The Silver Skull (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 2)

by Anne Renwick

  “Why?” Olivia asked. Her hand shook slightly as she sipped her tea.

  “Why!” Mother threw her hoop aside and then her hands in the air. “You know why. Because… because…”

  Life had moved in a bit of a blur after Ian had saved her in that tower. Holding each other up, they’d staggered down the stairs, past Zheng’s body and through the kitchens into the courtyard. There they’d encountered dozens of guardsmen staring upward into the snowy night as the Russian storm frigate passed overhead, their hunt for the traitorous countess brought to an infuriating end as she disappeared upon the back of a pteryform.

  Hands raised, Olivia had called out to them in German. With her translation skills, they’d soon sorted things out, and an entire retinue of guardsmen had escorted them to the mill with unsurprising haste. The nightingale was dispatched with a message for Mr. Black and, before the sun could rise, the first of many guardsmen lay—dosed with arsenic—within the solenoid.

  Mr. Black returned, negotiating with the Chinese for the return of all parts necessary to repair the escape dirigible, including a considerable amount of aether to re-inflate the balloon. She and Wei had climbed among the rocks at the castle’s base, collecting what pieces they could find of the osforare apparatus, which amounted to not much. Elizabeth, when not inside the solenoid herself, acted as chaperone.

  “Not married,” she’d said, clucking her tongue. “We’ve had enough impropriety. Standards must be reinstated.” Thereafter, Olivia and Ian had not been allowed a single moment alone.

  Then word came that the heir to Burg Kerzen and its lands was en route.

  Mr. Black insisted they depart. Ian objected. They compromised by recruiting and training a physician from a nearby village to complete the treatments. Though, had Warrick’s victims not already shown great improvement, Ian would have refused to leave.

  Exhausted, they’d boarded the repaired escape dirigible to limp back to England. They’d landed in Dover where Mother had swept in, whisking Olivia away, subjecting her to a sharp tongue lashing the entire train ride back to London. In her absence, Baron Volscini had accepted Father’s invitation to visit, and this evening there was to be a ball. Olivia was to be charmed and over the moon when the baron asked her for a third dance.

  She objected. Vociferously.

  “No,” Olivia had told Mother. “I no longer wish to be a field agent. Or even a societal liaison. I want to be a programmer, one who is properly recognized.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother had said, stabbing her needle into her embroidery and tossing it aside. “Women do not work as programmers, and the favors we exchanged to allow you to matriculate at the Rankine Institute need to be repaid. You will begin by marrying a gentleman approved by your Father.”

  This morning she’d nervously picked through her many gowns—all of which fit again following a prolonged diet consisting mostly of brown bread and broth—finally settling upon a pale blue afternoon dress. It matched her eyes perfectly and set off her golden hair and creamy complexion—and its golden brocade cincher nipped in her waist displaying two particular feminine assets to their best advantage.

  There was only one gentleman occupying her mind.

  But would Father approve of Lord Ian Stanton, Earl of Rathsburn? Unlikely. Not if Mother had any say.

  The teacup rattled upon upon the saucer she held. She loved him. Ian. And she did wish to marry. Ian. Only not as an obligation or as a means to finance the restoration of his crumbling estate.

  She needed to speak with him. Privately. Before he spoke with Father. “I am of age,” Olivia said. “I will marry if and when I choose. I choose not to marry Baron Volscini.” She’d had an all too brief taste of love and wanted more. She would not settle. Not to appease her parents. Not to satisfy Ian’s gentlemanly instincts.

  “But the baron is eighty-three, wealthy, and powerful,” Mother sputtered.

  “And wrinkled and rheumatic and not likely to last another year.” Olivia slammed her teacup down, splashing the dark liquid onto the pristine lace tablecloth that covered RT. He dinged and whirred his objections.

  “Exactly.” Mother fell back against her cushion. “A brief alliance with Baron Volscini will accelerate your advancement into the field by several years. We’ve been over this.”

