Nessy's Locket

by A. W. Exley

  By the end of the following week, Cara’s desk was strewn with newspaper clippings and reports.

  “I’m becoming a bureaucrat,” she muttered as she stared at the growing pile of paperwork. Her life had once involved riding hard, drinking, and shooting. Part of her longed for those wild days spent in the western regions of America. Then she remembered the aching loneliness inside her and how she had tried, and failed, to outrun her demons.

  Until now, she never had a family of her own to protect. She didn’t worry about Nan and Nessy—those women seemed indestructible. It was the vulnerable lives depending on her that she strove to shelter from the harms the world could inflict.

  “Paperwork it is.” She dragged a folder closer and flipped it open.

  Nate’s network had worked diligently to uncover every piece of information available about Count Alfonso Mancilla. Somewhere in the mountain of paper had to be the one piece that would convince him to hand over the foundation stone from the Great Wall.

  She knew all about the count’s household, his family, and the minutiae of his life down to how he liked his eggs (poached) and his favourite summer time drink (sangria). It was all perfectly ordinary with nothing sufficiently scandalous to use as leverage to get him to hand over an ancient artifact.

  After an entire morning spent cooped up reading, she closed a report and tossed it back on the pile. “This is near hopeless.”

  “Anything I can help with?” Brick looked up from the newspaper. The imposing man shadowed her every move during the day. His evenings were spent with the handsome duke, as evidenced by the sidebar on the front page about the scandalous but oh-so-dashing couple attending the opening night of a new play.

  At that point, Cara thought they would have to fabricate something against the count. It wasn’t even as though they could creep in at night, tie him up, and torture him until he handed the stone over. The stone would stop them ever crossing onto his property. This was one tricky artifact. “Not unless you know how to sweet-talk a Spanish count called Alfonso Mancilla.”

  Brick chuckled and folded away the newspaper. “Me, no. But Clarence might. He seems to know every noble in Europe.”

  Cara was grasping at straws, but it was worth a chance. “Please ask the duke if he knows of Count Mancilla. I need all the help I can get, and I have run out of ideas.”

  Brick glanced up at the clock. “I could pop out now if you promise to stay put for at least an hour?”

  Cara pushed back the chair and toed off her slippers. Her feet ached although she had hardly walked anywhere all day. “I promise. I need to stretch, and then I might go bother the kitchen staff for an early lunch.”

  “Eating for two?” He chuckled as he straightened the cuffs of his shirt.

  “That depends on what is on the menu. I’m famished for certain foods while others make me hold my breath.” The smell of coffee that once seemed like ambrosia now made her stomach churn. Plain, salty biscuits tasted delicious, but rich soups didn’t stay down. A rumble from her middle gave rise to a sudden urge for cheese and something salty.

  “Maybe to take your mind off things, this afternoon we could go to Liberty’s? I hear they have an extensive range of nursery furnishings. We need to make a start on a room for junior.” He rose to his full height and tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat. Today he wore a deep green plaid with a pale red line running through it. His waistcoat was of red raw silk, and a matching handkerchief stuck up from his breast pocket. For a giant of a man, he was incredibly well dressed and spent more time in front of a mirror than Cara.

  “All right. I’ll let you guide the nursery decoration.” She had vetoed Rachel’s idea of a black room and doubted Brick would propose anything worse.

  He peered in the mirror on his way out and smoothed back his hair.

  Cara bit back a smile at the action. Brick was another former pugilist that Nate brought into their family. But this one had an eye for fashion, and Cara encouraged him to be true to himself instead of what his size and background dictated.

  The unlikely romance between the bodyguard and the handsome Duke of Clarence made Cara think of fairytales and stories of kitchen maids who married princes. She was determined to see the two men have a storybook ending, and society could choke on it if they didn’t like it.

  Brick was back an hour later and found Cara in the dining room eating warm, cheesy pastries and drinking peppermint tea. His eyes sparkled and his step was lighter.

  “How is Clarence today?” Cara patted the chair next to her. It was easier to talk to Brick when he sat; otherwise she would get a crick in her neck.

