Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Sir Eliot’s shorter than I am as is Sophie. With those two, I always feel colossal.”

  “You’re not so tall.”

  “Compared to you. It took me halfway through the season before I danced with a man who could look over my head.”

  “Is that a requirement at a ball?”

  “Most definitely. The mosaic tiles are this way.” Ella pointed toward a long, low shed. “Someone had the sense to build a cover over them so they wouldn’t decay.” Without giving him an opportunity to escape her, she preceded him on the narrow path toward the building. The swish of her gown was soon joined by his heavier footsteps and the scrape of hard leather on gravel.

  Inside the shed, red and brown tiles formed an intricate pattern on the floor. Although only sections remained, the skill of the Roman artist remained evident. The semidarkness of the shed obscured Jim’s face until he stooped low to study the tiles and a blast of sunlight from a window set his blond hair glowing.

  “I’ve never seen one quite like this.” His hand stroked over the grout lines. “Beautiful.”

  “Have you visited others?” She imagined him all business with an emphasis on progress and no time for the past.

  “When I can. The Romans were remarkable craftsmen. Took us several centuries to get to their level of expertise. You have to admire how they managed to maintain such a high standard of living so far from home.”

  “I didn’t know you were fond of history. You always seem part of today with the steamships and all.”

  “So much about me you don’t know.” He rose, snuffing out her view of his features. “That was my point the other day. We know so little about each other and have less in common.”

  “I’m willing to learn,” she said, pleased he’d even reference their conversation. Completely abandoning her plan to make him jealous, she traced a heart shape in the dust with her parasol tip and cast him a daring smile.

  His return expression attempted to be menacing, but it was more like one she often saw on her governess’s face. The desire to reprove, but an unconvincing effort.

  “What’s through there?” He moved toward a battered back door, scuffing out the heart as he went.

  “I’ve no idea. Escape route?”

  The door creaked as Jim thrust it open more strenuously than necessary, judging by the flying chunks of wood. A tad brutal, but a wonderful display of his powerful shoulders.

  “Entrance to a cellar.” He brushed some cobwebs aside, wiping them against the seat of his trousers and what was a girl to do, but watch and enjoy?

  “You can’t get away from me that way,” she commented.

  “I’m going down.” He descended a few steps. Ella peered past him to the stone steps leading into the cellar. Clumps of dust and fragments of wood covered them.

  “What’s down there?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t go.”

  “It’ll be dark.”

  “Underground generally is.” Standing on the stairs his face at the level of her knees, he reached around her to grab a miner’s lantern left by some other explorers. The metal lantern caught the trim on her gown’s hem, lifting it past her ankles. Jim dropped the lantern, sending her skirts shaking as the heavy object dangled from the edge.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “Of course, you didn’t.” Dropping to her knees in a pile of fluffy fabric, Ella worked the lantern free from her gown. She leaned toward him intending to offer the item for a price. A small kiss would do, but she stopped to watch the play of emotion on his face. The lingering aghast expression transitioned to surprise, moved to embarrassment, and finally landed at something she could only describe as desire. She followed the line his eyes took toward her bodice.

  “Oh!” She rocked back, nearly falling on her bum. Those new corsets from Annabelle’s shop worked their magic. In the bent over position, her breasts actually swelled over her bodice just like other ladies and not like an underdeveloped twelve year old. She had cleavage.

  Cleavage Jim appreciated, based on his somewhat paralyzed yet lustful look. Laughter and delight were her first emotions, but before giggles or blushes exuded from her, she summoned up the reproving expression of her brother and kept her composure. No point in appearing either fast or silly with such a man.

  Head down, Jim again reached for the lantern, lighted it, and dropped down another step. Not without her, she decided, scrambling after him and beating her wide skirts down to navigate the tight stairwell. He moved faster, but she stuck to him like wax to a ballroom floor—shiny, glossy, unmovable. With her hands on his shoulders, they entered the low-ceilinged room. She squeezed slightly. A guilty pleasure but she’d defy any girl to resist feeling his muscles in her position.

