“What are you doing?” I asked under my breath, shocked that he had the audacity to manhandle me in the middle of ball like I was some serving girl in a dockside bar.
“Making my escape,” the man said and swept me through the door into a dimly lit hallway. Tightening his grip, he dragged me toward an alcove at the far corner. “Now hush, you don’t want to make a scene. People might talk.”
“Stop it!” I tried to subtly jerk backwards. “Let go of me this instant or I swear I shall scream. I don’t care who finds us or whether they decide to gossip about it later.”
Instead of answering, he released my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, lifting me bodily and carrying me into the alcove, pulling the heavy blue curtain closed and planting his lips roughly against mine. Currents sparked when our lips touched, and I was suddenly much warmer than I had been moments before. My knees wobbled, and my toes curled. His fingers tangled into the elaborate twists of my curly auburn hair and tugged at the pins. Instead of pushing away I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He stepped deeper into the alcove, his lips still tight against mine, and pressed me against the back wall.
Whatever had inspired him to escape the ballroom and pull me into this secluded spot, I couldn’t say that I was terribly upset about it. Whoever my captor was, he happened to be an excellent kisser and my head swam from the feel of his lips on mine.
After a moment, he slowed his assault and gave me a gentle, close-mouthed kiss on the side of my lips before pulling back completely to stare at me. Before I could do more than bring my trembling fingers up to touch my swollen lips, and try to catalog exactly what had been so amazing about this mysterious man’s kiss, he grabbed the side of my crooked mask, pulling it off of my face.
“I thought so.” He opened the clasp of his domino and pulled it off. He tossed the cape into the corner and shoved his hands inside the pockets of his well-fitted black trousers. “I didn’t think you were on the guest list tonight, Miss Mulvaney.”
“I came with my friend, Esther Wilkins,” I said. “What business is it of yours?”
“Quite a lot, actually. It is a ball in my honor after all. Or at least that’s what my father is claiming as his excuse for hosting a society function to further his own goals.” The man shrugged and reached up to pull off his own mask, and my stomach sank when the rest of his face came into view.
Blond hair, sparkling green eyes, a sensuous smile that made the heart of every deb in London flutter. That didn’t even account for the broad shoulders made to be clung to or the remarkable way his clothes were tailored to show his physique off to its very best advantage. Of course I’d have to find myself spirited into a secluded alcove by none other than Julian Capshaw.
I slapped him hard and hurried to the other side of the alcove, pressing my back against the wall. I stared at the man across from me in gut wrenching revulsion. Not only had I been pressing my lips against the heir to England’s biggest Luddite legacy, I’d been enjoying it thoroughly.
“Well, I think that was rather uncalled for.” He rubbed his red cheek.
“You kissed me.”
“Yes, and if you intended to protest, a lady would have done it during the actual kiss. Not after it was over.”
“But you are Julian Capshaw. You’re Lord Capshaw’s heir.”
“So you decided to slap me?”
“Yes.”
“Pray tell, why did you decide on such a course of action? Most women would have kissed me again.”
I stepped closer so that we were nose to nose and put my finger in his face. “Your father and my father are enemies.”
“Enemies is a bit of a strong—”
“Your father pays out-of-work laborers and thugs to picket outside my father’s store. He’s tried to have us evicted from a building we own. He has threatened our suppliers in an attempt to put my father out of business.”
“Well—”
“Last year, he paid men to sabotage our workshop so we couldn’t release our newest line of automatons. Stop me any time you’ve heard enough reasons why I have the right to slap you.” I jabbed him in the chest with the tip of my finger, taking a grim satisfaction in the way he flinched.
“I’ve heard enough reasons,” he said, “truly. I know my father is resistant to the ideas your father, and you by extension, represent.”
“Resistant? Resistant?” I jammed my finger into his chest again, harder this time, and let my voice rise a little. Not enough to be heard outside of our alcove, but enough to let him know I was angry and I meant business.
“Did you know that he introduced a law in the House of Lords to make clockwork and steam machinery illegal? Or were you too busy kissing half this year’s crop of debutantes to notice when he introduced the Irish Repatriation Act to force us out of England?”
Instead of backing away from me, he clamped his hand over my mouth and narrowed his eyes at me. “First, I never kiss debutantes, as it’s a waste of time and skill. Next, I’ll concede that my father does seem to have an unreasonable fascination with your family, your entire race for that matter, but I promise I don’t share his sentiments. In fact, I’ve been secretly providing money to—”
I bit his hand, and he pulled it away from my mouth with a jerk. “Why should I care about your money or your sentiments?”
“Because I very much wish to do this again.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, brushing his lips against mine.
“Well that’s…” My knees weakened at his closeness, and I stiffened my spine. I wasn’t about to turn into some silly child over a few sweet kisses from Julian Capshaw.
“That’s?” He pressed his lips more forcefully against mine to deepen our kiss.
When we broke apart, I took a deep breath to settle my hammering heart and glared at him, purposely keeping my eyes from straying to his lips. “Entirely irrelevant. Your father has an unnatural desire to destroy my family, and so it is entirely improper for the two of us to canoodle in an alcove together during his Jubilee Ball.”
