by Lora Leigh
“He’s abandoned someone as beautiful as you? No. He’ll soon return.”
The pirate spoke in English, not the trader’s French commonly used with strangers. He had a Manhattan City accent—and though that city lay just across the river from Prince George Island, where her own family hailed from, each word he said marked his higher class and education.
Why would such a man resort to piracy? Georgiana couldn’t imagine. And she didn’t care to. She only wanted him gone.
“I’ve always looked the same, sir, yet my husband has managed to leave me before. He’s quite adept at it. He’s never been as good about returning.”
The pirate only shook his head.
His condescending smile irritated her. How could he be so certain?
Georgiana tried again. “If you are looking for the last gold coin, he took it with him. He said that you already possess the remainder.”
He nodded. “It’s true, I did possess them. And that is the problem, you see. Now I require your husband’s assistance, but I doubt he will gladly offer it. I need a guarantee that he will help me. So come on out, Mrs. Thomas. I prefer to have you aboard my flyer before he returns.”
Georgiana hesitated. If this pirate needed Thom’s help, that meant he needed her husband alive—at least for a short time. That might give them a chance to escape. Yet how could she trust the words of a pirate? She couldn’t.
But he didn’t leave her with any choice. The pirate drew a pistol from behind his back and leveled it at her chest. As if that were a signal, he was suddenly flanked by a pale-haired woman in trousers and a shorter man, his lips fixed in a leer. Both were armed with guns.
“Leave your reticule, Mrs. Thomas,” the pirate said, gesturing at it with a wave of his barrel. “Unless you’ve tucked a small child in there, nothing but a weapon would weigh down the bottom so much.”
Damn him. But she obeyed, dropping her satchel to the ground. If nothing else, its presence here might alert Marta or anyone who came to investigate Thom’s and her disappearance.
Because they would both soon be gone. As Georgiana exited the shed, she spotted her steamcoach tearing down the road toward them, leaving a thick trail of black smoke and steam.
Oh, Thom. He shouldn’t have returned. He should have continued on to Skagen and sought help. That would have been far more practical.
But Georgiana could not fault her husband for this. She would have come back for him, too.
THREE
The bastard had taken Georgiana.
Thom roared up to the shed at full steam and slammed to a stop. On the ground, a cargo platform waited to carry him up to the airship.
As if he’d bloody wait.
He grabbed the platform chain and hauled himself up, climbing hand over hand, trying to regain his control with every long pull. Not since the destruction of the Horde’s tower in England twelve years ago had so much wild rage and terror laid open his heart and clawed through his mind. Senseless with it, he’d killed dozens of the Horde soldiers who’d tried to quash the laborers’ rebellion with their weapons and vehicles, ripping their flesh apart with his iron hands, uncaring of the danger to himself.
Thom didn’t care for his own safety now, either—and given half a chance, he would tear every damned pirate aboard this airship apart.
But he couldn’t risk Georgiana being hurt.
He fought for control until his fear and anger were a cold storm inside him. With a final, powerful lunge, he swung over the gunwale and dropped to the wooden deck.
No one had a gun pointed at him. They didn’t need to.
The nobby bastard held a pistol to Georgiana’s side. Through the rage, relief hit Thom hard. She was all right—and she was furious. Green eyes bright with anger, her face flushed, and her mouth tightening when the pirate spoke.
“We meet again, Big Thom. As you see, I’ve had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of your lovely wife. I must confess that when I heard the talk in town that you’d been found on the beach with a coin in your pocket and a bullet in your side, I could hardly believe it. What healthy man could swim a full league through those waters, let alone one who is wounded? But with such an incentive to reach home, it is not so inconceivable after all.”
Thom dug the coin out of his coat. He flipped it across the distance separating them. The gold hit the boards with a dull clink and rolled before bumping into the toe of the bastard’s shining boot.
“That’s all we’ve got,” Thom said roughly. “Now let her go.”
