by Coleen Kwan
Monk’s face turned a furious red. “Hold your tittering. I won’t have nowt of your cheek.”
She tried to halt, but the laughter kept bubbling up. Hysteria wasn’t far off. Her father was dead, Asher had no idea where she was and she was in mortal danger. Why shouldn’t she laugh?
Monk raised his walking stick and brought it down hard on her shoulder. The lash ripped through the material of her dress. Agony seared through skin and bone and muscle. Crying out, she crumpled to her knees.
“Let’s see how much you laugh when I turn you over to my men, my fine lady. You’ve always thought yourself too good for the likes of me, haven’t you? Even my son isn’t good enough for you. Dorian’s infatuated with you, but I’ve seen the way you turn your nose up at him. Well, you’ll have no more false airs and graces once my men have had their way with you. You’ll be begging them to put you out of your misery.”
Dorian. Was he part of this plot too? She couldn’t believe him capable, but then she’d been so wrong about Mr. Monk too.
Monk turned to the two men standing guard at the door. “Jago, you can have your fun with her, but keep her mouth gagged. We don’t want too much noise, even here. And make sure you get rid of her properly when you’re done. Understand?”
“Understood, guv’nor.”
Minerva’s stomach dropped as Monk left the hovel. Grinning, the two men turned their attention to her. The one in charge, Jago, she was already too familiar with. The other was not the one who had rescued her. This man looked as mean and brutal as Jago.
“Time for a party, hey?” Jago smirked as he pulled out a filthy handkerchief and snapped it tight between his hands. “But first, we must stop up yer pretty mouth.”
She backed away from them, snatching up a length of wood. “Stay away from me.”
“Yer feisty, that’s for sure.” The man circled her, a big leer painted on his face. “I’m going to have fun taming yer.”
He lunged for her. She leaped sideways, swinging her piece of wood wildly. It connected with the man’s elbow.
“Argh!”
The second man grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her side. She screamed and thrashed about. Jago rubbed his injured arm, then backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped to one side. She screamed and carried on screaming. The slum dwellers wouldn’t come to her aid, but she’d be damned if she let these two savages violate her without protest.
“Shurrup!”
Snarling, Jago advanced on her with the handkerchief, ready to stuff it into her mouth. The vicious intent in his eyes gave her extra strength. As he approached, she lifted her knee and drove her boot into his groin. Surprise and agony burst over his face before he collapsed to his knees. The momentum of her kick forced her backward. The man holding her stumbled and toppled over, bringing her crashing down on top of him. She writhed about, desperate to free herself, but the man had her tight. Swearing, he dragged himself upright, imprisoning her in front of him.
“Hold still, yer bitch!”
The door flew open, shuddering on its hinges. Asher burst into the room, the ray gun firm in his hand. Jago stopped rolling on the floor. Minerva’s gaze locked with Asher’s. Her heart came to a standstill, then began to pound against her ribs.
He raised the ray gun, cool and detached. “Let her go, or I will kill you.”
Her captor gripped her tighter as he backed away. “Yer might kill her too.”
Asher took a few more steps. A movement on the ground caught Minerva’s eye. “Asher, watch out!”
Jago launched himself at Asher’s legs, a blade flashing in his fist. A blue ray of light lit up the hovel. Jago shrieked once as he fell back, a smoking black hole in the center of his chest. An awful smell of charred flesh filled the air, accompanied by a low death gurgle. The man holding Minerva flung her from him, straight at Asher, who lowered his gun and caught her just as the man escaped.
“He—he’s getting away,” she whispered.
She thought Asher would release her and give chase, but he didn’t. He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tightly.
“Are you unharmed?”
“Yes, b-but my father—”
“—is alive. I fished him out of the river.”
“Oh, Asher, is he really alive?” Relief surged through her. “I thought he surely must have died. The rope…”
“I used my ray gun to cut him down. I could have done it much earlier if you hadn’t been in the way.”
“Thank God you brought your ray gun.” She flinched from the dead man lying at their feet and swayed. “That man, Jago…he…”
He folded her closer to his chest. “He’s met his just deserts.”
The power of his embrace gave her renewed strength. “He also works for Mr. Monk, who left just a few minutes before you arrived.”
“Your landlord? So he is the kidnapper?” Asher let out a low whistle.
“He’s a nasty, foul piece of work, and I’m determined to confront him.” She frowned, her fury rebuilding. “Come on, we must get to his house before that other fellow has a chance to warn him and he makes his escape.”
“How do you know he’s gone back to his house?”
“I don’t, but that’s as good a place to start our search as any.”
She caught his hand in hers and ducked out of the hovel.
Chapter Eight
Outside, the rain had dropped off, but the laneways were slippery and dank. Minerva paused in dismay as she realized what a maze they were caught in.
“Follow me.” Asher tugged her forward.
She followed him with growing astonishment. How he knew his way through this labyrinth of alleys she couldn’t guess, but he steered her unerringly, and soon they had left the worst of the slums behind them. Her wet clothing clung to her uncomfortably, and the night breeze chilled her even further, but the feel of Asher’s hand in hers more than made up for the discomfort. They hurried down deserted streets, heading for the more prosperous city center until eventually Asher was able to flag down a passing hackney carriage.
