Brass Carriages and Glass Hearts

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “I was conferring nonverbally with my paid companion,” Emme said hotly.

  Laughter met her remark, and Daniel, grinning, looked over Isla’s head at Oliver. “Didn’t realize you’d changed professions, Reed.”

  Lucy shot a look at her brother but also laughed. “Paid companions come in many forms, you know. Sometimes a young woman will travel with an elder aunt, or a family friend.”

  “Equally as amusing,” Miles said, his mouth turned up in a grin. “And what did your ‘nonverbal communication’ tell you?”

  Emme glared at the lot of them, even Madeline, who sat next to her and tried to cover her own mirth. Emme’s lips twitched, and she huffed out a breath. “I am prepared to tell him very verbally to cast you all out into the corridor.”

  In truth, once he had the information the others had come to deliver, Oliver planned to do that very thing. Emme was tired, he was tired, and the hour grew late.

  “Isla,” he said as the laughter died down, “what did you learn from the man you took to the ground?”

  She took a breath and sobered. “I questioned him before the police arrived, and he described the man who had hired him to lob the device through the window—‘the one with the curtain drawn back’—as soon as he caught sight of a woman walking with the aid of a crutch.”

  All levity in the room settled. Oliver couldn’t bring himself to look at the hurt he knew he’d see on Emme’s face. “With the intent to kill her.”

  Isla shook her head. “I don’t think so. He said he was to scare the woman, throw it when he saw her, not when he could hit her with it.”

  “So to frighten me,” Emme said, “and everybody else in attendance. What if Miles hadn’t been there? What if someone had been hurt because of me? I know you’ll all say it’s not my fault, but if I weren’t here, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Perhaps not,” Miles said, “but likely, yes. The cocktail would have been thrown at someone else who represents the ISRO. The organization has risen to tremendous influence in the last year alone, and is ultimately the biggest threat to the Committee’s existence.” He paused, then added, “This is not your fault.”

  She bit her lip, and her knee bounced twice before she winced and stilled. “Nevertheless, I believe it in everyone’s best interest if I remain in this room until the final night of festivities.”

  “Oh, Emme,” Madeline breathed. “You have worked so long for this.”

  Emme reached over to clasp Madeline’s hand. “And it will all be for naught if the whole thing is blown to kingdom come.” She sighed and looked at Oliver. “I shall have Carlo present the address tomorrow on the history of the ISRO and its current mission. Perhaps if I remain scarce, the next couple of days will pass uneventfully and I shall still be able to address the final assembly before they vote to pass an international accord. Hopefully, they vote to pass it.”

  “They will pass it, Emme,” Hazel said. “In the meantime, once I’ve finished my presentation tomorrow, I shall keep you company here.”

  “Likewise,” Lucy added, and Isla nodded.

  “No, no. You must all go out and enjoy it for me. Please. I caught only a glimpse of it today, and perhaps I can sneak out in a day or two, but I need you all to see everything and tell me about it.” Emme smiled, but it was strained.

  “Tomorrow evening, then.” Lucy’s tone was firm. “We will bring the celebrations to you. Leave everything to me.”

  “Excellent.” Emme nodded. “And you’ll join us, Maddie.” She looked at her stepsister.

  “Yes,” Isla added. “It is lovely to see you here, Maddie.”

  Madeline blushed. “I’ll make every effort.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Oh, mercy. The hour is late.” The blush faded from her face, and she looked ill.

  “Miles!” Lucy jumped up from her seat. “Thank you, Madeline, for noting the time. We must go but shall see the rest of you tomorrow.” She planted a quick kiss on Emme’s cheek, and Miles nodded to them all before making a quick exit with Lucy.

  Madeline looked in confusion after them as she stood. Oliver realized that while Emme knew of Miles’s condition as a predatory shifter, she would not have told her family. He thought to make an excuse for their hasty departure, but Madeline said quietly to Emme, “I must be back in my room. Lysette will have noted my absence by now.”

  “Yes, very well. The sixth floor.”

  Madeline nodded. “We return to the lodge tomorrow evening following dinner with Father’s associates at a restaurant down the street.”

  Emme reached up and grabbed her hand. “Visit with us tomorrow night before you leave, if possible. I shall be in touch.”

  Madeline nodded, squeezed Emme’s hand, and left. The Picketts and MacInneses also made their farewells as Gus entered Oliver’s room with Josephine. Leaving Emme in the young maid’s capable hands, Oliver brought Gus up-to-date with news of the perpetrator. Gus had little to report other than having heard continued rumblings about a planned attack sometime during the week.

  Oliver called Conley to compare notes and learned that Bryce Randolph, the head of the Predatory Shifter Regulations Committee, had indeed hired the man to throw the cocktail through the hotel window when he saw Emme. Randolph had taken to the shadows; a team had been tasked with his arrest.

  Oliver felt fortunate so much law enforcement and military presence had descended upon the city; this latest disturbance was now heaped upon the usual round of increased activity visited upon a host city. In addition to several thefts and two minor assaults, six missing persons reports had been filed in the prior twelve hours.

