by Anne Renwick
“I believe I mentioned biology was not my forte some fifteen minutes past.”
His lips twitched. “So you did.”
“I do, however, have extensive experience in the role of fiancée. As newlyweds—”
“No.” Lord Rathsburn snapped his fingers. “Lady Farrington mentioned you possess programming skills. Is this true?”
Every cell in her body let out a frustrated howl. Wife! she wanted to scream. But she had a part to play. She cast her eyes downward as if embarrassed. “I’m afraid it is. If you examine my reticule in the storage closet, you’ll find proof.”
Lord Rathsburn turned on his heel and marched into the engine room. The door to the storage hatch clicked open.
Olivia held her breath, afraid to move. If he discovered the acousticotransmitter…
But he didn’t. He strode back holding her reticule. Already he’d yanked open its drawstring and was examining the contents. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to hide evidence of her mission. Tucked safely behind the steel boning of her corset, the final as-yet unactivated transmitter seemed to burn.
“An assortment of unpunched paper, tin and copper cards.” He placed the cards upon the dirigible console and reached back into the bag’s depths. “A Franconian multipunch?” He studied her with newfound interest. “Impressive, Lady Olivia. The only men I know who use the Franconian multipunch have quite advanced skills.”
“If you consider punching recipes for the best cream cakes in London an advanced skill, then yes.” Lord Rathsburn looked stricken. She shrugged. “Mother is prone to sinking spells. For years I’ve managed the household. Occasionally, I try my hand at improvements.”
Watson emerged next from the depths of her bag. “A metal sphere.” His eyebrows rose in question. Clearly the man was hoping for more than pastries.
“My pet hedgehog,” she answered, smiling sweetly just to aggravate him. She held out a hand. “If you’ll allow me to demonstrate?”
He dropped Watson into her waiting palm. In one smooth movement, she drew her other hand over his gleaming surface in a caress, and Watson uncurled, his spines emerging from the perforations in his many segments.
“Impressive craftsmanship,” Lord Rathsburn observed.
“I cannot claim to have built him,” she answered. “Only to have modified a childhood toy.” Her finger triggered the mechanism that sent him into clockwork mode. In such a state his eyes would not glow, no probes could be engaged, nor could his secret compartment be opened. “Watson runs quite simple programs.”
“Watson,” he repeated.
She placed the hedgehog on the ground and issued a series of commands. “Spin.” Watson spun in a circle. “Sit.” Watson sat. “Beg.” Watson straightened, balancing on his hind legs, front paws curled to his chest.
Tea cakes and animal tricks. How could he not see things from her perspective? She let the corners of her lips curve in a gentle, wifely manner.
“It’ll have to do,” Lord Rathsburn pronounced with resignation. “You will be my programmer.”
“Programmer?” She echoed the word through clenched teeth.
“In the meager time left to us, our only hope is to have you speak intelligibly about Babbage cards and programming.”
He crouched before his insulated case, unlocking it. Fog escaped. She watched, frozen in horror, as he carefully donned gloves and lifted the menacing device from its padding and turned toward her. With the twist of a knob, a set of copper punch cards slid from the contraption’s interior.
With trembling fingers, she accepted the cards he held out, examining them closely. Better to stare at a pattern of punches than long, steel needles.
Or so she thought.
If she read the program correctly… The cabin seemed to tilt. Olivia lowered herself onto the nearest seat and made herself inquire. “Its function?”
“My early experiments, which the Germans have managed to reproduce, require that modified osteoprogenitor cells be inserted not via blood transfusion, but directly into bone marrow using a large bore needle.”
She swallowed. The very mention of needles always made her ill. Her head felt buoyant.
Lord Rathsburn did not seem to notice her distress. “This device, the osforare apparatus, is designed to take a different approach.” Eyes gleaming, his voice grew animated as he pointed out specific features of the contraption. “After filling the glass reservoirs with transforming fluid, a small rotary motor punctures the skin and drives the needles through muscle to the very surface of the bone.”
