Quicksilver as-11

by Àìàíäà Êâèê

"Never mind." He picked her up in his arms, lifting her free of the pool of skirts and petticoats. "This is not the time for explanations."

  The room spun around her. He carried her to the large leather reading chair. Just before he sank down into the depths of the chair with her in his arms, she caught another glimpse of their reflections in the mirror. Energy flashed and sparked like hot sunlight in the depths of the looking glass.

  And then she found herself draped across Owen's strong thighs, her stocking-clad legs dangling over the padded arm of the big chair. In the firelight Owen's face was taut with passion and something akin to hunger. He kissed her again, a slow, intoxicating kiss.

  While he held her in thrall with the kiss, he explored her body with his free hand, touching her as though she were the rarest and most valuable work of art ever created. She gave herself up to the sensual storm that was breaking over her, engulfing her.

  She was aware of his palm gliding down her leg, but she was occupied with the kiss and did not pay close attention until she felt his hand slip beneath the hem of her chemise. A moment later she realized that his fingers were on the inside of her thigh.

  "So soft," he growled against her mouth.

  She knew then what he intended, but she was torn between shock and wonder. He cupped her gently. She tensed, her fingers twisting in the expensive white linen of his shirt.

  He tore his mouth away from her lips and kissed her throat. "I want to feel you melt for me."

  This is the night,she thought. She was on the edge of exploring the great mystery she had yearned to discover with the right man. At last the secrets of passion were being revealed to her. She would not turn back now.

  He probed deeper with his fingers. Everything inside her seemed to be liquefying. She clutched the front of Owen's shirt, crushing the fabric, hardly able to catch her breath. A great restlessness and a sense of urgency consumed her. The tension caused her whole body to tighten.

  "Owen." She twisted in his arms, needing more."Owen."

  "I'm here," he said. It was a vow.

  He lifted her again. This time he settled her astride, her knees gripping him on either side of his thighs. She did not understand what he intended until she looked down and discovered that somehow he had managed to open his trousers. The size of his engorged shaft shocked her senses all over again.

  She had seen nude statues of the male figure. She and Charlotte had pored over the lascivious drawings of couples engaged in intercourse in the books that Charlotte kept tucked away in a locked closet. But nothing had prepared her for this.

  Fascinated, she reached down and touched him lightly.

  Owen groaned and half closed his eyes. "Ahh, my sweet, have a care."

  "Did I hurt you?" she asked, horrified.

  "No." His mouth curved at the edges. "But I am very sensitive to your touch, Virginia Dean. You have a great deal of power over me."

  "I find that hard to believe."

  He stopped smiling. The heat in his aura and his eyes seemed to intensify.

  "It's the truth," he said. "I have known that from the start. I need you, Virginia."

  "Why?" she asked, utterly bewildered.

  "Later," he promised.

  "You keep saying that."

  "Because it's complicated and I cannot talk coherently at the moment," he rasped.

  "Owen?"

  "Please, if you have any generous feelings toward me at all, not now."

  "All right," she said. "But later."

  "Later," he said again.

  He groaned and kissed one breast and then the other through the chemise. The gossamer fabric was no barrier to his hot, hungry mouth. He moved his hands up the insides of her thighs. When he reached her heated core he found the wellspring of the growing urgency that consumed her.

  "Yes," she gasped. Her fingers clenched around his shoulders. She closed her eyes against the rush of exquisite tension.

  He stroked her, finding places of intense sensation that she had never known existed. Everything inside her shivered and tightened until she could not abide it any longer.

  A surging energy flashed through her. Suddenly she was sailing on a glorious tide. The release stole her breath. She clung to Owen, her rock in the storm.

  She was only vaguely aware of him pushing into her, forcing his way gently but relentlessly into her passage. She paid no attention, too enchanted with the cascading waves of energy.

  He thrust suddenly, deeply. Even though she knew enough to be prepared for some initial discomfort, the sharp, lancing pain caught her off guard. The electrifying sensation was not just physical. It crackled across all of her senses.

  She flinched, gasped and bit the nearest thing at hand, Owen's earlobe, quite fiercely. The small act of retaliation was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Owen.

  He sucked in a harsh breath and held himself very still within her.

  For a couple of heartbeats neither of them moved.

  "I think we both just drew blood," Owen said. He sounded as though he was speaking through gritted teeth.

  She took a breath and was shocked by the coppery taste on the tip of her tongue. Good grief, she really had bitten the man. It wasn't his fault that she was new to this business.

  "My apologies." Mortified, she dropped her face back down onto his broad shoulder. "One reads about this sort of experience and one thinks one is prepared, but I wasn't expecting quite such a jolt."

  "Neither was I. Tomorrow I must remember to purchase a gold ring to insert into the ear that you just pierced."

  She raised her head again, alarmed. She stared at the small drop of blood welling on his earlobe. As she watched, the tiny crimson rivulet dripped onto the collar of his pristine white linen shirt.

  "Oh, dear," she said. "This is awkward."

  "Not as awkward as the position we are in at the moment."

