The Seduction of Phaeton Black

by Jillian Stone

  He wondered what color undergarments she wore. The pale blue with the black satin bows and matching garters? He meant to find out.

  From an inside coat pocket, he retrieved a small velvet box. “A little something I found in the jewelry department. If we are traveling incognito together, you’ll have to start calling me by my given name, in earnest.” A gold ring nestled in the satin lining of the box. A large oval sapphire surrounded by white diamonds sparkled in the dim light of the coach.

  “You can be my fiancée. No, better yet, let’s call ourselves married. Perfect cover and we can lodge in the same room together.” He winked.

  America raised a brow, but was unable to take her eyes off the ring. “My future, unexpectedly, is full of promise and adventure. And I am not about to ruin it with another quarrel.”

  “No objections? Lovely. You shall be my assistant during our stay at Roos House and married while in Portsmouth.” He unfastened dainty pearl buttons along the inside of her wrist and removed a new kid glove. A bit of heat rushed to her cheeks as he slipped the ring on her finger for size. A near perfect fit.

  She held up her hand and admired the beautifully cut deep blue stone before meeting his gaze. “I shall call you Phaeton if you conduct yourself as a proper husband. If you persist on acting the Lothario and pestering me with advances, it will be Mr. Black.”

  His grin appeared to irk her, no end.

  “And do not think to use your wicked charm on me again.”

  “This husband has insatiable appetites for his wife.”

  “Mr. Black—”

  His gaze narrowed. “Phaeton.”

  “Phaeton.” The pout did it. Unable to control himself, he grabbed her up and set her down on his lap.

  “You feel that?” He rested his head on the upholstered squabs of the back rest.

  Her thigh rubbed against his burgeoning erection. “How could I not?”

  “Mmm, such plump, moist lips, and the upper lifted in perpetual petulance.”

  “Perpetual petulance?” She smiled. “We might make a tongue twister out of that. Penelope plumped a pout of—”

  “Perpetual petulance.” He placed his mouth over hers and took soft bites. His tongue swept under her lip and pushed her mouth open. She greeted him playfully, their tongues intertwined, as desire surged through him.

  “Unbutton me.” Through eyes half closed, his gaze connected with hers. Glassy pools of green and gold sparkled in the late afternoon light.

  He pushed up her skirt and set her knees to each side of his thighs. Reaching between her legs he found the slit in her pantalettes. “Ah yes, you wore the blue.” Slick fingers signaled she was ready and he plunged into her. The coach did most of the work; as they rocked back and forth, she gradually took more of him inside her.

  She grinned. “The Duke of Pleasure pumps his prick into—.” She thrust against his groin and demanded more.

  “Tonight, my dove.”

  “Why not now?” She kissed him quite savagely and flexed silky smooth inner wall muscles to further excite him. He groaned. “Because we have arrived.” He retracted a window shade. “Have a look.”

  Her gaze turned into more of a gape. The immense edifice, no doubt considered a jewel of Gothic architecture, featured the kind of arched buttresses and steeply pointed eaves one would expect in a church. The stately manse was built almost entirely of stone, and appeared to incorporate a prayer chapel at one end.

  “Blimey.” She returned to him. “A good lot of rooms, aye, with all those chimneys?”

  “No doubt haunted by both the living and dead.”

  She wiggled up against his chest to see more of the manse. “Hmm. I sometimes wonder which are more frightening.”

  “The living, of course.” He planted a kiss to the fold of her jaw, just under her earlobe. Sheathed in warmth, his cock throbbed in protest as he gently lifted her off.

  Exiting the coach, they were greeted by several footmen who straight away attended to their bags. America could hardly take her eyes off the impressive facade, every cornice of which was adorned by a monstrous stone gargoyle.

  When she stubbed her toe on a shallow stair, Phaeton took her arm. “You sightsee, I’ll steer.” At the top of a sweeping set of ascending steps, a massive wooden door opened and a hunched over, wizened butler stepped forward.

  Phaeton leaned close. “So this is where Exeter hides all the ghoulish characters from the Strand magazine’s Ghostly Tales.”

  She nodded. “I do hope for a storm tonight, to top off the experience.”

