A Clockwork Christmas

by Nina S. Gooden

  Eventually she’d worn him down, reminding him that she was doubtlessly on the right track. After careful consideration, she’d decided that one of the powerful men she was investigating must have sent the man who attacked her. She’d only asked around for a couple of days and she’d already managed to put someone’s back up. Someone sent him to shut her up and make sure she stayed that way, so she had to be doing something right.

  If not for her mysterious savior, she might be under the care of a physician. Or worse, she might be one of the missing girls in the papers.

  She shivered under the coat she’d borrowed from Andrew. Something had kept her from mentioning her savior while telling her cousin of her close brush with death. She willed herself not to blush, knowing such a delicate color would interfere with her disguise. The face of that man had soaked into her dreams, refusing to leave her mind even when her eyes drifted closed.

  “Lord Whittock, are you planning to stand around all night? Surely someone who comes out as infrequently as you wants to dance at least once or twice.” Sir Thomas Goodwin approached her from one side, unnoticed thanks to her wandering mind.

  Olyve might have turned to smile at him if it hadn’t been for her masquerade. It was his party that her cousin had been invited to and after clandestinely slipping away from the soiree, she’d stolen into her host’s office. She’d pulled off her white kid gloves and moved around the room with her arms outstretched. Nothing had set off her power. In fact, the barriers had been completely silent during her search. The room was clean.

  With no reason to suspect him, Olyve felt a little guilty for having to flee. She signaled to Mr. Leeway and cursed herself before bowing in his direction and shooting out one of the open doors. She was sure that he would delay the man long enough for her to make a getaway.

  Outside, the temperature change was enough to cause her to gasp, drawing more icy air into her lungs. She plunged into the intricate garden, stumbling along the mazelike hedges before finding the entrance. The ends of her hair curled back and she smoothed them carefully as she walked.

  The grounds were extensive as well as immaculate behind Sir Goodwin’s home. Even with the touch of winter setting everything into dormancy, it was impressive. Several automated clippers zoomed over the top of the hedges, keeping the shrubs even and compact. The steam they let off hit the cold air and froze into tiny crystals that showered her with a salty mist.

  A figure approached, casting a slender shadow against the light of a gas lamp. Forcing herself not to jump, Olyve remembered that for the moment she was a wealthy, privileged lesser lord. She cleared her throat, deepening her voice before turning. “Good evening. Enjoying the party, are you, Sir Wheeler?”

  Sir Neil Wheeler nodded without even bothering to look at her. A young maid dragged her feet beside him, half buried under his arm, her face beet red. The barriers within her mind remained chillingly quiet as he led her in a different direction, ducking under a scattering of another frozen mist.

  Olyve waited a moment before following him, disturbed not only by the lack of reaction from her barriers, but the curt way he’d walked past her without concern. She was aware of the fact that men weren't required to uphold the same level as chastity as women, but there was something overly comfortable with the way he’d continued.

  Her breath made steady puffs of white as she moved, trying to be as silent as possible. The gardens took on a different shade as she carried on, becoming a world of ominous shadows and secrets. Her mind struggled with every detail as if it were working furiously on some puzzle she wasn’t aware of. Her body began to feel heavy and before she could shake the drowsiness, she was spiraling toward the ground.

  A light snow had begun to fall without her notice. Her hot face all but sizzled against the cold, white slush. Olyve forced herself to think, even though she couldn’t move. The last time she’d felt this way was when she’d accidentally…a sharp intake of breath filled her mouth with sooty snow. She probed her mind carefully and shuddered violently.

  The barriers in her psyche flung open without her control. The third blockade shuddered with enough puissance to make her dizzy. It was something she’d always kept back, something she feared unleashing. She couldn’t control it, had no idea how to or what it could be used for. Torn images flashed through her mind, hitting her with the force of boulders. A trail of blood slid down her nose, only to freeze in the cold.

