Glorious Victorious Darcys 01.5 - His Broken Angel

by Beth Ciotta

  Lily cleared her throat, curious about the cocky aviatrix and her more feminine side. “Have you loved him for long?”

  “Who?”

  “Jasper.”

  P.J. snorted. “Don’t think I’m soft in the head just because you’re soft on Doc Blue.” She tugged on Lily’s second braid. “What do you see in him anyway? That is … You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I know.” Feeling distressed and lonely, Lily pretended she’d known P.J. for a million years and that they spoke of intimacies as easily as the weather. “I find Doc fascinating. He’s committed to healing the sick and injured. He’s an orphan. He’s a—”

  “Freak. I understand. They’re a supernatural curiosity. A forbidden fruit for Vics.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so.”

  P.J. pulled at Lily’s braid, a sign that she was done. She grasped her elbow. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

  Lily followed to where she was led. She sat in a seat, inhaled the hearty scents. “Beef stew?”

  “And a mug of ale. Ever had ale?”

  “No.”

  “Splendid.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t think I’ll sample alcohol?”

  “On the contrary. That’s why I like you.”

  Lily blinked. “You like me?”

  “Now that you’re showing some gumption, yes. I’ll like you even more when you clear up the mystery.”

  “What mystery?” Lily asked as she tasted the stew.

  “Forget I mentioned it.”

  Lily angled her head. “I’m too intrigued to forget it. What would you like to know?” Was the woman curious about her background? Her brother? As a dime-novel hero, the Sky Cowboy roped a lot of interest.

  P.J. fidgeted and stalled and suddenly Lily realized the “mystery” had something to do with her current predicament. Bolstering her spine, Lily abandoned her spoon and slid her hand across the table, feeling for her mug. P.J. helped her connect with her drink and Lily persevered. “Please tell me, P.J. I want to leave here as soon as possible. If you know something that will expedite the process—”

  “You’re the one with the knowledge,” she said.

  Lily bristled. “You’ll have to be more direct.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” P.J. snapped. “Every time one of us brings up the Brittania debacle, you have one of your spells. Jasper said we shouldn’t force it. But honestly, Lily, the sooner you describe the assassins, even one of them, the sooner we can clear Jasper’s name and the reputation of the Freak Fighters!”

  Lily’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Instead of gulping air, she gulped ale.

  “I say, slow down before you get pished.”

  Setting aside the mug, Lily tempered the panic whispering through her veins.

  “You’re not going to have a conniption fit, are you?”

  “No.” Lily breathed deep. Slow and easy, she could hear Doc say. She calmed her spirit, determined to prove she wasn’t a mouse. “I am confused though. Spell it out for me, P.J.”

  “I’ll catch bloody hell for this. I just know it.” The woman grunted then sighed. “I can only tell you what I know and what we’ve surmised. The rest is locked inside your brain.”

  Lily drank more ale. She wasn’t sure she liked the taste, but she liked the soothing effect. “Go on.”

  “I’ll spare you tactical details. Just know that we spent weeks coordinating a plan that would allow us to abduct Prime Minister Madstone without any bloodshed. The Britannia was disabled midflight with one precisely aimed cannon blast. I remained at the helm of the Crusader. Jasper, Snoop, Viper, and Joey boarded the zeppelin as planned, but everything ran amok from there. The Prime Minister was not where he was supposed to be. Gunfire broke out on the deck above, alerting British soldiers to a hostile invasion. Those soldiers were positioned on the same floor as our squad, Deck B, and when they spotted us they attacked. Jasper and crew had no choice but to fight back, but I swear they had no part in the mayhem above.”

  “Who did?” Lily asked wide-eyed.

  “We don’t know. But you do. You must. The hostile attack took place on Deck A. The dining area, lounge, writing room, and several passenger cabins were on that deck. You were on that deck. Jasper caught sight of you running across a grated gangway, your gown billowing behind you. He said the ship rocked with a second explosion just as you were descending the stair tower.”

