by Archer, Zoe
She would wait until the celebration was over before heading to her flat in Knightsbridge. Safer, quieter that way. And . . . she wasn’t eager to leave the ship. To return to her life. There was too much unresolved between her and Christopher. And if she slipped away now, while he was busy at the festivities, he might think she was running again.
So she remained on the airship, watching the jubilation below. As she observed the fireworks display and the crowds milling around the airfield, she thought of the week that had passed as the Demeter had made her way back to England. It had taken over a day at top speed for the ship to reach neutral airspace. Not an easy feat with the amount of damage the Demeter had sustained.
Repairs had been hastily done. The four crewmen who’d lost their lives during the battle over the munitions plant were laid to rest. That had been a hard day. The ship had hovered inches above the Adriatic, and the caskets were lowered into the sea. The crew stood solemn in the face of death.
Christopher had read from the Book of Common Prayer and also a passage from Ada Lovelace.
“ ‘I never am really satisfied that I understand anything,’ ” he had read, “ ‘because, understand it well as I may, my comprehension can only be an infinitesimal fraction of all I want to understand.’ ”
With respect paid over the watery graves, the ship had then headed for home.
She’d spent her time typing her report on a compact typewriter borrowed from Dr. Singh and investigating every inch of the ship. Though Christopher had hoped she might take her leisure, she couldn’t be idle. She drew diagrams and made notes about the working of the airship, eager to learn all her secrets. Her days were full of information.
And her nights had been pleasant. More than pleasant. Wondrous. She and Christopher had made love for hours, rediscovering each other, learning new truths. Sometimes they were a tempest, other times a zephyr.
Even with the passion between them bright, there were questions, so many questions, all of them unasked and unanswered.
During a prowl of Christopher’s quarters, she had discovered a single glove tucked into the back of his toiletries kit. A woman’s glove, made of pale yellow kidskin, its buttons sparkling beads of jet. Jealousy flared, until she recognized it as one of her own. She hadn’t seen its mate in, what, three years?
The glove had looked far more worn, its leather even more supple, than she remembered. It had been a fairly new pair when she’d lost the left glove. Which meant he must have held it, run his thumb over the soft kidskin. In this very cabin, he’d done this.
That glove was now in her pocket. She felt its presence like a ghost of herself as she continued to watch the celebration.
Footsteps sounded in the passageway outside. The cabin door opened.
She turned, surprised, as Christopher stepped into his quarters, shutting the door behind him.
He wore his dress uniform, an acre of navy wool, gold epaulets and gleaming brass, dress sword buckled at his side. She’d seen many dress uniforms, but only his made her heart kick and her breath come faster.
“You’re supposed to be down there.”
“Didn’t care for the company.” He set his cap down on a table and strode across the cabin, straight to her. “The person I wanted beside me wasn’t there.”
Oh, there went her heart again. Thumping harder than the drum below.
She dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the yellow glove.
They both stared at it. He took the glove from her and ran his thumb over it, finger by finger, as though following familiar paths.
“All this time,” she murmured. “Even when you hated me. You kept it.”
“Couldn’t throw it away.” His voice was a low rumble. “I tried. More than a few times. I never could.”
“At my flat in Knightsbridge, I’ve a box, about this big.” She held her hands twelve inches apart. “Full of keepsakes, reminders. Anyone would think them bits of haphazard debris. A Kentucky cheroot, half-smoked. A linen napkin stained with red wine. A little clockwork butterfly, missing one of its wings.”
“The cheroot we shared on the roof of Headquarters. That café in Brighton, when the shop girls on holiday knocked into our table and spilled the wine. And the memento they gave away at the Mechanical 20th Fair. The wing fell off almost immediately.”
As he spoke, she felt something huge and bright fill her, something so immense she thought she couldn’t possibly contain it. Yet she did. It swelled within her and made her as radiant as hope itself.
She took his hand. “I love you, Kit. I want us to be together again.”
Her heart continued to pound. Its throb filled her ears, drowning out the fireworks, as she waited for his answer.
He was silent for a long time. And in his silence, she had her answer. The bright enormity within her curled at the edges. She started to pull her hand away.
Suddenly, she was in his arms.
His mouth was ravenous for hers, and she shared his hunger as they kissed. Tremors wracked his big body and her own smaller form.
“I love you, Lulu.” He traced his lips along her neck in patterns of need and heat.
She exhaled, a long, slow, thorough breath that was both a release and an expansion. “All it took was defying death.”
He cupped her head with his hands, his gaze intent on hers. “I knew before then. I’ve always loved you.” His eyes darkened. “Thinking of my life without you . . .” He shook his head. “I’ve been a sailor, a captain of a seafaring ship, then a captain in Her Majesty’s Aerial Navy. But I’m so much more when I’m with you.”
They kissed again, and the thought came to her, as clear as if she’d spoken aloud. This is happiness.
But it wasn’t complete. Not until she’d finished what she needed to say.
“Marry me, Kit.”
He pulled back to stare at her, and the hot, dark pleasure in his eyes stole thought. Yet he said, “You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I want you. I want us, together. Forever.” She offered him a tremulous smile. “As you said, there may be changes, but they’ll be good changes.”
He frowned. “There’s fear in your eyes.”
“All adventures have an element of fear in them. That’s what makes them worthwhile.” She stroked her fingers across the high contours of his cheekbones, the face of the man who knew her with such profound intimacy. “Let’s take this adventure together.”