“That coin is all I have now, too.” As he spoke, the nobby bastard glanced at a nearby aviator. With a slight roll of his eyes, the aviator bent to scoop up the coin, then dropped it into the bastard’s open hand. “I have need of your salvaging services, Big Thom. But considering our history and the danger of what I’ll be asking you to do, I want to ensure that you don’t offer any resistance.”
Using Georgiana to put Thom over a barrel. For her, he’d take anything. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go home.”
“She’ll be coming with us. Mrs. Winch,” he spoke to a tall blond woman, “run down to the house and collect Mrs. Thomas’s things. A week’s worth ought to do it.” He glanced back at Thom. “I suppose your belongings were on your ship?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll have an opportunity to collect them. Don’t fear that we’ll treat you poorly. Mr. Blade will shortly escort you to the stateroom, where you’ll remain until we’ve reached our destination. You and your wife will be comfortable during your stay, and when you’ve finished your task, we’ll return you both to your home.”
By the bloody stars, Thom vowed to smash the teeth out of that lying bastard’s smile before this was over. “What task?”
“We’ll speak of it soon. Let us be on our way first. We’ve miles to go, and you have dangerous friends, Big Thom. We don’t want your absence discovered too quickly.”
We? The nobby bastard could speak for himself. Discovery couldn’t come soon enough.
But Thom doubted that help would come at all. It would be up to him to get Georgiana off this damned airship, and he would do anything to make sure it happened. Even if it destroyed him.
Because losing her would, anyway.
* * *
Georgiana held tight to Thom’s hand as they were escorted down the ladder to the second deck. The man showing them the way, Mr. Blade, was the same leering pirate who had come to the entrance of the shed, and as they walked, he kept prodding Thom’s back with the barrel of his gun. Thom didn’t react in the slightest, but only the danger of their position prevented Georgiana from whirling on the man. Fury dogged her every step along the corridor. Whatever niceties and manners the master of this airship pretended to have, the crew obviously did not share them.
Blade prodded them toward a cabin door at the far end of the passageway—toward the front of the vessel. Georgiana had never been on an airship before, but the narrow corridors and wooden bulkheads didn’t appear or sound much different from a sailing ship’s. The engines had been stopped while they’d waited for Thom, and from all around them came the creaking of boards and the noises of the crew. The sway was much different, however—as if they were swinging rather than rocking. Not badly enough to affect her balance, yet still disorienting.
They reached the cabin door. Blade gave Thom another prod.
“Go on through, the both of you. Lord Pinchpenny is playing captain, so he’s given you the fancy room. Don’t leave it unless someone’s come to get you.”
Lord Pinchpenny? That didn’t bode well. A crew member’s blatant disrespect for the master of a ship never did. But there was little here that did bode well.
The door closed behind them. Thom’s hard arms immediately surrounded her waist, pulled Georgiana tight against his broad chest. She clung to him, his warmth and the strong beat of his heart soothing away some of her anger and fear.
Almost as quickly, he stepped back and swept his gaze from her head
to her toes. “You’re all right?”
“I am. Oh, Thom. Who is this man?”
He shook his head. “No idea. But he’s not a pirate, as I thought.”
“Not a pirate? He stole your coins and your ship.”
And Georgiana wasn’t surprised that Lord Pinchpenny had heard all about Thom in Skagen. She was only surprised that he’d flown there. Pirates avoided the harbor, preferring rum dives and lawless cities like Port Fallow. Georgiana could only recall one pirate coming into town—Mad Machen, in his search for Ivy Blacksmith.
“He stole them, just as a pirate would,” Thom agreed. “But look at this cabin, Georgie. This isn’t a pirate ship.”
She’d barely had a moment to look. Turning, she saw that Thom was probably right. Roughly triangular to accommodate the shape of the bow, with a personal privy cabinet taking the point, the stateroom abounded in luxuries. Deep rugs of blue and cream covered the deck boards. Sunlight streamed through two thick glass portholes, twice the diameter of any she’d ever seen in a ship. A table large enough to seat four stood beneath one of the portholes, and a settee upholstered in blue damask lay beneath the other. A full-sized bed topped by a fine, pale blue counterpane sat flush against the port bulkhead, and there was still room enough for a wardrobe and washstand.
