The engineer was supervising the raising of their luggage and looked across at her, saluting her and Colin, who was ascending swiftly behind her. “Boilers are stoked. Ten minutes and we’re off.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Colin ushered her into the cabin, ducked out and returned with their luggage and a picnic basket. “I asked Mrs. Jones to prepare it.”
Their eyes met, both recalling the flight from Brighton.
“That was a good idea.” Anthea cleared her throat, disconcerted by the husky note in her voice.
“I do have good ideas, now and then.” He watched her mouth intently.
Her lips tingled at the memory of his kisses.
Tom the engineer’s voice echoed through the speaking tube. “Ready to lift off.”
Colin turned away to focus on his pilot duties.
She released the breath she’d been holding. This journey to York would change things forever.
Chapter Eight
“We’ll be staying the night in York.” Colin unnecessarily adjusted the Tyger’s course. He’d flown enough times to the northern industrial capital to do so in his sleep—well, almost. What he wasn’t accustomed to was feeling nervous. “I sent a telegram ahead to book us a suite at the White Rose Inn.”
He waited, but of course his silent bride made no response. He glanced sideways.
She was staring intently at her hands.
A suite. He’d thought it a brilliant move back in London when he’d impulsively told Jones to send the telegram. A suite: not separate rooms, but not insisting Anthea share his bed.
He had hopes, though.
The memory of how she’d defended him against her despicable uncle’s threats warmed him through. For him, she’d been brave. And when he’d kissed her…He coughed and shifted in the pilot’s chair. Her sweet, passionate response had inflamed him.
“You’ll have your own room,” he said. “If you want it.”
Her head jerked up and she met his gaze.
A courtier would have managed to smile at her, to reassure her. He could only offer gruffly, “I’d like you in my bed.”
She flushed, but her gaze didn’t fall away. “I-I’ve heard York is cold.”
He frowned. “The hotel will be warm enough. I’ve stayed there before. They have modern heating.”
“No, I meant…it would be warmer in your bed.”
“Oh.” He flushed. It was ridiculous. He hadn’t colored up since he was a boy. Then the meaning of her words sunk in. She wanted him! She was saying yes. He clasped her hand and smiled. “I guarantee our bed won’t be cold.”
There was a long moment of silence when they just looked at one another.
“I’ve never, you know,” she said.
“Nervous?” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the gloved fingers. Hmm, it seemed even a man like him could be a courtier in some circumstances.
“Yes.”
“I am, too.”
Her mouth dropped open. “But you, you’re not a virgin?”
“No. But I want you to enjoy it, and that’s up to me.”
She watched him, fascinated, as he slowly peeled off her glove.
He kept one eye on the control panel and skies, but he could hear and see her rising excitement. The lace on the collar of her blouse trembled with her breathing. He kissed each naked fingertip and finally, the center of her palm. She jumped when he licked her there.
“As responsive as you are, you’ll enjoy our love-making.” His own anticipation thickened his blood. “I want to keep tasting you, removing every tantalizing scrap of clothing from you and feeling you against me.”
She jerked her hand free of him and shrank back in her chair.
Only then did he realize how near he’d coaxed her—now that he’d lost all the ground he’d gained. He clenched his fist, mentally cursing his own clumsiness. A virgin required honey words, not descriptions of his raw need. “It’s all right, Anthea. We can have the lights out. I’d like to look at you, but I know you’re shy.”
“Stop. Please stop,” she said shakily.
“I’m sorry. I embarrassed you.” He turned his attention back to piloting the airship.
“No.” She gripped his hand, pulled it back and flattened it low over her stomach. “I feel strange here, all twisting and melting.”
So close to her, with his hand intimate on her body, he felt his own flesh respond urgently. He looked at her shocked eyes and wet, parted lips and groaned.
There was no knowing when the engineer or apprentice might appear. Nor could he risk total distraction while piloting the Tyger. As desperately as he wanted to make love to his wife, he couldn’t. Not yet.