“Where is my father right now?” Minerva asked after they had settled inside the carriage and Asher had instructed the driver.
“I raced him to the Royal Infirmary and left him in good hands.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
Asher paused before replying, “He was too comatose for speech, but he was breathing normally.”
“And…what of his ear?”
“It looks bad, but it should heal.”
She bit her lip and looked away.
“Minerva, your father is alive, and you’ll soon be able to see him.” He took her hand and massaged it between his palms. “It’s you I’ve been so anxious for.”
His warmth upset the rhythm of her heartbeat…as did the look in his eyes. Her breath pitched as she struggled not to fling herself into his arms.
“How…how did you know where to look for me? And how did you even manage to find me? Those slums are impenetrable.”
He touched the collar of her dress. “That’s why I gave you this.”
“This pin?”
“It’s really a stalking device in disguise. A little invention of mine. The gold isn’t real gold, but iron pyrite, better known as fool’s gold. It’s a natural semiconductor. These copper coils on the pin connect with the iron pyrite crystals to emit tiny magnetic waves, which are picked up by my receiving device.” He pulled out a round brass instrument from his pocket and extended a thin wire antenna. “It acts like a compass, with your pin as magnetic north. It only has a range of about a hundred feet or so. I knew you’d been taken downriver, so after I dropped Silas off at the infirmary, I commandeered a boat and followed your route. Luckily, the hut you were taken to lies close to the river. I picked up the signal a
nd it steered me directly to where you were.”
“How ingenious.” She examined the small pin, which even on close inspection did not reveal its true nature. “You should have told me what it was.”
“It’s still experimental. I didn’t want to give you a false sense of confidence.”
No, instead he had given her a different false sense. A sense that he still cared for her enough to give her a pretty trinket. “Well, it’s a good-luck charm after all,” she said as lightly as possible.
He touched her shoulder and his voice altered. “Minerva, what happened here?”
She glanced down at the rent in her dress that had caught his attention. “Oh, that. Mr. Monk grew enraged and struck me with his walking stick.”
“He struck you?” Asher blenched.
“It’s of no importance. It doesn’t hurt much.”
“It is of great importance—” his voice thickened, “—to me.” He started to unbutton her dress.
She inhaled sharply. “What—what are you doing?”
“I’m seeing how much damage the fiend has inflicted. Hold still now.”
She couldn’t hold still. She couldn’t stop every particle of her body quivering as he undid several more buttons, his expression brooking no argument. He pushed aside her chemise and inspected her shoulder.
“There’s a cut and a bit of swelling,” he muttered.
The steam from their breath mingled in the damp air. His warm puffs fanned her skin, sending her nerves into a spin. “Th-there, you see? Nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing? I beg to differ.”
He brushed his fingers over her unbruised skin, his breath growing hotter. Ever so slowly he lowered his head and pressed his lips against her nape. Her chest heaved, and yet she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, hypnotized by his nuzzling. He moved his lips in circles over her neck, slow and deliberate. His gentle, exquisite caresses had her spellbound. Warmth flowed through her like golden honey, causing her to sigh as she relaxed into his embrace.
When he lifted his head, his eyes glowed and his intent was clear. He smoothed back the tendrils of hair clinging to her forehead before he cupped her face in both hands and captured her lips. No gentleness now, but all-consuming fire. He devoured her mouth, ravishing her with his lips and tongue, allowing her no quarter. Not that she had any intention of escaping. She craved this, needed his hard, exciting virility. Her brush with death had heightened all her appetites, and now she was desperate to live, to rejoice, to lose herself in his stormy kisses.
He showered kisses over her cheek and neck, stringing a chain of hungry love bites upon her before claiming her mouth again. She parted her lips, and he thrust his tongue, hot and eager, into hers. He demanded everything from her, and she gave him everything she had.
As the carriage swayed around a corner, she sank back against the side of the conveyance, taking him with her. He leaned into her, pinning her with one leg, his fingers working deftly on her buttons. Before she knew it, he had unbuttoned her dress to the waist. Faint shock reverberated through her as she realized how expertly he was undressing her. And in a hired carriage, of all places! But his desire to see her naked excited her. She shrugged her shoulders out of the top of her dress as his kisses burnished her cleavage. The fastenings of her corset held no challenge for Asher. He flicked them all aside, his hand seeking out and finding her breast.
“Minerva,” he groaned. He shaped her breast greedily before dipping his head and nudging her nipple into his mouth.
The explosion of pleasure made her arch her back, offering herself up without reserve. He sucked on her peak in an expert fashion, his tongue swirling around her heated skin, sending sensuous fire rippling through her. She thought she would die of bliss, or at least suffer an apoplexy. Arousal rioted through her, gathering in the apex of her thighs. Through her skirts she could feel the hot muscle of his leg, the urgent swelling of his erection against her thigh. Logic and decorum had long since flown out the window. She ached for Asher. She longed to have him nestled between her thighs, to feel him moving inside her, his turbulent heat melting away the ice that had encased her for five long years.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head closer against her breast. He fondled her skirts, his tongue still busy with her nipple. Suddenly he stopped and lifted his head. He squeezed her skirts harder, holding up the sodden material.