  He dropped his massive frame onto the chair. “Still abed. Don’t know how those nobles can laze around all day.”

  “Oh. So you didn’t get to see him?” She suspected the sparkle in Brick’s eyes was exactly because Clarence was still abed. Women swooned when the handsome lord walked past, and it wasn’t solely because of the size of his estate. The noble was fashioned like a Greek god and carved from alabaster.

  Brick stole a cheesy delight from her plate and popped it in his mouth. “Oh, I saw him. I saw all of him.”

  He grinned and Cara nearly snorted peppermint tea back out her nose.

  “Do you know how many women would rip off their own arm to trade for a chance to see the duke disrobed?” Aside from his masculine beauty, there was the near legendary size of his endowment. He was light and sunshine, and men and women flocked to him like moths to a flame.

  Brick chuckled and looked like a cat that found an unguarded bowl of cream. “He looks so angelic that you wouldn’t think he throws a wicked punch.”

  “You’re teaching him to box?” The glimpse inside the relationship of the two men fascinated Cara.

  Brick poured himself a coffee from the pot. It sat on a silver frame, and a small flame underneath kept the coffee hot. “He already had the basics. Apparently it’s part of a well-bred gentleman’s education to know how to engage in fisticuffs. But I’m showing him how men fight, not boys.”

  Cara’s imagination whirred with the thought of Brick and Clarence sparring. As much as she would love to blame her pregnant state for her wild imaginings, she had found Nate’s hot whispers of his encounter with Loki heated her blood the same way. She needed to rein in her overactive imagination and get back to business. “Did you have a chance to ask about the count, either before or after you admired Clarence’s form?”

  He stirred a lump of sugar into his coffee and shot her a lazy smile. “I always take care of business first. And yes, he does know him. Said he’s a bit reclusive and disgustingly wealthy but with no taste in clothing. He does on occasion come to London if there is a play or event that attracts his attention.”

  There was information she could mould to her advantage. An idea took root in her mind, and now she had to nurture it into a fully-fledged plan. “Ah! What I need is an event to lure him to London. Did Clarence know anything else? Does he like a particular type of play or have a favourite singer?”

  If they could tailor an event to the count’s tastes, it would increase their chances of success. A one-off evening of his favourite performer would surely encourage him to make a dash to London for a few days. Then Cara would need to figure out what to offer him that would make him give up the stone.

  Brick sipped his coffee while he mulled over her question. “Clarence didn’t mention anything about singers. But he did say the count once propositioned him. Clarence declined. Muttered something about short and badly dressed Spaniards not being to his taste.”

  Ideas swirled in Cara’s head. She needed an event that was glamorous, exciting, and something that society would talk about across Europe. If she could also turn it into a charity event that would bring in more capital to pay for schools and heating in the Rookeries. May as well extract as much coin from the toffs as possible while inching closer to the artifact she needed.

  The tendril of an idea grew, nourished by the memory of an exchange she once had
with Clarence at a museum event. “Just how good a boxer is Clarence?”

  Brick beamed. “He’s quick and agile. Throws a brutal punch and you never see it coming. He’s knocked me on my arse once or twice.”

  Now the idea sprouted leaves and a thicker trunk. “Could he beat Jackson?”

  Brick frowned as he considered the match. “They would be well matched. Two very different styles, but let’s not forget Jackson fights damn dirty. I think Clarence could best him in a fair fight but not in a brawl.”

  Cara’s idea exploded in a flash of brilliance and grew so large she was sure its branches would stick out her ears. “Could he beat Nate?”

  Brick whistled between his teeth. “Now there’s a match that would be interesting to watch.”

  Cara could hardly sit still with the excitement churning in her. “Exactly. If Clarence is willing, I’m going to organise a boxing match between them.”

  Brick spat coffee across the table. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  She could see it all in her mind. “Imagine the two of them stripped to the waist, covered in sweat, and fighting one another.”

  Brick shook his head, but his eyes sparkled as he too conjured up the mental image. “Offer tickets to that and you’d have a riot on your hands.”