  “Mr. Black and his assistant, Miss Jones. Welcome to Roos House.” The elderly man straightened up as best he could before making his bow. “I am Grimsley.”

  “Yes, of course you are.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THERE WAS NOTHING TO DO BUT CLOSE HER EYES AND REOPEN THEM. Again, America swept an admiring gaze over the room’s lavish furnishings. Walls covered in a pale blue chinois motif featured exotic birds alighting tree branches. Damask draperies of dusty rose brought out the cherry blossoms in the wallpaper. Her bedchamber was a work of art. A giant four-poster bed occupied the center of the room replete with sumptuous coverlets and plump pillows.

  “My word, you did get the finer accommodations.” Phaeton entered the room.

  Mr. Grimsley stood at the door, his chest puffed out. The butler surveyed the décor as if he had personally chosen the wallpaper. “Miss Anatolia recently supervised the restoration of this wing of the residence.” The elderly fellow motioned two footmen carrying her trunk into a sizable dressing room.

  A blur of grey edged the corner of her eye as a shadow passed through the wall. The otherworld was busy and about, as well. “Should you require anything at all, Miss Jones, please use the bell pull.” Grimsley backed out of the room, leaving the door open.

  Phaeton’s gaze roamed from the gaping entry to the four-poster. “Although my baser instincts tell me to throw you down upon this fine counterpane and have my way with you, I do believe there is yet another marvel worth your attention.” He turned her toward the window. “Look, my dove.”

  America followed his line of sight, through wavy panes of glazing, to an airship floating in the sky above the wilderness park.

  “A vessel that sails in the air.” Openmouthed, she moved to a set of French doors. The oval-shaped dirigible, decorated in lovely scrolls of color, drifted closer. Suspended under the magnificent balloon, she could make out a flat-bottomed, ornately carved gondola, large enough to hold a number of passengers. “She’s fitted with spanker and jib sails.” The equipage appeared to be rigged for steerage, as much as propulsion. “A fast slip of an air schooner, I’d wager.”

  “Aye, matey.” Phaeton slipped his arms around her waist. “I believe if you asked very nicely, Doctor Exeter might take you up on a voyage.”

  She blinked. “Doctor Exeter?”

  “Let’s have a better look.” He unlatched tall windows above the window seat.

  Rimmed by golden afternoon light, the majestic aircraft floated over an expanse of lawn to the formal garden behind the house. A very pretty young woman stood beside Dr. Exeter. She began waving enthusiastically and called out to Phaeton. “Mr. Black. We saw your carriage arrive. I insisted Oom Asa turn around. Please come for a flight with us.” Her gaze turned to America. “And Miss Jones, you must join, as well.”

  Unable to contain her excitement, America whirled around. “Oh yes, I have always wanted to fly.”

  He hesitated, before offering her his arm. “As you wish, Miss Jones.”

  Once they were in the garden, she did her best to control her excitement, although there was a bit of bouncing up and down. Phaeton called to the doctor above. “As you can see, Miss Jones is no wilting lily.”

  Exeter tossed one rope, then another overboard. Several servants helped lower the gondola to several feet above the ground. A dark skinned man dressed in exotic clothing directed them closer.

  Phaeton nodded to the tall man
, who wore a long white tunic. Matching white pajama pants were tucked into tall, soft boots, which appeared to wrap and tie around his legs. Hundreds of beaded necklaces emblazoned the man’s chest. He nodded to Phaeton. “Mr. Black.”

  “Mr. Tandi.”

  The exotic man gazed curiously at her. “Miss Jones, I am at your service.” His bow was reverent, deep.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tandi.”

  The craft settled, and a set of retractable steps dropped to the ground. Phaeton steadied her by holding an arm while Mr. Tandi, his fingers covered in rings, held the other. She safely climbed up to the passenger deck with Phaeton behind her.

  Enthralled by all the fantastic equipage, America returned her attention to Phaeton. Small beads of perspiration had formed along a pale brow ridge. “Are you feeling well, Mr. Black?”

  “Mr. Black. Miss Jones.” Dr. Exeter’s severe gaze softened.

