Dragons & Dirigibles

by Cindy Spencer Pape

  He’d have believed the hurt in her voice if he hadn’t seen her acting ability first-hand just a few hours earlier. “Hell, for all I know, you’re all lying now, and you’re actually part of the smuggling ring.”

  “Then why do all the villagers think it’s you?” Melody’s eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe the words pouring from her own mouth. “Think about it, Victor. You’re the obvious suspect. Are you trying to chase us away before we can prove it?”

  “Holy—you can’t believe—” He rose from his seat but before he could fully stand, she’d pushed back her chair and run from the room, leaving her cane behind.

  Victor picked up the cane and started to follow her to the stairs.

  “No.” Tom stood as well. “Outside, Blackwell. Nell, go up. Mel will want someone to swear at.”

  Nell nodded and followed her friend. Tom stalked to the door, all but pushing Victor out ahead of him.

  “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, because I really don’t think you are the smuggler,” Tom began. He crossed his arms and stared Victor down. “Also, because I still think you and Melody have things to work out on your own. But this is your one pass. Make Mel cry again and we’ll be meeting over swords or pistols. Is that understood?”

  “Cry?” Of course he’d seen the tears well in her eyes, but she’d blinked them back. Hell, she hadn’t even cried when her airship had crashed.

  “I know Melody.” Once again, Victor was reminded that Tom was a warrior, not just an idle young gentleman. His voice was hard and his gaze cold as ice. “As you’ve heard, her brother is my closest friend, and our families were raised as more or less cousins. I’ve never seen her that overwrought. Not even the first time she held her baby nephew or when we lost the previous duke, who was like a grandfather to us all. So either fix it or send her away. Your choice.”

  Victor’s indignation melted away. What the hell had he done? He’d never been so angry, and at a woman, no less. A gently reared young lady, presently a guest in his home. He leaned his head in his hand. “Shite.”

  “Agreed.” Tom nodded. “I’ll do my best to get her on a train, but she’ll not leave without her ship.”

  “I understand.” Victor never would have left a ship under his command either. “It might be best, though, for all the ladies to return to London. And perhaps take Emma with them.”

  “It might,” Tom agreed. “But I wouldn’t count on it. They’re strong allies, each of them. And even though it goes against the grain for any man to let women he cares about walk into danger, it’s the way these women are—except possibly for Nell. She can fight, but it destroys her to hurt another person. I’d like her to stay inside with Emma as much as possible.”

  “Agreed.” Victor’s mind whirled. “I should go up now and apologize to Melody.” The last thing he wanted was for her to be angry at him.

  Tom shook his head. “Better to give it until morning. I’ve roomed with her twin, remember. It takes those MacKays some time to cool down. Let her fume for a while, then show up with your white flag waving.”

  “White flag, eh?” Flowers? Surely there were some in the garden. He didn’t have access to anything else, like ribbons or chocolates. “If you say so. I’m going to go start my watch shift early. You’ll relieve me at midnight, as arranged?”

  Tom nodded. “And Hatch will relieve me. A good man, your butler. A bit eccentric, but handy to have about, I suspect.”

  Victor laughed. “You could say that. He was my first mate for years. Saved my life more times than I can count.”

  “I’d say that’s better than having a butler who wears a proper suit.” Tom grinned.

  Victor couldn’t resist. He spit on his hand and held it out. “We’re good, then?”

  Tom did the same. “Aye, Captain. We’re good. For now.”

  Victor took the warning for what it was and walked away, toward the bluffs.

  * * *

  Melody walked along the cliffs, watching something roll in over the waves. Enormous black wings stretched across the sky, looking to enfold Black Heath in their damp, murky shroud. A name whispered on the wind. Death. Death waited, watching, out on the sea. Soon, it would be coming to Black Heath. She watched as the grasping wings smothered two smaller dragons. First, a male with dark brooding eyes, then a young female with Emma’s winsome smile, which was a truly odd combination. Then the monster turned toward Melody, its maw stretched in an evil grin.