“From what I’ve heard, propriety isn’t exactly your personal strength,” Julian said with a devilish grin.
“That is none of your business.”
“Of course not. Regardless, last thing either of us needs is to be found together inside this alcove. In fact, I would hazard a guess that the last thing either of us needs is to be found at all tonight.”
“So what do you suggest we do about that conundrum?” I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously.
“There is a public masquerade ball tonight on the dirigible The Queen Nab. Would you care to accompany me?”
“I don’t think it would be at all appropriate.” I pursed my lips in an attempt to appear closed off and distant. The last thing I needed to do was fall prey to Julian Capshaw and his rather intoxicating kisses.
“Suit yourself.” He reached down for his mask, then tied it in place and turned to open the curtain.
“Wait!”
He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled.
“Where are you going?”
“I told you, the last thing I need tonight is for my father to find me. So, I’m going to The Queen Nab Masquerade. Stay here if you like, but I’m going.”
“Oh for pity’s sake, wait a moment. I’m coming with you.” I fixed my own mask and ran both hands down my rumpled bodice, trying to smooth out the fabric. “Besides, Lord Babbage himself couldn’t save me if your father caught me here.”
“What about your friend?”
“She wasn’t expecting me to stay the entire night anyway. I’m sure she won’t even notice my departure.”
“Very well. Here.” Julian leaned down to pick up his discarded domino, handing it to me. “You’ll get cold otherwise.”
“Thank you.” I pulled the cloak around me.
“Pull the hood up to cover your hair.” He took my elbow with a firm grip and led me down the corridor. “We shouldn’t run into anyone, but if we do,
one look at you, and they’ll know what we’ve been up to.”
“And? I didn’t think men were overly prudent when it came to their reputations.”
“They’re not,” he said dryly. “But it would be enough to make an impression, and they might say something to my father.”
“Are you terribly afraid of your father?”
“Not particularly.” Julian said when we turned down another hallway. “But I also don’t want him to have any idea of where I might have gotten to.”
“Why?”
“It’s not important.” He hurried me through a door at the end of the corridor and out into the back garden. Just outside a small side gate, a hired hansom cab stood at the curb. Instead of waiting for the driver to get off his box, Julian opened the door and helped me inside. “I simply need a head start.”
Chapter Two
“A head start from what?” I asked once we were settled into the cab and the driver had cracked his whip over the horses’ backs. I lowered the heavy hood so I could see my co-conspirator and pulled off my mask when the carriage lumbered onto the main road, turning away from Lord Capshaw’s townhouse.
Whatever Julian had planned, I knew it wasn’t good. Schemes which began in unprovoked kissing sprees in darkened alcoves and led to clandestine escapes through the maids’ entrance never ended well.
“From my father and his ridiculous flights of fancy,” Julian said stiffly, popping the knuckles of his right hand with his left and glaring at the snowy streets outside our window.
“Flights of fancy?”
“All of his scheming. I want to escape his harebrained opinions about money and position and the proper life of a nobleman. But most of all? Most of all I want to escape the very thought that he expects me to succeed him and take his place in Parliament, giving away my very soul to his causes.”
“May I ask what you intend to do once you’re away from him and his harebrained opinions as you called them?”
“I intend…” Julian leaned close enough that the slightest bump of the carriage would press our lips together.
“You intend?” I licked my bottom lip and tried not to give into the temptation to bridge the tiny distance between our mouths. The last thing I needed was to form some sort of rash entanglement with the heir to the most powerful Luddite in England, no matter how delectable his mouth was.
“I intend to get horribly drunk and perhaps kiss the Queen of Hearts again before the night is out. Afterwards? Who knows? I have a degree, the ability to practice a trade. Perhaps I shall escape to the Continent or take a boat to America. They say America has opportunity on every street corner, if a man is willing to seize it. In the end an opportunity anywhere—including the former Colonies—is better than the lack of prospects I face here in England.”
“I highly doubt opportunities are something you lack.” I sat back, the spell between us broken. There was nothing more annoying than a nobleman who whined about all the benefits and graces showered upon him from birth when the rest of us had always worked for our bread.
“Really?”
“You’re the son and heir of one of the richest nobles in all Her Majesty’s realm. Opportunities come to you and give themselves up graciously for your enjoyment.”
“Father can give his titles—and mine if it pleases him—to my brother Emerson. He’s much more suited to my father’s position and political stances than I will ever be.”
“What, pray tell, is the character flaw that makes you so unsuitable to inherit your father’s title?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him.
“I have no patience for the idiots who make up Parliament and even less for my father’s stance on technology. I am a scientist, and I find his utter hatred of anything that smacks of social advancement completely unacceptable.”
“You are a scientist?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
An aristocrat who studied science? It was unheard of. There were plenty of scientists, all of them English obviously, who had become noble after Queen Victoria awarded them a title for their service to the realm. It had never been done in reverse. Those born into the aristocracy didn’t become scientists. After all, science was work and everyone knew that nobles were allergic to that.
“Next you shall tell me Lord Marley is Father Christmas in disguise and the Duke of Winchester has a collection of talking dolls that cry real tears and ask for their mamas when you turn the key in their backs.”
