by Anne Renwick
The nurse lifted her wrist. “Respiration steady. Pulse absent.” Standing, the nurse pressed a pocket watch into Lady Stafford’s hand. “Mark the time. Three minutes, no more.” She hurried back toward P.C. Hutchinson’s Magneto-Shock Machine, flipping a lever that made the contraption hum and crackle as she pushed it to Anna’s side.
“Fifteen seconds.” The viscountess encircled her daughter’s wrist, searching for a pulse. A tear ran down her cheek.
In two minutes and forty-five seconds they would… what?
Her own heart hammering against her ribcage, Colleen cradled Anna’s head while the nurse ripped open the loose bodice fitted about her narrow chest and swiftly unbuttoned the camisole that lay beneath, exposing the pale expanse of her torso to begin chest compressions.
“Thirty.” The viscountess’s breaths came in short bursts. Her face was ashen and bloodless as she detached a sharp and glinting probe from the instrument’s side.
Every instinct screamed at Colleen to stop this madness. But Anna herself—and her mother and Nick—must approve, for they’d installed both the nurse and the device.
A treatment acceptable only in the face of certain death.
“Forty-five.” A tear splashed onto the viscountess’s cheek.
The whine from the device grew louder.
Crack! Colleen jumped as a blinding flash of white light arced between the point of the metal rod and the device itself. The machine fell silent. A puff of acrid smoke rose from its innards.
Lady Harrington let out a deep wail and began to frantically bang on the device, flipping switches and spinning dials. But to no avail.
While Colleen was swept up the stairs and into a room filled with flowing lengths of white silk, lace and other assorted trims, Nick fled into the study where he scratched out a quick note to Jackson requesting help. Friend and fellow agent, the man was tasked with keeping an eye on foreigners looking to turn a profit by absconding with British ingenuity. Perhaps Cornelius Pierpont was one such individual. Moreover, Jackson was a damned good agent. They’d worked together in the past and, given today’s revelations, backup would be welcome, particularly if he and Colleen found hard evidence upon examining the contents of her uncle’s safe. He dashed up the stairs to the aviary—his new favorite location—and sent the message on its way.
Task done, he tugged his pocket watch from his waistcoat. Seven o’clock. Given Colleen’s presence, would his family insist upon a formal evening meal? Months of flirtation had crystalized into the oddest of courtships, and he hated to leave her in his family’s clutches for even a short length of time while their future was still on uncertain ground. He didn’t keep much clothing in his old wardrobe, but he’d make do rather than return to his bachelor quarters.
He started down the stairs toward his old room.
Distress at Lord Aldridge’s revelations that her uncle and estate might well fund Dr. Farquhar’s studies of the cat sìth had tensed Colleen’s supple frame and stiffened her resolve to see their quest through to the finish line. Cryptid hunters were a blight upon their nation’s natural resources and, if they’d been turned loose at Craigieburn, there was no telling the damage her uncle had wrought upon her inheritance and its inhabitants. The anger such thoughts engendered curled his hands into fists, ones which he’d like nothing better than to wrap around the man’s throat. He would see the man pay. Any connection to CEAP needed to be severed and quickly, before men without inconvenient moral scruples used the existence of cat sìth as an excuse to study human oddities in the name of scientific advancement. With her reflective eyes, Colleen—and others like her—might well end up as unwilling research subjects. He’d not let that happen, not to any of them.
As his list of tasks grew longer, they’d begun to circle back upon each other, winding tighter with each revelation. Save his sister. Assist the woman he wished to marry. Locate a mad scientist and his device. Shut down a shadow committee by ripping control of his fiancée’s estate from her guardian’s hands. All while wondering at the ethics of employing a life-saving contraption that tainted money had financed.
Life had grown immeasurably complicated these past few days.
Screams echoed up the stairwell. Shouts followed. As he ran down the steps, he could feel the hum of electricity as P.C. Hutchinson’s Magneto-Shock Machine came to life. A loud pop sounded and his mother cried out. He burst into the parlor, trampling silk in his rush to reach his sister’s side where the nurse administered percussive pacing and chest compressions.