“You’re soaked to the skin,” he said, dismay growing in his voice.
She ran her hands over his hair and shoulders. “So are you.”
“But my greatcoat is at least a little dryer.” He shrugged off his coat and flung it over her. “Ye gods, I’ve been very remiss.”
She peeped at him in confusion. What was happening? One second she’d been ready and eager to consummate their passion, and the next he was treating her like an invalid. She licked her lips, the heat still pounding insistently in her center. “Asher, I’m not a delicate flower, and—and you were doing a very good job of warming me up just then.”
He smiled, his eyes still smoldering. “I’d like nothing more than to make love to you in a moving hackney carriage, my crumpet, but I’d hate for you to come down with ague. In fact, I should take you straight home. You need to take a hot bath and get rid of these sodden clothes. As soon as we can, we should both burn our foul-smelling clothes. God knows what they might be contaminated with.”
Her ardor faltered and began to die down. Was she really that malodorous? She wrinkled her nose. Yes, she decidedly was. The reek of the river and the slums emanating from her couldn’t be denied. Vaguely humiliated, she buttoned up her dress and gathered his greatcoat closer about her. She’d behaved wantonly with Asher, but that was because she’d just cheated degradation and death. She’d been so euphoric at her rescue that her proper senses had taken flight, but he was altogether more levelheaded.
“You should be at home in front of a warm fire, not chasing after Monk,” Asher continued. “Why don’t we turn around? We could go to the police at daybreak and ask them to apprehend him.”
She sat upright and shook her head. “No, Asher. I want to look him in the eye this very night. He plotted my father’s death. He struck me with his cane and left me to the mercies of his thugs. You want to give him a chance to get away?”
Asher grimaced. “Of course not.”
“Well, then?”
His face firmed at the challenge in her voice. He leaned out the window of the carriage and yelled at the driver, “Faster, man!”
The carriage rattled and jounced over the road as they raced up to Cheetham Hill. Soon the driver pulled up his horse outside the Monks’ house. Asher paid him and promised him a handsome tip if he waited for them. He turned to Minerva and held out his arm for her.
“Shall we?”
* * *
The Monks’ house sat in expansive grounds. In the dead of night, with the rain still drizzling, little could be seen beyond the dripping trees lining the driveway. Asher felt for the ViperRay in the inside pocket of his jacket. Tonight he’d killed a man. It wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to take a man’s life. Given the chance, Jago would have stabbed him without mercy, and he knew he’d had no choice, but it didn’t sit any easier with him. Yet if need be, he would use the ray gun on Monk.
Minerva pulled him to a halt just as they were approaching the darkened house. “Wait. I think I hear something round the back.”
Asher inspected the front windows. Not a chink of light penetrated the curtains. “Very well. We’ll go round the back. Keep behind me.”
He should have ordered her to wait in the carriage but knew how futile that would be. Better to have her within his sight than not know what she was up to. The pattering raindrops masked their footsteps as they crept down the left side of the house, following the path of the driveway. Up ahead st
ood a horse harnessed to a curricle. The animal’s head drooped with exhaustion, its steaming flanks flecked with foam. Behind was the carriage house with its gates standing slightly ajar. A dim glow flickered through the opening.
He sidled up to the gates and looked in. A lantern set on a trestle table threw up long, wavering shadows on the walls—shadows of Monk bent over the table, examining something. Monk’s countenance, bathed in the reddish glimmer, took on a demonic slant as he peered intently at the object, and when he uttered a low laugh, the sound jarred on Asher’s nerves.
Asher pushed open the gates and strode in. “Pleased with yourself, Mr. Monk? Happy with your night’s work?”
The elder man jerked upright. “You!” His gaze ricocheted past Asher and landed on Minerva. “And you! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Jago to finish you off properly.”
“The game’s up.” Moving forward, Asher quickly inspected the millennium machine on the table. The pistons were still running, which surprised him. He hadn’t thought there was sufficient fuel to keep it going this long.
Monk’s malacca walking stick clattered to the ground as he tried to shield the device with both hands. “Oh, no. I’ve fought too hard to get this. It’s mine. I deserve it.”
“You deserve nothing except incarceration. Kidnapping, extortion, attempted murder, theft. You’ll be lucky if you get to spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Monk fumbled for something behind the machine. He held up a gun, pointed squarely at Asher’s chest. “Is that so? Then I suppose adding another murder to the charges won’t make much difference.”
Asher pushed Minerva behind him, his eyes fixed on the two-barreled Lancaster pistol aimed at him. The gun was old-fashioned but still accurate enough at this distance. He did a rapid reconnaissance of the carriage house. A doorway beside Monk offered an alternate exit. It appeared to open onto the stables, where horses could be heard shuffling uneasily.
“Don’t be a fool, man. You’ll swing from the gibbet for sure, and for what? Nothing but a boxful of tricks.”