  “But I shall keep one ticket in hand for the count, should he wish a ring-side seat.” Cara grinned. The idea was so perfect that women, and some men, would swoon at the very mention of it. “I shall bill it as a high-class charity event to build a new school for poor children.”

  “You’re going to make a fortune.” Brick drained his coffee and poured another.

  Emptying the pockets of the ton would be a nice side effect, but protecting her extended family and the dragons came first. The event gave rise to the perfect opportunity to solicit the stone from the count. “I’m going to offer a side wager to the count for the stone. When Nate wins, the stone will be given to me, not stolen.”

  It was a perfect solution and absolutely nothing could go wrong.

  “What will you do if the boss losses?” Brick asked.

  Nate…lose? The merest whiff of that never entered her mind. She frowned at the man next to her. “Lose? What makes you think that is even a vague possibility?”

  Brick met her gaze with a clear challenge. “If you get this to go ahead, I’ll be drilling Clarence every available hour to ensure he does. I’ll not have my man go down in the ring.”

  Cara was in a buoyant mood, and nothing would deflate her belief in her husband. “Shall we have our own wager on that?”

  Brick chuckled. “All right. If I win, you pay for me to have a new outfit of my creation from the tailor of my choice.”

  That would be an expensive wager to lose. The man would probably pick the rarest silk from China to cause the maximum pain to her pocketbook. Assuming Clarence won, of course, which would never happen. “And if I win, I get to interfere in your relationship with Clarence.”

  Brick narrowed his eyes. “Interfere how?”

  “Nothing bad, I promise. It’s something troubling my latest injured bird, and I have an idea that I want to run by Clarence without you vetoing it first.” There might be a way to help Sabine and Esther, if Clarence was willing to become a party to events.

  “Very well. We have a wager. I’ll not see the man I love lose.” Brick held out his hand.

  Cara took his large hand in a firm grip. “Me neither.”

  9

  In only a couple of weeks, Professor Isayev had cast a spell over Rachel. The youngster threw herself into her studies with the same enthusiasm Cara used to display for climbing out her window to seek adventure. The two scholars spent hours holed up in the schoolroom, creating experiments that on one occasion made the old mansion rumble and sent a blue gaseous cloud along the hallway.

  Cara had to lure Rachel away from her studies to ensure she spent some time out in the sunshine and exercised her growing body. Today they decided on a picnic with the dragons. Kirill sat on the lawn, waiting to lead them to where the females sunned themselves.

  Amy and Jackson packed two baskets that wafted delicious aromas into the small, steam-powered conveyance called the Armadillo. The vehicle earned its name because of the metal plating that covered its body and gave it a stout appearance that belied the speeds it could reach. In winter it was fitted with skis to skim over frozen ground, but currently it possessed fat wheels for navigating rough terrain.

  Rachel’s pony had come up lame with a suspected stone bruise, and to lessen her disappointment, Nate had instead promised her a ride on his newly acquired black stallion. Cara thought he was taking his role as storybook villain a little too far when he bought the horse. Next he would be sporting an eye patch or rolling his r’s.

  Jackson handed the girl up, and she settled in the front of the saddle and curled her right hand into a fistful of flowing mane.

  Cara rolled her eyes and muttered about men under her breath. Nate insisted the girl be on a lead rein with a placid and well-schooled pony, but would let her ride with him on a snorting stallion. Apparently if he was in charge, Rachel could undertake dangerous activities.

  As Cara took the reins to her mare, a scream sliced through the air like a warning klaxon. The high-pitched, unrelenting warble made Cara wince, and Nate’s horse danced sideways.

  “What is that?” She glanced to Nate. It didn’t sound like the alarm for the workshop that stood next to the barn, nor was it coming from the right direction.

  Out on the lawn, Kirill reared up on his hind legs and bellowed in response.

  “No,” Cara whispered as she realised it was no mechanical alarm but a natural one.

  It was the scream of a dragon.

  Kirill charged eastward, his wings flapping as he hopped, skipped, and then took flight.