  Strong hands pulled her up. Her shocked body refused to shiver–refused to work to shake off the unbearable cold that had seeped into her clothing and coating her bones. Olyve couldn’t do much more than breathe; her entire body focused on shutting the valve that forced itself open.

  “It’s you. What are you doing here, Revolutionary?”

  That achingly beautiful voice washed over Olyve, wrapping her in a cocoon of trust and safety. Her mind cooled as her body warmed and the barriers closed with a snap, just by acknowledging his presence. Tilting her head up, she realized she was sitting in his lap on the snow covered ground. Evergreen hedges blocked her view, letting her know she’d stumbled into a dead end. The only way to leave was behind her but she didn’t think her legs would work just yet anyway.

  “You’re real.” She could have bitten her tongue off for the distinct ring of awe that filled her throat. Her heart instantly ached with want.

  He shifted enough to brush a single snowflake from her cheek. “Who are you and why are you wearing men’s clothing? Are you a sprite sent here to tempt me away from my path?”

  Olyve watched his mouth descend with a silent cheer. He clutched her to his chest as if she were something precious, something that needed protecting. She leaned into him, silently begging him to continue when he hesitated. The emeralds of his eyes flashed with pleasure and he brushed his mouth against hers gently.

  The simple contact shouldn’t have caused her to jolt as it did. It shouldn’t have touched her so deeply, kicking her sluggish heartbeat back into overdrive. His scent drifted all around her, drowning out the smell of dirt and smoke that clung to the air. He smelled like Irish springs and open mountain tops. His mouth pressed against hers again and she moaned, heat spiraling into the pit of her stomach.

  In an instant, she forgot what she was supposed to be doing. She forgot about her missions and her visions, forgot that this man was a stranger.

  In her kiss, she whispered words that had no meaning, arching her back when he grabbed the end of her ponytail and tugged. Her neck lay exposed to him and he took complete advantage of the offering, pressing that slick, wet mouth of his to the base of her racing pulse. “You must be a sprite,” he murmured against her skin. “An offering from Pagan gods.”

  She would have giggled if she hadn’t been drowning in the effects of his words. He pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips, parting them for entry. A low groan filled the space and she couldn’t have guessed if it came from her or from him. She’d barely said two words to him but as his tongue swept through one of her secret, guarded places, she knew without a doubt that he was just as entangled in her as she was in him.

  He pulled his mouth away, kissing down the path of her neck. His teeth dragged over the sensitive skin of her collarbone and she squeaked, marveling in the way his shoulders bunched and pulled while he tried to get closer to her.

  The snow continued to fall but she hardly noticed. Her skin was so hot; the bands that she’d used to tie her breasts were suddenly too tight for her aching skin. The man seemed to know exactly what she needed, because he slid a careful hand between them, pulling buttons from their allotted holes.

  His green eyes blazed against hers, begging her for something she would willingly give if she only knew what it was. She couldn’t answer the question she didn’t understand, so she opted for showing him what she wanted instead. Her hands framed his face, dragging him back to her mouth where she licked and nibbled on the hard lines of his jaw.

  Lust and passion mingled in the air above them until it was a tangib
le presence. It touched them with skittering fingertips, leaving trails of goosebumps over their eager skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Olyve knew she should stop this. She knew it wasn’t proper, wasn’t how a young lady in her position should react. She should shove him away, slap him, bite him; something. But when she opened her mouth to refuse him all she could manage was a low plea of “More.”

  The man must not have understood her ragged voice. He went stiff, quickly repairing the damage he’d done to the buttons of her clothing. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a strangely platonic fashion before standing slowly.

  Still plastered to his chest, Olyve opened her mouth to ask him just what he thought he was doing, but before she could get the words out, an amused voice cut through the air.

  “Well, look at what we have here. Are you interested in unnatural relationships, then, my lord?”

