by Anne Renwick
Nick’s fingers threaded into her hair as if he would guide her to the very tip of his erection. She obliged, pulling as much of his length into her mouth as she could manage, toying with him, enjoying the groan that tore free from his lungs.
But this was not how she intended to finish what he’d started. Not today. Crawling back up the bed, she pulled open his bedside drawer, plucking forth a sheath and dropping it on his chest. “Suit up.”
He grinned, tearing the paper and covering himself. “Caught that move earlier?”
“You’ll find it’s hard to hide anything from me.” Once again, she straddled him, guiding the thick, blunt tip of his cock to her weeping entrance. Then, ever so slowly, she sank onto him, inch by sweet inch as he stretched her, filling her completely with a glorious pressure. “Aether,” she breathed. He was so perfect. Too perfect.
He nudged upward, and she gasped as his hips pressed snug to hers.
She began to rock her hips, shifting him inside her ever so slightly as a delicious tension built while hundreds of thousands of nerves all cried out at the delightful friction. She met his gaze and saw wonder and lust and something she thought might be love all twisting and surging across his face.
Aether, she’d lost more than a small piece of her heart to this man.
“Kiss me, Colleen,” Nick pleaded.
And she fell forward, dropping her hands to his shoulders and sliding them beneath the linen of his shirt. Parting her lips, she tangled her tongue with his, all while the slow motion of their hips continued their sensual dance. Push, pull. Push, pull.
Until she needed more. His fingers tightened on her hips as he tore his mouth away, giving voice to the same thoughts that ran through her head. “Harder,” he begged. “Please.”
Colleen rose up onto her knees, letting him all but slip free. Then dropped as he rose, thrusting deep into her. She mewled her pleasure aloud as his fingers dug into her flesh pushing her away, then pulling her tight against his hips. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” she cried, clutching his shoulders and spreading her thighs wider even as she rose for the next fall. “More!”
Nick thrust harder still.
Again and again their hips slapped together as coils of pleasure wound themselves tight. “Come for me, Colleen.”
Already teetering on the edge, his words sent a frisson of electricity arcing through her body, and she threw her head backward, crying out her pleasure. Nick stiffened and surged upward, slamming into her as he yelled his own release.
As the world about them once again came into focus, she collapsed onto his chest. He wrapped his arms about her waist. “Next time,” his voice was husky, “all the clothes come off.”
“All,” she promised, laughing softly against his neck as her stockinged feet brushed over his trouser-clad calves. Wondrously boneless, she rolled free.
How he could still move after such amazing sex, Nick was uncertain. But he managed to clean himself, then shuck the remainder of his clothing before crawling back onto the bed and gathering Colleen close. He pulled the blanket over them both, wondering at how he’d managed to fall head over boots in love with such an amazing woman. “Now,” he began, “about our future.” He lifted her amber-clad hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Have you given any thought to becoming a Queen’s agent? I’ve a contact, a married woman, who might provide you with insight that I cannot if you’d like to speak with her.”
“I’d like that.” Brushing a lock of hair from her face, Colleen drew breath. “While you were with Anna, Sorcha returned. About her neck—”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Colleen froze.
He closed his eyes. Dammit. Ignoring any summons this evening was an impossibility.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
He lifted an eyebrow and tipped his head at the door. She was the only one who ought to be present in his room.
“Who is it?” Colleen called out. “I did ask for a light tea,” she informed him under her breath.
“Robby, miss,” the kitchen boy answered. “Is Mr. Torrington about?”
She pulled the sheet to her chin when an eyeball appeared at the keyhole. “Er.”
Nick sighed. He’d have to speak with the boy about that bad habit. “Present,” he called.
So much for a perception of privacy.
A brief moment of silence followed before Robby spoke again. “I’ve been sent to let you know there’s a package, sir. One marked ‘urgent’. Hopsworth placed it upon a table in the library. He’s rather upset. It’s leaking, sir.”
