by Anne Renwick
Lord Thornton rose stiffly to his feet. “I fear I cannot.” His pant leg caught. A flash of something metallic at his ankle. With a quick movement, he twitched the material, concealing what must be a brace.
Could not, or would not? Remembering his limp, Amanda wondered. Could his interest in her neurachnid be of a personal nature?
“Please, forgive my intrusion at such an hour. I’ll see myself out.”
With concern—of a medical nature, of course—Amanda followed his steps with her gaze, analyzing his peculiar gait. An injury to the fibularis muscles of the lower right leg prevented him from properly flexing his foot. Walking on uneven ground, climbing stairs, dancing across a ballroom floor, all would be negatively impacted.
Not that the man had ever been sighted in a ballroom. It would have caused quite the stir.
The door closed firmly behind him. Only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath.
Father frowned. “Antagonizing the prominent and influential men in the medical community is not a path to a successful medical practice, and given your research project—”
“I know, Father,” she said, daring to interrupt the one man who could put a swift end to her career. “But the humiliation—”
He lifted a hand. “Before you say anything more, to me or to Lord Thornton, I would urge you to carefully consider your course as well as your own arguments for attending medical school. What matters more, your pride or your brother’s future?”
Amanda stalked upstairs, fuming that she should have to make such a choice. The hallway lamps were dimmed, the house far too silent. She wanted to grumble and grouse and be heard. How dare he disrupt her day. Her night.
Lord Thornton would not have treated a man so. She was willing to wager a great deal that a male classmate would have been praised for his insight and offered a position in the great man’s famed laboratory.
Why work in a co-educational school if female intelligence offended him? Was it his mission to strip female students of any useful and novel ideas before too much education addled their minds?
As she passed her brother’s room, light filtered out from beneath his door. Ned, it seemed, was still awake.
She hesitated. How could she possibly vent to him? Guilt washed over her. If not for her and Emily’s teasing, her research project would not even be necessary. Her shoulders slumped. As Father had pointed out, it was his future. Perhaps it was only fair to present the possibilities and let Ned decide. She knocked at his door.
“Come.”
Amanda opened the door and poked her head through the crack, prepared to leave if he was already in bed, but he sat in his wheeled chair before the grate, staring at the fading light of the coals, a folded piece of paper in his hand. The faint sound of a waltz issued forth from a wooden box on his writing desk. Lines of worry creased his forehead. “Is something amiss with you as well?” Amanda slid into the chair beside him. She kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet beneath her skirts.
Ned’s jaw flexed as he tucked the paper into the pocket of his dressing gown. She saw pain in his eyes. “Georgina has received an excellent offer. Her father is pressing her to accept it.”
“Oh, Ned. I’m so sorry.” Her need to vent evaporated.
Ned rarely accepted invitations to visit friends anymore, but a year ago, he’d agreed to attend a small house party at an old school friend’s family estate where he had fallen helplessly in love with his friend’s younger sister, Georgina. Except her father refused to consider the suit of a man who could not walk without mechanical assistance. Not when his daughter had so many other titled gentlemen who were healthy and hale pressing their suit.
Amanda well understood the pressure to marry that could be brought to bear upon a young woman of good social stature. She herself had avoided marriage longer than most, but the relentless pressure from her parents had, in the end, won. Though she’d bargained ruthlessly with Father for a small concession. In exchange for her enrollment in medical school, she’d agreed to marry within the year.
Most young women gained no such concession from their parents. “It must be so hard to let her go.”
He looked up sharply. “Who said anything about letting go?”
Oh dear. That calculating look told her drastic measures were being plotted. Amanda squeezed her eyes shut and squashed her pride. “Lord Sebastian Talbot, Earl of Thornton has asked me to share the neurachnid with him.” His indrawn breath made her rush on. “He is the most domineering, self-important, puffed up…” She shook her head. “All of which has no bearing on a decision I—we—must make. He sees potential in my project.” She opened her eyes.
Ned stared back in amazement. One hand gripped the arm of his chair, steadying himself as he leaned forward. “This could change everything. It’s what we’ve been hoping for.”
She nodded slowly. “I wanted to work with him, but he wants it for his own. If you think it best, I’ll hand everything over to him. Perhaps with his resources…”
“…he might find the solution,” Ned finished. “Or he might not. Either way, you lose control of the project.” He paused, thinking. “Worse, there would be no guarantee he would allow me to be an early test subject. Likely he would refuse to experiment on a future duke.” Ned shook his head and sat back. “No. I think you should continue your work on your own. You’re so very close. Perhaps if you start anew. Let me look over the Babbage card again.”
Relief swept over her as she forced herself to ask, “You’re certain? It may take months. You might have to let Georgina go.”
Ned set his jaw, his voice a low growl. “I’m certain. And I will never let Georgina go.”
~~~
The sun wouldn’t rise for hours, but sleep was impossible, what with the myriad thoughts whirling through her brain. She might as well accomplish something beyond watching the moonlight move across the floor.
