by Lora Leigh
The vibrations under her feet changed subtly, the thrum of the engine deepening. Frowning, Thom crossed the cabin.
“We’re slowing,” he said.
She joined him at the porthole, looking out. Only water. No ships. “We’re going to need a boat when we escape,” she said. “He said that you’d be able to retrieve your belongings. I’d hoped that meant wherever we were going, we’d see Oriana there.”
“I did, too.”
They both turned at the knock. This time, the door didn’t open until Thom answered it. Blade stood in the passageway. Not leering now. Perhaps he wasn’t brave enough to do it in front of her husband, just as he’d only prodded Thom in the back behind the safety of a loaded gun. If so, he was the worst kind of coward—a mean one.
“His majesty says to come on up. But the missus stays here.”
Thom glanced back at her. Georgiana nodded.
“I’ll be fine. You’d best find out what he wants.”
* * *
A cold wind scraped across the upper deck, whistling past the cables tethering the balloon overhead. Coming off the ladder, Thom turned up the collar of his wool coat. Blade pointed him to the starboard side, where the nobby gent stood, looking down at the water. Thom started across, his gaze sweeping the deck. Near the stern, two clinker-built cutters hung on pulleys beneath the balloon. Lifeboats, capable of holding twenty. Thom only needed to seat two.
He looked south, squinting away the tears the wind whipped from his eyes. No land on the horizon.
Bundled in a thick scarf and wearing goggles, his nose red from cold, the nobby gent glanced up when Thom reached the side. “There you are. Have you settled in comfortably, then?”
Comfortable? What the hell did that matter? “What do you want with me?”
With a sudden grin, the bastard nodded. “You’re a direct man. I trust that I can be as well.”
He already had been. “There’s nothing more direct than a bullet.”
“I suppose not. But I should have taken a few moments before pulling the trigger to ask where you’d hidden the chest. I assumed—falsely, as it turns out—that I would have an opportunity to search your ship and find it. But at the time, I was more concerned with sailing your ship away from the coast, where it might be recognized.” He sighed and looked down at the water again, and Thom saw a round buoy rolling on the swells. “My men didn’t know how to handle your rigging. She capsized and went under right here.”
He’d stolen Oriana, only to sink her the next day? Thom’s hearty laugh rang across the deck.
“I’m not insensible of the irony, Mr. Thomas,” the bastard said, still smiling. He paused. Behind the clear lenses of his goggles, his eyes narrowed. “No. It’s not Mister Thomas, is it? Just Thomas. No one in the Horde’s laboring classes knew their family names.”
They didn’t know any family, either. “We didn’t.”
“Your single name is refreshing, in truth. So many of the others take such ridiculous names. Strongarm. Screwmaster. Blade.” His lip curled. “Longcock.”
“I think they’ve earned the right to call themselves whatever they damn well please.”
“Perhaps they did, at that.” He regarded Thom thoughtfully. “Your wife took your name as hers. How did you earn that, I wonder? An infected man with no education, no history, no family. No arms.”
“I have two right here.” He’d always had arms. They just hadn’t always been made of flesh and bone.
“Arms that the Horde gave you? I’ve seen their like.”
No, he hadn’t. But Thom didn’t bother with an answer.
The gent smiled faintly, as if amused by Thom’s silence. “You haven’t asked me who I am.”
Because it didn’t matter. “You’re the man who’s holding my wife hostage in exchange for gold. That’s all I need to know.”
Being shot, losing Oriana—Thom could let those go. Not the threat to Georgiana.
“Fair enough. Especially as the name I’ll have will depend on those coins.” All trace of amusement fled his face. “And all that I need to know of you? You’re a man who can haul and dive. I want those coins back. You’re going to get them for me.”
And so now Thom knew something else about the nobby bastard. This man would look at him and his arms and anyone else who’d lived under the Horde, and think they were all lower than shit. But he’d use them, anyway, if they served his purpose.