  She could feel the steel-hard tension in his muscles. She sensed that he was holding himself in check for her sake.

  She cleared her throat.

  "Well," she said, "is that all there is to the business? I must say, after waiting so long to escape spinsterhood, I did expect something a bit more interesting."

  "Interesting," he repeated, a bit too neutrally.

  "In sensation novels there is always a transcendent metaphysical passion that accompanies the physical act. I expect when that occurs, it compensates for the uncomfortable side of the experience."

  "You didn't experience anything of a transcendent nature just now?"

  "Actually, I was engaged in an extremely transcendent experience, but you just ruined it."

  "It is my turn to apologize. I did not expect you to be a virgin."

  She glared at him. "Why not?"

  "You are a woman of strong passions," he said. He kissed her cheek. "I assumed that by now-"

  "You mean at my age-"

  "I assumed that by now," he repeated deliberately, "you would have found some way to explore those passions."

  "Well, I was considering an appointment with Dr. Spinner."

  He caught her face between his hands. "Could we discuss this some other time?"

  "Certainly," she said politely. She winced, trying to adjust to the feel of him inside her. "Do, please, get on with it. We've come this far. We may as well carry on to the conclusion."

  "That's the spirit."

  "Are you laughing at me?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

  "No, Virginia, believe me, I am not laughing. It would hurt far too much. I doubt that I would survive."

  He began to move slowly inside her, using his grip on her hips to guide her into the rhythm. She was raw from his initial entry, but she was increasingly certain that she could at least endure the remainder of the process.

  To her astonishment, the pain began to transform into a stimulating sense of urgency again. She was still exquisitely sensitive, but the sensation was now a compelling force. Her fingers locked around Owen's shoulders.

  One of his hands left
her rear and shifted to the place between her legs where their bodies were joined. She felt his fingers on the bud that was the center point of sensation.

  A short time later he struck an invisible chord, launching her back out on the fabulous waves of sparkling energy. Small, powerful currents flashed through her, sweeping her along on the dazzling tide. She wanted to scream with the pleasure of it all; she wanted to laugh, to sing, to cry.

  But she could do none of those things, because with another low, savage groan, Owen crushed her mouth beneath his own, swallowing any sound she might have made. He thrust heavily into her one last time, and then he went rigid. She felt the shuddering power of his climax slam through him in near-violent waves.

  For a timeless moment they sailed the storm together. Then with one last heavy, groaning sigh of release, Owen relaxed deep into the chair.

  When Virginia opened her eyes she saw that he was watching her with the lazy satisfaction of the hunter after a successful hunt.

  "I knew you were the one," he said.

  Chapter 13

  The scientist entered the laboratory the way he always did, through the kitchen door. He stood quietly for a moment, savoring the faint currents of energy that still shivered in the atmosphere. They were starting to fade. That was only to be expected. The experiment was concluded.

  He took out the specially designed gold pocket watch that the clock maker had given him and walked down the narrow hall to the stairs.

  The atmosphere thickened quite pleasantly as he made his way to the floor above. There were still hints of dread interlaced with the exciting nuances of incipient panic. He admired the aura of escalating fear that he had succeeded in capturing. But it was the dark power of the energy preserved at the moment when the subject understood that death was imminent that was the signature of his great talent.

  The subject in this particular experiment had not been a strong talent. There were very few truly powerful glass-readers. But like Ratford, Hackett had served well enough for his purposes.

  A muffled clink and thud stopped him at the top of the stairs. In spite of the fact that he was prepared, a cold chill wafted across his senses, rattling his nerves. The clockwork devices that he used to conduct the experiments were ideally suited to the great work. They were, in fact, the key to the perfection of his engine. But they were extraordinarily dangerous, not to mention expensive. He did not like having to leave them on guard, but after discovering that burglars had contaminated the scenes of both experiments, he'd been forced to take precautions. That was a problem with letting a house stand empty. They were magnets for housebreakers and thieves.

  He struck a light and then flipped open the pocket watch. The interior of the watchcase was fitted with a special mirror. He held the watch so that the mirror inside was focused on the dark doorway.

  The flaring light fell on a praying mantis the size of a house cat. The eyes of the clockwork insect glittered with malevolent energy. The increasing chill in the atmosphere warned him that the device had obtained a focus on him. The energy level started to escalate. His insides chilled. For an instant, panic assailed him. What if the mirror in the pocket watch no longer worked?

  He shuddered with relief when the mantis clanked to a halt. The icy currents ceased emanating from the faceted glass eyes.

  The scientist breathed a shaky sigh and continued down the hall.

  The Hackett and Ratford experiments had both been unqualified successes, thanks to what he had learned during his preliminary research in the basement of the Hollister mansion. In the course of that work he had discovered how to calibrate the clockwork devices.

  After Hackett and Ratford, he had been satisfied that the devices worked on glasslight-talents precisely as he had theorized. He had been ready for the final experiment, the one that, if successful, would energize his magnificent engine. But everything had gone wrong the other night.

  That was always the way with scientific progress, he reminded himself. One had to expect setbacks.

