by A. W. Exley
“I need you out of danger.” Nate rounded on her. “Do I have to remind you, Nolton left you pinned to a tree in Siberia.”
“And he long-lined you behind his airship.” She shot back.
“He could have killed you.” He brushed a hand through his hair; frustration and building tempers hummed in the room. The heads of the other occupants flicked between the players like they watched a hotly contested tennis match.
“He did kill you.” The burn ignited, anger flaring in Cara. He wouldn’t leave her behind like some simpering noble girl.
“For god’s sake, Cara.” Nate’s raised voice skated on the brink of losing control. He stretched out a hand as though to shake her. “For once, as my wife, why can’t you just―” the next word froze on his lips before he could utter it.
But Cara knew.
Her heart dropped through her stomach, the anger washing away like dirty water sucked down a drain. “That’s one little detail I bet you wished you wrote into my marriage contract. In return for taking my choice away, I have never uttered my agreement to obey.” She turned on her heel and left the room. She didn’t slam the door, but closed it gently as she slipped through his grasp like a wisp of smoke.
The closed door taunted him.
No one walked away from him.
Ever.
Except for one stubborn hazel-eyed redhead who threw herself at danger and thought about the consequences afterward.
His fist opened and closed around empty space before he realised what he did and dropped the arm to his side. The anger and frustration swirled and mixed with his desperate need to keep Cara safe, creating a volatile cocktail of emotion within him. He blew out a long sigh and turned back to the room.
Nan fixed him under her stare. “You need to let that girl go before you lose her, permanently.”
Steel resolve flashed through his body. “I will not lose her.”
Nan snorted. “When she was ten years old, her father punished her for failing to obey by locking her in a second story room. Two weeks later, we finally found her, disguised as a cabin boy on a steamer heading to Paris.”
He took a shaky breath, trying to bring his emotions back under command before he lost control. “And your point is?”
“She’s not ten years old anymore. If she bolts this time, she’ll get a lot further than Paris.”
He stared at the closed door, processing the older woman’s words. Cara could run, but he would know where to pursue her, he only had to follow his heart.
And she will always know how closely I snap at her heels.
“Do you want to waste years, chasing her around the globe?” Nan gave an exasperated sigh. “Follow her boy, now, before she drops out a window again.”
Nate wanted to scoff, but remembered Cara already escaped once out the window of his Mayfair mansion. He ordered her to bed rest after Clayton tried to carve her heart out, she had other plans. He made his decision in a split second and slipped out to the hallway.
He navigated the large house using the echo in his chest to find her room. He swung the bedroom door open to find a large orange tom staking his claim in the middle of the floor and meeting his gaze. Neither blinked nor moved.
“Out,” Nate commanded, gesturing over his shoulder to the hallway. “Only one tom cat is sharing this bed tonight.”
If the cat had possessed eyebrows, he would have raised one. Nate flicked his gaze to Cara. She ignored him, leaning on the wide window sill, arms crossed over her chest and fixedly staring at the night sky.
He stepped over the threshold and took in his surroundings and the scattered mementos of Cara’s childhood; a well-worn teddy bear on the bed, the rows of books in a shelf running under the window seat, the brightly coloured hand knotted rag rugs.
He narrowed his eyes and approached the cat. He picked the animal up around the middle, strode to the hallway, and dropped the indignant furry bundle before slamming the door. He spared a moment to be pleased with himself before turning to tackle the waves of anger rolling off his wife.
Cara knew the tom would be back. This was only round one to Nate, the cat played a long game.
Nate walked to the middle of the room, now devoid of the ginger tom, and halted. For once he looked lost, unsure what to do.
Her heart ached. She wanted to simultaneously wrap her arms around him and smack him on the side of his head.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“And I love you.” She reached inside, trying to find the right words. “But loving you is the easy bit. Trying to live with you is killing me.”