“That wriggly feeling.” He moved his hand even lower and heard her gasp. “Is your body readying itself for me.” He couldn’t resist. His thumb stroked over her mound. “How shockable are you?”
“Very.”
He smiled. “Then I’d best prepare you for what’s ahead.”
Anthea’s head spun and her body pulsed as Colin told her in low, rough tones what he intended to do when they were safely inside their hotel suite. A gentleman would never discuss such things with a lady, would never use such words, but instead of feeling appalled and disgusted, she was aroused. The signs were unmistakable to one who’d read the latest medical journals. And when she looked across at him, she saw the effect his vivid word pictures had on him.
He wanted her.
“Enough.” His voice cracked.
She jolted out of her daze. In horrified amazement, she realized she was touching her own breasts. She snatched her hand away.
“Easy, love. No need to be embarrassed. We’re both raw with wanting. Your breasts want my mouth and I want to suck them. I can imagine them. Perfect mouthfuls.”
She dived for the lunch basket, desperate not to be seduced back into his erotic spell. “Sssandwich?”
“Thanks.” He grinned, heat and male hunger in his eyes.
“Tell me about your business in York.” Surely that would be a safe topic. “Who are you meeting?”
“Bernard Oswell. He owns the biggest airfield up at York. He can’t stand Looster, either, but until I had Farleigh Dirigibles to support my own Dirigible Journeys, he couldn’t afford to annoy the man. Now I command enough business that he can tell Looster to shove his business.”
“You mean Looster won’t be able to use the airfield?”
Colin nodded, sharp and satisfied. “Oswell’s ex-army. Has a prosthetic arm. He hires a lot of ex-soldiers and ex-airmen. They’re not treated well by the upper classes. Oswell is pleased at the chance to burst Looster’s balloon. We’ve ironed out the details of the contract for exclusive use of his commercial airfield, but I need to sign it in person.”
“Looster will rave.”
“Yes.” He must have seen the worry she felt in her expression because he nudged the lunch basket with a foot in swift and obvious distraction. “Any tea in there?”
She poured the tea for him and a second cup for herself.
“I’m to meet Oswell at the airfield to go over the contract one final time, then sign it. I’ll arrange for one of his men to drive you to the hotel. You can wait for me there.” There was gleaming anticipation in his eyes.
She choked on her tea.
Anthea stopped in the center of the hotel suite and simply looked around. The door closed quietly behind the bellboy. Dark wood furniture gleamed with a high polish. Green velvet curtains hung at the windows. A fire crackled in the hearth, despite the White Rose Inn’s much-vaunted central heating. The firelight reflected warmly off the brass fire guard. And everywhere there were white roses. Not real ones, but painted ones rambling over the green wallpaper, over the highly stuffed chairs and even over the carpet. Artificial silk roses spilled from vases.
Through an open internal door she saw the larger of the two bedrooms. The bed was massive. Heat flooded her body at the thought of sharing it with Colin.
Would he really do all those th
ings he’d described on the dirigible?
She’d lose her mind.
The door behind her, the one leading out to the corridor, opened. She turned, expecting to see a maid.
“Scream and I’ll shoot you,” Lord Looster said. He appeared every inch the man of fashion, from his stovepipe hat to his spats and polished, pointed boots. Only his eyes were feral.
The pistol in his hand seemed to have a magically-increasing barrel. The longer Anthea stared at it, the larger it loomed in her mind. Terror held her immobile.
Not so the man who’d accompanied Looster. He was busy maneuvering a trolley with a trunk on it into the room.
Looster closed the door and jerked his head at his accomplice. “Gag her. Then bind her arms and legs.”
The man drew a clean handkerchief out of the pocket of his porter’s uniform, advanced on Anthea and had her silenced and bound in a jiffy.
His efficiency shocked her. She hadn’t had a chance to activate even one of her protective devices. But then, at this distance, with Looster holding a gun, would they have helped? She might have managed to stab with a hatpin the man binding her, but she needed Looster close enough to disable him. She had never felt so helpless.
