by A. W. Exley
Clarence regarded her over the rim of the metal cup. “Education for the poor mites and concern about my reputation is very altruistic of you, my lady. Now tell me the real motivation behind this sudden desire to see me stripped bare and grappling with your husband.”
His words conjured the image in her mind, and the room suddenly seemed over warm. Cara fanned herself with a small cushion. “I need to protect my dragons from every greedy person who either wants to slaughter them to stuff as a trophy, or who would sell them into captivity. To do that, I need the last remaining foundation stone from the Great Wall of China. Unfortunately, Nate cannot simply steal the stone for me as it cannot be stolen or bought, only given.”
As Clarence drank his coffee, he stroked Brick’s leg. “And who happens to possess it?”
“One Count Alfonso Mancilla.” Cara wondered if she should excuse herself to go sit in the carriage and give the men some private time.
Clarence nearly choked on his coffee. His eyes teared up and a red flush raced over his skin. Brick patted him on the back until the noble managed to draw a breath and regain his composure. “You want to use me as bait.”
“Yes.” Cara took a warm scone off the tray and pulled it apart before popping a piece into her mouth. It was fluffy, warm, and delicious.
“You are more like your husband than I imagined. Patrick asked me if I knew him, and I related how he once propositioned me. I never imagined that information would be used against me.”
Cara squirmed on the sofa. He was right, she was using him, and it didn’t sit easily with her. Had she placed the dragons’ lives above the duke’s dignity? “I am sorry, your grace, to abuse your friendship in such a way. Rachel and I were both distraught when bounty hunters broke Pavlin’s wing—”
“They did what?” Clarence dropped the coffee cup to the tray with a clatter.
Cara finished off the scone and reached for another. She was eating for two, after all. “Two men harpooned her. They shattered the bone and shredded her wing. Amy did the best she could to repair the damage, and we are hopeful that Nate’s engineers can construct a new joint to allow her to fly again. Rachel is most devoted and refuses to leave her side, even having her lessons in the barn. It will destroy her if we cannot save Pavlin.”
Clarence’s fine nose flared with an indrawn breath. “Ignorant philistines to attack a beautiful creature in such a fashion. Of course I will assist your cause. All I ask is that in return, you do something for me.”
One favour for another? “Of course. Whatever I can do to be of assistance.”
Cara smiled at Brick. The bet was on, and she was determined that her champion would prove the victor on the night.
13
Once Cara had convinced Nate and Clarence to star in her planned event, she had to figure out how to spread the word. Clarence had kindly offered the use of his ballroom. The chance to tread his refined hallways held an allure all of its own. But how to ensure that society not only heard about it, but would trample each other in their rush to acquire a ticket?
“The primary goal is to lure the count to London, but I also want to earn as much as possible to build a new school and fund the teachers.” Cara stared at the fresh sheet of paper, and its emptiness stared back at her. She needed to write an advertisement to circulate in all the newspapers, but how to start? “I need the ton clamouring for tickets to drive up the price and to ensure it stays exclusive.”
How to create both a scarcity of the tickets and also a high demand?
“If your advertisement includes a drawing of both the boss and Clarence shirtless, I think that would do it,” Brick said from his corner.
Cara laughed and then cut it off as she realised the truth in Brick’s comment. The event would pander to the curiosity and secret desires of the highest levels of society. They would be outraged at the very idea of a boxing match between two well-known peers. Yet at the same time, the idea of watching the brutal display between two handsome men would raise the collective pulse of the ton. Throw in the dark reputation of her husband and the angelic one of the duke, and women wouldn’t be able to stay away.
She waved the quill at Brick. “Not if I do the drawing, it won’t. But you raise an excellent point. Can you find someone with a good eye to draw the two? Not shirtless—we’re not giving away everything before they buy a ticket. I want a tease of flesh only.”
“No cravats and top button undone?” Brick suggested.