  Something skittered away in the beam of light, but she preferred not to know exactly what. Anything that made noise when it moved in this place wasn’t going to be her friend.

  “What is all this?” Cauldrons lined the walls and pipes wound up to crisscross the ceiling.

  “Plumbing. The Romans ran hot water through pipes under the floor for heating. I’ve heard of it, but never seen how it was accomplished.” He shook free of her, reaching for an overhead pipe and following it on its journey under the floor overhead and into a basin on the other side. From there, the water entered a tank with a stove under it and cycled back through the same pattern. “Ingenious, but labor intensive.”

  “It’s just hot water.”

  “Who do you think kept the fires going on these stoves, cut the wood, hauled the water?” He seemed annoyed with her and she struggled to understand why.

  “Servants, I suppose.”

  “Slaves, more likely,” he corrected.

  “No slaves in England now.”

  “No,” he gripped an overhead pipe so tightly his knuckles seemed to pop from his skin, “but still a class of people not much better off.”

  “English servants are treated well.”

  “In your family’s household,” he said and she began to understand his train of thought. He worried about the difference in their classes. “There’s a side of life you’ve never seen. People who live in a way you can’t fathom.”

  “I know I’m not worldly,” she admitted, “but I’d like to know more. You could show me.”

  “Not bloody likely,” he said in a low tone.

  “Was your family…I thought they owned an inn.”

  “Until the end,” he muttered. “By then I was making a living as an engineer.”

  “You didn’t want to continue the family business? I thought that’s what most people do.”

  “No.” His tone turned from belligerent to bitter. Had he wanted that life? Had he been denied his inheritance? Or was it something more? With his focus hovering above her head, she couldn’t read his expression any more than she could find something appropriate to say.

  “Don’t move,” he said, still staring intently just over her forehead. She tensed, every sense going on high alert, every muscle ready to leap. Was he going to kiss her? Declare his love? This wouldn’t be her choice of venues. Moonlit gardens awash in blossoms or pirate ships battling though waves were infinitely more appropriate, but she was willing to settle.

  A soft plunk parted her hair, dropping through to her scalp. A flickering movement crept over her crown, disarraying her coiffure. She froze. Her mind flashed back to her sixth birthday when Heath emptied a jar of spiders in her bed, revenge for her amateur spying.

  “Spi—Spider.” She choked out, panic making her flesh tingle, but she held her body stiff.

  “Hold still,” he ordered, his hand hovered, waiting to capture it. What was he delaying for? Closing her eyes, she tried to summon the patience she used in Lady Bedham’s drawing room, but a crawling motion against her skin broke her control.

  “Get it,” she cried, plunging toward him. Both hands raking through her hair, she feared touching the hideous thing, but wanted it gone, smashed beneath her slippers on the ancient
floor.

  Chapter Five

  “Is it dead?” She twisted her head away from him to peek.

  “Under my boot.” Jim half-lifted one foot. “Do you want to see?”

  “No.” She tucked her head back against him. Her warm breath, still coming rapidly, seared his neck. “Horrid things. So many legs.” A shudder shook her thin frame.

  “Only eight.” He resisted running his hand down her back to calm her. “I’ve never seen quite that violent a reaction to a spider.”

  “Did I scream?”

  “I’m half-deaf now.” Her shrieking and flailing hindered his attempts to kill the insect until he crushed her against him, muffling the noise and controlling her motion.

  “I’m sorry. Heath liked to play jokes on people. He found my fear of spiders early and exploited it for years.”

  “Not very nice.”

  “No, but it was always in fun. Didn’t you tease your sister? I thought all boys did that.” She tipped her head back giving him a view of her face. A bit of color returned to her cheeks and with her hair messy and falling away from her face in chestnut colored curls, he saw what she’d look like after a night in bed. His bed.

  Running footsteps above them skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs and helped block out the image of Ella between white sheets with her lips parted waiting for his kiss.