  He opened the door of the bedroom. Inside, all was just as he had fashioned it on the night of the experiment. The body of the subject and her personal possessions had been removed immediately after the death, of course. They were not important. What mattered was that he had achieved his goal of igniting some energy deep inside the dressing-table mirror. The currents were quite weak, because Hackett had been weak, but that was not important. What mattered was that he had proven the validity of the theory.

  He opened his senses. The mirror on the dressing table still contained a little fire, but the energy was fading rapidly. There was no reason to return again to this house. He had learned all he could from this experiment.

  He left the bedroom and went back along the hall, pausing long enough to collect the praying mantis. The device was still frozen as a result of the effects of the mirror, but he knew that status would not last long. The only certain method of ensuring that the curiosity would not activate was to remove the key from the back of the machine. He set about the task cautiously, holding his breath until he had the key safely out. When the mantis was secured he put the key in the pocket of his coat and dropped the curiosity into the canvas bag that he had brought with him for that purpose.

  He carried the mantis downstairs. Outside on the street, he walked to the corner and whistled for a hansom. It was only a short distance to the scene of the second experiment, but he did not feel comfortable walking alone at such a late hour. The newspapers were full of stories of hapless citizens who had been set upon by violent criminals at night.

  Ten minutes later he got out of the hansom at the corner, paid the driver and walked quickly to Ratford's address. Excitement and anticipation built rapidly within him. The second experiment was still fairly fresh. In addition, Ratford had been somewhat stronger than Hackett. He was very curious to see if the fires in the glass would last longer.

  He opened the door and moved into the kitchen, pausing to absorb the atmosphere.

  The first faint, discordant currents drifted across his senses. The atmosphere in the house had been disturbed again. Anger flashed through him. Another ruffian had entered the premises. Really, the rise in crime was appalling. The dragon would have taken care of the problem, but there would likely be a body in the upstairs hall. Disposing of the corpse would be a nuisance.

  Annoyed at the thought that yet another intruder had entered the carefully staged experiment, the scientist took out his pocket watch and went up the stairs. At the top he paused, struck a light and listened tensely for the mechanical clink and thump of the clockwork dragon he had left on guard.

  He was greeted with a disturbing silence. He looked around, fearful that he might accidentally stumble over the lethal device. But there was no sign of the automaton.

  It occurred to him that the weapon might have failed. When all was said and done it was only a clockwork mechanism, and clocks sometimes stopped for no good reason. Holding the pocket watch at the ready, he went slowly along the hallway, searching the darkened rooms. At the far end he was forced to come to the inescapable conclusion: Not only was there no corpse, the dragon was gone.

  Panic shot through him. He threw open the door of the laboratory. Everything inside appeared to be untouched, but when he heightened his senses he could detect the faint currents of energy that told him the experiment had been disturbed again, this time by someone who had been capable of overcoming the dragon. Only an extremely powerful glasslight-talent could have managed that feat. Even he could not control the toys without the aid of the pocket watch.

  Rage boiled inside him. The vast majority of glass-readers were weak, insipid creatures like Ratford and Hackett who did not begin to comprehend their own abilities. Many actually believed that the images they saw in the mirrors were genuine spirits. But he knew of one who might have been able to survive the dragon long enough to disable it.

  He had saved Virginia Dean for last because he had sensed that she was the one he needed, the glass-reader who
might be strong enough to ignite the fire in the mirrors of his Great Engine. She had now proven that she was even more powerful than he had realized. Excitement shivered through him.

  Two questions immediately sprang to mind: Why had Virginia Dean come here tonight? And had she come alone?

  Chapter 14

  Owen opened his eyes when Virginia started to extricate herself from the chair and his arms. He watched her get to her feet, aware of a deep sense of satisfaction that went beyond the physical. She had no notion of how deliciously disheveled and erotic she looked dressed only in her rumpled chemise and stockings. Tendrils of her sunset-bright hair had come free of the pins and tumbled around her shoulders.

  She looked down at her stained chemise with dismay.

  "Oh, dear," she said. "It was new."

  "I will replace it."

  "There is no need for that," she said, quite sharply. "I'm sure it will all wash out."

  Flushed, she hurried across the room, stepped into the pile of clothing and hastily drew first her petticoats and then her gown up around herself.

  As if she were putting on a suit of armor,he thought.

  He crumpled the handkerchief he had used to clean both of them a short time earlier and put it into a pocket. Reluctantly he pushed himself up out of the chair, closed the front of his trousers and fastened his shirt.

  "Virginia," he said. He stopped. Not certain what to say next.

  "Yes?" She concentrated hard on the last hooks of her gown.

  He went toward her. "Are you certain that you are all right?"

  She raised her chin. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "This was your first experience of this sort of thing."

  "Well, yes," she said. "But that is hardly my fault. Really, society makes it very difficult for a single woman to take a lover."

  "Difficult but not impossible. Many single women find a way around the problem. Why did you wait so long?"

  She sighed. "One has to reach the point where one realizes one has nothing left to lose and that there is no reason to save oneself for marriage because it is unlikely that the man of one's dreams will ever appear."