So Thom was back to being under someone’s boot. But he wouldn’t be working for nothing. This would be for Georgiana’s life.
And it might take his own life. His gaze scanned the horizon again. No telling how far out they were. But it was farther out than he usually dove. “Did you plumb the depth?”
“Sixty-five fathoms.”
“Impossible,” Thom said flatly. That was almost four hundred feet.
“Not for you. The infected are less prone to the divers’ disease.”
“But not immune to it, and there’s more than that to worry about. Any deeper than a hundred, and even men with bugs can black out, like they’re swimming drunk. I’ve felt a bit of that myself. What you’re asking is a hundred feet farther than I’ve ever gone, and that was deeper than I should have.”
“Deeper than you should have, yet you’re alive now. So you could have gone deeper.” The bastard stepped back, his hand dropping to the pistol tucked into his belt. “I will keep it simple for you, Big Thom. Dive for the gold, or you’ll watch me put a bullet in your wife’s head. Then I’ll put one in yours.”
Rage swallowed any response Thom could have made. Only sheer will kept him in place—and fear of what would happen to Georgiana if he ripped this bastard apart where he stood. The Winch woman had been standing guard outside the stateroom door when he’d left. If Thom did anything here, he wouldn’t be able to get back to Georgiana in time to save her.
“Return to your cabin now. Talk to your wife. Sleep on your decision, if you must. But at sunrise, you’re going into the water. Your only choice is whether you’ll be dead or alive, and whether your wife goes with you.”
There was no decision to make. Georgiana was right: some chance was better than none. And if his submersible was still bolted to Oriana’s deck, maybe their chances would be better yet.
“I’ll dive,” he said. “So let me see the equipment you’ve got.”
* * *
Georgiana attempted to remain calm while Thom was gone, but she ended up pacing the floor until he returned. She didn’t wait for him to close the door before asking, “What does he want you to do?”
“Dive.”
She’d already guessed that. “Dive for what?”
“Oriana.”
His ship? Georgiana stared at him, expecting him to tell her it was a joke. But it was even funnier if true—and his grin told her that it was. She burst into laughter, shaking her head.
He unbuckled his coat, glanced around the stateroom. “I told them to bring me the suit and hose so that I can look them over. They’ll be coming with those and a tub.”
To make certain everything was watertight. “How deep is the wreck?”
“One hundred feet.”
Deep, though not horrifyingly so. And still dangerous. Most wrecks went down in the shallows, where giant eels and young sharks and sharp rocks threatened to tear into a man or into his air hose. The dangers of the open sea were not worse or better. Just different.
And now she watched Thom’s gaze slide away from her face, as if there were something he meant to conceal. But she could imagine what it was. “Did he threaten to kill me if you didn’t go down?”
His gaze snapped back to hers. “Yes. But I’ll kill him before he touches you.”
“I know.” That had never been in question. Knowing that he was diving for Oriana, however, raised another one. “Was your submersible aboard? Is there room enough for two?”
“Yes. And I was thinking the same.” Striding to the wardrobe, he hung his coat on a hook and dragged off his hat. Hi
s short hair stuck up every which way. He ran his gloved palm over his head once, as if to smooth down the strands. It didn’t help.
Well, she would not help him. Georgiana rather liked this wild look. “Do you think it’s a better option than a boat?”
“I do.”
“What of the megalodons? Sound will carry better through a metal hull. It might attract their attention.”
“She runs quiet. Just the propellers and whatever noise we make. But either way is a risk, boat or submersible. We have to decide which we like better.” His expression grave, he stopped close, looking down at her. “If we took a boat, it wouldn’t be anything for this airship to come after us. They’d spot us on the water and that would be the end of it. But if we’re under the surface, we’d be out of their sight.”
So they would have to weigh the uncertain chance of attack from an enormous shark against the certainty of being caught again. Georgiana knew which risk she’d rather take. “What of the air? Without another vessel, we couldn’t use a pump or hose.”