  Lily licked her lips as her ears started to roar. “I slipped.”

  “And plunged down the stairs amidst wreckage from the explosion. It’s a wonder you didn’t break your neck,” P.J. said, sounding more animated by the moment. “Your dress … it was torn and soaked in blood. Only some of it yours. The majority … It had to come from the massacre.”

  Lily’s stomach churned as her mind exploded with red. Gushing red. Dripping red. Flowing red. “A river of blood.”

  P.J. clutched her hand. “You remember!”

  “No. Can’t.” Lily squeezed back tears, summoned the blackness. She heard creaking, smelled bay rum.

  “What’s going on?” she heard a man ask.

  King. He was back.

  Lily shook out of her daze. She would not crumble!

  “Go on and give me hell,” P.J. said, “but she asked and I told her. What I could anyway. I’m leaving. Need to keep watch for Jasper and a few other things that’ll keep me busy through the night. You can bunk in Viper’s room one door down,” she said to Doc, “or stretch out here on the floor. There’s an extra bed roll in the corner.”

  The legs of the chair scraped across the floor. “Sorry I upset you, Lily,” P.J. continued, “but ignoring the atrocity won’t change the fact that it happened. Recollecting could save other lives. Our lives to start.” P.J stalked out of the room and shut the door.

  Doc gripped her shoulder. “You all right?”

  “I’m confused.”

  “I know.” He pulled her up and into his arms.

  Lily took comfort in his strong embrace, his empathetic yet stalwart manner.

  “I’m thinking Snoop filled me in on the same tale you got from P.J. If they’re right, I don’t fancy you reliving the horror. But you need to, angel.”

  “Because it will help Jasper and his crew?”

  “Because it will help you.” He finessed her across the room and down onto the bed. Seated side by side, Lily’s sweetheart squeezed her hand. “Want to know what I learned? What I think?”

  She nodded.

  “Snoop’s a Freak. His supernatural gift is clairvoyance.”

  “He can read minds?”

  “Back in skytown, every time he was in your cabin he listened in on your thoughts, hoping to glean details regarding what you witnessed on the Britannia. But any time a memory welled you blocked it. Snoop also said you hadn’t been sleeping. Subconsciously I think you fought sleep because you didn’t want to dream. Then earlier today, during a panic, you said to me, “Don’t make me look.”

  Lily frowned. “You think I blinded myself?”

  “I think you witnessed something heinous, something you don’t want to remember. The mind has a way of repressing painful experiences, a form of self-preservation. In this circumstance the defensive mechanism is called Hysterical Blindness.”

  Lily licked her lips. “Hysterical?”

  Doc stroked his thumbs over her knuckles. “The reason I can’t cure your blindness with HE, Lily, is because the affliction isn’t neurological. It’s more of a psychotic disorder.”

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  “I think you’re traumatized.”

  Lily stared down to where she felt Doc holding her hand. She wanted to see those healing hands. She wanted to help his brother escape wrongful persecution. Lord knew, her own brother had suffered the same injustice. “If I remember, if I … if I stop blocking the memories, will my sight return?”


  “I’m not sure, but I think so.”

  “No guarantees?”

  “No matter what, Lily, I’m here for you.”

  Her pulse skipped. “Forever and always?”

  “For as long as you need me.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear precisely, but it was enough. “I think I drank too much ale,” she blurted. “I feel sort of woozy.”

  “It’s been a long day and a trying circumstance. I recommend sleep.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “Not until the day you ask.”

  Chapter Ten

  Doc stared at the ceiling in the dimly lit quarters. He had been awake for hours. He knew he’d stay that way until dawn.

  Jasper had yet to return and there was no word on his whereabouts and welfare. Doc had tempered his concern with the knowledge that his brother had been toughing it out on the wild side for years. Unlike Doc, who’d avoided emotional risk and left himself unprepared for the woman in his arms.

  Sharing a bed with Lily through the night was another mistake in his present run of poor judgment. Not just because he’d compromised her reputation, but because he’d given her hope in a lasting relationship of an intimate nature. The devil of it was, he wanted that relationship too.