  She gasped, waking herself from the nightmare. She sat up in bed and gulped in oxygen. Images raced through her mind, and when she wrapped her arms around herself, her skin was cold and damp to the touch. She reclined against the pillows, shivering and trying to interpret the dream. Was it a warning? Something that had already happened? Her dreams had always been hindsight, never prescience.

  Dear God, Victor might be down on the beach! They’d discussed his plan to set up watches out on the cliffs.

  Her chill forgotten, she leapt out of bed and pulled on a cloak and shoes, ignoring the slight twinge in her ankle. She wished Birch was here, but it was more important for him to guard the nursery. She rammed a stun pistol in one pocket and a regular one in the other, then slipped out into the hallway. Nobody stirred. Victor’s door was locked, but Tom’s was open, with no sign of him inside. Perhaps it was he who needed her help. She crept down the stairs. Most homes kept lanterns in the kitchen, so she tiptoed toward the back of the house.

  She took a wrong turn and had to backtrack. Fortunately, Victor left gas lamps burning every few yards down the corridors, so she didn’t have to find her way in the dark. First thing in the morning, she was going to demand a tour from Mrs. Ritchie, who’d succeeded in avoiding her since the news of the engagement had broken. Clearly the housekeeper was not one of her admirers on the staff.

  Finally, she reached the kitchen and through it, a small entry hall filled with gardening equipment, boots and umbrellas. She found an oil lantern but no matches and wished, not for the first time, that she could start a flame with magick, like her brother or Tom. She picked up an old newspaper and twisted it into a spill, which she lit of the low-burning gas lamp beside the door.

  She’d just blown out the spill when the door burst open and Victor stepped inside. “Melody! What are you doing out here? Is something wrong? You’re not leaving, are you? Not in the middle of the night?”

  “Thank God you’re all right!” She set down the lantern and launched herself into his arms.

  He caught her to him, and Melody felt the dampness of the fog on his chest against her cheek and his warm breath on her temple as he bent his head to hers. He smoothed her tangled hair with his hand, big, warm and so very comforting. “What’s wrong?”

  Melody attempted a laugh, though it came out as a strangled squeak. “A dream, I suppose. I thought it was real, that there was a dragon coming for you, from out of the sea.”

  “And you were coming to rescue me? Alone?” He held her out at arms’ length and studied her face. “You were, weren’t you?”

  Melody nodded, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. My dreams are...strange. Usually, when the dragons appear, I know they’re real. Dragons are sort of my mental signpost—my subconscious or some power telling me something I needed to know, often something I’ve overlooked. This time—this time, the dragon meant death.”

  “We did see a dragon of a sort,” he said. “Tom and I—it looked like an old Viking longboat. Maybe that’s what you were dreaming about.”

  Melody nodded. It was real? She shivered, both with cold and fear.

  He pulled her close again and rested his chin on the top of her head. “You aren’t even dressed. What did you think you were going to do? Fight off a dragon single-handedly? Do dragons even exist? I’ve never seen one in the newspapers.”

  “Not that I know of,” she said. It felt so right to be held in his arms. “They’re just sort of the messengers in my dreams. And I have weapons in my pockets. I’m not stupid.”<
br />
  “No, you’re the cleverest person I’ve ever met.” He wrapped her long braid around his fist. “Also the most infuriating.”

  “Thank you, I think.” Her knees started to tremble, as the aftermath of adrenaline sank in. “I shouldn’t have come down. I’m sorry.”

  “You look like you need a drop of something to warm you up,” he said. “I know I do. There’s a fire in my study. Join me for a drink?”

  She nodded and took his hand, both of them still in their cloaks. It wasn’t until they reached the study and he took hers from her that she remembered she was still in her nightgown. She crossed her arms over her chest and studied the red-and-gold Persian carpet on the floor.