“We’d come up when we needed it, open the top hatch to let in the fresh air. Then go down again before they could catch up to us. It wouldn’t take long before they’d lost us completely.”
Georgiana nodded. “How will you bring it up from Oriana?”
“I wouldn’t have to. If she’s still full of air, she’ll pop up to the surface as soon as I release the bolts. The question would be when to dive for her.”
So that they could avoid anyone on the airship knowing they had a mode of escape. It would have to be at night—but that would make seeing anything underwater almost impossible.
A sharp knock sounded at the door. The equipment had arrived. They would have to discuss this more later.
For now, her only task would be to assist him in checking and rechecking every seal and valve, and every inch of that hose. Lord Pinchpenny would use a threat against her to make Thom go down. She would help make certain that he came back up alive.
FIVE
Lord Pinchpenny threatened their lives . . . then sent Mrs. Winch to invite them to dinner in his cabin.
Georgiana debated whether to refuse, and saw the same struggle in Thom. But in the end, refusal didn’t seem worth the risk, and she told Mrs. Winch that they would join him as soon as they’d washed up. With a sigh, she rose from her kneeling position beside the tub, where she and Thom had just rolled up their sleeves and begun running the long coil of air hose through the water to check for leaking bubbles.
With shorter sleeves and a bit of lace at the scooped neckline, her pink cotton dress seemed most suitable for dinner, but she wouldn’t wear it for Lord Pinchpenny’s sake. She only wanted to please Thom—and she changed into the dress to please Thom, too, though she wasn’t quite bold enough to face him after she unfastened the blue wool and stood in front of the wardrobe, clothed only in her chemise and stockings. Her cheeks felt as pink as her dress when she tugged everything into place, but the burning in his eyes when she turned around was worth every moment of embarrassment.
He must have watched her the entire time. When she’d left him by the tub, he’d been rolling down the right sleeve of his linen shirt. Though several minutes had passed, the left sleeve was still bunched up over his steel elbow.
She glanced at his hands. “You’d best finish covering those.”
The sound he made in response might have been a yes but emerged more like a primitive grunt.
Smiling, she moved to the mirror and began repinning her hair. In the reflection, she watched him pull on his woven gansey, followed by the gloves. Oh, but he was such a handsome, incredible man. Every part of her felt more alive when he was near.
And though Georgiana liked his hair wild, she would like this even more. “Have a seat. You could use a good combing.”
“I can do it.”
“I know. But I want to.”
That seemed good enough reason for Thom. But Georgiana’s true reason was that it gave her an excuse to move in between his knees when he sat on the edge of the bed, and stand with her body close to his. He would only have to lean forward to pillow his cheek upon her breast. His gaze had settled there instead, his lips parted, as if the shadow of her cleavage was an entrancing thing.
Her heart pounded. She slicked the wet comb through his thick hair, trying not to think of his mouth so near to the bare expanse of skin above her neckline, unable to think of anything else. Each breath she took seemed to tighten her bodice across her breasts, and she could hardly bear the ache at their tips. Thom must see how her nipples beaded beneath the cotton. But though she yearned for him to touch her, his hands had fisted at his thighs.
Now was not the time, anyway. Desperately, she searched for something to distract her. Anything. Such as dinner with Lord Pinchpenny. She wondered breathlessly, “Do you think that he put off his cook with the rest of the crew? He doesn’t seem like a man who will tolerate poor fare at his table.”
“He doesn’t.” Thom’s voice was rough. “But he also doesn’t seem a man who does anything by half.”
“Then he would have had to hire another for this job. A mercenary cook. I didn’t even realize there was such a thing, though I suppose all of the knives come in handy,” she said, and smiled when Thom laughed. That quiet rumble counted among her favorite sounds in all the world.
When his laugh faded, she felt his hand upon her hip. But not to pull her closer. It was a small touch of apology, instead. “I won’t be good company at dinner. I’d as soon kill him as talk to him.”