She glanced at the rugs again. Only someone who thought nothing of cleaning would ever put a pale color on the floor. This was a wealthy man’s personal vessel. Perhaps the pirates had stolen this as well, but if so, they likely wouldn’t have kept this cabin waiting for passengers.
“But what of the crew?” she wondered. A motley bunch. She hadn’t seen even one liveried servant. “They don’t fit here.”
“They don’t. Blade said that the nobby gent was playing captain.” Thom strode to the starboard porthole and looked out. “I’m thinking that he put the regular crew off and hired mercenaries.”
A cold slip of fear trickled down Georgiana’s spine. She’d have preferred pirates. Most of them operated by a code. They would kidnap and steal and murder, but in trade for ransom, they’d usually leave most captives alive. She might have been able to negotiate that.
But mercenaries had no code except the cash they received from their employers. And anyone who kept a personal flyer probably had more at his disposal than Georgiana did.
“If he hired mercenaries,” she said, “then he had a job in mind.”
Eyes cold, Thom glanced back at her. “Yes.”
A job that he didn’t want his regular crew to be involved in . . . or to know about. Such as boarding a salvage ship and shooting her captain.
“Whatever his purpose, he needs to keep you alive for it,” Georgiana said. “And he will keep me alive to see that you perform it. While he does that, we’ll watch for a chance to escape.”
As she spoke, the engines started again, the thrum humming through the airship. The boards vibrated under her feet. Flying away from home.
She fought the panic that fluttered in her belly. They would come back home. Alive.
As if seeing her distress, Thom returned to her side. Earlier when he’d looked down at her, his face had been gentle. Now determination hardened each bold feature. “I won’t let any harm come to you. We will escape.”
Nodding, she desperately tried to think of how they would. Her gaze fell to his gloved hands. “You put bullets in your arm—do they function as guns?”
His lips twitched. “Among other things.”
His humor sparked her own, and she grinned up at him. Her husband was a man of surprises. Of course he couldn’t shoot anyone now, just as she hadn’t dared to fire her pistol. They would have to wait for the right moment. When the time came, however, hopefully these mercenaries would be surprised by her husband, as well.
A sharp knock sounded at the cabin door. Before they could respond, it opened and the pale-haired woman in trousers came through carrying a bundle of Georgiana’s clothing. A mercenary, too, most likely, though it wasn’t the daggers or gun tucked into her belt that made Georgiana think so. It was the flatness of her gaze and the firm set of her mouth. Georgiana had seen that look in the mirror. This was a practical woman who would do what was necessary when it needed to be done, but who never forgot her own interests. Georgiana and Thom wouldn’t find any help here.
“Mrs. Winch?” Georgiana recalled that Lord Pinchpenny had said the woman’s name. “Can you tell us where we’re headed?”
“Out to sea.” She dropped the bundle on the bed. “I won’t tell you more.”
That was enough for now. “Thank you.”
Out to sea. Escape might be more difficult, but it could have been worse. She looked to Thom when Mrs. Winch closed the cabin door behind her. “Well, it is better than flying to the continent and trying to salvage among zombies. You’re a good diver.”
Thom nodded, but she knew what he was thinking: the sea held dangers just as terrifying as zombies were. But he truly was a good diver. He knew to be careful beneath the waters.
She was more concerned about the dangers on this airship.
“Which of your friends does he believe will come for us?” But even as Georgiana asked, she realized the answer. Lord Pinchpenny had known about Thom washing up on the beach, so he’d obviously talked up someone in Skagen. He’d have heard the same rumors in town that she had. “Mad Machen? Lady Corsair?”
Thom shook his head. “They’re not friends of that sort. Even if they were near enough to hear that we’d been taken, I don’t imagine they’d rush to a rescue.”