The porter slung her over a shoulder, then none too gently, dumped her in the open trunk.
“Ormighff.” With horror, she saw the lid of the trunk descending. Hastily she tucked in her head. The lid thudded closed, locking her in endless darkness.
The whole procedure couldn’t have taken more than five minutes and she could feel herself being rolled out of the room. She tried to thump and kick the trunk. Someone had to hear her. Someone had to rescue her. But luck—or planning—must have been with her kidnappers. Muffled through the trunk, she heard the quiet sounds of the hotel give way to the noises of the street. The trunk tilted, steadied and thunked down.
Oh God. They were outside the hotel and she was on her way to heaven alone knew where. Whatever vehicle the trunk now rested in, jolted into action. The rumble of its movement shook her bones.
She had to stay calm. She had to think and plan and be ready to activate her defensive devices. It wouldn’t be easy, not with her arms bound. For instance, she couldn’t reach her hatpins. She wriggled and strained. Perhaps she could untie the rope around her wrists?
And all the time she reminded herself that Colin would look for her. He would tear York apart. He—
Her struggles ceased as a petrifying notion struck.
What if he thought she’d run away of her own free will? What if he thought she’d fled the marriage bed, again?
Would he look for her or would he take a disgust and fly back to London, leaving her to what he thought was her chosen fate?
Anthea wrenched at the bonds. She had to escape.
Chapter Nine
Colin signed the contract with a sense of deep satisfaction and accepted a tot of whisky from his host.
Ben Oswell was a decent man. Honest. Quite apart from shafting Looster, this exclusive contract would help both their businesses. In the interests of ongoing goodwill, he seconded Ben’s toast and forced himself to hide his impatience. Anthea would wait for him.
Outside the snug, red brick office, a storm was building. Daylight had gone, although it was not yet evening. Rain splattered on the windows, the noise like distant gunfire. It would be a good night to stay inside and make love to his wife.
Colin smiled.
Ben held up the whisky bottle in silent inquiry. His prosthetic arm was as steady, or steadier, than an ordinary appendage.
“No. I’m good.” Colin stretched in his chair. Despite himself, he was restless. “It was a long flight.”
“From London?” The other man looked surprised. No wonder. The flight from London was nothing to an ex-mercenary pilot. Then a grin twisted the scar under Ben’s right eye. “Oh aye. You brought your new wife with you. You’ll be wanting to join her at the inn.”
Colin thought about challenging the good-natured leer, then accepted that he’d earned it. His behavior was, rather too obviously, that of an eager bridegroom. “Anthea and I get along better than I’d hoped. Better than I thought marriage would be.”
Ben topped up his glass, looked at it, then pushed away the whisky. The humor drained from his face, leaving it bleak. “You’re lucky.”
“I know that.” Colin knew Ben’s history, too. His wife had deserted him. He glanced at the man’s arm, and away. Some women couldn’t cope with hard times. He thought of Anthea—she wouldn’t run from a prosthetic arm. He grinned, thinking of his clever wife. She’d probably build her husband a better one.
“Come on.” Ben stood suddenly and reached for his hat. “I’ll drive you to the inn. No point the two of us sitting here pretending to celebrate when you’ve got the real thing waiting for you.”
A two-door steam-car waited for them under a lean-to. Colin eyed it doubtfully.
“It’s more stable than it looks.” Ben slid into the driver’s seat.
The damn machine only had three wheels. Colin shrugged and got in. The rain was coming down, heavier than ever. The car’s headlamps reflected off the wet roads and blurred into the pools of light cast by the gas streetlights. Give him a dirigible any day. On that last corner, he’d thought their skid would end in a close encounter with a brick wall.
“Thanks.” Colin got out in front of the White Rose Inn. A doorman hurried down the steps with a big umbrella, but he waved him away. “I’ll see you, tomorrow.”
“Enjoy your night.” Ben grinned.
Colin ran up the steps.
