Copyright © 2013 by Mary Wine
Cover and internal design © 2013 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Dominick Finelle-The July Group
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
Fax: (630) 961-2168
www.sourcebooks.com
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Read on for an excerpt from “A Lady Can Never Be Too Curious”
About the Author
Back Cover
This one is for David Neil. Thanks for listening. It’s a talent you are a master of and I spend a lot of time trying to perfect. I hope you always know what a treasure your friendship is.
One
London, 1843
“Becoming frustrated will not solve this. Quite the opposite actually.”
Sophia Stevenson resisted the urge to wipe her forehead on her sleeve and had to bite her lip when she realized just how unladylike the impulse was. Of course, there was very little about her current circumstance that was ladylike at all. Perspiration was trickling down the sides of her face and she was wearing a pair of cycling pantaloons in the presence of a man. Her aunts would have brain seizures if they knew.
“You need to focus, Miss Stevenson.”
Bion Donkova’s tone was both condescending and irritating. It was completely unjust that the man appeared so composed while she struggled to maintain even a hint of civility. His dark eyes were full of expectation too, irritating her further. He’d already decided that she would fail and she longed to swing the wrench at his square-cut jaw.
But she wasn’t raised to be a quitter. The way Bion watched her, like a school headmaster, stirred up her fighting spirit. She wouldn’t back down from the challenge he’d placed before her. Nor would she waste her time on a temper tantrum.
Sophia tightened her grip on the large wrench and stretched her arm into the huge engine in front of her. Steam hissed, singeing the skin just above the protective leather glove she wore. The hot water coated the leather, making it harder to control the wrench. Oh… but she would control it!
In spite of the steam, she leaned forward so that she could see the small pipe the water was escaping from. The inside of the engine was hot and the water boiled the moment it hit the metal components that made it up. The round, purple lenses of her glasses fogged over, but she gave a little jerk of her head to shake them down her nose a bit. She peered over the rims and spotted the problem area. She fitted the wrench around the gasket and started to tighten it.
Just one more turn…
The water began to dribble, the steam decreasing until it stopped completely. She’d expected to feel relief; instead, she marveled at her own success.
A sense of accomplishment filled her, lightening her mood until she withdrew from the engine and came face-to-face with Bion Donkova.
She noticed too much about him—or more pointedly, how she felt about him—which was quite inappropriate for a young lady. But the teachings of her childhood didn’t seem to stop her gaze from wandering.
His square jaw appealed to her—so did the way she had to tip her head back to make eye contact with him because of his greater height. His wide shoulder span was not at all in fashion, but she discovered that her gaze lingered on it and the thick bulges of muscle beneath his uniform coat.
But the man was frowning at her, his expression dark and unyielding. She should have been used to such after half a year, but lately she had been irritated more and more by his glowering. Instead of putting the wrench away, she hesitated and shot a hard look back into his dark eyes. Something inside her snapped, like a leather riding whip, insisting that she show him she would stand her ground instead of scurrying off like some mouse under the guise of replacing the wrench.
His eyes narrowed, taking in her challenge. He stepped closer, and for just a moment, something twisted in her belly. The intensity exceeded anything she’d felt before. Her breath froze, suspending her inside the moment for what felt like an hour before she stepped back, uncertainty smothering her pride. A lady did not allow a gentleman so close, except for during a dance when there were chaperones. Society was one hundred percent unforgiving of promiscuity.
She pushed her glasses back into position, grateful for the colored glass shielding her from his scrutiny. For some reason, it felt as though he could see right into her thoughts. Which was ridiculous, of course. But her knees felt weak.
“The entire point of the glasses is to protect your vision,” Bion critiqued her. “No matter what crisis befalls the ship you are on, you need to remember that your ability to see Dimension Gates is irreplaceable. Allow your eyes to be damaged and the ship is lost just as surely as if this emergency with the engine was never solved.”
“I understand the importance of being able to guide a ship through a Dimension Gate.”
Those gates were like tunnels through dimensions that allowed an airship to take a shortcut across the globe. They were a marvel she’d never known about until her encounter with a Root Ball had transformed her eyes so she might see them.
“I wonder at times,” Bion growled.
“You needn’t,” she snapped.
Sophia placed the wrench back in the small metal clamp that held it next to the engine and closed the hatch before taking off the leather gauntlet.
Oh, how she wanted to throw it at his feet…
The impulse was intense and she realized she was grinding her teeth. What was wrong with her? Bion Donkova was certainly not the first man to glower down at her while pointing out how she fell short of his expectations. For all that they lived in the Enlightened Age, men still considered themselves superior to women. At least in the society beyond the walls of the Illuminists’ Solitary Chamber, they did.