  Phaeton hesitated. “I am not entirely comfortable with heights. Otherwise, I’m perfectly well.” His eyes darted about the deck of the gondola. “What keeps this contraption afloat, doctor?”

  “Steam, from a boiler below deck.” Based on a simple enough principle—”

  “Hot air rises.” Phaeton swallowed.

  The doctor seemed particularly amused by Phaeton’s noticeable discomfort. “We’ll make this a short trip along the river. Follow the Thames a mile or two and make our return. Does that suit, Mr. Black?”

  Without waiting for an answer, the doctor, turned airship captain, put Phaeton to work retracting rope and setting the jibs. America smiled. It seemed Dr. Exeter planned to keep Mr. Black too busy to think about heights.

  The craft lifted off, and soon they soared over the treetops of the park, drifting along with the gentle turns of the Thames. America leaned out over a side rail and traced a near perfect reflection of the airship in the surface of the water.

  Phaeton came up behind her and held on. She placed a hand over his. “Pinch me, Mr. Black, for I am flying, am I not?”

  “I shall reserve my pinch for later this evening, should we make it back to Roos House in one piece.”

  America watched the billow and snap of the sails and marveled at a gust of wind that came out of nowhere, a breeze she herself could not feel on her face.

  She turned to Exeter and stared. “ ’Tis your doing, doctor?”

  Dr. Exeter didn’t answer. He stood on aft deck, as if in a trance, and stared into a large round object mounted on a polished brass pedestal.

  “Once the sails are full, I expect he will answer at least some of your questions. Although I cannot say for sure, as Oom Asa can be secretive, at times.” The pretty girl placed her arm through America’s. “Shall we take a turn around the deck, Miss Jones? I am Anatolia Chadwick, but everyone calls me Mia.” She leaned close and whispered. “Doctor Exeter is my legal protector.”

  “America Jones.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You are American?”

  “With a name like mine, it would seem likely.”

  Mia’s laughter was genuine.

  “My father was British; my mother is American.” She found Mia’s gaze rather penetrating for such a young woman.

  “I sense you are a potent mix of many things, Miss Jones.”

  “Please do call me America.”

  “May I? America. I quite love the name already.”

  “And you shall be Mia.” She smiled at the girl. No doubt there was enough psychic energy swirling among the four of them to propel this aircraft to Madagascar and back.

  “Miss Jones, shall we put your sailing skills to the test?” Having returned to the living, Dr. Exeter gestured to America to join him.

  She glanced around and found Phaeton, who had braced himself against a sturdy railing.

  Her heart flip-flopped in her chest as she stepped up beside Dr. Exeter. Before she had a chance to ask her first of a thousand questions, he motioned her behind the large crystal globe. “Take the wheel, Miss Jones.”

  Instantly the ship took a sweeping dip in altitude, nearly skimming the surface of the water. Mia’s laughter echoed through the air along with a growl from Phaeton as he held on for dear life.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Black?” A bit green in the gills, her employer signaled a thumbs-up.

  Calmly, the doctor showed her how to use the levers, not only to propel the craft but also to raise and lower the airship’s nose.

  “Gaze into the center of the looking globe. What do you see, Miss Jones?”

  Through a swirling mist, she was able to make out a view of the river straight ahead. She had once attended a demonstration of moving, photographic pictures at the Théâtre Optique. She knew quite emphatically what she saw in the globe were images of the river, exactly as it lay before them.

  Dr. Exeter showed her how to climb and level the airship high above water.

  She bit her lip, almost afraid to ask. “And how might I turn us?”

  “Merely focus your eyes to one side of the globe or the other. Follow the bend in the river, imagine a gentle turn portside.”

  She narrowed her gaze on the globe. The airship obediently followed the turn of the river.

  “You are a quick study, Miss Jones, but then, I expected nothing less.” Exeter’s gaze wandered about the deck, landing on Mia and then Phaeton. “Between the four of us, there is enough energy to take this craft on a lengthy journey.” His piercing eyes, seemed less daunting than usual. She might even say they teased her. “Perhaps even to Madagascar and back, yes Miss Jones?”

  “We are all powering this craft?” Phaeton asked.