  “Lady Ella?” Spencer’s voice questioned cautiously, followed by the distinct cocking of a gun.

  What the devil! Jim tightened his grip on Ella, waiting to see what Spencer’s intentions were. Slowly, the other man descended the short staircase with the pepperbox revolver clutched in his hand. A wolfish, almost sinister expression sharpened the angles of face.

  “What’s he done?” Even his voice sounded different from the steady purr of the rake he pretended to be.

  “What? Oh, nothing, my lord, there was a spider and I…” Ella stopped when Spencer waved the gun in their direction, light flashing on metal.

  “Step away from her, Ferguson,” Spencer demanded, focusing on Jim as though at an opponent in a deadly battle.

  “What are you doing with a gun?” Ella, bewildered by the sudden tension, looked between their faces, taking a small step away from Jim.

  “Come here.” Spencer used a tone suitable for a child to Ella. “Anyone can see he’s attacked you.”

  Her hair hung around her shoulders with only a few pins left to tame the mass. One sleeve slipped from her shoulder, exposing her skin, flushed in the light from the lantern. Jim might understand Spencer’s protective nature if the man had a decent bone in his body. No, this exchange was motivated by vindictiveness. The most frightening thing was Spencer pointed the gun indiscriminately at Ella along with him as if she held no more value to him than the spider beneath Jim’s boot.

  “Attacked me? Silliness.” She combed her fingers through her hair, attempting to bring some control to it. “Like I was saying, a spider got in my…”

  “Get away from her,” Spencer repeated, waving his weapon.

  “We’re in a cellar. Where would you like me to go, my lord?” He bit out the last words, showing anything but respect for the other man’s title. Spencer leveled the gun at Jim even though Ella still stood half in front of him. Mind working rapidly, Jim formulated a plan to push Ella against the opposite wall while he lunged at Spencer. The man was tall and probably quick, but lacked Jim’s muscle.

  “What’s going on?” Edmund called, descending to the little room. “Anyone hurt? I thought I heard…” With a quick glance, Edmund surveyed the drama unfolding in the room. “Put that gun away,” he ordered Spencer who reluctantly uncocked the weapon and stuck it in a pocket. “What happened?”

  “Nothing. A spider got in my hair. You know how I hate spiders.” Ella was breathlessly rushing forward with her story, trying to defuse the situation. “I screamed and Jim killed it.”

  More footsteps and female voices overhead helped break the tension.

  “I think we should rejoin the others,” Edmund said. “After you, Spencer.” He gestured the other man to the staircase. “And keep that revolver locked up in the future. Richard has no tolerance for carelessly managed firearms in his house.”

  Edmund’s dismissal gave Spencer no opportunity to argue, but Edmund waited to question them more until Spencer’s steps could be heard leaving the shed above. “Anything else I should know?”

  “No, it was just as I said,” Ella explained, surprisingly unshaken for just having a gun held on her. Perhaps there was more substance to this debutante than Jim realized. “Only a spider.”

  “So why the gun?” Edmund asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ella said, shaking her head. “Maybe he has a chivalrous streak?”

  “More likely a mercenary one.” Jim couldn’t hold back his grunt of disapproval or his comment.

  Ella’s eyes focused on his, drawing him in. Just as her mouth opened to speak, Edmund intervened. “Go find Sophie and Annabelle. They’ll help you repair yourself, then all of you return to the carriage. I think we’ve seen enough for today.”

  “I agree, but, Edmund,” she waited for him to turn to her, “you’re not angry at Jim, are you? He did nothing wrong.”

  “I’ll see you in the carriage,” Edmund nodded toward the stairs, allowing Ella no room to disagree.

  They waited until Annabelle’s and Sophie’s voices asking questions of Ella covered the sound of their conversation.

  “I’d ask what you’re doing in a dark cellar with my sister-in-law if I didn’t know you so well.” Edmund relaxed his stance, casually leaning against one of the cauldrons.

  “I’d never harm Ella or any woman.”

  “Especially Ella.” Edmund repeated, his usual grin returning.