Amanda rose from her bed and crossed to her wardrobe, then selected a simple blue gown that didn’t require much lacing or tying of tapes. Its bustle was a collection of ruffles that draped over the skirt, and the leather straps and brass buckles of the bodice made a corset unnecessary. Given the hours she was about to spend stooped over her workbench, the ability to bend at the waist was a priority.
As she strode through the garden, Rufus appeared, greeting her with a long, silent stare from his golden eyes. Both he and she were creatures of habit, and her appearance at this dark hour was a dramatic break from routine. Yet still he followed her on silent paws as she stepped into the coop. The hens slept in peaceful repose, barely shifting in their nests as she crossed quietly to the laboratory door and dialed the necessary series of digits.
Her earlier anger had faded, to be replaced by renewed determination. The great Lord Thornton had tipped his hand. He saw something in her project. She must be close.
Rufus settled in his favorite corner, on alert for cheeky mice, as Amanda lit an oil lamp and pulled a stool forward. She spread a soft cloth across the workbench and arranged her tools.
She would dissect the neurachnid, spread each gear, each pin, each spring across her workbench. She would study its mechanisms with a critical eye and then make improvements.
Her gold threads did not work in the same manner as biological neurons. They weren’t designed to. They made direct contact with both the spinal cord and the muscle in order to transmit electrical impulses, but as the muscle fibers contracted, the threads inevitably pulled free. Rare earth metals would cement the connection, at least in theory, but were also hard to come by—and expensive.
For Ned, she’d find a way.
She reached for the neurachnid stored on the shelf above, but her hand met nothing but air. She looked up. Had Rufus knocked it down? She scanned the empty space, then dropped her gaze to the surface of the workbench, searching.
Her heart beating faster by the second, Amanda lifted rags. Shifted bottles and tin canisters, looked u
nder notes and papers, hunted behind her microscope.
It was… gone.
She leapt to her feet and spun around, searching the small room for any signs of intrusion and found nothing. Everything was exactly as it had been when she left.
Someone had stolen her spider.
Though no one had the combination, her security was minimal, designed more to discourage nosy children, curious family members and cleaning staff. Until this moment, she’d never considered medical espionage.
Amanda pressed a palm to her chest, willing her heart to stop pounding. She needed to think. And clearly.
Five years she’d poured into that neurachnid. Could she rebuild it? Certainly. But many fine parts were special order or handcrafted. It could take her months to construct another. Longer, if someone had also appropriated her designs.
With two long steps, she crossed to a metal cabinet in the corner. Twisting the dial first one direction, then another, and back again, she spun the combination. With a click, the lock released, and she yanked out a drawer.
She heaved a sigh of relief. All her notes, all her schematics were still there. She gathered them up and pressed them to her chest. Her laboratory was no longer secure.
Only one person she knew possessed the motivation and the mentality, the will, and the resources to infiltrate her laboratory.
Lord Thornton.
Chapter Five
AMANDA MARCHED DOWN the empty hallway past numerous doors, her back ramrod straight. She’d spent the last twenty minutes tracking down his inconvenient location. The man seemed to have deliberately removed his name and location from all directories.
If a student managed to locate Lord Thornton’s office in the meager half hour he grudgingly allotted to office hours each week, he—or she—would have but mere minutes to pose a question. Perhaps that was the earl’s goal. On this point, at least, he did not discriminate; he hated all students equally. She came to a halt, stopping before an enormous iron door at the end of the hallway. Its lock defined security.
She stared in amazement, studying the mechanism. Several large gears would—with the right combination—pull the thick iron teeth from their sockets in the iron doorjamb. An ominous red light glowed steadily from a box that also housed a screecher. Anyone who attempted to guess at the code would deeply regret their actions. She glanced upward, half-expecting to find a portcullis installed to trap the offender.
“This can’t be his office,” she murmured, her voice hushed in amazement.
“No, Lady Amanda. That is my laboratory.”
She’d recognize that voice anywhere. It ruffled her feathers. She turned on a heel to glare at him. It figured the man would work in an impenetrable fortress.
Filling the doorway to her right, Lord Thornton stood looking every inch an earl, a man whose actions were not to be questioned. Yet upon closer examination, he did seem a bit pale. Were those dark shadows beneath his eyes? Though he wore exactly the same clothes from his late night visit, his creases were no longer sharp, his shirt had lost some starch, and his cravat hung loose. But there was not a stray feather or cat hair to indicate he’d spent any time inside a chicken coop.
She narrowed her eyes. Then again, a man such as this would have minions to send to such a task. Did he ever get his own hands dirty?
He tipped his head in question, giving Amanda a glimpse of a strong, corded neck that stretched down to broad shoulders. She frowned. How did a scientist come by such a physique spending long hours in a laboratory? His lips twitched and for the slightest of moments, his gaze slid below her chin, and she was glad she’d taken the time to don the armor of high fashion and impeccable grooming.
A flush rose to her cheeks. What might have passed between the two of them had they met in society rather than as academic adversaries?
Adversary. The man was a liar and a thief. Amanda had not sought him out for a social call. She focused her anger on her target. “Give it back.”
His eyebrows rose, but his voice was irritatingly calm. “Give what back?”