  “We share our abilities with ancient gods as well as the high-pressure steam engine and the science of Hero of Alexandria.” The doctor gazed far out ahead of the balloon. “Have you ever heard of an Aeolipile? Steam converted to motion as described as early as two hundred B.C. Science and metaphysics working together. Should you be interested to see more, Mr. Black, we can tour the boiler room below deck.”

  For the second time that day, a large shadow swept across America’s field of vision.

  Exeter took his position behind the steering globe.

  A thunderous squawk trumpeted from above.

  The doctor thrust brass levers forward and an electrical charge crawled up over the balloon. A force field, perhaps? Or shielding device? America steadied herself beside Exeter as the ship quickly gained momentum. “Can you see it, Phaeton?”

  Shielding his eyes from glare, Phaeton craned his neck and squinted. “Directly overhead. Huge wingspan. A very great bird, with ... at least three heads.”

  Exeter set his mouth in a thin grim line.

  Phaeton stepped back from the railing. “About to make a dive at us, I suspect.”

  “From which direction?” Exeter shouted.

  Phaeton pointed right, and she vocalized. “Starboard.” Before America could stop herself, she blurted out orders. “Jib sails to port, Mr. Black. When she makes her dive, we’ll slip around her.”

  Stunned momentarily, Phaeton actually followed her orders.

  Exeter’s eyes glowed. “Shall I take her lower, Miss Jones?”

  “At your discretion, doctor.” She widened her stance and fashioned a tight-lipped grimace. The sky turned dark as the creature blocked out the sunlight. After a deafening screech and a snort, the bird took a swipe past the craft and rattled the gondola. All she could see was a blur of crimson scales and a flash of necks and fangs. A great gust of energy tossed Mia over the banister, but she hung on long enough for Phaeton to grab hold of her hand. A wing tip caught the edge of the gondola and spun it round with such force the airship tilted dangerously and gyrated out of control.

  Clinging to ship rails, America watched, frozen in horror, as Phaeton and Mia were both carried overboard.

  A blur of movement.

  Dr. Exeter dived over the rails and disappeared. The airship descended so quickly her stomach felt as though it moved from her belly to her throat. America pushed on levers as if she knew what
to do. Invisible aid from Exeter. She concentrated on the globe and banked the ship further port side. Phaeton, Mia, and Exeter all tumbled back onto the gondola’s deck.

  America gulped in air. How long had it been since she remembered to breathe? The airship continued to hurtle downward, spinning out of control. They were headed straight for a large stand of trees by the river.

  In the time it took her to blink and clear her vision, Dr. Exeter stood behind her and took over the globe. With seconds to spare he calmly raised the ship. The brush of treetops along the bottom of the gondola meant they had cleared the forest but they were still spinning.

  America barked orders. “Cut sail, Mr. Black.”

  Sprawled out on the deck, Phaeton sat up and glared. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He rolled onto his feet and staggered up to foredeck.

  America smiled. Phaeton was back in fine, grumbling form, as he hauled in sail. “Where’s the damn bird?”

  Mia was on her feet again at the railing. “Far off the starboard bow and climbing.”

  America shaded her eyes. “Appears to be flying away.”

  “All I glimpsed were feathers and scales.” Phaeton joined them aft, as the doctor brought the craft fully under control. “Perhaps the most formidable minion of hers yet. What do you make of it?”

  Exeter squinted past the bow to the retreating bird on the horizon. “She either flaunts her strength or depletes her power. We will soon find out.”

  Phaeton’s stomach growled. Neither he nor Miss Jones had eaten since breakfast. Still, the fact he had any appetite at all, after nearly ending up a puddle of bones and flesh on the bank of the Thames, was surprising.

  Finished with his cravat, he adjusted his collar points. A tap came at the door, which he answered. “I do hope this is about dinner—”

  Miss Jones stood in the hall wearing a cloud of plum-colored taffeta and silk. “Ah, the gown with the dazzling décolleté.” His gaze traveled over silken mounds of flesh to a pretty throat and subtly rouged lips. Kissable, squeezable Miss Jones. “Even more lovely than I remember.”