Anna’s eyes flew open and she dragged in a great, horrible and stertorous breath. Her face flushed red as blood began to flow through her veins and arteries, her heart once again condescending to continue its labors.
“It happened again?” his sister whispered, staring up at her brother.
“It did, darling.” His mother wrapped her arms about her daughter, ignoring the tears that still trickled over her cheeks. “For about one minute and thirty seconds.”
The nurse nodded, confirming his worst fears. “And the device short-circuited. I’ll send for the technician.”
Colleen, eyes wide, looked at him.
“Longer than before.” He answered her unspoken question as the sound of his own heartbeat thrashing in his ears faded.
“She’ll recover?” Colleen’s voice was a whisper.
He nodded. This time.
Only then did he glance at the Magneto-Shock Machine. A faint wisp of smoke rose from deep inside its mechanisms. So much for its usefulness. He was almost grateful, and yet, had his sister not revived, a functioning device—horrible though it was—might well have saved her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning his attention to his sister, ever careful to maintain a calm, clinical pretense after each attack, watching closely as color returned to her face.
“Fine.” She rubbed her chest. There would be bruises. “Mostly.”
“Is there anything more that can be done?” Colleen pushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand.
He shook his head. “These episodes come on without warning and don’t seem to cluster, though she’ll be watched closely.”
“As always,” Anna sighed. She threw Colleen a wan smile. “Privacy is in short supply when your heart can’t be relied upon.”
“It’s necessary,” he commented. “Come. I’ll carry you to bed.”
“In the nursery,” Anna insisted.
Nick knew better than to argue that point. He scooped his sister into his arms and turned to leave the room. “Where you will let me listen to your heart.” To be certain he could detect no further progression of the damage. He gave Colleen a speaking look. “Don’t… take any actions without me.”
“I’ll wait,” Colleen assured him. “In your—my—room.”
Where there was a fire, a bed, and a few hours until they could take once more to the roofs.
Anna snickered softly. “Convenient,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for her brother to hear.
He gave her arm a pinch. “Hush, lest I accidentally drop you.” He wouldn’t, but light-hearted sibling sparring always brought a grin to her face.
“Let me see the modiste out.” His mother pressed a kiss to Anna’s cheek. “I’ll be with you directly.”
“Of course.” As their mother hurried to the flustered dressmaker and her assistants, Anna dropped her head against Nick’s chest. “I’ll be fine. Well, as fine as I ever am. I’ll feel even better if the ‘actions’ you have planned for tonight have to do with that miracle mentioned earlier?”
“They do.” If they didn’t find answers inside Lord Maynard’s safe, he’d hunt the man down himself and drag forth the whereabouts of Dr. Farquhar in a most ungentlemanly manner. “We’ve a new lead to chase down.”
“Progress?” Her eyes held a cautious hope.
“Perhaps,” he warned.
“I won’t keep him long.” Anna caught Colleen by the sleeve of her dressing gown. “T
here’s nothing he can do that my nurse isn’t equally capable of—save hunt down whichever scientist is jealously guarding this secret you seek. Promise you’ll come visit me tomorrow and tell stories about your toe-curling adventures?”
“They’re more of a scandalous nature.” Colleen gave his sister a wink. “I can’t—and won’t—tell you all the details, but you might ask me questions about the gossip rags, and we’ll see what I can confirm or deny.”
“Excellent.” His sister’s cheeks were pale, but maintaining a healthy glow. “I’ve a full year of missed ballroom scandals to inquire about.” She released Colleen. “Let’s go, brother.”
Colleen turned away to gather her things, and Nick began the climb to the nursery. “I hate to leave you so soon after an attack.”