  Given his Freak heritage and all the uncertainty and possible upheaval involved, he’d never allowed himself to seriously contemplate settling down with one woman. Certainly not a Vic. If he did have to fall for a woman of this dimension, why the devil did it have to be Lily Gentry?

  When he’d hopped into the Bullet with P.J. Darcy, his plan had been simple. Heal Lily’s wounds and deliver her safely to her brother, his friend. Make amends for the wrong he’d done to Tuck and his lady in an almighty show of devotion.

  Redemption.

  Now he lay in bed with Tuck’s sister with an ache below his belt and one in his heart.

  His course was no longer clear.

  The only thing that had gone right in the last twenty-four hours was learning that Jasper hadn’t participated in that bloodbath. Someone within the budding Freak Fighter organization, someone with knowledge of the plans to kidnap Prime Minister Madstone had turned a simple abduction into a massacre. The exact intent was unknown, the result disturbingly clear.

  The world would now believe what intolerant Vics had preached for years.

  Freaks were dangerous, unpredictable, and malicious.

  The media would have a field day spinning the worst scenarios, and the Freak Rebellion would be squashed before it even got off the ground.

  Freaks would be feared more than ever.

  And persecuted.

  “God Almighty,” Doc uttered to the ceiling.

  Lily stirred in his arms.

  Turning into her, he absorbed her innocence. Her vulnerability and radiant beauty. He imagined her art—avant-garde—and knew without seeing even one sketch or painting that he would be impressed and fascinated with her work. She was passionate and broadminded. Sweet. Again he wondered how he could subject her to life as his one and only.

  Doc watched as she crinkled her forehead and shook her head, eyes shut tight. Her movement and expression became more agitated and he realized she was dreaming. When she moaned and whimpered, he ached to wake her from the obvious nightmare. Instead, he watched over her. Watched and prayed. If she dreamed about the massacre, if her mind weathered the blow, she’d be one step closer to regaining her eye sight.

  Problem was, the more Lily suffered, the greater Doc’s anguish. She cried out his name—tears flowing, hands reaching—and his heart seized. She needed him. Chest tight, Doc relented and soothed Lily with gentle words of reassurance. “I’m here, angel. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  “So much pain,” she choked out, eyes still shut. “So much blood.”

  Doc rolled on top of her to ease her thrashing. “Share the burden with me, Lily. What do you see?”

  “A man. No, a monster.”

  “Just one?”

  She nodded. “His arms aren’t right. Shiny like metal. Sparks shooting out of hands, no barrels. Bodies falling. Blood gushing.” She gasped. “Dead eyes.”

  “What?”

  Lily’s eyes flew open and Doc saw fear, shock, and horror brimming amongst tears. “Make it go away,” she croaked out. “The ugliness. The guilt.”

  Guilt? What the—

  Before Doc could inquire, Lily grasped his open collar and yanked him down. She kissed him with reckless and raw need, her hands pushing at his shirt, shoving it off his shoulders. Her actions were frantic and Doc fell prey to her desperate and infectious need for intimacy. He understood. He empathized. She needed to feel alive. To feel something good and wondrous and right. Maybe he wasn’t the perfect man for her, but Doc loved Lily with all his heart. The fiery need to quell her pain extended beyond his healing intuition. It emanated from his soul.

  He flung away his shirt along with his conscience. Heart pounding, Doc unlaced Lily’s chemise, brushing feather-light kisses over her neck, her shoulders. He tried to temper the pace, but her fingers tugged at his trousers. His thoughts and emotions blurred into a frenzied whirlwind of yearning and desire. “Are you sure?” he asked in a ragged voice.

  In answer, Lily wrapped her legs around his thighs and charred his remaining senses with searing kisses.

  Doc knew in that instant there’d be no turning back.

  Heart full, he trusted his instincts and matched Lily’s fervor as they peeled away layers of clothing.

