unfettered, quickly faded. Flying nearly blind made for a tense twenty minutes in the sky. Hazy lights and shifting shadows made Amanda feel as if her sight was failing even as she kept her eyes wide open.

  There’d been a couple of near misses that had sent her heart racing. Thank goodness other airships carried bright lanterns, providing precious seconds to avoid collision. But nocturnal pteryformes, a bird-like creature that glided over London at night, made no sound and were as dark as the night. The brush of leathery wings across the balloon of their dirigible had set her every hair on end. Much effort was necessary to keep her respiratory rate in normal range.

  As the dirigible began its descent into Putney Heath, Amanda kept a white-knuckled grip on a nearby brass handle. Beside her, Thornton’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his hands moved rapidly over the various controls. He had a close eye on the altimeter, but the evening’s fog made choosing a clear landing site impossible. The dirigible veered.

  “Trees!” Thornton yelled. “Brace for impact!”

  Her eyes were wide, her heart pounded. Tree branches meant the ground was close.

  Branches reached out with malicious intent, snagging on the balloon’s netting. A jerk, an ominous ripping sound, and the airship careened wildly.

  A scattering of lights emerged, rushing up at them.

  Campfires!

  Thornton swore.

  They were landing directly on the gypsy encampment!

  Below them, dark forms scattered, screaming and yelling.

  Thornton throttled back the engine and shouted commands to Black.

  A loud crunch‌—‌one felt more than heard‌—‌signaled they’d landed. Hard. Lord Whitmore would not be pleased.

  There was a moment of stunned silence. Then the yelling began. Harsh angry words in the Romani language filled the air. Gypsies pointed and waved.

  “Fire!” Black yelled from behind them. “Get out. We’ve landed on a campfire.” He leapt from the jump seat. Thornton followed, vaulting to the ground. All while she still struggled to stand‌—‌the wire of her bustle was wedged in her seat.

  “Jump, Am
anda!” Thornton yelled.

  There was a sudden whooshing sound and flames licked up the hull and climbed the ropes toward the balloon. Smoke swirled upward to twine with the fog.

  “I’m stuck!” she yelled. But over the roar of the fire, had anyone heard her? Frantic, she yanked harder at her skirts, trying to rip them free. Did hydrogen or aether fill their balloon? She couldn’t remember and didn’t want to be in the dirigible when the answer became apparent.

  “Amanda!” Thornton appeared at her side, balancing precariously on the wreckage. His hands pulled at her waist, wrenching her free. They dropped to the ground and, though Thornton hissed at the pain, he didn’t set her down as he ran from the flames. Amanda wrapped her hands about his neck, glancing back over his shoulder as he carried her to a safe distance.

  Gypsies glared at them. Their dramatic entrance had won them no friends.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, as he set her down onto her own somewhat unsteady feet, shaking from the aftereffects of too much adrenaline. With her bustle bent out of all proportion, her skirt sagged in odd places, promising to drag in a most unbecoming manner over the dew-dampened dirt.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said and pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He wiped blood from her cheek while keeping a steadying hand at her elbow.

  Several yards away, Black and another man gestured broadly with their hands, arguing in Romani. No need to understand the language to know they argued about the damage caused and how the gypsies would be compensated.

  As the fire intensified, a crowd gathered about them emerging from the fog in all the colors one might find in a Turkish rug. Scarlet. Magenta. Saffron. Cobalt. Ochre. Gold. Brighter and more vibrant than anything one might find at a ton ball.

  The men stood in front. Women clustered behind, babies in their arms, smaller children peering from behind their wide skirts. Older children shoved and pushed, vying for the best view. A hush fell over the crowd as the flames reached the skin of the balloon, licking across its surface.