That was his idea of undressed, but the women might need more encouragement than an undone button. “I thought we could go as far as a partly open shirt?”
“No wonder you outrage the ton with your behaviour.” Brick gasped and clutched at his chest. “One of the lads is mighty fine with a pencil. He could draw the boss while he’s sparring, and then I could take him to see Clarence to add him to the picture.”
“Yes, please. Could you organise that?” Cara closed her eyes for a moment and touched her bond with Nate. He was in the Pit, the room far below one of the main warehouses. With the event looming, he had taken up sparring again. “He’s at the Pit if you want to go now. If I need to go out, I’ll make Jackson accompany me. He’s lurking in the hallways while Amy is at her lectures.”
Brick stared at the clock on the wall. “I’ll grab our resident artist and head out. By the time we have the boss drawn, the sun should be high enough in the sky to visit his grace.”
Cara waved Brick away and continued to churn over ideas. Once she had an enticing image for the newspapers to reproduce, she needed to figure out how to sell the tickets. She wanted to ensure that those who missed buying one would regret it for ever after. The match would be the event of the year and the source of gossip for months to come.
It wasn’t enough to say it was an exclusive event. It had to feel like one. She wanted those who obtained a ticket to have the smug satisfaction of knowing others missed out.
“I’ve got it! We will only sell a small number of tickets each day. People will have to submit a bid, and the highest bidders will receive a ticket. As the day draws nearer there will be fewer tickets left, and that should drive up the bids.” It was brilliant. Shame there was only her empty study to appreciate the idea.
She knew the perfect person to handle the sale of tickets—Nate’s solicitor, McToon.
Cara went in search of Jackson and found him out in the small stables behind the main house. A range of mechanical contraptions were housed out there, including the beautiful brass and copper horses. The burly man was polishing a gleaming flank.
“I might set you to polishing the candlesticks next,” Cara said as she admired his work. He had a slow, methodical approach, ensuring every tiny etched groove was clean.
He swiped the rag through a jar of paste in his hand and set to work on the next spot. “Cleaning helps me think. But I’m not doing your bloody candlesticks.”
Sharp retorts flew to Cara’s tongue, but there was something in his intent expression as he worked that made her swallow them back down. “What problem are you pondering that requires you to polish the horses?”
He glanced at her from under his brows and then stared fixedly at the metal horse as though unable to meet her eyes. “Why won’t Amy marry me?”
Cara blew out a sigh. He was such a crème brûlée. One rap to the hard outer shell, and the gooey centre would spill out. “You know she loves you, Jackson. The poor thing spent most of her life all pent up and repressed. Let her enjoy spreading her wings. She just needs a little time. Ask her again when college finishes for the year.”
He doubled down his effort and buffed the horse so hard it rocked.
Typical man. Wouldn’t say what was bothering him but would bottle it all up and leave her guessing. Fortunately, he wasn’t hard to read. “She’s not going to fall at the feet of a fellow student, so knock that stupid idea out of your head.”
This time he did look up and meet her gaze. “How can you know that? What do I have to offer compared to them?”
“Knot tying skills.” Cara traced the intricate pattern etched into the brass of the horse with a fingertip and bit down hard on her laughter. The idea of being tied up made her blood run cold, but Amy got all breathless when she whispered about it to Cara.
“Kinbaku.” One word, spoken so softly she almost didn’t catch it.
“What?” She glanced up to find Jackson staring intently at the articulated joint in the horse’s hindquarters.
“It’s called kinbaku, and I learned it in Japan. It’s not about tying someone up—any idiot can do that. Kinbaku is an art form. You can take something beautiful and make it perfect.” He breathed on the metal and then buffed it until it shone.
Questions crammed themselves into Cara’s mind, but she refused to follow the rabbit down that particular tunnel in case her overactive brain conjured up an image of brawny Jackson naked. That made her shudder. “Look, whatever it’s called, I don’t pretend to understand it. You two are like Beauty and the Beast, except you’re never going to turn into a prince.”