“Leaking?” Colleen whispered. Her eyebrows drew together.
His thoughts echoed hers. “This can’t be good.” He forced himself to his feet. “I’ll be down momentarily, Robby.”
“Shall I bring that tea now, miss?”
“Yes,” Colleen called, though feebly and with color high upon her cheekbones. She glanced at him. “I’ve not eaten since breakfast.”
“Nor have I. Save me a bite.” He threw open the wardrobe and yanked out a clean shirt and a pair of trousers. A glance at the mantle clock informed him it was just past ten o’clock. A bit late for parcel deliveries.
Colleen also slid from the bed and began to dress, pulling on dark trousers, a shirt and a corded cincher—not a corset—to gather in the excess cloth. Clothing better suited to leaping across rooftops than her earlier skirts.
She caught his glance. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave without you. Go see about this package.”
“So much for any pretense of propriety beneath my parents’ roof.” He pulled on a waistcoat, shrugged on his holster and TTX pistol and shoved his feet into his boots. “If Hopsworth knows we’re both in here, the rest of the household is certain to have their suspicions as well.” Perhaps they should have made an effort to muffle their cries, but he found it hard to regret her moans of pleasure.
Her lips parted, and Nick saw a hint of anxiety creep onto her face. “I can’t—”
“I’m not pressuring you, merely pointing out the obvious.” He tipped her chin up. “And the reason I’ll not be bothering with the trellis in the future. Remember, it doesn’t matter what my family wants. Or yours. What’s between us is ours alone to decide.” He dipped his head and kissed her, pouring devotion into it, hoping their dreams for the future would align. His heart gave a great thud when she rose onto her toes and returned the kiss with an equal amount of passion.
“Mr. Torrington?” This time the interruption was accompanied by a huff of impatience outside the door, then a light rapping began. Hopsworth himself had arrived outside their door. The matter must truly be urgent. “I intercepted the kitchen boy who insisted you ordered tea. I really must stress that this is a pressing matter, not one that can be addressed at leisure.”
“A moment, Hopsworth,” Nick called. With a sigh, he dropped his hand from her face and stepped back. “I’d best see what is wrong with this package before our steam butler begins to ding with impatience and stirs up the entire household.”
“Please do,” she said. “I’m not at all certain Hopsworth can be convinced to overlook our indiscretions or the presence of a cat sìth.”
“If we marry, we’ll be certain to acquire steam staff that can be customized to our specific and unique needs.”
“Go.” She swatted at him, but he caught the hint of a smile. “We’ll speak about such things later. For now, we have work.”
“Has my father returned from his club?” Nick asked. They would need to take to the roofs within the hour, and he hated to leave his mother alone in the townhouse so soon after an attack. Not that there was anything to be done save to offer moral support by patting her hand while she sat by Anna’s bedside in a silent vigil.
“He’s been sent for, sir. Expected at any moment.” Hopsworth rushed past Nick down the hall, wheels clacking, intent upon fulfilling his duties, lest the entire British hierarchy crumble because a gentleman opened a door before his butle
r. “Many, many apologies for the,” gears grated in the steam butler’s throat, “interruption. The package arrived by human courier. He insisted it be brought to your attention as a time sensitive issue.”
“Let me know when my father returns,” Nick said. “That will be all, Hopsworth.”
The door closed softly behind him as he advanced, eyeing the paper-wrapped package bound up with coarse string upon the library’s table. A dark stain spread outward from a lower corner. Not a promising sign. A tight band of dread wrapped about his chest, ratcheting tighter as he slid free the folded note tucked beneath its knotted bow.
The message was sealed with red wax and imprinted with a triangle. No. The Greek letter delta, the symbol for change. Had he been contacted by CEAP? Possible. Someone had taken note of his activities and wished to convey a message.
Bile crept into his throat as he broke the seal.
Your interest in our organization has been brought to my attention. Though our methods are unorthodox, they facilitate the acquisition of knowledge that would otherwise remain shrouded by myth and dismissed as superstition.