“My expectations are high only because the consequences of failure are equally high,” Bion continued.
For just a moment, his voice held a note of something she might have labeled concern. But that idea fled as she looked at the stone mask his face was set into. There was nothing caring in the grim set of his lips or the hard set of his jaw. But there was a flicker of something in his dark eyes which appeared very personal.
Which was ridiculous, of course. The man was her training officer. It was his duty, not his choice.
Life among the secretive Illuminist Order was supposed to be different than the Victorian world outside the walls of the Solitary Chamber. Here, a woman had the same rights as a man—as long as she was willing to earn her way. It was like a dream come true really, because outside, in the rest of London, there were plenty of women working their years away without the promise of respect. They would toil and be reminded that women should keep to their place. That it was a man’s world. Among the Illuminists, she might have position and respect, even freedom to make her own choi
ces. So she would meet the expectations of her training officer, even if he irritated her almost beyond her control.
That idea restored Sophia’s confidence. She hung the glove from a peg next to the wrench, so it would be ready for the next person who had to deal with the engine, and took a deep breath. “Since it is your intention to simulate an emergency, Captain Donkova, you must accept that some risk is unavoidable. I doubt I will be of much assistance if I am preoccupied with my own discomfort. I do believe you were trying to impress upon me the idea of prioritizing.”
He didn’t care for her words, or maybe it was her tone, or perhaps the reason a muscle twitched along his jaw was due to her formal mode of address. Captain Bion Donkova had dark hair to go with his dark eyes, which paired rather well with his disgruntled expression. His arms were crossed over his chest, hiding his gold Illuminist Order pin.
Yet she knew it was there, pinned securely and prominently to his maroon uniform coat. There was a row of buttons running down the front of the coat and it ended at his hips like any maritime captain’s uniform. But Bion was captain of an airship, a marvelous invention, the mechanics of which the Illuminist Order kept secret from the rest of the world. Like a great many other things the Order had. No one entered their world of wonders without wearing one of their membership pins.
“You should accept that everything I ask you to do has purpose, Miss Stevenson,” he stated.
“I completed the requirement, thereby proving that I have achieved the skills I am expected to master,” she countered.
“Your demeanor contradicts your statement,” he argued, stepping closer. “I can see it in your eyes.”
She stiffened and raised her chin. “Looking into my eyes is not part of your responsibility to train me, Captain.” She didn’t care for how irritated she sounded. The man brought out the worst in her. Why couldn’t she simply ignore him? “So… good day.”
She turned to leave, but he reached out and caught her upper arm. It was almost unnatural the way he moved so quickly—or without any regard for properness.
He shouldn’t touch her…
She gasped and tried to shake off his hold. “I have asked you before, Captain Donkova, to maintain a decent distance between us. Your forwardness is quite vulgar.”
But it is also exciting.
No, it was not!
“Stop handling me as if you were some dockside bully.”
Her insult should have irritated him. Instead, his lips curled into a cocksure grin making him appear for all the world as if she had indeed challenged him by tossing the gauntlet at the tips of his polished boots.
“I suggest you be more mindful of what charges you level at me, Miss Stevenson.” He pulled her closer and she was momentarily breathless again. “I do consider myself a man of action and might decide to lend truth to your accusations.”
She snarled at him. The sound was soft but he heard it. For a moment, something that fascinated her flickered in his dark eyes. Excitement twisted through her belly as she became intensely aware of how warm his hand was on her arm, its heat burning through her jacket sleeve. She was being flooded with awareness. Tiny details about his features suddenly assaulted her thoughts. Part of her wanted to lean closer, discarding every bit of sense she had in order to discover how much more intensely she might feel. But his gaze dropped to her lips and she jerked back, a warning bell ringing insistently inside her mind.
This was dangerous… He was dangerous.
And she was somehow susceptible to him.
Which was completely unacceptable.
She drew herself up as prim and proper as her aunts had taught her to be. “No matter what authority the Illuminist Order grants you over me, it does not give you the right to be familiar with my person. I’m a respectable woman.” She was agitated, and her Irish brogue began to surface in spite of years of practice to banish it. “And ye’ll be remembering that fact, sir.”
He released her and she turned her back on him—which was more for her own benefit than any slight intended against him. Not as if he’d notice; the brute was too thick-skinned for her barbs. No, she needed to be free from him so she might collect her thoughts. Sophia hurried across the mock deck of the training facility. The low ceiling and narrow corridor simulated the conditions on board airships for those learning to maintain and run the engines that powered the huge, sky-faring vessels. She hurried down a section of steps that was so steep it was practically a ladder, but her lack of a petticoat allowed her to traverse it easily. There were no skirts allowed in the engine room or, in this case, the engine room training area. She wore a pair of trousers with only a maroon uniform jacket to cover her corset.