That made him scowl at her.
She possibly wasn’t explaining very well. Cara rested her hands on the horse, the metal warm after Jackson’s polishing. “You make Amy happy. You love her, protect her, and encourage her to be who she really is. That and your kinbaku, knot tying, or whatever it is you do in private, makes the woman giddy and deliriously satisfied, and I’m fairly confident no naive medical student could do that.”
“Damn right they couldn’t,” he muttered. Then a smug smile crept over his face. “You bet she’s well satisfied.”
Cara held up her hands. “I don’t need to hear it. Just keep doing whatever you’re doing. She will marry you, Jackson, but it will be in her own time.”
He nodded. “Thanks, doll.”
She rubbed her stomach, an action that became instinctive as the child grew. “It’s what mothers do apparently, sort out their family’s problems. You can show your gratitude by accompanying me to McToon’s offices. I need to tell him about all the extra work he can charge Nate for shortly.”
By late afternoon, Brick returned with a completed drawing. The artist perfectly captured the men sparring. Even how he portrayed them showed the differences in their personalities and reputations.
Nate was caught midstrike, the fabric of his shirt gaped open to reveal a glimpse of chest. His hair messy and tousled, and his dark brows drawn together in concentration. By contrast, Clarence appeared impeccable, with not a hair out of place and his handsome face at ease as he blocked the blow. The fine cut of his shirt pulled across wide shoulders and revealed just a hint of muscle underneath. His serene expression made it look like an everyday occurrence to battle the villainous viscount.
“It’s perfect,” Cara murmured. Next they added a headline and details of how to obtain a ticket. Then the advertisement was circulated to printers and the newspapers, ready to hit the streets the next day. The match was scheduled for a month’s time, and society had just thirty days to obtain a ticket.
Two weeks had passed since Pavlin’s encounter with the bounty hunters, and Amy declared herself happy with how the membrane had healed. Now they faced the difficult task of removing all the tiny stitches.
“Let’s do it outside, so the other two might help keep her calm,” Amy suggested.
The large double doors were swung open to allow Pavlin out. The dragon had been for walks around the courtyard with Rachel as her constant companion, but they had mostly kept the creature inside to stop her from using the broken wing.
A strong bond had formed between Pavlin and Rachel. The dragon often lifted her head, her eyes whirling, when she sensed the girl nearby.
“Come on, girl, let’s go sit in the sun.” With her right hand resting on Pavlin’s neck, Rachel walked slowly outside and to the grass.
Out on the lawn that stretched before the house, Rachel sat cross-legged, and the dragon lay down and rested her head in the girl’s lap. Today Rachel had selected a recently published adventure novel called Five Weeks in A Balloon by the debut author Jules Verne. Cara thought if the characters had used an airship, their journey would have been considerably shorter.
Kirill and Calypso sat on the left side of Pavlin, leaving the humans room to work on her right wing. The men carried chairs, tables, and equipment from the barn. It could have been a summer picnic, if not for the serious task before them.
“How do you want to tackle this?” Cara asked of Amy.
There were so many stitches, and given Pavlin’s attempts to rub the wing against the ground, it must have itched.
“Each stitch has to be snipped and gently pulled through. I’ll go along and snip them if you follow behind and ease them out.” Amy made accompanying gestures with her hands as she explained the process.
Pavlin extended her wing, and the sun glinted on the metal rod holding the broken bone in place.
“What of the break?” Cara whispered, hoping Rachel didn’t hear as she read the story aloud for everyone to enjoy.
Amy stepped closer and examined the break. She screwed up her face as she turned to Cara. “Too soon to tell. I’d like to give it another month.”
Amy handed her a pair of tweezers. The wing was large enough that the two women could both work at the same time. Amy snipped the stitching in one area and then moved so Cara could ease the thread through the delicate skin. It reminded Cara of doing embroidery—a skill she never mastered.