“But you will,” Anna answered him. “Go find this device you’ve been carrying on about and, while you’re at it, convince Lady Stewart to marry you. I’d like nothing more than to attend your wedding before—”
“Don’t say it,” Nick stopped her, frowning. “I’ve every confidence you will live to hold your grandchildren.”
She slapped him lightly on the chest. “So long as it’s not at the expense of being able to hold your own. You have an hour, no more, before I toss you from the nursery.”
Chapter Sixteen
Colleen arrived at her—Nick’s—door to find a small boy bent at the waist and peering through the keyhole while balancing a tray.
“Something of interest?” she asked.
He jumped backward, nearly upsetting the saucer of milk, and looked up at her with wide eyes. “That’s a really large, black cat. Aren’t black cats supposed to be bad luck?”
“Only if you treat them badly,” she said. “But since you come bearing food, she’ll likely be predisposed in your favor. Would you like to meet Sorcha?”
“It’s yours?” The boy gaped.
“Some might say so, but one never owns a cat.” Colleen opened the door while the child lifted the tray. “She chose me. Sorcha, meet—” She raised an eyebrow.
“Robby,” the boy supplied, setting down the tray.
“Hold your hand out for her to sniff.”
Tail held high, Sorcha strolled over. Though her attention was focused upon dinner, the feline recognized an in-house ally, permitting Robby to run his hand over her back as she lapped up the cream.
“There’s a string about her neck,” he said, examining the twine. “And a message!” His eyes blinked up at her. “You trained a cat?”
Trained? No. Frequently bribed was a more appropriate description. But none of the feral cats that prowled the streets of London could ever be coaxed to her aid, making the cat sìth a far superior species. “Sorcha is no ordinary feline.” She held out her hand, and he dropped the paper scroll into her palm.
She unfurled Isabella’s message.
Our evening proceeds according to plan, but take every precaution. After your departure, your uncle was called away on urgent business. He returned white-faced and shaking with rage. I suffered a pointed stare of suspicion that bodes nothing but ill. Tonight, we most both walk upon eggshells.
Had her uncle been the one to free Dr. Farquhar from his prison cell? Try as she might, Colleen could not imagine him passing down the halls of a station house. No, one of his minions would have been sent to fetch the mad scientist.
But he would know where the man had been deposited.
And might well know this Cornelius Pierpont. The name continued to niggle at her mind. She’d heard it before. Somewhere.
“Are you going to save Lady Anna?” Robby broke into her thoughts.
“We’re going to do all we can, starting later tonight.” She hesitated, then decided this interval of time must not be squandered. “Can I count upon you to wake me in two hours’ time? With a tea tray fit for a human?”
He jumped up. “Anything to support the mission.” Grinning, the boy exited the room.
Though her nerves were still wound tight—would she ever forget such a moment of watching a woman’s heart stop… then start again as if nothing at all was amiss?—she could feel the edge of exhaustion dulling her mind, her reflexes. The rest of the household would be doting upon Anna, as they should. She looked at the mattress with longing. A short nap, a light tea, and she’d be ready to hunt down Cornelius Pierpont and the contents of a particular rosewood box. A task that needed to be accomplished tonight. Ferreting out Dr. Farquhar’s location was another goal, though wading through his madness to extract the specifications of the device was a far less appealing—though potentially viable—option.
Alone, Colleen unlaced her boots and tugged them from her feet. There was no point in unlacing a corset only to struggle with it in a few hours. She pulled a few pins from her hair, letting it tumble free. Tossing the dressing gown aside, she crawled beneath the covers and lay her head down upon the soft pillow with a sigh.
Years of late nights had trained her to sink swiftly into a deep sleep. In moments sweet oblivion claimed her.
Some time later, the mattress shifted. A displacement of far more weight than that of an overlarge cat. Her heart slammed against her chest and her eyes flew open, every nerve ending alive and alert.
“Shh.” Nick’s voice was a whisper as he stretched out beside her atop the covers wearing nothing but his trousers and shirtsleeves. “Go back to sleep.”
