The Viscount's Wicked Ways

by Anne Mallory

  They exited the workshop and walked down the road that snaked between the buildings. Thomas escorted her into the next building, a long brown structure. Contraptions and vehicles of every shape and description were crammed inside. A team of men were busy. Some were riding and falling from the contraptions and others appeared to be fiddling with them.

  Noise and commotion ruled. A bang or crash sounded every few seconds as something or someone fell from its perch. There were two-wheeled, three-wheeled, four-wheeled, and even ten-wheeled monstrosities vying with tiny one-wheeled machines for space on a small track that had been set up in the middle of the chaos. Horses bucked and neighed, and she fancied she even saw a few sheep.

  Thomas led her to the tall, thin man who had also assisted with the ill-fated sarcophagus. She was sensing a pattern. Four men, four buildings…

  “Mr. Tick runs the vehicle, contraption, and mechanical building, also known as the Newton Building. Or more affectionately referred to as Bedlam Physics. As you can see, there is a great deal of chaos in here.”

  The aptly named Theodore Tick, who Thomas said loved to work with gadgets and clocks, sniffed. “We prefer to deem it ‘action.’”

  Patience grinned. These men were inventors. Suddenly everything came together in her brain. The strange noises, the lights, men wandering at odd hours across the estate…

  The noises were almost completely accounted for in the first two buildings alone. Although the stomping and pounding still needed to be explained, Patience had a feeling that discovery was one or two buildings away. And that the discoveries of the lights and smells (besides the solely chemical smells) would soon be apparent.

  Warming to the topic, she peppered the men with questions, and after their initial surprise, they perked up and expounded on their designs and what they hoped to accomplish. They were happy to share their excitement with someone else, someone who had been deemed safe by their leader.

  Patience realized that they weren’t much different from her colleagues, completely absorbed by what they were doing, fascinated by their work to an extent that would bore anyone else, and usually did if engaged in conversation.

  The third building, the Galileo Building, was headed by the man who had had the misfortune to kiss the mummy, Peter Yensen. It was filled with glass and light. She learned that astronomers and explorers were charting, mapping, and creating devices. One man was improving a handheld telescope, another was inventing some type of navigational device that resembled a sextant. A third was engaged with setting up a number of pieces of glass to reflect light and form prisms. She would bet that this was the cause of the strange lights.

  Thomas whispered, his soft breath tickling her ear, “Sometimes I don’t think they know what they are doing either. See that man over there, the one dressed all in purple?”

  Patience saw a gangly man madly fidgeting with a compass.

  “He has the strangest ideas and always wants to share them. He’ll pin you in a corner and babble on and on. He had stationed himself at the back entrance to speak with me the night you came. He does it often enough that I leave the downstairs study window open so I can crawl through to escape him. Kenfield, my butler, won’t let me hear the end of it.”

  She smiled, elated from the discovery of what was really going on at the estate and the trust that Thomas seemed to have placed in her.

  The fourth building was the last, although Thomas had offhandedly mentioned something about catacombs and underground facilities. Patience stopped before the door, unaccountably nervous again.

  “Why?”

  Thomas gave her a questioning glance, but stopped as well. “Why what?”

  “Why are you showing me all of this? And why now?”

  He paused and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Logically, I know you are innocent of the problems we have been having and that you are not a spy, atleast not in the negative sense of the word. The attack on you yesterday is a logical reason for feeling this way. Intuitively, I know you are innocent, because I feel it.”

  She stiffened at the possible reference to their indiscretion. “Does this have to do with what occurred in the garden and in your study?”

  He cocked his head and seemed to carefully select his words. “I’d be lying if I said no. But it’s probably not in the way that you think. I’m not doing this solely out of feelings of guilt for believing the rumors about you. I’m doing this because I want you to know what we do here. The types of things that interest me.” He cocked his head. “Do you still want to see this building?”

  Did she? Yes. She had wanted to see inside this building ever since she had been trapped in the closet eavesdropping on their meeting. But what did he mean, that he knew she was innocent? Something told her that it wasn’t in the way that she had been innocent before last night.

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Be careful not to touch anything.”

  Too late, she thought, as he took her hand and led her inside.

  The hall gave way to the room that had haunted her dreams. In the daylight, the room appeared much less fierce, but the things inside did not. Weaponry of every kind and description covered the interior. Pulleys and chains supported strange-looking barrels and pipes. Gadgets littered the surface in this building as well, accessories to the firearms.

  “Come, you can see our monster.”

  “Wait. Then there really is a monster?”

  He gave her a strange look and walked toward a cannon with a revolving cylinder. It looked like an improved Puckle Gun. Much improved, if the number of chambers and general machinery were anything to go by.

  “This is the monster?”

  His eyes had an unreadable look as he, too, examined it. “Yes.” His voice was soft.

  “How does it work?”