“But they are acquaintances?”
“Yes.”
“Such company you keep, Thom.” So surprising. But as much as she would like for him to continue surprising her, they couldn’t afford to miss any opportunity to gain an advantage. Ignorance of any sort could only harm them now. “So tell me of this treasure, and why he believes that the most notorious of pirates and mercenaries would come for you.”
* * *
Thom moved to the porthole, keeping an eye on the sun’s position and trying to estimate their heading. North by northwest, for now. Nothing lay ahead of them but the sea and the gray clouds piled up on the horizon.
He glanced back at Georgie, who was waiting for him to speak—and hanging up her dresses in the wardrobe. Even with all of this pressing on her, she did what needed to be done.
Thom was the same. But everything he’d ever done seemed like a fool’s path now. Leaving England, to start. He hadn’t even known what he’d wanted then—he’d only known what he didn’t want.
He didn’t want to live under the Horde’s boot. He didn’t want to work for nothing. He didn’t want to be an animal, or anything less than his own man.
Then he’d met Georgiana, and he’d known. He wanted to be in her bed. He wanted to be her husband. He wanted to be a man for her, the only man she’d ever need.
And if Thom hadn’t wanted her, if he hadn’t made her his, Georgiana wouldn’t be here now.
But she was. Now the only thing that needed to be done was seeing her make it safely away.
Thom wouldn’t be doing it alone, though. He’d rather have her anywhere else, but he was grateful for that. Georgiana was clever and practical—and she was right. They needed to figure out exactly what advantages they had and why this bastard had come after him, so it’d be easier to spot lies that might get them killed.
So he started at the beginning of it all. “Two years ago, Mad Machen came to Oriana looking to borrow a diving suit. His blacksmith was going down in a submersible she’d built, retrieving a lockbox of Lady Corsair’s that had ended up in the bottom of the harbor at Port Fallow. He wanted someone under the water to help out if she got into trouble.”
“That was Ivy Blacksmith?”
An odd note in her voice made Thom glance back. She’d stopped beside the bed, holding a pink dress and looking at him.
“You sound fond of her,” she added softly.
“I am.” But he shook his head. “Whatever you’ve he
ard, it wasn’t more than that.”
“What was it?”
A weight settled in his chest. How much of this should he reveal? They were separating. None of it mattered now.
And he might soon be dead. Nothing mattered at all now except for Georgie.
“She was the closest I’d come to staying with you.”
Her dark eyebrows pinched together. “What?”
“Ivy was like me. Born under the Horde. Given a sweeper’s arms instead of a hauler’s apparatus, but the same. And she left England when she could, but now she has arms of mechanical flesh.”
A frown creased her forehead. “I still don’t understand.”
“I wanted arms like that. I couldn’t afford them.” Salvaging was hardly a lucrative business, and the one man who could create flesh made out of metal fibers and nanoagents charged a small fortune for each limb. “But seeing those arms on Ivy made getting them seem more possible. And that made the possibility of coming back to you seem a little closer.”
“Why would you need those to come back to me?”
Anger and hurt dug into his heart, sharp and hard. “You asked me to hold you in my arms every night, Georgie. I had iron bars.”
And he’d never thought much of it until leaving England. Prosthetics were as common as noses there. But not around the North Sea—and he’d known that she hadn’t envisioned a man holding her in an iron cage.
Yet he’d promised. He hadn’t cared if it meant getting newer, better arms. That suited him. Making her happy suited him even more. He just hadn’t known it would take so long.
But Georgiana damn well shouldn’t pretend that she hadn’t asked him to do it.
Now she stared at him, her face absolutely still. After a long second, she whispered, “I did say that.”
“You did.”
“And that’s why you kept leaving?”
He gave a sharp nod. “I promised to make you happy.”
A wild little laugh burst from her and she sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the pink dress to her chest. “You were hoping to earn enough for mechanical flesh.”