  Olivia took a deep breath. “I know this comes as a shock to you, all my plans, tossed to the winds, but I never wished to be a societal liaison. It was a means to an end. As I no longer desire to become a field agent, it makes no sense to marry to satisfy anyone but myself.”

  “All that training, wasted,” Mother objected.

  “Oh, please,” Olivia said, leaning forward on her seat. “You were never going to let me work in the field. Always you would have found some excuse.”

  Mother’s jaw dropped.

  “I could still work for the Queen. I could offer classes in household technology and applied programming. Imagine the impact I could have upon national security if I were allowed to train all new female agents. A program that resembles a recipe for cream cakes or the instructions for a new way to knot a cravat, but is in fact hiding a…”

  Why was she arguing her case before Mother? Sitting primly in the parlor, allowing herself to be relegated to the sidelines, waiting for the men to convene, to discuss her fate without any input from her?

  Surging to her feet, Olivia stormed from the parlor, ignoring her mother’s cries to see reason. She was done letting others arrange her future. She had a bird to send.

  ~~~

  Stroking a hand down the smooth metal neck of a clockwork horse, a magnificent piece of gypsy craftsmanship, Ian struggled to wrap his mind around Black’s words. “Say that again. The duke was hoping his daughter would break protocol?”

  “He deemed Lady Olivia perfect for the task, a multilingual non-agent with lock picking and programming skills with aspirations of working in the field. Everyone but her mother hated to see her many talents—and charms—wasted on some ancient nobleman.”

  “You expected her to seduce me?” Ian gaped.

  “Did she now?” Black sniggered. “As a gentleman, you should not have laid a finger on her.”

  True, though he couldn’t regret what they’d shared. “I’ve offered her marriage.”

  “The duke is prepared to forgive all, should you arrive at your appointment with a special license and a willing bride. I expect a minister and a handful of witness will attend.” Black climbed onto the horse’s back, his mouth twisted with amusement. “Good luck.”

  “That’s only two hours from now,” Ian protested.

  Black merely laughed as the clockwork horse trotted away.

  Overhead a tiny bird appeared, flapping its wings. He plucked the nightingale from the air and unwrapped the narrow strip of paper banded about its ankle.

  Follow me.

  His head snapped up, searching Clockwork Corridor through the dense, sooty fog that had socked London in this past week. There. Across the street the feeble glow of a streetlamp illuminated a single golden curl escaping the confines of a heavy, hooded cloak.

  Delicate fingers lifted the edge of the hood and two bright eyes flashed at him. With a sly smile, she turned and hurried down a dark alley. Alone.

  His heart nearly stopped. This was no place for a lady. But then it gave a massive thud and raced in anticipation. What is she up to? He dashed over the cobblestones, chasing after her. A shadow moved at the end of the alleyway, turning the corner. A flip of her cloak, revealing a hem of blue silk.

  Turning onto the intersecting street, he caught a glimpse of her booted ankles disappearing into a steam carriage. No driver sat at its wheel. His lips twitched. An assignation?

  Body humming, he opened the door and climbed in. “Olivia?” he called into the dark space. Not a single light glimmered.

  A hand grabbed him by his cravat, pulling him downward. Warm soft lips brushed his. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  He push
ed the hood away, stabbing his fingers into her soft hair and happily obliged. He’d meant to keep it gentle, persuasive, but Olivia would have none of it. Her lips parted, inviting him inward. She wrapped her arms about his waist, sliding her hands beneath his coat, his waistcoat, clutching handfuls of his shirt and tugging it from his trousers.

  It had been weeks. Two weeks and six days since he’d last kissed her. Longer still since that single night they’d shared a bed, and his entire body throbbed in anticipation of her touch, one particular part more than the others.

  Panting, he pulled away. “Not here.”

  “Why not?” Olivia’s fingers skimmed upward along the buttons of his waistcoat, loosening them.

  He grabbed her arms, pressing them to her sides. “Not until we’ve settled things between us.”