“I should have paid more attention when we had to do sewing as girls,” Cara muttered.
Amy laughed. “Funny the skills we learned as children that become of use as adults. I bet you regret how often you ran away from classes now.”
“That’s why I surround myself with people who can do the things I can’t.” Cara glanced at her friend. Their childhood friendship had grown into a strong bond. Cara couldn’t imagine what she would have done without Amy. A shiver ran down her spine as though someone walked over her grave.
Pavlin looked around every now and then and crooned. The wing shivered, but she held it outstretched for them.
“I’m sorry, girl, we’re being as gentle as we can,” Cara said.
Rachel leaned down and kissed the dragon’s head. “You are such a terribly brave girl, and it will all be over soon. I promise.”
It was slow work, and soon Cara’s back began to protest the awkward position of bending over the wing. She placed her hands in the small of her back and stretched.
“The baby does not like me doing that; apparently it makes two of us uncomfortable.” Her whole body ached as though she had lost a fight. An unsettling sensation ran through her middle as the baby rolled. Cara placed a hand against her skin. She would never get used to the feeling of the child moving inside her. She wished she could see him or her and reassure herself the child was healthy. And human.
Amy narrowed her eyes and had a distinct doctor tone in her voice when she spoke. “Sit down and relax. We can’t have you overexerting yourself. Toby has a gentle hand, and he can take over for you.”
Without any protest whatsoever, Cara handed off the tweezers to the lad. She dropped onto a well-cushioned chair with a sigh. The baby did a slow roll as they both found a more comfortable position. Cara rubbed a foot, or elbow, that seemed close to the surface. “You must be getting cramped in there.”
Kirill crept closer and nudged her with his nose. He trilled with a higher pitched, questioning note.
“Don’t you start. I’ll be fine. I just need to adapt to the changes.” She rubbed his head, and satisfied, he turned back around to listen to Rachel’s story.
Cara half dozed in the sun, surrounded by her family. She was thankful that Charles Darwin had to cut his visit short. She couldn’t completely relax while Darwin had cast a covetous eye over the dragons. She didn’t trust the man not to make dinner plans that involved the helpless Pavlin. Fortunately, his deteriorating health meant he couldn’t keep up with Kirill and Calypso as they flew over the estate. He packe
d up his bags and left, but promised he would send an assistant to undertake his field work.
“All done,” Amy declared after two hours. “Let’s rub some oil on to help with the itching.”
Cara brushed her hands over her face as she pulled herself from a doze. Pavlin’s wing was permanently scarred. Numerous fine lines would fade to silver over time, but she would always bear the reminder of her encounter with the bounty hunters. Now they just had to hope the bone healed sufficiently for her to regain use of the wing.
“She says she is very itchy. It would help if she could go for a swim,” Rachel said.
Amy shook her head. “Not until the break heals, sweetie. We can’t risk her trying to use the wing and causing more damage.”
Rachel’s face drooped and the dragon emitted a sad cry.
Swimming might be out of the question, but there were other ways to get a dragon wet and clean. “What about giving Pavlin a bath? The men could drag out a horse trough that we could fill with warm water. A soft brush would get her hide clean and feel good on her itchy spots,” Cara suggested.
Rachel cocked her head to one side and stared at Pavlin. It amazed Cara, the depth of the connection that sprang up between the two. Words were often not needed to convey a thought or impression to the other. Was a child’s mind more receptive to talking to a dragon, or was the presence of the artifacts under the ground enhancing their ability to converse? Cara had a way of communicating with Kirill, even if he did largely ignore her requests. She put it down to the rare connection of her handling the eggs and the dragon learning her voice and scent long before he hatched.
Another worry wriggled into life in her mind. Could the artifacts adversely affect their children? They had brought Rachel to this home without considering if the powerful objects under their feet might have any impact on their surroundings.