  He looked at her briefly, then back at the cannon. “It repeats shot. Up to twenty times. Multiple waves of ammunition. Enough to destroy an entire line of soldiers.”

  Horrified, all she could do was stare at him as he stared pensively at the monster. “D-does it work?”

  He sighed. “Somewhat.”

  Richards was in charge of the Hastings Building, but he was too busy putting out a fire, literally, to greet them. He waved and returned to his task.

  “Hastings, as in the battle?”

  “Yes, the last time England was conquered.”

  The air in the building became stifling. Whether it was the air or her, she didn’t know. Thomas sensed her discomfort and steered her outside.

  “The monster. I saw you raising it a few nights after we arrived,” she said.

  He lifted a brow. “Spying on us from your bedroom, were you?”

  “Anyone would be curious,” she said somewhat defensively.

  He sighed again. “Yes, and that is the problem.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I started this collective a decade ago. Invited inventors from all over England and the Continent. Some came from farther still. I fund the experiments. For the most part they are useful and even intriguing. Farming, astronomy, mechanics, all scientific study is welcome. However, that includes items of warfare, too.” His eyes took a distant cast. “And if I didn’t fund and manage it, the interested parties would go elsewhere.”

  “Other countries, you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Even within our own country there are movements afoot. In the wrong hands…”

  He trailed off, unwilling to say more, but it was obvious what such inventions could do and spawn.

  “The mad surgeon you were talking about works on this monster thing, doesn’t he?”

  Thomas smirked. “You really were curious. Perhaps I should call you ‘Kitty’ from now on?” He leaned closer. “Try and make you purr?”

  She blushed.

  “But how and why do you keep this all secret? Surely people know.”

  He nodded. “Of course, they know. And we are wary of spies. Not even counting the warfare division, there are many spie
s in other industries wanting to steal inventions for their own.”

  “The retiring room!”

  He looked at her oddly.

  “The devices installed in the ground-floor retiring room. I had Tilly ask three different servants about it, but none of them would give her a good answer.”

  He smiled. “The servants and villagers are secretive. Most of them are without price in their devotion to our works. And they are always on the lookout for suspicious people and spies—sometimes they take it a little far. I heard you had quite the excursion to the village.”

  Patience shook her head. “Loyalty like that is definitely without price.”

  “We employ most of the village in some way. The village mill employs over half the population. As to the retiring room, I had forgotten that your journey into the bowels of the castle had taken you by it. We are looking to install more within the castle, but they require a lot of piping and engineering. Knocking down walls is a major undertaking.”

  “And the chandeliers?”

  “Noticed the jars, did you? They are powered by gas. Prince George expressed particular interest in them.”

  She nodded, her mind already on the next question. “What happened the other day? With the explosion?”

  Thomas grinned. “An inventor, on his own, may be a bit inattentive. But get a collective banded together with someone willing to organize it, and you have a lot of dangerous minds. There are traps set around all the buildings. What you saw was one of them being activated.”

  She was floored. “You have spies. Here, now?”

  “Of course.”

  “You thought I was a spy! That’s what you meant.”

  Suddenly it all made sense. He nodded. “There were a lot of things working against you, namely that you are part French, speak the language, and have current contacts there.”

  “But Thomas, there are a lot of people who speak French. In fact, most members of the ton do.”

  Thomas smiled. “But your arrival coincided with a number of incidents, and you were always poking into things. Patience, you are your own worst enemy.”

  “Are most of your spies French?”

  “Some. Monster has created a great deal of government interest. France is especially interested, and we’ve intercepted a number of their people sneaking about the premises.”

  She quieted. “What are you going to do with the monster?”

  His lips drew tight. “I don’t know. We are still thinking that through. Generally our mad surgeon loses interest after he perfects something. Perhaps we will sink it in the ocean and destroy the plans.”

  He said it lightly, but not lightly enough for her not to believe it an option in his mind.

  “Why do you hate antiquarians so much?”

  His face pulled tight. “I don’t hate antiquarians. I hate obsessions.”

  She blinked. The inventors seemed just as obsessed as the men from her circle. Before she could say anything, he stepped forward and caressed her cheek.

  “Besides, I like things that are alive and full of energy.”

  She closed her eyes briefly at the sensation, but pulled away before he could continue. She wasn’t ready yet. He was starting to show her his layers, and she loved these, too. His passion for the creations he oversaw and his fellowship with the men under his wing drew her deeper. But there were still unanswered questions hidden behind his eyes. She wanted him to trust her with those, too. She had one week left. Time enough not to rush into anything and make another mistake.

  Patience walked back to the castle. The sun was on a downward course. She had spent several hours exploring the buildings, with Thomas answering all her work-related questions.

  Perhaps she could make progress tonight.

  “—and that is the last.”

  “I need more time. Darling, please.”

  Patience looked at the hedge separating the formal garden from the rose garden. The voices were low and heated.

  Natural curiosity made her want to hear more, but it sounded like a lover’s quarrel, and she didn’t want to intrude on a private moment.