  “Here.” He wrestled off his dinner jacket and handed it to her. Her lips twitched. Apparently he’d stalked out of the dining room not long after she had. Then she remembered why she left. She pulled on the coat, which came to her knees, and sank onto the soft rug in front of the hearth.

  “I’m sorry,” he began abruptly. He paused by a shelf and poured two glasses of rich amber liquid, then sank down on the rug beside her and offered her one. “For dinnertime, mostly. I was an ass. I know you’re not in league with the smugglers.”

  “How?” She took the glass and sipped the brandy, savoring the dark, musky flavor. It wasn’t her grandfather’s Scotch, but it would do.

  “What?”

  “How do you know?” She took another, bigger sip and let it roll around on her tongue.

  He shrugged. “I’ve watched you too closely these last few days. You don’t have it in you to willfully hurt others.”

  “Unless they deserve it,” she reminded him, though his words warmed her more than the brandy. “I’m exactly what you see, Victor. Your first impressions weren’t wrong. I’m not a soft, genteel female. I have fought. I have killed. I don’t enjoy it, but I’ll fight to protect those I care about. I can’t pretend otherwise—not for very long, anyway.”

  “And you would fight for me.” He stared into the flames. “Does that mean you care about me?”

  Caught. “I suppose. For the record, I never believed you were involved either.” He’d been too overwrought with accusing her when she’d first crashed. More than anything he’d said since, those words had rung true.

  “Thank you. I don’t know why. The village has me painted as the mastermind, and I can understand their logic. But I swear on my soul, it isn’t me.”

  “Which means we still need to find out who is at the heart of this. You can’t have the whole of your village arrested, but you can find and cut off the head of the snake.” She set down her glass and held her hands out to the warmth of the fire.

  “Exactly.” He set his aside as well, took both her hands in his and chafed them gently. “I care about you too, you know. More than I ought to.”

  She looked up at him, finding his gaze intent, his eyes glowing with a kind of heat different from that of the fire. She had to lick her dry lips before they would work. “I’m glad.”

  “I—” Each of them began to speak at the same time, and each of them stopped, looked away.

  “Go ahead.” He squeezed her hands.

  She shook her head. “It was nothing. I should probably go up to bed.”

  “We both should.” He didn’t move to stand. “Why do you care about me, Melody?”

  “I don’t know.” She’d deliberately chosen not to examine that emotion too closely. Victor had already made it clear that she wasn’t the woman for him. “Partly because you care about your people, you love your niece and you seem so lost on land, and yet you try.”

  “I wish the title could have gone to Emma.” He looked back at the fire. “For all your talk about emancipation, the law of the land mandates a male heir. Except for the throne. I still don’t understand how that is fair.”

  “It’s not.” She scooted an inch closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. “So many of our laws are so arbitrary. Nell’s mum was illegitimate. Even though her grandfather was a wealthy vicar, she was thrown out on the streets to fend for herself and became a prostitute. That isn’t fair either.”

  “No, it isn’t.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “That’s one thing I liked about the navy. A man could rise to rank on his merit, even if he didn’t come in as an officer. It wasn’t easy, but it could be done. Here on land, everything is so set in stone.”

  “Things are changing, Victor.” She leaned closer into him. “And Emma’s generation will feel it even more than ours. She’ll need a broad education, so she’s able to make good choices for herself.”

  “Would you fight for her too?” His tone was light, almost flip, but his voice caught a bit on the last word.

  “With every breath in my body.” Melody dreaded leaving the child behind. She’d already come to love the bright little girl. As to the uncle—well, leaving him behind was going to destroy her.

  “Thank you. Emma needs a champion. Did you know there’s talk that she caused the carriage accident that killed her parents?” His fingers clenched on her waist.

  “Bollocks.” Melody growled. “How could a child have even managed it? It takes strength to control a team of horses.”

  “I don’t know. She was hurt in the accident.” His voice caught. “I didn’t know that when I reached London—not until I returned home. She was unconscious for two days. They didn’t expect her to live.”

  Melody swallowed hard and twined her arms around Victor. “But she did, and now you’re here.”