  She rocked against him and he rocked back—distracting her from horrors in her mind. Whispering endearments, he smoothed his hands over her naked curves, kissed hills and valleys of flesh.

  Pleasure.

  His.

  Hers.

  When her need became frenzied and his desire unmanageable, Doc gave in and claimed what Lily freely offered.

  He couldn’t give her a lifetime, but, by damn, he could give her now.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun warmed Lily’s face and cast glorious rays over the picturesque landscape of Central Park. The leaves of the vibrant green trees rustled in the cool breeze. Sophisticated pedestrians strolled the paths—men sporting earth-tone frock coats while women favored bustled ensembles of emerald, ruby, and sapphire. Smiling amidst the kaleidoscope of colors, Lily tapped her foot to a medley of songs from the Broadway show The Pirates of Penzance—the featured musical score of the concert band playing in a nearby pavilion.

  The intensity of her focus, however, was on her subject. A man who’d shyly agreed to sit for a portrait. She’d warned him that her work was abstract. He’d just smiled, saying he was a powerful fan of unique.

  Her pulse skipped and raced and scandalous thoughts scorched her mind. Unique indeed. She’d never seen anyone like him. Fair skin. Blond, almost white, hair. Haphazard haircut. Short. Choppy. That haircut added a dash of devil-may-care to his down-to-earth demeanor.

  Strong jawline. Regal nose.

  So handsome.

  And those eyes.

  No irises. Just small black pupils in the middle of brilliant white.

  “Beautiful.”

  Those mesmerizing eyes blinked back at her. “What?”

  “Your eyes,” she said, with a dreamy smile. “I could look into them forever.”

  He grasped her arm. “Lily.”

  The feel of his hand confused her senses.

  Skin-to-skin.

  Heat.

  That couldn’t be right. She was wearing a long-sleeved gown. How could she feel …

  She looked down.

  Naked.

  A brown blanket covered most of her body but she was in the altogether underneath the coarse wool.

  Reality slammed hard and stole her breath.

  Stunned and elated, Lily reached over and raked her fingers through Doc’s choppy blond locks. Not blond as in golden or honey or butterscotch. More like just shy of cream or ivory or eggshell.

  Blinking back tears, she smiled. �
�I disagree. Not a bad haircut. Devil-may-care. I like it.”

  He caught her hand, kissed her wrist, her palm. “You can see.”

  She gasped and sat upright, fully awake now. “I thought I was dreaming. I was dreaming. We were in the park. I was painting you and now … Here you are!”

  Blanket clutched to her chest, Lily looked around. Looked and saw. Even though the room was dimly lit, her eyes stung from the intensity of the colors and shapes and forms. She locked on to each and every item and mentally called them by name. Table. Chair. Lamp. Trunk. Clock.

  A black leather medical bag.

  Doc’s bag.

  “You were right,” she said, heart in throat. “The blindness was temporary.” Senses whirling, she eased on to her back to face her gentle savior. “My vision is just as it was before the accident. No impairment whatsoever.”

  “I’d hoped …” He lowered his gaze. “I’m happy for you, Lily.”

  But he didn’t look or sound happy. He sounded tense, wary.

  Realization dawned and she caressed his strong jaw. “Don’t look away. Your eyes are just as you described them, King. Just as I imagined. Shining with compassion and kindness and, this moment, caution. Trust me when I say, I don’t mind unique.”

  He met her gaze, held it. “How do you feel?”

  “Relieved. Grateful.”

  “No, I mean …” He palmed her hip, his hand only inches from her nether region. “Do you hurt?”

  Oh.

  Even though she’d been in a distressed state, she remembered their lovemaking vividly. “Only when you look at me like that,” Lily said. “Like you’re sorry.”

  “Not sorry. Concerned.”

  She shifted her legs. “A little achy is all.” Her cheeks burned, but she continued to smile. A genuine smile. “I suppose I should feel mortified, throwing myself at you. Begging … But I wouldn’t take it back, King. Not for anything.”