  “The dragons!” Cara shouted to Nate.

  Before she could reach out to snatch Rachel from her perch, Nate wrapped an arm tight around the girl and put heel to his horse.

  “Damn it!” Cara stuck her foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle.

  “What’s the alarm?” Amy asked as Nate, clutching Rachel before him on the saddle, galloped out of the yard chasing the dragon.

  “It’s one of the females screaming. They are in trouble. Follow us.” That was all the explanation Cara had time for. She kicked her mount, and the horse leapt to follow the stallion. Hooves pounded on the hard ground as she leaned over the neck and urged the horse onward.

  A backwards glance showed Jackson at the wheel of the Armadillo, Amy clutching the bar on the passenger side. The vehicle’s wheels tore over the grass, and every bump in the lawn made Amy bounce upward in her seat.

  The scream came again and washed over Cara’s skin with despair and pain. Then it quavered and gave out.

  “No,” Cara whispered and blinked back tears. Nate and Kirill weren’t far ahead, and her leggy mare gained ground on them.

  Onward they galloped after Kirill, who homed in on the females. Cara kept wishing the estate wasn’t quite as expansive and that the dragons nested closer to the main house. She scanned the horizon, searching for Pavlin and Calypso.

  Kirill roared in anger as they spotted the injured dragon in the clutches of bounty hunters. Calypso hovered some distance above. She screamed for her sister but was impotent to do anything except spit at the men, who shot at her to keep her from helping.

  Pavlin, the little peacock-scaled female, thrashed weakly on the ground. A harpoon had pierced her right wing and pinned it to the turf. The other end of the rope was attached to a large and armoured horseless carriage. The engine in the heavy metal conveyance puffed steam as it tried to reel in the dragon.

  Two men fired guns at both dragons. Calypso ducked and dived out of the way, but Pavlin was helpless to escape as they peppered her hide with bullets.

  The hunters wore leather jackets cracked with age and coated in dirt and grime. Both had faded orange scarves wrapped around their necks. One had
a leather cap pulled low on his brow, the other large goggles that obscured his features.

  Too cowardly to show their faces in case they were recognised, Cara thought.

  The men recoiled when the angry male dragon descended upon them, and they raced back to the protective shadow of their vehicle. Calypso called out, signalling she was ready to follow Kirill’s lead to aid Pavlin.

  One of the bounty hunters leapt into the back of their vehicle and tried to speed up the winch as Kirill closed in, snorting steam and puffs of fire.

  Cara didn’t see red because she was beyond anger. She was the calm eye of a swirling vortex that would destroy everything in its path.

  No one harmed her family, and that included the dragons.

  Pavlin screamed as the rope to the harpoon tightened and the pressure pulled the barbs free of the ground. The end smashed back through the delicate wing and tore the membrane as it recoiled but became lodged between the wing bones.

  “Don’t lose it!” the man on the ground yelled to his accomplice. He kept firing at the dragons and the mounted riders even as they bore down upon him.

  Kirill roared and tried to blow fire at the men attacking his female. His anger erupted as hiccupped balls of fire that were like blazing cannon balls. Calypso screamed and dropped with her talons extended, and the man flattened himself against the vehicle to stay beyond her reach.

  Cara pulled her mare to a halt next to Nate.

  “Stay down,” he yelled as the bounty hunter fired in their direction again. Bullets bit into the dirt around them, and Rachel squealed and hunkered into the stallion’s neck. At least the horse stood his ground and didn’t bolt.

  The man winding in the harpoon kept staring from them to the dragon being inched along the ground. If they managed to drag her off the Lyons estate, they could claim her as theirs. The other man kept firing shots through the smoke billowing from the vehicle’s engine. Kirill spat smoke bombs, peppering the ground and concealing Nate as he snuck closer to the bounty hunters.

  Cara pulled the pistol from the holster attached to her saddle. Nate had patted her down for weapons in the morning, but he didn’t check her saddlery. As a drift of wind broke apart a smoke cloud, she aimed for the man at the winch and fired off a shot.