by Anne Renwick
“It appears, on the surface, to be another unsuccessful attempt,” Black said. “The body is badly damaged.” That anybody survived the kraken swarms was a miracle, making the Thames a favored dumping ground of murderers. “And bloated. Its smell is… indescribable…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Amanda said, but he detected a slight wrinkling of her nose. “We’ll need to examine him.”
“Let’s go,” he said, reaching for his cane.
“If you don’t mind,” Lady Huntley said, “I’ll read the report this time.”
“As will I,” Black echoed.
“Cowards,” Thornton teased. Though he was relieved to part with them at the iron door, leaving him to accompany Amanda alone into the bowels of the building. “Amanda,” he began, placing a hand at the small of her back.
She sidled away. “Not here,” she hissed. “Anyone might be about.”
“Very well. But soon.” They would need to speak. He’d meant what he said about not wanting a wife. He wanted her, but only if she could accept that their relationship would need to remain a secret.
For now.
Perhaps in the future… He pushed the thought away. First he would need to speak to her father about Sommersby, about preventing that alliance from occurring.
They traveled to the autopsy suite in silence.
Amanda stepped into the room and gagged. “Dear God.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and nose.
The stench of decay was overpowering and of such strength he feared it would set into their clothing, their hair, their very pores.
“This will require an hour’s soak in a sodium bicarbonate bath to remove the smell,” she gasped.
“At least.” Thornton grabbed two OptiAir masks from their hooks, handing one to Amanda and pulling the other over his face. Only then could he enjoy the image that sprang to mind of her reclining in a tub, steam rising above her damp shoulders, wet tendrils of hair dangling about her face and neck.
He steeled himself to focus on the task at hand.
The India rubber seal prevented conversation, and so they worked quietly and efficiently, taking samples and thoroughly examining the man’s wounds—what the fish and kraken had left for them to examine—using hand signals.
Cause of death was not in question. The poor man’s abdomen had been slit from stem to stern. Surgery in the eye socket had been attempted, but without a working nerve agent, failure had been unavoidable.
Still, there were multiple insertions of gold thread into the brainstem. But this neurachnid had not been able to negotiate the superior orbital fissure in a manner that would allow it to reach the appropriate ganglia clusters.
Time, however, worked against them. The longer it took to locate this mad scientist, this mad spy, the more likely it was that the eye doctor’s independent modifications would succeed.
At last they slid the body into the refrigeration unit and retreated into the ascension chamber, pulling the rubber masks from their sweaty faces as the door slid shut.
Amanda fell backward against the wall, eyes closed, hair tossed and tumbled. “There is no evidence he has employed milligears, but there is every indication he has made other alterations to improve the stolen neurachnid. If he’s not stopped, he may very well successfully refine my device.”
Thornton didn’t want to discuss the spider, not during one of the few moments they might have alone. He could fight temptation no longer. With two steps, he had her in his arms, his lips on hers, his body pressing her tightly against the chamber’s walls.
Her lips parted, welcoming him in, her tongue tangling hungrily with his, her arms wrapping about his waist, pulling him closer.
The distance the chamber traveled was all too short. It took every last ounce of his willpower to pull away, to reach the control panel before the doors slid open once more.
He reached the lever just in time, flipping it to “stop”. They had mere moments before a disabled chamber would be noticed.
She stood there, face flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide.
“Ever since last night, I’ve not been able to think of anything but you, Amanda. I can’t make you any promises, but if you’ll have me…” He waited.
“Any way I can,” she answered. Her cheeks burned an enticing crimson as she fought to speak past a measure of maidenly modesty. “But not here. Not in the school buildings.”
“Not here,” he agreed. A sense of triumph was quickly blunted by intense impatience. “Where?”
Her eyes dropped, and her voice fell to the merest whisper, fighting her embarrassment. “My laboratory. Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IT TOOK AMANDA OVER an hour in the bathtub—washing her hair twice, scrubbing every inch of skin—to finally drive every last trace of stench from her pores. The gardenia-scented lotion was mere precaution.
“What happened to your feet?” Olivia gasped.
Her sister had burst into Amanda’s room, catching her applying salve to her feet. Amanda smiled to herself, holding the memory of last night’s adventure close.
With no time to lose, Thornton had scooped their boots from the floor—and snagged a woolen coat from a peg to wrap her in—as they ran barefoot from the building out into a driving rain that had turned the road to mud. Mud studded with foot-piercing gravel.
“They’ll be fine,” she said simply, rolling soft stockings over her feet to hide the damage from Olivia’s incredulous eyes. If her sister but knew what Amanda planned for this night. A flush rose to her cheeks. “What brings you to my door?”
“This.” Olivia reached out and deposited a Babbage card on the table beside her. “You owe me much for those hours spent with an anatomy text. It was torture.” She frowned. “Are you certain this is a good idea? I’ve only ever programmed steambots to do things for humans, not to them.”
Amanda understood her trepidation. “Medical research is always scary. If it makes you feel any better, patients are always fully informed.” Those that put themselves in Thornton’s hands anyway. “Thank you.”