She hurried through a doorway and struggled to compose herself as she entered one of the hallways used by Illuminist students. There were men and women of all ages. The four-block complex, known as a Solitary Chamber, was much more than a single chamber. It was a sprawling complex that was in fact a small city.
Sophia reached up to finger the silver pin on her jacket. It had a compass above the main Illuminist insignia, embedded with its tiny Deep Earth Crystal. The crystal would complete the electrical current at many of the doorways, allowing her to pass. She felt the current as she went under the large archways that led to the Novices’ quarters. For an entire year, she’d wear the silver pin and there would be many arches she couldn’t pass through until she took her Oath of Allegiance. The Illuminists guarded their secrets well.
She sighed once the door to her own room was closed but frowned and twisted to lean her forehead against it. The solid oak panel didn’t give her the reassurance she sought because she knew very well that Bion Donkova had the authority to enter her chamber anytime he felt it necessary.
Which was too often.
He was her training officer and in many ways her judge. Inspecting her rooms was just another test she had to face on her way to becoming a full member of the Order. But she shivered because it was just so completely inappropriate. Her own father had stopped entering her bedroom years ago, in accordance with society’s demand for demure and modest behavior. She’d started wearing steel-boned corsets and double petticoats the moment her body developed curves, but Bion could enter her room without even knocking.
Shocking.
Scandalous.
But society considered all Illuminists beneath them. Still, she found it hard to adjust to the idea of the airship captain inside her personal rooms.
The fact that he’d had to give up his post in order to train her didn’t give her much satisfaction. She couldn’t quite feel grateful, and it was getting harder to ignore how much she wished him to leave her to her future.
You’d miss him…
I would not!
She forced herself to straighten and seek out a bath. The lights came on as she entered the parlor but they came on at a normal level, which was too bright for her sensitive eyes, even with her protective glasses. The Illuminist Order pin she wore engaged the lights built into panels along the walls without her needing to touch them. She squinted and hurried to turn several of them off. Deep Earth Crystals illuminated when stones of opposite gender were close. Inside each wall mounting was a male crystal. Her pin contained a female specimen. It was quite a convenience—there was none of the soot or smoke emitted by kerosene or gas lamps. No danger of fire either. Part of her longed for her father’s home, with its lack of Illuminist technology, but she couldn’t return to normal society.
The light level lowered, and her eyes stopped aching. She paused in front of a mirror and pulled the glasses off her face. Once she had had blue eyes as clear as a summer sky. Now there were specks of amber in them, the result of her encounter with a Root Ball, a very rare cluster of seed crystals that surrounded a new Deep Earth Crystal. When a Root Ball was exposed to water, it vaporized and the steam could alter the human eye.
For a moment, she recalled the moment when her best friend, Janette Aston, had found the Root Ball. The sun had been blister
ing their faces as a man named Grainger held a gun on them. Janette was a Pure Spirit. She could hear Deep Earth Crystals but had never known of them until she boldly tried to enter the Solitary Lodge one afternoon last year. Somehow, they’d both ended up on the Hawaiian Islands and it had altered Sophia’s life forever.
That steam had stimulated growth in the rods of her retinas, so that her eyesight was much keener—and more sensitive.
Are you sure you are not thinking about your feelings for Bion Donkova?
She scoffed at her thoughts, rejecting such foolishness.
The airship captain had been with her in the Kingdom of Hawaii when Janette had found the Root Ball.
You’re not being very kind… to wish him on his way and away from you…
Her cheeks heated with a touch of shame because her frustration was unkind. Bion had cared for her after the damned Root Ball had vaporized and she hadn’t known better than to look at it. She hadn’t known anything about Deep Earth Crystals or the power they could produce. The man had carried her when her knees buckled from the pain and he hadn’t deserted her as she’d recovered. It hadn’t been his duty to make sure she was comfortable; truly she ought to be more thankful.
Had it really only been half a year ago?
It seemed much, much longer. Janette was married and in love with her husband, and happily wore her gold Illuminist member pin now, which was fortunate, since Janette was a Pure Spirit, which meant she could hear Deep Earth Crystals—her mother had even been an Illuminist without her daughter ever knowing. Wouldn’t the matrons have a delightful time spreading that rumor?
They likely were, since Janette was an Illuminist now and her mother often visited while wearing a pin of the Order. It was very likely all their names were being tarred and feathered for daring to associate with an Order that violated womanhood by stripping innocence away. Sophia had heard such lamentations many a day during tea. It had never concerned her greatly, but now it seemed fate had ensured that she discover what the Secret Order was about.
Mary Wine Page 1