  “Can’t you do anything? Stop them? Make them put it off another week?” The voice turned seductive, and sounded vaguely familiar. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  The woman made some reply, but her voice was too low for Patience to hear.

  The man rattled off a series of endearments in French, and Patience paused. The part of her that saw monsters in shadows immediately thought—spy! But speaking French wasn’t a crime. She spoke French and had never entertained a single traitorous thought against England.

  Still, she decided to continue her route through the rose garden. If she happened upon the couple, well, it was the middle of the day, and actually a poor spot for a secluded rendezvous. What kind of spies chose to meet in the open air, where anyone could see them from the castle windows?

  As it turned out, the lovers were gone by the time she reached their spot. Shrugging, she started to continue on when a shiny object caught her gaze.

  A bit of metal glinted from a clutch of roses near the edge of the path. She reached down to examine it. It nestled in her palm, oddly shaped and worn. She rubbed it absently and continued her walk through the rose garden, becoming once again lost in thought about Thomas and the end of her stay in the castle. About what would happen to their relationship afterward. About what she wanted. About what he wanted. He was about as forthcoming as a clam.

  Thomas wanted to meet before dinner. To discuss things, he had said. Patience thought it more likely that he wanted to discuss how his mouth fit perfectly over hers. Not that she minded that “discussion,” no, she definitely didn’t mind. But she wanted, no, needed answers from him first. And she wasn’t likely to get them quite yet. His eyes were still too guarded.

  And there was a very good chance that he didn’t want the same things she did. A very good chance. She had taken the risk and was willing to accept the consequences, painful though they might be. A part of her pointed to Thomas’s reaction after they made love. The rest of her ruthlessly squashed that part. She was going to give him, them, a chance. If he was using her, more fool she, but at least she wouldn’t regret knowing for sure.

  She walked out of the rose garden, so involved in her internal warfare that she barely had time to register the change in the air as the bittersweet smell caught her nose, and a cloth was clasped over her mouth.

  Chapter 19

  “What are you doing?” A familiar voice shrieked, and for a second Patience latched onto a name before it dissolved back into the muddied confines of her drugged mind.

  “Disposing of an unneeded distraction.”

  “You can’t ki-kill her!”

  “Darling, do you want her to expose us?”

  “I told you, there is no more us!”

  The two voices switched to muffled French as they moved to the other side of the room. Patience strained to hear, her mind becoming more alert with every second, but she only caught a few words. “My love,” and “my flower,” and “my only.” It seemed that the man was trying to placate the woman. They were obviously the same couple she had heard in the gardens. Interestingly enough though the woman’s accent was slightly better than the man’s, neither was a native speaker of French.

  The man’s voice grew clearer, and she had the nagging suspicion she knew it. She recalled seeing the colorless concoction on Jim’s table. Perhaps it was Jim, the head of the Boyle Building?

  “No!” The woman shrieked again.

  “I won’t discuss this with you anymore. Go back to the castle before I get angry.”

  There was a definite edge to the threat and the woman must have taken heed, because the door slammed, and one pair of footsteps receded.

  Was she in one of the perimeter buildings that Thomas had said they used for occasional testing? How had they moved her without anyone seeing them? If the woman was walking back, they couldn’t be that far.

  Footsteps came towar
d her, and Patience stiffened. She really ought not to have shut down her paranoia just because everything about the trip to the castle that had seemed unreal and fantastic had proven to have a rational explanation. She couldn’t prevent herself from wincing and shrinking back as the footsteps stopped next to her.

  “You’re awake. We can’t have that. No, not at all. It’s still daylight, and since I must wait until nightfall to deal with you, I can’t allow you to remain awake. Pity really, as you are quite an interesting woman. Pleasant dreams, Miss Harrington.”

  The bittersweet aroma once more invaded her senses, just as the nagging memory of his voice and the piece of metal she had been examining coalesced into horrified recognition.

  Thomas paced his study and once again checked his pocket fob. Patience was supposed to have met him half an hour ago. It was nearly sundown. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was being coy. But coyness wasn’t even in Patience Harrington’s vocabulary.

  There was a knock at the door. Finally.

  “It’s about ti—”

  Thomas broke off as Kenfield quirked a brow. “Indeed, my lord. This just arrived for you. The messenger said it was most urgent.”

  Thomas took the missive, not really caring to read anything not from Patience. He scanned the words, cold washing through him, as fear replaced annoyance. He hadn’t felt such fear since he had discovered his sister’s body ten years ago.

  “Kenfield, who gave this to you?” he asked urgently.

  His butler’s normally impassive face showed concern. “A boy from the kitchens. Do you want me to detain him?”

  “Yes, immediately.”

  And then he took off running as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Patience groggily returned to consciousness. If she never smelled that bittersweet scent again, it would be too soon.

  “Don’t move.”

  She froze, terror ripping through her, before struggling against her bonds.