With each additional word, the buzzing in Olivia’s ears grew louder. She clutched the edge of her seat. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please. Stop.”
But he didn’t hear her.
“Pressure gauges provide feedback, slowing the needles’ approach so that they barely pierce the periosteum, a thin membrane on the surface of bone, before injection…”
Her vision grayed at the edges. Then darkness closed in.
Chapter Ten
THERE WAS A clatter, and Ian glanced up. The copper punch cards he’d handed Lady Olivia lay scattered across the floor. The woman herself—her face pale and her eyes unfocused—swayed in her chair, looking as if she were about to join the cards. What on earth was wrong with her?
He caught her with his free arm as she slumped forward and lowered her to the floor. Setting aside the device, he pulled his greatcoat off the chair and used it to pad the floor beneath her head before returning the osforare apparatus and its punch cards to their case.
He sat down and stared at the beautiful woman who lay at his feet. Earlier, every time their eyes caught, Ian could swear he sensed a keen intelligence. But whenever he delved deeper, she quickly swept his attempt beneath the proverbial carpet with a flirtatious comment or a contrary observation. Never before had he met such a frustrating woman.
Whether she was brilliant or merely bright, he’d been mad to think he could teach her anything about bone biology in the space of one hour. Even a willing medical student would require more time to grasp the bare basics of bone physiology. Bone pathology and the intricacies of his research were far beyond her reach in the short time left to them.
He’d been encouraged by her pronouncement that she herself had designed and punched pastry recipes, but who did so using a Franconian multipunch? Then again, baking was a form of chemistry, was it not? Timing, temperature and precise measurements. If Olivia had managed to program a steambot to assemble cream cakes, then the delicacies of osteoblast transplantation ought to be within the realm of her programming skills.
Alas, she’d had a rather adverse reaction to his device.
A strong gust of wind tossed the dirigible, sending the hull into a chaotic rocking motion. Lady Olivia’s eyelids fluttered open.
“Was it the needles?” he asked.
Her eyes closed again as she pressed her palm to her forehead. “Not entirely. You did mention blood.”
This situation grew more absurd by the moment. She had tried to warn him. “I suppose that explains your aversion to men of medicine.” What was he going to do with her?
Lady Olivia’s lips curved in a smile, and her eyes slowly opened to catch his gaze. “I’ve recently reconsidered my stance.” Her index finger lifted to trace the edge of her bodice, promising that she could be persuaded to do more than simply impersonate his wife, if only he would agree to her plan.
Given the jump in his pulse, Ian’s heart clearly approved. He shifted uncomfortably upon his chair. Other parts of his anatomy agreed. He looked away. Now was not the time to allow instinct to overrule intellect. If she had any concept of how tempting the offer was, she would never relent. It would be wrong of him to yield. Very, very wrong. He needed focus, not distraction. She would be safer as his assistant in an entirely separate bedchamber.
On the other hand, if they were separated, he would not be able to protect her from other dangers. His eyebrows drew together. No. He shook his head. Her plan was untenable
. As a wife she was merely another potential hostage, a tool to use against him. As his assistant, she would be by his side as he worked long hours.
Thud. Something struck the side of the gondola.
“What was that?” Lady Olivia’s voice squeaked with panic as she pushed herself onto her elbows to stare out the window.
“Flying debris, most likely.” Or so he hoped.
There was another loud thud. Ian turned. Not the best of sounds. They were in the middle of a driving snow storm some hundreds of feet from the ground, and their coal supplies were running low.
But as they stared, a small, round face appeared in the window of the dirigible’s door. A girl with dark, wide-set and angular eyes grinned back at them. Black hair flew wildly about her face. She waved a greeting then gestured at the door, smacking it repeatedly.
“How is she—? We’re still in the air!” Lady Olivia exclaimed.
In one smooth motion, Ian yanked open the door. Icy air whipped through the cabin as the child leapt inward, snow swirling about her feet. Behind her, a long rope stretched upward, its origin lost in the storm.