“You might be right on both accounts. But, from what I understand, the Duke of Winchester has a bit more interest in porcelain skinned boys and Lord Marley is a rather stingy St. Nicholas since he only provides gifts to the ladies of Mrs. Fentiman’s establishment.”
“Truly?” It didn’t surprise me to hear Lord Marley liked brothel girls, but some small part of me still loved to hear all the dirty details about members of the ton.
Then again, I would never expect a stuffed shirt like Lord Marley to take his leisure in a house that provided exotic merchandise acquired from every corner of her Majesty’s Empire. With his public stance against immigration, I’d have thought he preferred good, dependable English doxies. But everyone knows what they say about politicians—the first thing they always try to outlaw is the vice they’re most ashamed of enjoying.
Perhaps that was why Lord Capshaw wanted to outlaw technology? To take away his gorgeous son’s favorite pleasure and force Julian to focus instead on what Lord Capshaw thought were his responsibilities?
Although, speaking of pleasure, a man as good-looking as Julian Capshaw, who also knew his way around a laboratory and had a working knowledge of the scientific method—
“Yes,” Julian said when the cab rolled to a stop at the Hyde Park dirigible site. He opened the door, hopped out, and then reached back to take my hand. His gaze met mine and he gave me a roguish smile, his eyebrow cocked in challenge.
I grabbed his hand, surprised to find that despite the cold air his skin was incredibly warm. “Yes what?”
Julian waited until I stepped from the carriage and stood beside him on the narrow path. “Regardless of what type of diversions my father and his friends pursue in their leisure time, I am truly a scientist. I know you’re skeptical, but I studied at Cambridge and graduated with Highest Honors. I’ve even published a few papers in scholarly journals. You probably haven’t read them.”
“I might have seen them. I read a lot, you know. Not just in engineering but in other fields as well,” I said hurriedly, impressed at his learning and slightly jealous.
Cambridge University still wouldn’t accept female students, so Esther and I had both done our studies at Queen Elizabeth’s Technical College for Ladies in Bath. It wasn’t a bad university. In fact, it was one of the best ladies’ colleges in England, but it wasn’t the bastion of scientific knowledge that Cambridge had become.
Queen Elizabeth’s was a solid little college with smart, dedicated teachers who occasionally created a clever little household device, but Cambridge’s professors dominated the English scientific community and were revered for the advances they had developed for the might of the British Empire.
Revered, that was, by everyone except Lord William Capshaw. After Dr. Caldwell was knighted for his invention of the automated canon, Lord Capshaw proposed a bill in Parliament to strip the University of its funding and return the school to a theological institution instead of the cathedral of scientific inquiry it had become. If Julian Capshaw had finished a scientific degree with Highest Honors from Cambridge, it wasn’t a mystery why his father’s Luddite stance chafed him so.
“I’m sure you do read a lot, but I doubt you saw my articles—they weren’t very popular pieces, even among other scientists in my field,” he said, taking my elbow and leading me to where the dirigible hovered, barely brushing the grass as it strained against its moorings.
“Last call!” A baby-faced steward in a trim, blue Putnam and Sons uniform called out from the top of the gangplank. “La
st call before liftoff.”
“Two, please,” Julian said, nodding to the young man and slipping him two shillings.
“Welcome aboard The Queen Nab, sir. May she take you to all your dreams.”
“Thank you.” Julian settled his left hand into the center of my back, urging me forward. We stepped off the gangplank and onto the main deck, and when my shoes thudded against the polished wood deck, my heart raced at the thought of flight.
I scurried to the front of the airship and leaned against the rail. Julian joined me and stared out into the London streets with a frown.
Instead of letting him brood and ruin our adventure, I decided to change the subject. “So what do you study?”
“Pardon?” Julian asked, sounding surprised at my question, and looked at me.
“What you study? You said you are a scientist, and I am curious what you are a scientist of.”
“I have a degree in Etherographic Chemistry. My research centers on how certain concentrations of components in the ether allow for different things to happen. Such as why do dirigibles float much better in higher layers of ether?”
“Well, because high level ether is thinner than low level ether and everything moves through things with less density easier.” I had been a reluctant chemistry student at university, but even I remembered a few basics.
“Except it’s not thinner,” Julian said. “High stratosphere ether and lower stratosphere ether have the same density but high stratosphere ether is made up of more oxygenated particles. Oxygen is a much better substance for floating upon.”
“Is it?” I asked, intrigued.
“Therefore, my hypothesis is, if we would saturate the air with oxygen, it would make low level dirigible travel cheaper and more attractive to use. Since low level flight is cheaper, it can be turned into a form of mass transit rather than being a diversion for the wealthy.”
“Like a giant floating hansom cab?” I asked, watching the midshipmen pull in the sandbags anchoring us to the launch strip. The pilot lights hissed when someone inside turned on the burners to heat the gas inside the balloon. I’d been on a fair number of dirigible flights, but I loved how it felt when the ship first left the ground and we were truly flying.
A Riveting Affair (Entangled Ever After) Page 11