“My neurachnid.”
“A clever name but, as you’ll recall, not something I’ve laid eyes upon.” He turned his back on her and stepped into a small side room that must be his office, leaving her standing in the hallway.
The effrontery! She snapped her jaw shut and followed him, refusing to accept his clear dismissal.
Lord Thornton stood at the wall, twisting a dial that would allow him to communicate with a person at the other end of the speaking tube. “I require your presence in my office. Now. She’s here.”
She bristled. He’d been expecting her? Yet denied involvement with the neurachnid’s theft? Had he been here all night, waiting? Had he and his minions already trialed the neurachnid and found it wanting? Well, he had another think coming if he thought she was going to help him, or anyone else amenable to such underhanded methods.
“On our way,” a voice over the tube crackled back.
In the oppressive silence, Amanda studied his office.
A carved mahogany desk nearly buried under a mountain of papers and books sat on a threadbare rug. Against the wall behind the desk was a bank of shelves covered in yet more books and papers. She glanced over the curiosities tucked among them. A bird skull. An oversized wax model of the human ear. Vacuum tubes. A two-headed snake floating in preservative. On another wall hung an extensive anatomical chart detailing every nerve in the human body.
A single, solitary chair—unrelieved by any cushion—sat before his desk. Anyone so unfortunate as to be offered that seat would soon hasten to leave. Rather the point, she thought.
Lord Thornton moved to sit behind his desk without so much as offering it to her.
She stood behind the chair, her fingers gripping its back. Tightly. Much like they desired to grip his neck. “You deny it then?”
His face impassive, Lord Thornton leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers across his chest. “Deny what?”
Amanda wanted to smack the flat of her hands on his desk and growl. But Father’s words came back to her, and she controlled herself. Barely. “That you sent someone to appropriate my neurachnid. I would not hand it over willingly, so you resorted to force.”
“The low opinion you must have of me.” Lord Thornton clucked his tongue. “Let me assure you that while I would like very much to have possession of your contraption, I do not.”
“So you admit the rare earth metal might work?”
His face darkened. “I admit nothing.”
A perfunctory knock sounded behind her. Amanda spun around. Leaning in the open door was a man of medium height and medium build. He had brown hair and brown eyes. All the usual features in all the usual places. A face so common that most would immediately forget it.
“So this is the student of the hour,” the man said. “Thornton didn’t mention you were beautiful as well as brilliant.” A playful grin so altered his appearance that Amanda immediately warmed to him.
Confused, but flattered, she was about to reply when a petite blonde woman, no more than five feet tall and attired in black mourning, shoved at the man’s back, knocking him off balance and into the office. “Mind the manners your mother taught you.”
“Follow the customs of my mother?” the man quipped. “You might regret that.”
“There is much about you to regret,” the lady retorted.
The man’s grin widened as she stepped around him and pierced Lord Thornton with a look. “You bellowed?”
Lord Thornton showed no inclination to rise. “Lady Amanda, may I present Lady Huntley and Mr. Black.”
Mr. Black bowed, then quietly shut the door behind him.
Lady Huntley inclined her head. “We’ve met.” Her light green eyes studied Amanda through long, kohl-darkened lashes.
Indeed, they had. Lord Huntley had once courted Amanda herself. They’d spent hours in each other’s company discussing any number of topics, including her w
ork on the neurachnid, and developed a comfortable kind of friendship. Amanda had been expecting a proposal at any moment when Eloise Kale, now Lady Huntley, made her dramatic entrance into the social whirl of the ton.
Her heart-shaped face, Cupid’s bow lips and the angelic color of her hair had men falling over their feet to make her acquaintance, Lord Huntley among them. Several months later, when Amanda wished him happy on the occasion of his wedding, he’d still only had eyes for his beautiful bride.
But he’d died, tragically, not too long after their wedding. On his way to Brussels to attend a scientific conference, airship pirates had attacked his vessel. Lord Huntley had been a good friend and scientific ally, and she’d privately mourned his death. She glanced at Lord Thornton. He’d also been aboard when that dirigible crashed but survived with a mere injury to his leg.
“You’d best take a seat,” Lady Huntley said. “He’ll not offer one and this may take some time.”
“What will take time?” Amanda asked, disinclined to sit. She glanced from one face to the next. If this was about her missing neurachnid, it was causing quite a stir.
“She accuses me of stealing it,” Lord Thornton said.
Mr. Black crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. “Well, you do have motivation.”
Lord Thornton growled.
“This device of yours,” Lady Huntley began, “that can repair a damaged motor neuron by spinning gold fibers from the central nervous system to the muscle, what is your current success rate?”
Amanda stiffened. This was about her neurachnid. It hurt to think of Lord Huntley sharing her research with a woman he’d married instead of her.
“Let us save the details for later, Lady Huntley.” Lord Thornton turned his intense gaze back in Amanda’s direction. “Where were you last night?”
She took exception at his accusatory tone. “Excuse me? What business is that of yours?” Her voice rose with each word. “Why are you treating me like a suspected criminal? As if I would steal my own spider.”