One of our members has recently been demoted for failing to properly secure his research and findings. Should you accept this invitation to fill his position, you will be privy to the specifics of his work. Though a procedure still in the experimental phase, we have what you seek. Not a treatment, but a cure.
An interview, should you choose to proceed, has been arranged. A carriage awaits. Come alone. Come immediately. Tell no one.
Should you choose to decline, cease your inquiries. Outside interference is not tolerated.
Damn it. He should never have trusted Dr. Farquhar to the constabulary. By snatching him off the street, he’d done nothing but hand him back to his vengeful overlords. The mad scientist did possess what Nick sought, what Anna needed.
A cure.
Was it not an electrical pacer the man had developed, but something more? Something better? Whatever discovery the mad scientist had made, at the heart of it were the cat sìth. What biological truth hid behind the myth of a shape-shifting feline said to possess nine lives? This shadow committee knew. Dr. Farquhar knew. And presumably one Mr. Cornelius Pierpont knew.
Clenching his jaw, he pulled a penknife from his pocket and cut through the string. With the tip of his knife, he unwrapped the box and flipped open the lid.
Shock rippled through him at the stark warning that lay before him. A human heart rested on a bed of bloodied tissue paper. One freshly removed. Glistening dark red with bands of whitish fat, veins threaded across its surface, branching and wrapping across the muscular tissue on their—former—mission to deliver blood. At its crown, the attached blood vessels—the aortic and pulmonary trunks, the venae cavae—had been roughly cut, hacked from the chest of—
Dr. Farquhar? A cold sweat gathered between his shoulder blades. No. The note had mentioned outside interference. Did this heart belong to the man’s wife?
Either way, this was a cold-blooded and calculated murder. The need to report this “warning” warred with the advice contained within its accompanying message. If he delivered this to his superiors, CEAP was certain to retaliate. Neither, however, could he contact the local authorities with ramblings about a scientific committee making inquiries into the possibilities of shape-shifting. He himself had been tasked with infiltrating this very sub-committee, and such suspicions were to remain confidential.
Shock shifted to anger, and blood began to pound and roar in his ears. All he wished to do was provide his sister with a better—and longer—life. To stop the exploitation of rare animals—and perhaps humans. He’d long known it would eventually require him to walk into the midst of a predatory community of individuals who had the temerity to call themselves scientists and who thought nothing of lives lost, rare animals poached, or patients denied access to secret medical advances.
Unacceptable.
The moment to act had finally arrived.
A scream rent the air.
Nick jerked his head up to stare at the heavily curtained window that faced the street, listening. A second outcry followed the first. More shouts, each joining the next, grew louder by the second. His stomach twisted. The timing could be no accident. Was the grisly parcel not enough?
With a curse, he dropped the lid and loosely wrapped the paper about the box. Yanking open the drawer of a nearby cabinet, he hid the stained package and message within, lest another member of the household stumble across it. He slammed the drawer shut at the very moment the library door banged open.
Steam billowed from under Hopsworth’s collar as he rolled across the rug at a furious clip, flapping his articulated hands. “Sir, come quick!” He careened back toward the door. “A catastrophe of immense proportions has landed upon our doorstep!”
Nick ran past Hopsworth into the foyer and heaved open the front door. He froze at the sight before him. His second guess as to the origin of the heart had been on the mark.
A pool of light cast by the streetlamp highlighted what remained of Mrs. Farquhar impaled upon the iron spikes of the fence before his home. Back arched, arms out-flung, her sightless eyes stared upward. Gray skirts and long, dark hair fluttered in the wind, her chest a gaping, raw and empty cavity.
A bold and public statement drawing much unwanted attention to his family home… within which the woman’s heart lay, wrapped and hidden.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“…fell from the sky!”