“There’s more.” Her sister shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “I’ve come from Father’s study.”
“Carlton?”
Olivia sighed. “Best not to ask.” A brittle smile formed on her lips. “It seems your turn has arrived. Father wishes to see you in his study. Mr. Sommersby has come to call.”
Dread reached out and squeezed her stomach. “Is he still here?”
“Father sent him to wait in the library,” Olivia answered, but tipped her head. “Don’t tell me you intend to refuse him?” Her next words surprised Amanda. “Don’t you want your own family? Your own household?”
Yes.
Except she did not want a husband any lesser than Thornton, and he did not want a wife. Therefore, she resolved, so long as he was in her life, she would do without a husband.
The only problem would be convincing Father.
Amanda stood, the many petticoats she wore fanning out about her legs. She finished dressing by donning a simple high-necked shirtwaist with tiny, pearl buttons and a skirt that gathered at the small of her back, giving only the faintest impression of a bustle. Last, she donned a soft, leather overbust corset.
Then she sat before her mirror and reached up to pull her hair into a simple knot.
“Let me. I’ve a new style I’m working on for Steam Cora.” Olivia moved behind her and began to plait and twist her hair. “What is wrong with Mr. Sommersby? A decent man from a good family with a modest income, which your dowry will augment considerably. You will live in comfort, and he will one day be a physician. Quite probably he will let you practice medicine as well. Is that not all you ever wanted?”
A few weeks ago, it had been. “Don’t you ever want more, Olivia?” she asked.
As children, they’d been close, but the moment their skirts lengthened, the moment Mother began to groom them to catch a husband, a c
rack had formed, gradually widening and deepening until they could no longer reach each other. Now her sister threw a rope across the chasm.
“More?” Olivia laughed. “Romance is not for the daughters of dukes.” She stabbed in a few hairpins. “Especially for those daughters who buck tradition and enroll themselves in medical school.” She wrestled a final loose strand into a twist and pinned it in place. “There. Best hurry. Father was already pacing when I left.”
Minutes later, she stood in front of his massive wooden desk.
Father stood behind it, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. That was a trick, considering his hair was on the retreat. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” he bellowed. “I thought we had struck a deal. Have you someone else in mind? Lord Thornton perhaps?”
She fought a rising blush and shook her head. “No.”
“Are you certain?” Father crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “All that time you’ve been spending with him late at night. Unchaperoned.”
“You know romantic entanglements are against the rules.”
He looked at her sharply. “If he’s taken any unwanted liberties, I will bring him up to scratch.”
“No, Father.” Nothing Thornton had done was unwelcome or unwanted.
“Are you certain? Marriage, itself, is not expressly forbidden.”
She stayed silent.
Father heaved a disgusted sigh. “At least consider Sommersby’s offer.”
“I don’t think we suit.”
He nearly choked at her response, but surprisingly, let it go. “On to other matters, then,” he said. “Emily.”
“As agreed, Father. I’ve told no one about Emily’s whereabouts.”
“No one but Lord Thornton.”
Not revealing that Emily was a gypsy bride was one of the conditions she’d violated. Certainly Father would not force her from school for telling Lord Thornton? Amanda pressed a hand against a queasy stomach. “He needed to know.”
“And now the Queen and many of her agents know.” Father waved a hand. “However, so long as the ton remains unaware, I will overlook your indiscretion. Have a care, Amanda, anyone could follow you to her campsite. You’ve not the training to conceal your movements and are lucky Thornton intercepted you.”
A lead ball fell into her stomach. She’d not been thinking of the ramifications. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. I promised not to interfere in her new life as a gypsy. She promised not to reveal herself. I’m doing my best to protect her and uphold my end of our bargain.”
“She would be safer here at home, the baby too, if only…”
“You think I’m wrong to ban her from my household?” Father tipped his head back. “Emily is welcome here. All she has to do is admit she made a mistake, and she can return. Until then…” He threw a hand in the air. “A deal’s a deal.” He fixed her with a pointed stare. He began to pace. “She’s gone native, gypsy style. No marriage contract. No church records. Just stated intentions and… and…” His voice dropped. “Evidence of their union.” He poured a glass of scotch. Sipped. “Your mother would have an apoplexy if she discovers she’s to become a grandmother to a gypsy baby.”
Sad, but true. Likely her niece or nephew would know only one set of grandparents.
Father continued, “Nor would Olivia’s engagement survive the news.” After such news, no other ton male would have her. “Now.” Father narrowed his eyes at her. “Sommersby and I have hashed out a tentative agreement. I could have you wed in mere weeks.”
“No.” Amanda took a step backward. “Can we not revisit our agreement, Father? I need more time.”
“Time for what?” he asked. “You’ve had years. If you won’t have Sommersby, I will find you a husband.”
A terrifying thought.
“No?” Father’s eyebrows rose at her expression. “I thought not. Off to the library, Amanda. Sommersby awaits your answer. I strongly advise you don’t throw him beneath a steam carriage.”
She stood in the hallway outside the library for a long time. At last she pasted a smile on her face and entered.