  “Very well.”

  Her skirts rustled and there was a faint snapping sound. A soft, white-blue light began to glow, and he nearly changed his mind. She pushed her cloak from her shoulders, revealing the blue silk gown beneath. It was clear she’d dressed with his seduction in mind. Nothing improper, but the deeply cut neckline was more suited to an evening affair, and the tight cincher wrapped about her waist uplifted and showcased her beautiful, full breasts. Breasts she knew he greatly admired. Breasts he very much wished to touch again.

  He sank onto the bench and groaned. “Not fair, Olivia.”

  Her laugh was self-satisfied and husky. “Let’s settle things then. Quickly. I’ve not heard from you since we landed. Why?”

  “Work,” he answered.

  It had been a busy week. Bioengineers excitedly labored in their laboratories studying armored pteryform tissue samples and attempting to reverse engineer the Russian tentacle. Agents exposed Russian spies burrowed so deeply into ton life that the damage to British security would take years to uncover and repair. Already Queen’s agents were en route to Kadskoye. He wondered what—if anything—they would find.

  “But everything goes well.” Both her father and the Queen were satisfied with his accomplishments and a tacit agreement to forget any past transgressions was reached. “I’ve been reinstated as a Queen’s agent and assigned to help infiltrate the Committee for the Exploration of Anthropomorphic Peculiarities.”

  “Good,” she said. “They need to be stopped.”

  He reached into his coat pocket and held out a silver sphere upon his palm.

  “Watson!” she cried, clutching the zoetomatic to her chest. “I thought he was lost in the village streets, stuck in a snowbank rusting away.”

  “He was found aboard the Sky Dragon in a corner of Wei’s cabin,” Ian said. “A crew member recalled Wei’s fondness for the mechanical creature and included him along with her belongings. Watson only reached my hands this very morning.”

  “Thank you,” she said and kissed his cheek. “Are Wei and Elizabeth getting along in the countryside?”

  “They are, and asking about you.” He paused. It was too soon to turn the conversation toward marriage. “What has filled your days?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Enduring my mother’s diatribes blackening your name while listing, repeatedly, all the reasons I ought to consent to marry Baron Volscini. If I agree, the Queen will overlook my transgressions and allow me to continue on my former career path.”

  A thin sheet of ice crusted his heart. He swallowed, afraid to ask, afraid of the answer he might receive. “Is that what you want?”

  “No.” She dropped onto the bench beside him. “I want to work for the Rankine Institute, for the operations branch under my own name. Think of all I could teach future agents. Of the useful inventions with which I could provide them. I’ve a number of ideas of how to improve upon steambot programming and usage. How personal zoetomatics—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “Allow me to support you in such endeavors. Marry me.”

  She frowned and looked away. “I never meant to trap you into actual marriage, Ian. It was all an elaborate charade, a game… until it wasn’t.” She took a deep breath. “I meant what I said. You needn’t chain yourself to me out of a sense of obligation. That is why I needed to see you. Now, before you meet with my father, before he insists.”

  “No one is forcing me to marry you, Olivia. I want to marry you. It’s true, before I saw behind the façade you presented to the world—that of a bubbly, empty-headed society miss—I would have passed on the opportunity to make your acquaintance.”

  “I waylaid you upon a railroad platform.” Though she sounded dismayed, a corner of her mouth twitched.

  “And snuck into my private chambers and stowed away. Though I suppose we’ll have to alter that portion of the story when we tell it to our children.”

  Her blue eyes snapped to his, shining with love.

  “Until I met you, I had no idea how alone I was,” he continued. “You’ve filled an empty space in my heart I didn’t know existed, and I’ve fallen in love.” For once he didn’t struggle to find the right words. “You’re more than beautiful. You’re intelligent, determined and… I watched you persevere through hardships and disasters and trauma that would have brought another person—man or woman—to their knees.” He brushed a finger over her cheek. “You are the woman I want at my side. The only woman.”