  At length, Josephine left via the connecting door between rooms, as he had instructed everybody to contact Emme through him. The door between their rooms was still ajar, and he poked his head inside to see Emme seated on the couch in a robe, legs drawn up and arms wrapped around them. She stared into the fire, barely blinking.

  He knocked on the doorframe. “May I?”

  She lifted her head, gesturing to the space next to her on the sofa.

  “Bryce Randolph was responsible for this evening, and the search for him is on. Perhaps now that he knows he has been identified, the threats will cease.”

  She nodded but didn’t seem convinced. In truth, he wasn’t settled either.

  “We’ll remain vigilant. Have you contacted Giancarlo regarding tomorrow’s address?”

  She nodded again, and this time, a sheen covered her eyes. She cleared her throat as if she might speak but then swallowed and looked again at the fire. A tear trickled down her cheek. It was sadder than any she’d shed over the past many hours since her frightening jump from the sky, and his heart turned over. How did one comfort a woman? He would have to ask Sam about such things. In the meantime, he scooted closer to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

  She sniffled and blinked, then leaned back, resting against his side. “He hasn’t won,” she murmured, and he was relieved at the statement.

  “No, he definitely has not. We are outmaneuvering him. Keeping you hidden is strategically sound, should he have other weapons in his quiver.” He settled comfortably and stretched his legs on the coffee table before them. “I’m curious,” he said after they’d sat in silence for a moment, “why you’d never referred to Randolph as your nemesis. I know I have the honor of that title and that Nigel Crowe is ‘nemesis number two,’ but surely you have a pet name for the worst of us all.”

  She turned her face toward his and arched a brow. “I do, indeed. His name is ‘Devil.’”

  “Ah. Very good.” The firelight flickered warm against their faces, and he cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb softly across her skin. His heart thumped hard in his chest. Her head lay against his shoulder, and he thought of the times he’d been close to her and not nearly so content.

  “Are you in much pain?” He traced her brow with a finger
tip.

  She blinked slowly. “Yes, but I’m growing accustomed to it. Hardly notice it anymore.”

  “I have some laudanum to help you sleep, if you wish.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “Detective-Inspector, is it your goal to render me defenseless?”

  He smiled. “I would never waste energy on the impossible.”

  “How is it that a handful of days ago I quite detested the sight of you?”

  He chuckled softly and brushed strands of her long, dark hair from her face. “We had a good, long run on the enemy front, did we not?”

  “We did, indeed. Where are we now?”

  He pursed his lips as if giving the matter thought. “Unfa­miliar territory. Are you concerned?”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Stunned, more like. Are you concerned?”

  He smiled. “Extremely. I am afraid if I do not kiss you again, we’ll not know whether our feelings on the beach were simply a reaction to stress or something more.”

  “Mmm, yes. I see the need to investigate.” Her eyelids fluttered closed as he shifted, intending to place his lips on hers.

  They were separated by a fraction of an inch when a quick knock sounded at the door, and Emme jumped, bumping their noses together.

  “Miss Emmeline, I wonder if you—oh my! Oh, do forgive me.” Gus stood in the doorway between rooms, mouth agape.

  Oliver closed his eyes and tipped his head forward, resting it against Emme, who stared at Gus, wide-eyed.

  She shook Oliver’s shoulder. “Gus has a question.”

  “I know.” Still, his eyes remained closed.

  She cleared her throat, and when he made no attempt to move, she said, “What is it, Gus?”

  “Forgive me, miss. Josephine has sent word that she is not scheduled to work tomorrow morning but would be glad to come in anyway and offer her assistance.”

  Emme sighed, her breath falling softly against Oliver’s neck. “That would be lovely, Gus. In fact, I mean to speak with her about the possibility of a more permanent position.”

  “Very good, miss. And . . . well . . . as you were.”

  The room was again quiet, and he felt her laughing softly before he finally lifted his head and settled for a kiss on her forehead.

  “It is late,” he said with a sigh and a smile.

  “And the moment has passed.” She shook her head, but the corners of her mouth tilted upward.

  The phone rang in the other room, and Gus answered it, pausing as he tripped over himself explaining that the detective was out . . . er . . . not out, but occupied . . .

  “I’ll be right there,” Oliver yelled to Gus, who relayed the information to the caller.

  “Go.” She nudged him. “I am falling asleep anyway. I’ll sit here another moment and then climb into bed.”

  “Very well.” He paused, wishing he could say something poignant, or at least witty. Instead, he stood, making his way to the door. “Call out if you need anything—Gus and I will sleep lightly. Keep the corridor door locked, and do not open it for any reason.”

  She saluted him, and he smiled. Perhaps a quiet day spent together would be a good thing.

  Emme felt crazed by noon the next day. She knew everybody was out enjoying the festival, and she was stuck indoors. She paced awkwardly, sometimes with both crutches, sometimes with one, and other times limped around without either. She made a circuit around her room and into Oliver’s more times than she could count.