  “I’m not sure the same could be said for Spencer.”

  “You think he’s a threat?”

  “He pretends to be possessive of her attention, but he didn’t hesitate to point the gun at her as well.” In the aftermath of the situation, when Jim could think beyond the immediate need to protect Ella, he calmly replayed the scenario in his mind and his opinion of Spencer shrank from tiny to miniscule.

  “You could easily redirect her attention on you, cutting Spencer out of the picture entirely.”

  “Lord Spencer has more to offer her.”

  “A title,” Edmund agreed, “although empty because he has no money to back it. I’m not sure I want my sister-in-law married to a man so quick to make assumptions and pull a gun.” Edmund studied him, waiting for a response Jim didn’t have.

  ****

  “We can have a scaled down prototype ready by mid-December for your inspection.” Jim concluded his presentation to the four men who smoked cigars as he spoke. In the past hour, he’d detailed every inch of the ship Wolfston Steam Works, Edmund’s company, could build for the Royal Navy.

  The drawings and schematics spread across the expansive dining room table in Lord Uxbridge’s Tudor Era castle were testament to Jim’s nearly endless work over the past few weeks. His companions continued to pass around various sketches and blueprints, occasionally addressing a question to him or Edmund, who sat at his side.

  Jim wanted to fade into the background and let Edmund handle it from here, but the questions, generally technical in nature, didn’t allow him to do so.

  “Explain to me again the advantage of this screw propulsion system in battle,” Admiral Lawson asked.

  “Screw propulsion will maximize your maneuverability during an engagement. You’ll be able to turn faster and control the exact speed and angle of the movement more precisely than ever before, including the ability to rapidly reverse which is nearly impossible with sails alone or paddle wheel propulsion.”

  “And still carry a full complement of sailors and armament?” Rear Admiral Huntley, a veteran of many engagements, questioned. The admiral was a self-assured, older man. At first, Jim thought he might be the toughest sell in the room due to his age, but the admiral was edgy with exci
tement over the changes in warfare.

  “More than ever if you wish. The engines will take up a minimum amount of space, giving you ample storage for fuel, arms, supplies, or men.” Jim carefully made eye contact with Admiral Huntley as he spoke.

  “We’ve found it works well on our cargo ships. It would be the same for an armored frigate,” Edmund added.

  “Maximum speed?” Lord Uxbridge, a tall, but razor-thin, man, studied a diagram in front of him, not looking at Jim when he posed the question. “You didn’t mention what the combined speed would be.”

  “With both sails and steam in use and decent conditions, I’d estimate in excess of 17 knots. With 48,000-square-feet of sail and the steam engines to push the ship through the water from beneath, the unnamed warship should just about fly.”

  “And both funnels and the propeller could be pulled into the frame of the ship.” Admiral Lawson, the youngest of the men gathered to hear the presentation, struck Jim as a detail man. He wanted to know exactly how every proposed item, traditional or innovative, would work.

  “That’s right. If sailing conditions are optimal, drag could be minimized by telescoping the funnels down and raising the propeller up. It’ll be a task, requiring a huge effort from the crew, but worth it in certain conditions.”

  “Ingenious,” Admiral Huntley commented, giving Jim a nod of approval. “How big is this crew?”

  “You’ll have the capacity to carry seven hundred men and still have enough fuel to steam for over 2000 miles.”

  “I’d want to see both those items functioning on the prototype before I’m convinced of their merits or feasibility.” Lord Uxbridge neatly stacked the sketches before him, signaling the presentation was nearly complete. “I’m not sure how a ship this large with armored plating is going to move that fast or that far.”

  “Understandable, my lord.” Jim didn’t have time to do what he was about to offer, but it might make the difference in getting the contract. “I can put together a scale model of the design if you like.” Creating a scale model with sufficient detail for this proposal was a challenging task, but Jim started building those out of scraps of lumber and anything he could scavenge when he was a child. He just wouldn’t sleep much in the following weeks. Just as well. Staying busy kept him from thinking about Ella.