  She pressed a hand to her heart. “You don’t mind that I wish to use my engineering degree?”

  “Mind? I insist. Publicly if you wish. Or secretly while continuing to assist the Queen’s agents.” Ian smiled broadly at the thought of her working by his side. “For if you agree not to tell your father, I would welcome your assistance hunting down those shadow board members.”

  “Occasional covert field maneuvers?” She returned his smile, lifting a hand to his jaw. “You do know the way to my heart.”

  “Then marry me. Say yes.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw, the smooth column of her throat. “So we can combine business and pleasure.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I love you and want to marry you and no one else.”

  “Today,” he insisted. “By special license.”

  “As soon as possible,” she agreed. “Now. Are things settled between us?” She squirmed against him. “Because I’ve arranged for us to have an entire carriage to ourselves, and I desperately wish to review several of your earlier lessons.”

  Raw desire surged through him at the thought of all they could manage in a carriage. “Review?” He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss against her neck as his hands roamed over the curves he’d been denied for days. “I thought to demonstrate more advanced material. If you’ll climb astride…”

  Epilogue

  THREE WEEKS OF WEDDED bliss later, Olivia’s first group of students—three girls placed in her care to learn the basics of zoetomatic programming—assembled around the end of a dining room table capable of seating sixteen. Strewn across the remaining surface area was a motley collection of scribbled notes and various clockwork mechanisms in different stages of construction.

  “This is called an arithmetic logic unit,” Olivia said. “It allows us to perform all four arithmetic operations.”

  A hand shot in the air. “And comparisons! And square roots!” Mildred had a tendency to shout out facts and figures as if she were answering a question even if one had yet to be asked.

  “Exactly,” Olivia said. “We will begin with these paper cards and punch a—”

  Watson whistled, then spun in a circle before darting toward the door where Ian beckoned. She stood and smoothed her skirts, doing her best not to rush from the room and into his arms. It wouldn’t do to let impressionable young minds witness anything improper. There was public behavior—she smiled—and there was private behavior.

  “Girls, please attempt to punch cards that will allow Watson to calculate a simple mathematical operation,” Olivia instructed. “I must speak with my husband.”

  “May we use the Franconian multipunch, Lady Rathsburn?” Anne inquired.

  �
�Not yet,” she replied, ignoring the manner in which Anne sagged in her chair and stuck out her bottom lip.

  Wei rolled her eyes at the behavior of these upper class young ladies, but she was no angel. The gliding lessons she provided the other students ended, more often than not, in twisted ankles and scraped elbows.

  Ian’s shoulders were unusually stiff and tense, and her smile fell away as she followed him into the hallway. “What’s wrong?”

  He lifted a piece of paper, his face pinched with concern. “Our first assignment arrived. Elizabeth will supervise the girls. You need to pack a trunk.”

  She nodded. “Where to?”

  “We’re meeting Black in Glasgow. He needs me to vet a temporary undercover agent. If his skills are sound, he’ll insert him into the laboratory of a scientist under suspicion of working for CEAP.”

  “It’s true then?” Her eyes widened. “Selkies have been found off the coast of Scotland?”

  Ian shook his head. “None have been spotted yet, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.” A faint smile twitched his lips. “If it’s excitement you’re after, we can lurk about the rocky shores, peer out across beaches and stormy seas through a spyglass.” His voice grew rough. “It’ll be cold, but I promise to keep you warm.”

  “And my presence is necessary, why?” she asked, tracing the brocade pattern of his waistcoat, wanting to hear him speak his desire aloud.

  “Your insight and expertise are always indispensable. But,” he drew her close, sweeping his hands down her back as she melted against the warm planes and angles of his body, “I want you with me. I wouldn’t be able to sleep without you.”

  She shivered in anticipation. “We scarcely sleep at all.”

  He pressed a kiss to the edge of her jaw. “Exactly.”

  ~~~~~