“A dirigible…”
“…swooped low and someone shoved…”
His eyes swept the scene before him. The engines of steam carriages idled and the gears of crank hacks clacked as onlookers paused to stare, those on foot edging ever closer to the gruesome tableau before them. Crime the likes of which was never visited upon Mayfair. A well-dressed lady had collapsed upon the pavement at the sight, and her weeping daughter waved smelling salts beneath her nose. A gentleman brandished his cane in the air while yelling for the constabulary.
On the far side of the road sat a richly appointed clockwork horse-drawn carriage. The man perched upon the driver’s seat boldly met Nick’s stare, his expression expectant. A slight tip of his head was all the invitation Nick received.
The damning evidence in his possession was meant to make it impossible to decline. He returned the nod, lifted a finger, then turned to climb back into the house—a moment too late to spare his mother.
“Nicholas?” She appeared in the door, craning her neck to look behind him. “What is going—?” Her hands flew her mouth, stifling a scream.
Colleen, eyes wide, stood directly behind his mother. “Is that—?”
“It is.” Arms wide, Nick forced them both back into the foyer. “Hopsworth,” he called. “My coat and hat.”
“Yes, sir!” Still wobbling on his wheels, the steam butler zipped off to the cloakroom.
He turned back to the women. “I need to leave. Immediately. Work calls.”
“But there’s a body!” His mother’s hands flapped. “What am I supposed to do? Your father isn’t home yet.”
“He’ll be here soon. In the meantime, cooperate fully with the police. Make my excuses. It will look bad, my absence, but it can’t be helped. Invent a medical emergency.” He kissed his mother’s forehead. “I can’t explain. But, please, for Anna’s sake.”
His mother’s face grew stony, but she nodded.
“Work?” Colleen repeated flatly. “Has this anything to do with—”
“Yes.” He cut her off, catching her wrist and tugging her aside. Fully dressed and geared up—though a dressing gown was strategically wrapped about her to conceal her non-traditional attire—she was ready to leap across rooftops to her uncle’s home. He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “In the library is a cabinet filled with drawers. Third to the right, second from the bottom is a box that holds what can only be Mrs. Farquhar’s heart along with the message accompanying it. Read it, then burn it.” A risk to share such inf
ormation, but she deserved to know.
The blood drained from her face. “CEAP?”
“Perhaps. Either way I’ve received an ultimatum.” The clock ticked, counting each second that passed. How long would the driver wait? Another such opportunity would not present itself. “I’m not supposed to speak with anyone about it, but I need your help. Please dispose of the contents of that drawer; they cannot be found in my—or my family’s—possession.” Rifling through his pockets, he turned up a punch card and pressed it into her hand. “This is the address of a colleague, a Mr. Jackson. He’s aware of my assignment. Write to him before you go… out,” he added, for her face informed him she would not be waiting for his return. Her uncle’s safe would be cracked open and searched this very night. It worried him, and yet such was the very reason he’d been so determined to win her hand. “Explain our situation. Stress the need for urgency.” Not caring who watched, he dipped his head and caught her lips with a quick kiss. “Be careful.”
Hopsworth was back, frowning. “Sir—”
But Nick had no time for protestations. He grabbed his hat and coat—and was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
The note that lay beside the blood-tinged box was written in her uncle’s hand. Proof that he was mixed up in the group Nick sought to infiltrate. He might be the very man conducting this “interview”.
Heart in her throat, she dashed to the window and flung the curtain aside, ready to throw open the sash and call a warning, but there was no trace of the carriage that had waited across the street for Nick, its driver noticeably detached from the frenzy upon the doorstep. Combined with Isabella’s warning, it could mean only one thing.
Her uncle knew of their presence at the burned-out building. Had the scientist himself identified them? Had the body on the doorstep been his wife?
It didn’t matter; her uncle’s message was clear.
A cold frost settled over her. All these years, she’d known he was a merciless reptile, but she hadn’t thought him so barbaric as to order a woman’s heart ripped from her chest. For there was no chance a man who prized neatness and order had wielded the knife. A minion with no such misgivings had been set to the task of the woman’s execution and disposal.