  Josephine had arrived at breakfast time and was delighted at the possibility of future, full-time employment with Emme. In addition to duties as a maid, she was also an excellent seamstress and proficient on a typewriting machine. Emme was in the process of checking references, but she already knew Josephine had the temperament to deal with Emme’s restless energy. She was efficient and possessed good taste in clothing and manners. Emme had sent her out shopping again for more clothing and necessaries, and she envied the young woman her ability to leave the hotel, even if it was for only an hour.

  Emme had tried to convince Oliver that the threat to her well-being no longer existed since Bryce Randolph knew he’d been found out. Oliver had reasoned that Randolph was still on the run, and he was surely not the only one involved in trying to silence both her and the ISRO. As much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t argue with his logic.

  She received a message from Madeline on her telescriber that read, I know what’s happening. I will stop by . . . and then it ended. She didn’t say when she would stop by—presumably before the family left for the hunting lodge, but Emme wasn’t sure. She’d returned a message that went unanswered, and instead called the front desk. She was informed that her family had taken three rooms on the sixth floor, but Sir Ronald had checked them out earlier in the morning. Madeline’s cryptic message played in her thoughts, and she felt uneasy for her stepsister. She did not trust Lysette.

  Gus came and went, gathering what little crumbs of information he could without raising suspicion. His network of acquaintances was impressive, in both the underground vampire world and the unsuspecting society of humans with which he mingled.

  He took daily medication that was an improvement on Vampiric Assimilation Aid, which allowed vampires to walk in the daylight and eat regular food. It was also incredibly expensive, and the vampire Cadre controlled both the medicine and its distribution. Yet another reason the Cadre did not want to see vampires as a whole accepted within human society. If vamps did not feel the need to hide any longer, the Assimilation Aid would become obsolete.

  Carlo made one of the presentations she had been scheduled to give, and visiting her later, gave her details of all who were present and an accounting of the conversations occurring before and after the address. He expressed regret that she had been unable to speak herself and patted her hand, promising that she would be safe and the “scoundrels rounded up” before the night of the midnight vote.

  After Carlo left, Emme wandered into Oliver’s room to find him sitting at a small table, writing a letter. He looked up at her entrance and smiled, oozing charm. The more irritated she grew with their enforced confinement, the more affable he became. It was insufferable.

  “Why have you never married?” she asked Oliver bluntly.

  He gave a startled laugh, and she looked at him, determined not to flush or feel awkward.

  “Who says I’ve not?”

  She froze in place, aghast. “You’re married?”

  His mouth quirked in that smile that was now more infuriating than charming. “No. I am not married. Have never been.”

  She looked at him in silence, wondering why it mattered.

  “You would be unhappy if I were?” His brows rose innocently, and yet a smug undercurrent rolled from him in waves.

  “I would feel an enormous amount of pity for your wife, knowing her husband was tasked with the personal protection of another woman who does not look like a hideous troll.”

  He nodded sagely. “Fortunate, then, that I’ve managed to beat back the pressing horde of women who want nothing more than to be the wife of a detective. Especially if my career continues on its current trajectory. Perhaps I shall move into the knight-in-shining-armor business, make a living protecting damsels in distress.”

  She frowned, not caring for the sound of that option, either. Then an equally irritating thought struck. “I am not a damsel in distress.”

  “No. You are not.” His expression sobered. “You’re in need of protection from enemies unseen, but you are not in distress. That is an important distinction to you.”

  She nodded. “It is, but I hate to think you are placating me.”

  “Never. I do not find you helpless, never have.” He sighed. “My work would have been infinitely less complicated if you were. The helpless refrain from tearing into the fray, heedless of worry for life and limb.”

 
“Ah, but then you might find yourself facing a nasty case of ennui, no?”

  He laughed, and it warmed her heart. “Rich man’s boredom? I hardly think I shall ever be bothered by such a thing. If I were ever at risk of it, however, I’ve you to thank for keeping it away.”

  “You are most welcome.” Her mouth curved into a smile. The world had righted itself, mostly. He was not married, had never been, and did not consider her helpless or distressed.

  Why did it matter so much to her?

  Probably because he was handsome, of course, and she was of marriageable age. He was a fine specimen of manhood, and both nature and science practically dictated she should find herself drawn to him. She’d had an almost-kiss with him the night before, and even as tired as she’d been, the thought of it, the memory of his tender closeness, had kept her awake for some time. She paused at the mantel, trying to untangle the knot of her emotions.

  “Would you care to share your thoughts, Miss O’Shea?”

  She could tell him what she’d been thinking. She could admit that she felt herself falling through a cloud of her own emotions and desires and hoping he would be on the other side to catch her. She could admit that she was depending on him more than she’d ever depended on anyone before, and as much as it was frightening, there was also a heady delight in it.

  He would defend her with everything he had; she knew it in her soul. What she did not know, however, was what a passionate kiss meant, one which might not otherwise have transpired had they not just cheated death. If she gave him her heart, even if he didn’t know she’d done it, he might not be interested in keeping it. She knew he was developing a reluctant affection for her, but she very deliberately did not open herself to his emotions because she was afraid of what she might not find. And if she did find something significant, what on earth was she to do with it?

  “I was thinking of all the times we met as antagonists,” she finally said. “We’d never have believed in a future that saw us working together.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, more of an evasion. An omission of some details.