“Amanda,” Simon stood, offering a tentative smile.
She moved to stand before the fireplace. “I’ve spoken with Father.”
“And the result is such a grim face?” Simon looked pained. “Am I to be declined?”
She studied the man before her. He was tall. Handsome. Well-connected. Bright.
Yet so very, very dull.
With this man there would be no late-night dirigible rides in thick London fog. No crash landings into gypsy camps. No mysteries to unravel in the morgue. No late nights working side by side in a laboratory. No scampering across slick roofs or down muddy roads.
No passionate encounters that left her panting and sated.
Her toes curled in her slippers. “I’m sorry, Simon.”
He reached out and lifted her hand. “I’ve agreed to everything you desire. You may remain in medical school, practice after graduation. I’ll even build that laboratory in my basement for you. Though I hope you’ll restrict your hours once children arrive.”
Chances of finding another gentleman who would grant her such liberties were slim, but, his words made it clear he would not encourage her eccentricities; they were only to be tolerated.
“It’s Lord Thornton, isn’t it?” His mouth hardened. “That is why you won’t accept my proposal.”
She fought the instinct to look away. “No,” she lied. “I want so much to be able to accept you, but…”
“But what?”
“Tell me, Simon. Do you feel any… chemistry between us?”
He leaned forward, tugging on her hand. “If it’s romance you’re after.” His lips came down on hers. They were warm and soft—and trying far too hard.
She twisted away, feeling horribly disloyal.
Simon dropped her hand and stepped away. “Obviously, you do not.”
“No.” At the very least, she owed him honesty.
Undiscouraged, Simon pressed his suit. “Marriage is often one of alliances. I offer you all you want and more.”
Amanda looked at him. His eyes were full of hope. How could he still want her? “You have,” she said. “But…”
“Please, Amanda,” Simon begged. “At least do me the courtesy of considering my offer.”
~~~
Again it seemed he followed in Sommersby’s wake.
Thornton fought back a sudden swell of jealousy as the man’s carriage departed from her front door. He suppressed the tiny, niggling fear that Amanda had changed her mind.
Still, he could not leave; he had an audience with the duke.
His cane tapping on the stone floor of the hallway, he followed the odd—and old—steam butler into the duke’s lair where a massive carved desk dominated one end of the room. Two plain, un-upholstered chairs stood before the desk. The duke’s company was not expected to linger. He knew the trick well.
“Lord Thornton,” the duke intoned. He was seated behind that desk and made no effort to rise. “Several nights have passed in which you’ve spent several hours in my daughter’s company. Unchaperoned. I presume you’re here to make an offer?”
Dread washed over him. If the Duke of Avesbury saw fit, he could trigger the parson’s mousetrap with a single word. He could be a married man on the morrow. There was nothing to do but bluff his way through. “I think such an offer would take Lady Amanda by surprise.”
“You do?”
“I do. Such long and uncommon hours were to be expected when you allowed her to work in my laboratory and with the Queen’s agents. Murderers do not keep regular hours. Leads must be pursued as they arise.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “Make your report then. What is this I hear about flowers?”
Thornton explained the reason for the unexpected journey to Airship Sails, relating the events that had occurred that evening. Everything, that is, that wouldn’t create an instant c
ountess.
“Very good,” the duke answered. “If that is all, you may go.”
“There is one more thing,” Thornton said. “I’ve a request to make.”
The duke raised his eyebrows and waited.
“It has come to my attention that Lady Amanda has inescapable social obligations.”
“Mmm.” The duke crossed his arms.
“She is incredibly bright. Perhaps the most intelligent woman I have had the opportunity to work with. Lady Amanda could have a bright future in the medical sciences. When she is able to focus upon her studies, her grades exceed those of all others. Her laboratory work is stellar. Her insight into the eye doctor’s progress essential.” Thornton swallowed and brazened forward. “The requirement that she pursue marriage is negatively affecting both her studies and her work.”
“Then end her social responsibilities. Make an offer. Marry her yourself. Problem solved.”
Thornton’s jaw slackened. Seconds passed before he was able to respond. “Your daughter should not be tossed to the first man to offer for her.”
“Ha!” The duke looked genuinely amused. “You think you’d be the first? She’s been turning gentlemen down for years. Fewer, recently, but still.”
Thornton was too stunned to reply. She’d turned down Sommersby? The duke would consider him an acceptable son-in-law?
The duke cocked his head. “Ah, perhaps you think the board of directors would object? That rule was put in place to prevent instructors from taking undue advantage of unmarried females. However, should you marry…” When Thornton still did not speak, the duke went on, “Or perhaps you wish me to deny you?” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps it is my daughter who is making undesired advances?”
“No! Not at all, Your Grace.” He wanted to run his hands through his hair, rip clumps out by their roots. “I want…” Thornton wanted Amanda by his side. At every possible opportunity. As a colleague. As a lover. But as a wife?
Did he dare?
No. It was too drastic a step. Marriage was not something to be rushed into without first contemplating all angles.
The duke began tapping the table with an index finger, a frown carving deep lines into his face. “You want?”