“Thank you much,” the girl said. She unclipped the rope from her harness and casually tossed it back into the storm. Ian slammed the door closed.
He stared at her, struck dumb by her unexpected arrival.
“NiHao,” the child greeted them in Chinese, bowing to each of them in turn. Though she wore a padded red silk jacket and pants, both elaborately embroidered with intertwined dragons, her feet were bare. “I am Wei. Sent to deliver you safely to Burg Kerzen.”
Returning the bow, Ian said, “I am Lord Rathsburn. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The girl laughed and her eyes sparkled. Another bright spot in all the dark surrounding the gloom of his voyage. Lady Olivia, he was surprised to realize, was the other.
“Burg Kerzen,” Lady Olivia repeated, stumbling over her skirts as she rose. “Castle Kerzen. Our destination?”
The castle in which his sister was being held. Their approach had not only been noticed but anticipated. “It is,” he said.
“We are close,” Wei announced. “But have no docking platform. The Roost it must be. It is not possible for dirigible landings. Even when weather clear. Which here seems almost never. I come to take you. Like harbor master.” With another bow, the girl ran to the console. Ian followed, watching as she made a number of adjustments.
“The Roost?” he repeated.
Fingers flying over the dials, Wei explained, “A spire. A balcony with an iron railing. Count, he insists we call it so.” Her voice sobered. “No one argues with Count.” Wei nodded and locked in the new coordinates before turning to face them. “This weather needs lowering harnesses.” To illustrate, she tugged on the leather straps wrapped about her own torso and between her legs. Then, eyeing them both as if assessing their attire and, finding it wanting, her mouth pulled once again into an adorable grin. “Saddle up!”
Ian had meant to find a field, to circle its perimeter while releasing hydrogen. Such a method of landing would have been rough in this weather, fraught with the likelihood of being smashed against a stand of trees. Best to let Wei guide them in.
Lady Olivia looked at him with panic in her eyes, and he realized dragging him level by level up Captain Oglethorpe’s loading platform had not been—at least not entirely—a method of monopolizing his time and attention.
Afraid of blood, needles and heights. The statistical probability that she was a spy was low. Given what might await them at the bottom of the rope, he was no longer certain if that was a good thing.
He grabbed his greatcoat from the floor and strapped on his sword before reaching out and catching Lady Olivia’s hand. “Come. Safety harnesses are in the storage hatch.” It wasn’t lost on him that chivalry might severely handicap him in negotiations for his sister’s release, but there was no abandoning Lady Olivia to her fate.
Eyes wide, she followed him into the engine room. “The girl, Wei, does she mean for us to…”
“Yes.” He held out his greatcoat. “Put this on so that you don’t catch a chill.” She swallowed, but did as he asked. Ian lifted a harness from the storage hatch. “Slide your arms through here.”
“I don’t think I can—” she objected.
“Then don’t think. Don’t argue. Just do as I say. Soon, we’ll be safe in a warm castle where you can use your many charms. It seems our host is a count.” He pulled the belt tight across her chest, checking the buckle twice.
“You’ve done this before?” Her whole body trembled as he pulled her arms through the shoulder straps.
Yes. As required training for a field agent position. “It’s a gear harness. A simple but effective method to lower oneself to the ground when inclement weather prevents a direct docking.” He caught her gaze and gave her a reassuring nod. “Now, you’ll have to forgive the over-familiarity of this next step. I assure you, it is necessary. Please spread your legs.”
Her eyes widened. “My legs?”
Continuing as he’d begun, Ian gave her no time to object. He knelt, reached between her ankles and under her many petticoats to grasp the leather strap that hung behind her. He drew it upward, gathering those many petticoats between her thighs, and buckled it to the strap already secured about her chest. Her face burned a bright red.
Embarrassment was preferable to panic.
In moments, he had himself similarly outfitted. “Ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Excellent,” he replied, grabbing her hand once more. “Let’s go.”