“I won’t care if you don’t speak a single word, Thom. You are always good company to me.” She used her fingers to smooth back a few dark strands near his temple, then sighed. “We should not delay much longer.”
“No. But I’ll need another minute before I’m decent.”
“Oh?” Then she saw the state of his trousers, and heat flooded her cheeks. “Thom!”
He laughed again at her admonishing tone—though the truth was, she did not mind a bit.
And she could use another minute, too.
* * *
The captain’s cabin also lay on the second deck, but at the stern rather than the bow. Squared off, the cabin was bigger than the triangular one, and whoever the usual captain was, that person had more sensible taste than displayed in the stateroom. A heavy brown curtain separated the main part of the room from the berth. Sturdy furnishings and dark woods gave the cabin a somber appearance. Paned windows overlooked the tall blades of the twin propellers, and beyond them, offered a view of the setting sun painting orange across the water in broad strokes.
Lord Pinchpenny was alone, reading by the glow of a small lamp. As they entered, he set the book aside and rose from his chair to greet them. “How lovely you look, Mrs. Thomas.”
“Thank you.” Her reply was stiff. She did indeed look well. But a single heated glance from Thom pleased her a thousand times more than flattery from this man ever could.
“Please, come and be seated. I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you’re here. I’ve longed for civilized conversation.”
He gestured to the table, a more formal setting than in their stateroom, and large enough to seat eight. Standing at the head, he pulled out the chair on his right.
Thom took it. He dragged the next seat back for Georgiana, keeping himself between her and Lord Pinchpenny.
Flattening her lips to stop her smile, Georgiana sat. Not much civilized conversation would be found with her husband—which was exactly how she liked him. Lord Pinchpenny didn’t attempt to conceal his amusement. He regarded Thom with a wide grin before looking to Georgiana again.
“By your accent, I believe we must have been almost neighbors once. You lived on Prince George Island?”
Near to Manhattan City, but in many ways, she couldn’t have been born any farther away from this man. They were most certainly not neighbors. But she only replied, “Not for many years. My family came to Skagen when I was a young girl.”
Still standing, Lord Pinchpenny filled their glasses with red wine. “Before the revolution in England?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t return home when the tower was destroyed?”
“England was never my home, sir.”
His brows rose at that. “I have always considered it mine. All of my family has. Indeed, that is how we’ve come to this situation now.”
“The situation where you’ve threatened both me and my husband?” Georgiana smiled, so that he would know this conversation was still civilized. “What is it that you needed, sir? The money?”
“No.” He finished pouring wine for himself and took his place at the head of the table. “I’m not a thief. This is reclamation of honor.”
Through piracy and murder? “What honor do you wish to reclaim?”
“Title, lands. But above all, a good name.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the knee, the easy posture of a man utterly sure of himself. “I’m the Earl of Southampton—or rather, I should be.”
And Georgiana had always thought she should be Queen of the North Sea. That didn’t make her so. “And why aren’t you?”
“Shortly before the Horde’s invasion, my ancestor—Henry, the sixth Earl of Southampton—shared the fears of those who had already fled England, and sent his countess and children to the Americas. But he remained behind. My family had extensive holdings and many tenants dependent on them, and the earl was loyal to the Crown. He would not abandon either out of fear. Like every man of my line, he believed that it was his honor and duty to serve them.”
Beside her, Thom drew in a long, slow breath and closed his eyes. Probably because he was rolling them toward the heavens.
Georgiana suppressed another smile. “And so he was caught in England when the tower went up?”
“No. He was among those who weren’t infected by the Horde’s radio signals. And you have likely heard the stories of what had happened then. Confusion and panic everywhere. No one quite knew what had happened; they only knew England was under attack of some sort, and even the king had been affected. For the security of the Crown, his ministers agreed that a portion of the treasury should be taken out of London for safekeeping until the threat was defeated. They entrusted my ancestor with some of those treasures.”