His hands balled into fists at his side. “I will have McToon draw up divorce papers. I’ll not lose you over something within my power to change.” Pain edged his words.
She raised her tired gaze to his ice blue one. Does he really think this is about a piece of paper? Men. She let out a sigh. “It’s not that. You can’t mold me into something submissive and compliant.”
He frowned. “I have no interest in making you submissive and compliant. I just want you to stop fighting me.”
“Then stop trying to protect me,” she cried. “You cannot be who you are if you constantly worry about me being hurt.”
He took two strides toward her. “Of course I want to protect you. You are the most precious thing in this world to me. I would lock you in my damn safe if I could, so no one would ever harm you again.”
She shook her head. “Married or divorced makes no difference, you’ll kill me if you cage me.” Her voice a bare whisper, unshed tear shining in her eyes.
Distress tore through their bond, a white hot sliver of metal piercing both of them. He rocked back on his heels, balanced on the edge of losing her as a chasm opened between them, each standing on an opposite side. “Tell me what to do. Please.”
She took a deep breath, followed by another. Can they bridge the distance? “We’re in this together, Nate. Don’t push me behind you. Let me stand at your side.”
“You’ll get hurt.” Instant refusal flared in his gaze.
“Yes, I will. And I expect you to pound whoever dares hurt me. You do have a reputation to maintain.”
For one agonising moment, he stared at her. Cara held her breath while he processed the options. Controlling those around him as fundamental to his character as rebellion was to hers. The wrong word now and the chasm would never be crossed, and she would fall from his reach.
Then laughter and relief filled his eyes. “I promise to try. Without you, I am empty. I would be dead inside if not for you.”
She smiled at her achingly handsome crime lord as the void between them sealed itself. He had left his mask at the door and emotion played across his face, almost too intense for her to bear. “Yes, you would be dead without me. You can say thank you now.”
A long stride and he closed the space between them. Heat from his body washed over her. “Thank you,” he whispered as one arm wrapped around her. With the other, he trailed a fingertip along her exposed collarbone. “I saw you in the depths of the ocean. I thought you were a siren, calling me to my death.”
She leaned into him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. “I took the water from your lungs, and gave you the breath from mine.”
His finger halted, a slight tremble moving from digit up his arm. “How do I show you how much I love you?” His head dipped lower, tilting her chin with his hand, his breath warming her face, their lips almost brushing.
She closed her eyes. “You let me help stop our mad queen for starters.”
“Agreed.” The word a mere whisper as his lips settled over hers and set her nerve endings alight.
Need built in both of them as fingers wrestled with closures and buttons, and emerged victorious. Clothing fell to the floor as Nate walked her backward until the mattress bit into her legs. Skin to hot skin, they tumbled to the bed and Nate never released her mouth until their lungs burned.
“No divorce,” he growled against her ear as he pinned her under him. “Togethe
r, forever. No matter what.”
“Yours,” she cried, offering him body and soul, knowing his protection didn’t cage her, but set her free. “Forever.”
A fireball of emotion struck her. Nate’s longing and need so intense, he teetered on agony. No longer able to hold back, the link between them flared brighter than the sun. Heat struck her and they both burned, melding into one.
he closer the airship sailed to London, the darker the sky became. By the time they landed, the sun gave up and drew dark clouds over itself like bedclothes even though the clock barely scraped past ten. Despair sucked the colour from everything in the eerie half-light. Trees dropped their leaves for winter prematurely. Skeletal limbs reached out, beckoning the shadow of death hanging over the city.
Cara shivered in the gloom, despite the layers of wool and fur wrapped around her body. Loki and Miguel stayed with the Hellcat and she suspected Nate would lose the youth to life on the airship. Cara, Nate, and Jackson grabbed a Hanson cab from strangely deserted streets. Jackson sat up back with the driver as they chugged their way to Belgravia.