  Olyve swallowed in alarm, cursing herself for her carelessness. The voice belonged to Arnold Fenne, the third man on her list of suspects. She attempted to straighten her appearance, though she knew there was no point. Any second, they would find her.

  She didn’t realize she was shaking until the man tightened his hold around her. Immediately calmed, she shook her head against his chest. No matter how she thought about it, this would not end well.

  The vibrations of his chest were low and annoyed. He almost growled when he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be off tumbling some widow?”

  There was a shrug in the overweight politician’s voice. “I wish I were, actually, but it seems that he has something he wants us to take care of.”

  The way it he uttered the words put Olyve’s back up immediately. The tone was much too direct and she could practically feel those beady eyes on her.

  “Isn’t that interesting? Unfortunately, I’m a little busy at the moment so I don’t have time to play lapdog.”

  A third voice interjected. “Perhaps you should take a moment to hear what we have to say before you send us on our way.”

  “I’m sure whatever it is can wait. I don’t interrupt the three of you when you’re playing, I’d expect the same courtesy.” An ugly snarl laced his next words. “Or are you accustomed to sharing your catches?”

  Goodwin was the one who answered and even though Olyve couldn’t see him speak, he knew that his face was flushed with anger. “Shut your mouth, you little pissant. You might have gotten on his good side at the Thames, but don’t think you’re better than any of us. We’ve been in the game from the beginning.”

  An ugly thread of fear slammed through Olyve. Again, her barriers were refusing to function, failing to tell her that she was in danger even though she knew she was. She was currently surrounded by three of the four men she’d come to investigate. Three of the four…

  The man who held her shrugged carefully, and the weight of what they were saying finally hit her full force. She wanted to assume that whatever had brought her low previously, throwing her carefully guarded barriers open, was the cause of her slow realization. She knew it wasn’t true.

  Stepping out of his hold, Olyve looked around carefully. Three pairs of eyes settled on her skin, hot and greedy. They took in her bruised mouth and misaligned clothing. The bands that had held her breasts against her body had been unraveled and now dangled in useless strips.

  She remained silent because there was nothing else she could do. There was no question that all three of them knew her mysterious savior. She tilted her chin up, refusing to be intimidated by the way they were looking at her, but when her eyes fell back to the fourth man she faltered. The heat from his gaze was long gone, leaving her cold and confused.

  “Lordie, but she’s a looker. I can’t believe I thought she was a man.” Fenne’s breath of disbelief left her feeling tainted.

  Wheeler let loose a huge guffaw that grated on her nerves and ears.

  Goodwin, the man she had already decided was innocent shrugged. “I don’t know. I supposed I’d be fine with sharing with this one. I bet she’s still a virgin, even if she’s a little old.”

  She took a careful step backwards, pressing her back against a shrub for protection. She had no doubt that she was still close enough to the house to scream. If she raised enough of a fuss, someone would come running. Someone would rescue her. On the other hand, there were four respected men and only one of her.

  Arnold shook his head. “Don’t even think about it, girl. As is, we’re not going to hurt you, but if you cause us any grief…”

  “We can’t guarantee what will happen.” Goodwin continued, offering her a smile that she would have considered pleasant under any other circumstances.

  Olyve swallowed sharply. “I am not interested in anything you have to offer, gentlemen. Please allow me to pass.”

  Neil laughed again, “Now why should we do that?”

  With her attention on the three of them, Olyve forgot to keep an eye on the fourth man. He was beside her faster than she thought possible. A sturdy arm wrapped around her and hauled her up against his body. “You should do so because she’s mine and I don’t share.”

  A bolt of violence crashed through the air, only to disperse when a darker voice cut through the air. “Shut your mouths.”

  Olyve almost cried out for joy when Mr. Leeway stepped past the three men blocking her path. Confusion, then horror chased away any hope she may have felt when her eyes fell to the needle in his hand. He glared at her with those dark, intense eyes and she sucked in a deep breath to scream.