Unlikely. Not when the tips of her fingers were tingling with the desire to touch the rough stubble that had begun to shadow his face. Or while her elevated pulse flooded her body with heat and desire. Even his scent teased, leather and spice and something decidedly male.
With so many other bedrooms from which he might choose, he’d come to her. Her heart flipped in her chest, and her mind agreed: sleep was not what he had in mind. Still, she willed herself motionless for she’d not deprive Nick of his own chance for rest. Except his eyes didn’t close. Instead, after several long minutes, they still stared at the ceiling while heavy thoughts weighed down his mind.
“How is your sister?” She rolled onto her side, propping her head upon her hand.
“Resting.” He sighed. “Save for the trauma of the attack itself, there is little in the way of aftereffects, save a bit of fatigue.”
“With little to be done save fret and worry about when the next will occur and what the outcome will be?” The clock upon the mantle informed her there was plenty of time yet before her aunt and uncle would depart from their townhome.
“In a nutshell.” He rolled to face her, and a faint, suggestive gleam kindled in his eyes. “The door is locked.” He winked. “And I’ve clean shirts in the wardrobe.”
“Oh?” She let a knowing smile touch her lips. “And you wish for me to… help you dress?”
“I rather thought you might help me undress. It’s such an inconvenience to work these small buttons of my shirt by myself. What with the door locked, there’s no one else to assist.”
Colleen pushed herself upright, tossed aside the covers, and reached to pop free the button directly beneath his chin. “Such troublesome things, buttons.” Her mouth watered at the sight of the hollow of his neck. She freed another button and trailed a fingertip over the dark curls of hair she’d exposed before unfastening a third, a fourth.
A rumble of approval sounded deep in his chest. “They are.”
“If I’m to set myself to such an onerous task, you must loosen my laces. I find this task takes my breath away.” The last buttons fell free and she spread the placket wide. Leaning forward, she ran her palm over the firm muscles of his chest that flexed beneath her touch, then traced the trail of hair leading downward between the ridges of his stomach. Her finger caught at his waistband. “You’re certain you only wish to change your shirt? These trousers?” She clucked, her hand hovering above the obvious bulge of his erection. “They’re a bit… dirty.”
“So they are.” His hands fell on her shoulders and pulled, dropping her crosswise over his bare chest and crushing he
r breasts against him. Only a wisp of silk and an underbust corset separated them. Too much. She kissed the hollow of his throat while his frantic fingers worked the laces of her corset until it fell loose. “Sit back, Colleen, and extricate yourself from that garment so that I can see you breathe freely.”
Laughing, she pushed back onto her knees to unhook the corset and toss it aside. “And?” She pulled her chemise over her head.
The look he gave her sent a shiver down her spine.
“Perfect.” His hand ran up the side of her ribcage until it came to rest, cupping her breast. “In every way.” His thumb brushed over its tip, slow and languid, sending a new flood of warmth between her legs. “But come closer. Finish what you proposed to start.”
“Enjoying all the attention, are you?”
“And the view.” His eyes filled with a gratifying, lust-crazed interest as his hands fell to her hips, urging her closer.
Bare, save for her stockings, she straddled him and leaned forward to lightly kiss his lips, dragging the sensitive tips of her nipples over the coarse hairs that sprinkled his chest. Her own breath caught as fire crawled across her skin.
He groaned and opened his mouth, inviting her in.
“Not yet.” She nipped at his lip and backed away, swatting at his wandering hands to focus upon a task that grew more urgent by the minute. She caught at his waistband, unfastening its closure.
“Torture?” He all but strangled on the word. “Is that what you have planned?”
“A touch.” Nick began to sit upright, but she pushed him back onto the pillow. “This time, I’m in charge. Stay.” Crawling backward, she dragged his trousers to his knees. A most impressive erection sprang free.
Reversing course, she slid her hands up the firm, strong muscles of his legs. As she reached their apex, she dipped her head to taste the hard length of his cock, reveling in the faint saltiness that met her tongue.