Wei nodded at them in approval. The girl was nothing if not efficient. A neat coil of rope lay beside the dirigible’s door, secured to an iron beam with knots that would make any sailor proud. His valise and case were stowed inside a cargo net, ready to be lowered.
“Does lady have a trunk?” Wei asked, handing him two automated gear winches.
“No,” he said. “There was a mishap at the launchpad. I’m afraid that is the entirety of our possessions.”
“Good,” Wei said. “Two minutes.”
Ian clipped a winch to his harness, then turned back to Lady Olivia, clipping hers into place as well. Her breaths came in shallow pants. “Sit,” he said, gently pushing on her shoulder. Her knees buckled, and she nearly fell into the chair. “Bend over, put your head between your knees.”
“Can’t,” she exhaled. “Corset.”
Ian swore. Women’s undergarments were absurd. Still, he should have thought to loosen her laces. But to get to those laces… No, there was no time for it now. “Breathe slowly.” He crouched beside her. “You cannot faint again.” He did not wish to risk lowering a limp body in this weather to an unknown platform.
She nodded, making an effort to slow her breaths.
Behind him Wei opened the door. Cold, bracing air blew inward. His belongings scraped against the edge of the doorframe as she pushed them overboard. “Listen. We’ll go down together. I’ll clip my winch to the rope, and I’ll clip yours directly above mine on the same rope. Climb on my back, like a child. Understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Not a drop of blood remained in her face.
“Ready, sirs,” Wei called.
“Use both your arms and your legs. Cling as tightly as you wish.” Ian tugged Lady Olivia onto her feet and led her toward the open door.
Wei hurried over with a rope, expertly clipping Ian’s automated gear winch in place and Lady Olivia’s above his.
The wind howled into the cabin and the gondola swayed.
“I can’t,” Lady Olivia cried. She tried to back away.
Ian caught her in his arms, pinning her hands against his chest. Grasping her chin, he tipped her face upward, locking their gaze. “We need to go. Now. We’re nearly out of fuel. Remaining aboard is not an option. I barely know you, Olivia, but I see untapped strength within. You can do this.”
Impulse struck, and he bent, catching her lips with his. He meant it to be a brief,
reassuring kiss. One that would distract her from their inevitable leap into a storm. But when she melted into him, when her lips parted as if on a plea, Ian found himself drawn deeper. Angling his mouth to hers, he tasted her. Salt from her tears and a faint hit of honey.
A frisson of recognition ran through his body.
“Aiyaaa!” cried Wei. “No time for this.”
Or time to analyze his reaction. He pulled back and turned, dropping to a crouch. “Climb aboard, my lady.”
Thighs and arms wrapped tightly about his waist and chest. Her face pressed into his neck.
Wei tossed the weighted rope out the door and waited. “Ready,” she called when an answering tug came from below. “Gears set at two. Fast. But not too fast for the missus.”
Wet tears slid across his neck and dripped behind his collar. “Here we go,” he announced. Grasping hold of the winch’s handle, he jumped before Lady Olivia could change her mind.
The wind howled about him, flinging icy needles of snow at his face and hands. The rope twisted and bowed as the geared hoist lowered them downward at a swift clip. In mere seconds he could see the outline of several castle spires. The one they slid toward, a cone-shaped cap set atop a circular tower, flew a red flag. From its side, a narrow balcony protruded beneath an arched window. Their rope disappeared inside.
“Hang on!” he yelled into the wind. Lady Olivia whimpered in his ear, but her grip tightened.
As Ian’s boots hit the window casing, a sudden gust of wind slammed them into the stone wall of the tower, twisting the rope and throwing them back into the air. The automated gear winch continued to lower them—beyond the balcony.
Men yelled, and the rope tightened. Hands reached out, grabbing their arms, pulling them inside. At last, his feet mercifully landed on solid wooden flooring. Quickly, he released the clips binding them to the rope. Two burly men, those who had yanked them inside, threw the rope back outside and slammed the window shut against the storm.