The lobby was warm and opulent. Black and white tiles echoed under his boots. He collected a second key from the manager, in case Anthea was in the bathroom, and hurried upstairs, ignoring the lift.
He walked into their suite with a sense of anticipation. Forget dining out. He’d order room service. Now that he was here, with Anthea, he didn’t want to leave.
“Anthea?” He walked into the larger of the bedrooms, shedding his coat along the way.
Both their bags waited there, just where an efficient bellboy would have left them. But no Anthea. He raised his voice. “Anthea?” He hesitated, then knocked on the bathroom door.
No answer. He knocked again, and opened it. Empty and sparkling, the ornate green and copper room showed no signs of use.
Seriously concerned now, he retreated.
A chill shivered down his spine. She’d run from him once.
He looked again at their luggage. Her bag was still there. She wouldn’t have run away without it. And she wouldn’t have run, anyway. She wanted him. It had been obvious in the dirigible, and she’d made the sort of promise a woman like her would keep.
He pushed wide the door to the second bedroom, but she wasn’t there either. He picked up his coat and pulled it on as he strode down the corridor to the stairs.
The hotel manager couldn’t help. Mrs. Truitt had made no requests. There had been no phone calls for assistance, no messages, no requests for a doctor.
“Call the maid on duty in that corridor,” Colin demanded.
The manager hesitated, assessed Colin’s whole attitude and said, “Perhaps, in my office?”
“I don’t care where, but now!”
“Problems?” Ben’s voice.
Colin swung around.
“Since I was here, I thought I’d stay to eat.” There was a whisky glass in his hand, scandalizing an elderly matron crossing the lobby in her full widow’s weeds. He bowed to her, his prosthetic arm on full display. She looked away.
“My wife,” Colin said, curtly. “She’s not here.”
Ben studied him for half a minute while the manager ordered a bellboy to find a maid called Alice. Ben drained the glass of whisky and slammed it on the marble reception desk. “Where’s a telephone?” He didn’t ask for permission, but picked up the handset behind the desk. He dialed quickly.
Colin paced. He pounced as a neat and tidy, middle-aged maid presented herself. “Did y
ou see anything, anything at all?”
“I saw a trunk being delivered. Very nice it was. Not one of those flimsy jobs, but a proper wooden trunk. A porter was pushing it for a gentleman in a very elegant suit. The gentleman opened the door of the suite, so he must have had a key. Naturally I assumed he had a key. The door closed behind him. The only strange thing was, not ten minutes later the gentleman was walking out with the porter pushing the same trunk.”
Ben whistled under his breath.
Colin took a tight grip on his emotions. “Can you describe the gentleman? You said he was elegant. What else? Hair color? Eye color?”
“I was too far away to see his eyes, but I think he had blonde hair beneath his hat. He was tall and fairly thin. Not a young man, but not old. Expensive looking, like he could afford the suite.” Not like you, her gaze said, assessing Colin’s good quality but untailored suit.
“Looster.” He gave her a pound note and turned to Ben. “I need to borrow your car.”
“To go where? No, wait. Think, man. I’ve phoned a friend of mine, a newspaper reporter.”
“Just what I don’t need.”
“You can trust Tony. The important thing is he has a network of eyes and spies on the street. You don’t know York, but Tony can find anyone.”
“Looster has a dirigible. He can fly anywhere.”
Ben grabbed him by the arm. The mechanical hand pinched more than he probably meant it to. He pulled Colin to the window. “He’s not flying in that.”
The storm was now a raging force. Looster wouldn’t risk his life in a launch.
“They’ve gone to ground in Berden,” Tony said. He was a short, wiry man. His oil slicker streamed water in the elegant hotel lobby, but the manager was too cowed by Colin’s rage to object.
Colin had paced the lobby like a caged lion, waiting for news. An hour had passed. An hour when he could do nothing, and Anthea was at the mercy of Looster. “I’ll tear him apart with my bare hands.”
The Lion and the Mouse: A Steampunk Romance Page 5