The further they moved through the city, the more Cara’s skin crawled at the sickness that lay over London. Could the Collar do this? Is it this powerful? Then she thought of Alexander the Great and how much of the world he conquered without the use of airships, but by marching his armies unceasingly for years.
They jumped out of the cab at Wilton Row and Cara stood on the pavement while Jackson paid the driver. Nate laced his fingers with hers, his presence a solid reassurance, complimenting the ethereal caress he traced along their bond. Jackson hopped to the ground, the delicate cylinder under his arm in its wooden box. She winced, hoping the piece of equipment didn’t sustain any damage. So much of their plan hinged on the strange contraption working.
What happens if Sir John doesn’t believe us?
With startling familiarity, Jackson bounded up the stairs past them and flung the door open. They entered the run down house where dust motes danced in the filtered light. Spiders scurried back to their corners. The ancient butler was nowhere to be seen. Their feet clattered over the stained tiles.
“Who is it?” a voice called from up the stairs.
“It’s Cara,” she yelled back, one foot on the bottom step, wondering what spectre would greet them today.
A muffled bark and scratching noise heralded the arrival of Minnow. The little pug dog barrelled down the stairs, bee-lined for Jackson, and then leapt up at his trouser leg.
“Hang on, rat bag,” he muttered. His free hand dipped into his pocket and then dropped a biscuit into the dog’s open jaws. Minnow sat at his feet, munching on his treat, and swung his head back to the stairwell.
Helene drifted down the stairs, navy chiffon swirling behind her on unseen currents. Her chestnut locks striped with grey and tousled around her head. Her unblinking eyes focused on Cara until movement caught her gaze. She halted and the skirts pooled around her legs. “You brought him into my home? I am done with his family.”
“Helene.” Nate gave a polite bow from behind Cara.
“If you are done with him, you should really stop asking your little bird for the latest gossip about us.” Cara pointed out. “Come down to the library, so I can tell you all about Russia and what I have learned about how Nefertiti’s Heart works.”
“All right then.” The older woman stuck out her bottom lip. “But it had better be good.”
“I’ll tell you the naughty bits,” Cara cajoled and held out her hand.
Helene wafted down the last few treads and took the offered hand, wrapping her fingers around Cara’s. “Oh yes, I do like to hear the naughty bits, especially when you tie up Nate. Do tell me you had to tie him up again.”
Jackson coughed into his hand, hacking up a lung. “There’s some things I don’t need to hear.”
Cara gave him a wide smile. “Not up for the blow by blow account?”
The bodyguard passed the wooden box to his boss and then held up his hands as though to fend off the details. “I’m going down to the kitchen. I’ll let the others through when they arrive.” He spun on his heel and stalked off. With a yap, the little dog trotted in his wake.
“He seems quite at home,” Cara said as they took the hallway to the sane oasis amongst the decomposing house.
“Yes, he is.” Helene offered no further information, but smiled her eyes unfocused and her gaze followed something from the next realm.
The library exhibited all the love and attention missing from the rest of the house. The books regularly dusted and the brass rail for the ladder gleamed. The heavy drapes drawn against the pall creeping up the street and the small fire threw friendly warmth into the room. A large rectangular object waited on the polished table.
Nate deposited the box and lifted the lid. He unwrapped the metal cylinder and fitted it inside the larger object. Cara gave Helene the short version of their adventures in Russia while Nate fussed with the contraption they hoped would save his neck. She browsed the shelves as she related all that passed in the previous two weeks. Her fingertip trailed over spines as she wondered what priceless medieval books she would find hiding in Helene’s collection. The room had a twelve foot stud and books clung to the shelves right up to the edge of the cornicing.
“Have you reconciled to life as his viscountess?” Helene cocked her head to one side, ever watchful as she posed her question. Her milky stare flicked between them, even her eyes unable to be still for a moment.
Cara thought she was inured to Helene’s blunt questioning, but this one gave her pause, even though she knew the answer in her heart. “Nate and I have found a way to co-exist without killing each other.”