She let her heart show in her gaze, opening herself fully to him. No hiding. No running away.
He kissed her again. Deeply. Then, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
She thought she’d felt happiness moments earlier. Now . . . now she thought she might shatter into a million glittering fragments like the pyrotechnics outside.
“Before you accept my acceptance,” he said, concern tightening his expression, “there are two things you need to know.”
Unease plucked at her. “The first?”
“I can’t give you children. Man O’ Wars are sterile. The heat we generate . . .” He looked grim. “If you marry me, you won’t be a mother.”
The knot of anxiety loosened in her chest. “I only want you, Kit. And I’ll have you without a single regret.”
The concern in his gaze lessened. But did not disappear. “The other thing—you know I can’t be away from my ship. Perhaps for a few days, but it wouldn’t be like when I was at sea and could be home for months. If we marry, I cannot make a home with you on land. My life’s in the sky now.”
“Then the sky will be my home, too.” She loved the hope in his eyes, and the fact that he would deprive her of nothing. “I know that you are the Demeter are inseparable. Fortunately, I’m such a generous woman that I’m willing to share you. On our journey back to England, I thought about our domestic arrangements. I’ve hit upon the perfect solution.”
She stepped from his arms and drifted backward, toward the bed. As she walked, she began to undo the buttons of her blouse. He watched the movements o
f her fingers, attentive as a hawk.
“We’re great heroes,” she said, “us and the Demeter’s crew. That’s what the celebration down there is all about. Thanks to our efforts, the Eastern Front has finally turned. Britain has a better chance of winning the war. Which means,” she continued, slipping off her blouse, “that the Admiralty owes us a rather great favor.” She pulled off her boots, then undid the fastenings of her skirt. It slid down, until she stood in her chemise, corset, and pantalets.
Carved lean with desire, he stalked toward her, shedding his own clothing as he moved. He shed his dress sword first, and it hit the ground with a heavy, metallic thud. There were many buttons on his dress coat, and he undid them all. “What is this great favor?”
“I’ll continue my work for Naval Intelligence from the unique vantage of an airship. From the Demeter, specifically. My survey was very thorough, so I already have a head start. Doubt anyone in Intelligence has the knowledge that I do.” She undid her corset and dropped it to the ground, then stepped out of her pantalets.
“You can liaise with a Man O’ War. One-on-one.” His beautiful dress uniform was scattered across the cabin—coat, waistcoat, shirt, boots, and breeches. He wore only his drawers, and these he peeled off, revealing him in his proud animal nudity. He was hard and eager for her. The bright explosions from the fireworks gleamed along his implants and in the crystalline blue of his eyes.
“A unique opportunity to work very closely with a Man O’ War.” Her chemise joined the other clothing upon the floor. They were both naked now, in every way.
“They can’t refuse that request,” he said. “I won’t allow them to.”
Ah, there was that unconquerable will of his, shaping the world to fit his demands.
He deftly scooped her up in his arms and laid her down upon the bed, then stretched out beside her.
“It won’t be the most traditional marriage,” she murmured, stroking her fingers over the planes of his chest, feeling his heart beat in time with her own. “But we’ve never been traditional, you and I.”
“A very modern couple,” he agreed.
Her hand stilled. “Do you mind—saying it again?”
He knew precisely what she wanted to hear. “I love you. From the moment you showed me your legs on the balcony, I’ve loved you.”
She couldn’t stop her laugh, and it felt so good, to laugh with him again. There would be more of that, more laughter, more danger—he was a Man O’ War, after all, and made for battle—and she welcomed all of it.
“I love you, Kit. I can’t wait to have more adventures with you.”
He gave her his wide, brilliant grin. “You and me, sailing the skies together. The world has no idea what’s coming. I almost feel sorry for it.”
“Almost.”
“Not enough to let you go.”
“And I’m not letting you go. Never again.”
They drank deeply of each other. Outside, in a shower of light, fireworks cast countless stars into the sky.
If you loved Skies of Fire, watch for the next installment
in the smart, sexy Ether Chronicles collaboration . . .
this time set in the American West and written by Nico Rosso . . .
U.S. Army Upland Ranger Tom Knox trades the front lines for a different conflict as he returns home to California on his ether-borne mechanical horse. Two years ago, he skipped town, leaving the one girl who ever mattered. Rosa Campos. He thinks she’ll be settled down but discovers Rosa’s the town sheriff, caught in a battle with a mining company’s three-story, rock-eating machine. Tom’s the last person Rosa expects to see riding out of the sky to her aid, and seeing him again reignites a flame more dangerous than the enemy threatening to destroy them both.
Coming July 2012
from
Avon Impulse
About the Author
ZOË ARCHER is a RITA® Award–nominated author who writes romance novels chock-full of adventure, sexy men, and women who make no apologies for kicking ass. Her books include The Hellraisers paranormal historical series and the acclaimed Blades of the Rose paranormal historical adventure series. She enjoys baking, tweeting about boots, and listening to music from the ’80s. Zoë and her husband, fellow romance author Nico Rosso, live in Los Angeles. Visit her website at www.zoearcherbooks.com.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SKIES OF FIRE: THE ETHER CHRONICLES. Copyright © 2012 by Zoë Archer. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition APRIL 2012 ISBN: 9780062109149
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062184498
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