  He nodded. “But what if I can’t protect her? I’m a poor substitute for a parent. I guess I really will have to marry.”

  She sat up and pulled away from him with a jerk. “I suppose you should. But marry someone for yourself—not just a mother for Emma. Love is more important than knowing which fork to use for oysters.”

  “I don’t know that I believe in love,” he said. “Not that kind, anyway. But I know that whomever I marry will have to love Emma, to be willing to fight for her. Thank you for teaching me that, at least.”

  “You’re welcome.” Melody had no idea what to say next, so she picked up her glass and sipped her brandy, setting the it well aside when she was done.

  “It was easier to believe in black and white before you fell into my life.” He swirled his drink around. “To go along with the expectations of the world and not look too deeply at them. I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. I hope you can forgive me for the way I’ve treated you.”

  She nodded. “Of course. It’s sad, though. Not believing in love. I’ve seen such happiness in my parents, my grandparents and so many other couples. It’s a beautiful thing when it’s real, and it’s returned.” And it was what she wanted for herself.

  “I wish I had your belief,” he said finally, after he’d finished his drink as well. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “I hope so too.” She took in the taut lines of his chin and shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He looked away. “Just me, being a fool. Playacting doesn’t come easily for me. Sometimes I forget I really have no right to act like a fiancé. Your friends must think I’m ridiculous.”

  “Not at all.” She thought about what Nell and Dorothy had said. Did he really want her? Care about her? She itched to touch him but was afraid to try.

  “I am sorry for the things I’ve said about you. You’re not what I expected in a lady, but you certainly are one of the finest I’ve met.”

  “Thank you. For a sailor posing as a country landowner, you do all right yourself.” Frankly, right now, she was tired of being a lady. Perhaps it was time to simply take what she wanted. “Anything else?”

  “Only that we ought to both go upstairs to bed—our separate beds.” He grimaced. “We may not be destined for a real marriage—I know I can’t be what you want and you would never be happy here—but that doesn’t mean I don’t admire you...don’t want...”

  “Want what?” She swallowed hard. “Victor, you
might be surprised—”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, clever and brave and apparently magickal as well. I’m only a very flawed human, but you’ve gotten under my skin. Despite my best intentions, I want you, and that rosy flush on your cheeks tells me I’m not alone in desire. I’ve been trying to be a gentleman, but I can’t promise to continue if we stay here much longer. I should leave.”

  He wanted her. Heat tingled from Melody’s scalp, all the way down to the tips of her toes, concentrating low in her belly. She looked at him, gazing into his eyes, and felt his passion almost like a physical touch, gliding along her skin. Her breath quickened and her heartbeat raced.

  “Don’t go.” She held out her hands. “I’m tired of being a gentleman too.”

  His laugh was a soft deep rumble in his chest. He engulfed both of her hands in his larger ones and slowly pulled her into his lap. “Are you sure?”

  “Quit talking and kiss me.” She slipped a hand behind his neck and lifted her lips to his.

  Chapter Eight

  One touch of Melody’s lips and all of Victor’s doubts and inhibitions fled. How had he ever thought he could resist her?

  He folded his arms around her and met her kiss, nipping at her full lips until they parted for him on a little gasp. For a moment, he’d thought her agreement indicated a certain level of experience, but he’d been wrong. She had no idea what she was doing. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn this was her very first kiss—of any real significance at least. Her enthusiasm, however, more than made up for any lack of skill. She flattened herself against him and allowed him unfettered access to the moist heat of her mouth. He tasted her, all warm, brandy-flavored woman, and groaned.

  Melody caught on quickly and returned his kiss with every bit as much passion. He trailed his hands down her back, then up under the hem of his dinner jacket. The soft lawn of her nightgown did little to separate him from the smooth skin of her sides and back. Again, she reciprocated, kneading his shoulders and down to his waist, tracing the dips and ridges of each muscle and bone through his shirt and waistcoat.