Helene made a harumpf in her throat as though disappointed in the answer.
A loud banging echoed through the house, followed by muffled voices. The library door opened and Jackson admitted Sir John Fox Burgoyne and a second cloaked visitor. Sir John gave Nate a cold nod. The other man removed his opera cape and top hat, revealing the queen’s consort, Prince Albert.
Cara dropped a curtsey and Nate bowed. “Your highness,” they both murmured.
Helene clapped her hands together in excitement. “It has been too long since I last had a prince in my hallways.”
There’s been one before? Cara filed the comment away for later, wondering why the most succulent titbits got dropped when she had the least amount of time to pursue them.
“When Sir John told me he was coming here, I insisted on accompanying him. You are aware of the depth of my concern for the queen and I fear we have much to discuss,” Albert said.
“Of course, your Highness. Saving the queen and averting an unnecessary war is our main concern. That, and the false treason charges against my husband.” Cara moved aside to reveal the device behind her.
The prince and Sir John eyed the strange contraption dominating the small library table. It looked squat like a wooden meat safe, but with a brass funnel sticking up into the air that ended in a flat trumpet shape. At the front jutted out a small crank shaft.
Sir John turned his attention to Nate. “First things first, what evidence do you have to show me, to disprove these charges against you? Duke Nolton is fairly certain in his accusation.”
Nate gestured to the object before them. “This isn’t something for your eyes, Sir John, but your ears. Nolton only works to divert attention from his own treacherous activities.”
“We will listen to anything if there is a danger posed to the queen.” Albert settled in a chair by the fire.
Sir John’s bushy eyebrows rose in confusion as he took the other seat. Nate signalled Jackson, who gave the crank at the front of the large device several turns. He then flicked a switch on the side. A crackle and hiss filled the air followed by Nolton’s nasal tone.
“Ah, the Lady Lyons, come to plead for your husband’s life?” A pause, the shuffle of playing cards and a muted clink from tokens tossed on to felt. “Dropping to your knees will be an excellent
starting point if you wish to sway me with your oratory skills.”
Nate’s gaze shot to Cara and she looked away as the air filled with Nolton’s insults.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
Eyes widened, the prince and Sir John looked around as though expecting Nolton to step from behind a curtain. “What magic is this?” Sir John asked.
Nate answered during a pause in the floating conversation. “Not magic, but a scientific invention called a phonograph. The cylinder captures a person’s words, enabling them to be listened to at a later time.”
The recording continued for twenty minutes, replaying every word and noise from the courtesan’s apartment in St. Petersburg. Sir John’s face grew redder and Albert’s more ashen as they listened to Nolton detail his plan. How he positioned Victoria to wear the necklace, suspecting the effect it would have on her mind. His belief no woman should rule, and that he had evidence of Victoria’s illegitimacy. How he expected the people of England would demand her removal and place him on the throne instead. How he negotiated to hand the queen over to China, to be imprisoned along with her family on an estate he had prepared to hold her.
The voices faded, chairs scraped, and soon only the hissing filled the room as the recording reached its end.
Sir John sat back in the armchair, his fingers tented as his mind sorted the implications of the recorded conversation.
“I want toast. Does anyone else have a hankering for buttered toast?” Helene darted around the library and out the door, calling to non-existent staff for bread and Minnow.
“Consider yourself a free man once more, Lord Lyons. The charges will be dropped.” Prince Albert reached a conclusion quicker than the constable. “The queen will agree with my assessment, once she is herself again.”
Sir John nodded his agreement. “Of course, I agree, your highness. I will take possession of this contraption, and hold it safe until the matter is concluded.” His astute gaze turned to Nate. “What is this dragon egg Nolton insists you stole from him?”
“It’s a colloquial term. I stole an airship load of opium from him and traded it in China for an enormous diamond known as the dragon’s egg.” Nate never missed a beat in his explanation.