  A hard hand clapped over her lips, lips that had moments before been kissed for the first time. Tears sprang into her eyes as Olyve realized it was the fourth man, the man who created such a deep feeling of trust within her, who was holding her still.

  “Thank you, Lord Reeves.” The words were murmured and barely audible, but Olyve caught them. Her heart shriveled in her chest, pain vibrating so deep it pressed against the marrow in her bones.

  Lord Reeves. The man who had kissed her and who had saved her was the worst of the four. She hardly felt the prick of the needle after Leeway jerked the neck of the jacket down. The plunger flattened and she felt liquid push into her veins. All the while, she locked her eyes with his, unable to hide her hurt. He brushed a freezing tear from her cheek, just as he had done the wayward snowflake before, moments before catching her unconscious body.

  * * * *

  It was all James could do to swallow back a howl of rage when Brian Leeway pushed the drug into the soft skin he had, moments ago, been longing to stroke. The limp weight of the nameless sprite was so miniscule he wanted to press her to his chest and prevent the bastards from even looking at her. The need to defend her blazed so deep he could barely speak with his clenched jaw.

  “Now what?” Leeway’s gaze lingered just a little too long and James couldn’t contain the growl this time.

  “Oh ho! It looks like Reeves has finally decided he wants in on the action.” Wheeler had the habit of spouting off at the mouth when he probably should have stayed quiet. The pathetic little man liked to laugh at the misfortunes of others, especially when he was the one to create them.

  Thomas Goodwin was worse. With his charming face, money, and charisma he liked to lure his victims into a false sense of security before he hurt them. “It was just a matter of time, old friend. Who could resist all that beautifully soft flesh? He might just make the most vicious of us yet.”

  “Hey now,” Fenne protested with laughing eyes. “Don’t just give away my title like that.”

  The three monsters laughed at their stupid jokes while James ground his back teeth. He reminded himself repeatedly that he was on a mission that was more important than any one girl could possibly be. He couldn’t and wouldn’t blow his cover. Not when so many others were depending on him.

  Still, he couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice. “What. Now.”

  Leeway was finally able to tear his eyes away from the girl, which was lucky for him because he was about to come very close to having them ripped
out of his skull. “Wait here.”

  As was the norm, the four of them did what Leeway said without hesitation. There was something off about the man, something worse than the cruelty that they seemed to enjoy. He was like a black hole, sucking the life from everything he touched.

  Wheeler muttered under his breath. “That guy gives me the creeps.”

  Silence fell over them as they waited, broken only by the barely-there sound of snow falling around them. James tried not to look at the unconscious woman in his arms, knowing full well that the drug that rushed through her system would do her little harm and last for hours.

  Even when he wasn’t looking at her, though, he could feel her. She was so small and dainty in his arms, as beautiful as she was sensual. She looked so fragile but he knew after watching her fight the assassin on the train that she could hold her own. Not to mention she had nerves of steel.

  He wasn’t sure what she was doing here or why she was dressed in what he could only assume was another disguise, but she had guts. She’d realized she was outnumbered but she hadn’t wilted like an over watered flower. Instead, she had held her own, demanding with that haughty voice that they release her.

  He wished he could have let her go.

  Meeting her in the train had been an accident. He’d spotted the assassin, a man known only by the name of Jack, and gotten a strong sense of…need. That was the only way he could explain it. Something in him had needed to follow her, had wanted to do so more than he wanted his next breath. He’d followed at a distance, knowing that the members of the Guild took pride in their ability to shake tails.

  The train was chillingly empty. The usually bustling cars sat as dark caverns where ghosts took refuge. James knew there was something wrong the moment he heard that there would be no tickets for the next hour. He checked the secure logs, but couldn't find any maintenance scheduled for the train. Even so, that was the excuse the would-be passengers received when they attempted to board. He'd had to sneak aboard, dodging a large number of guards and personnel. He’d almost not made it, but when the bell had signaled movement, he’d managed to sneak past the closing doors.