Of Silk and Steam
Page 8
“You’re planning to steal Matheson’s airship?”
“You object?” She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to maintain some sense of distance between them.
“Hell no. I most thoroughly approve.”
“Excellent.” She glanced sideways, shivering a little as she mentally placed their whereabouts. Perhaps a quarter mile to the dirigible, if the moon and skyline were any indication.
“The question remains: can you fly an airship?”
Mina looked up. His gaze had dipped, reminding her that she wore little more than a gold lace corset and a silk chemise. Sinking a little more beneath the water, she glared at him. “I own stock in Galloway’s Aeronautics. Mr. Galloway provided us with an extensive demonstration of his workshop and models, and I’ve been reading Master Renoir’s Guide to the Skies.”
England might be somewhat behind when it came to air technology, preferring to sink its funds into the infamous steam-powered steel dreadnoughts that lined its coast and patrolled its oceans, but Mina preferred not to be provincial. France’s skies were dotted with airships; it was only a matter of time before the staunchly humanist French came north, flying neatly over the dreadnoughts and evading England’s best defenses. Even the prince consort had begun to see sense, hiring Galloway’s to construct the first fleet of air militia. The perfect time to invest, in her opinion.
“So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?”
“I know every cog, bolt, and alignment on the latest engines,” she replied haughtily, then added a faint smile. “Perfect bedtime reading.”
An eyebrow arched. “So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?” he repeated.
“Trust me, Barrons,” she practically purred. “I don’t invest in anything I don’t know the ins and outs of. Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Right next to my desire to live,” he shot back.
Mina ducked under his arm, swimming away from him with a taunting splash in the face. “Come, grandmother. Let me show you how to steal an airship.”
* * *
Stealing an airship was the sort of idea that left a burning tingle in the blood. Something he’d have done as a lad for a dare, before he’d grown out of such mischief. That the very cool, rational Duchess of Casavian had come up with the idea was a thought that Leo couldn’t stop considering as they stared at the airship from the dark silence of a garden folly.
Another sign that the duchess was not at all what she seemed.
“What sort of distraction do you think would be best?” she asked. Since their truce, she’d grown easier with the idea of working with him. It was surprising how well they’d managed.
He cast a quick glance back at the two uniformed guards standing at the mooring ropes, joined for the moment by the first pilot. One guard lit a cheroot as Leo watched, shaking out the match.
“They’re bored, and most importantly, they’re men.” His hands slid over her shoulders, earning him a wary glance. He teased the clasp of her cloak open. She was shivering wet underneath it, and he was glad he’d left it under a hedge for her. “Why not use the few weapons we have?”
With that, he dragged the cloak off, letting it fall to the folly floor. The duchess wrapped her arms across her chest, her lips trembling.
“Look at you,” he whispered, kneeling at her feet. “All wet and cold, with some miscreant having stolen your dress—and dare I say it, your virtue?” Taking hold of her petticoats, he tore them up her thigh, earning a hissed intake of breath. “Trust me. We don’t need an extensive diversion.”
Mina’s lip curled. “One would argue that you’re saying men are base fools, to be led by their instincts.”
“Have you only just worked that out?”
“I’m going to kill you for this.”
“Go.” He gave her a gentle shove in the back. “And I would advise you to let your arms drop. You’re hiding your best assets.”
Giving him a truly evil glare, she dropped her arms, revealing how tightly her stays and chemise clung to her full, rounded breasts as well as the tight puckering of her nipples. “You’ll pay for this, Barrons. I promise you that revenge will be excruciating.”
He didn’t look. There would be time enough for that later. “I shall await your endeavors with great anticipation.”
Oh, how those eyes burned him. Leo muffled a laugh as the duchess turned on her heel and strode out of the folly. Hardly the damsel in distress.
She changed, however, when the men caught sight of her, the guard choking on his cheroot.
“Sir, oh sir!” the duchess called. She looked utterly miserable, bedraggled, and glorious, the flickering gas lamps playing over her gently rounded curves. “Could you please help me?”
Dangerous minx. Leo eased into the shadows, moving around toward the airship. How easily she slipped into the role, as if she’d been fooling people her entire life.
Grabbing hold of one of the mooring ropes, he climbed hand over hand, up toward the deck that lined the edges of the gondola, the muscles in his shoulders burning. Listening for a moment, he stole over the edge and crouched low. The engines were silent, the enormous inflated envelope above keeping the dirigible floating nearly twenty feet off the ground.
What a bloody travesty. The decks were obviously designed for its owner to “take in the air,” with a foredeck covered in a daybed and mounded pillows. For the view, no doubt. A floating pleasure palace. Matheson was a modern-day Louis XIV. Leo strode toward the engine room. Its structure reminded him somewhat of the Valkyrie, which he’d sailed aboard on his way to Saint Petersburg and back. Only minutely. Captain Alexi Dansk would have sneered at such extravagances, and no amount of frippery would have survived the icy winds as they’d crossed the Baltic Sea.
Jerking open the captain’s cabin, Leo found himself face-to-face with a second pilot. The man had his feet kicked up on a stool and was flipping through the London Tribune. The moment Leo appeared, the pilot’s jaw dropped and he opened his mouth to yell.
“A hundred quid to keep your mouth shut,” Leo said, slipping through the door and examining the control panel. A series of gears and levers greeted him. Hardly incomprehensible, but he preferred to take his time to examine such things before he tried to levitate them off the ground. Stripping out of his wet coat, he tossed it aside.
“You object?” She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to maintain some sense of distance between them.
“Hell no. I most thoroughly approve.”
“Excellent.” She glanced sideways, shivering a little as she mentally placed their whereabouts. Perhaps a quarter mile to the dirigible, if the moon and skyline were any indication.
“The question remains: can you fly an airship?”
Mina looked up. His gaze had dipped, reminding her that she wore little more than a gold lace corset and a silk chemise. Sinking a little more beneath the water, she glared at him. “I own stock in Galloway’s Aeronautics. Mr. Galloway provided us with an extensive demonstration of his workshop and models, and I’ve been reading Master Renoir’s Guide to the Skies.”
England might be somewhat behind when it came to air technology, preferring to sink its funds into the infamous steam-powered steel dreadnoughts that lined its coast and patrolled its oceans, but Mina preferred not to be provincial. France’s skies were dotted with airships; it was only a matter of time before the staunchly humanist French came north, flying neatly over the dreadnoughts and evading England’s best defenses. Even the prince consort had begun to see sense, hiring Galloway’s to construct the first fleet of air militia. The perfect time to invest, in her opinion.
“So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?”
“I know every cog, bolt, and alignment on the latest engines,” she replied haughtily, then added a faint smile. “Perfect bedtime reading.”
An eyebrow arched. “So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?” he repeated.
“Trust me, Barrons,” she practically purred. “I don’t invest in anything I don’t know the ins and outs of. Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Right next to my desire to live,” he shot back.
Mina ducked under his arm, swimming away from him with a taunting splash in the face. “Come, grandmother. Let me show you how to steal an airship.”
* * *
Stealing an airship was the sort of idea that left a burning tingle in the blood. Something he’d have done as a lad for a dare, before he’d grown out of such mischief. That the very cool, rational Duchess of Casavian had come up with the idea was a thought that Leo couldn’t stop considering as they stared at the airship from the dark silence of a garden folly.
Another sign that the duchess was not at all what she seemed.
“What sort of distraction do you think would be best?” she asked. Since their truce, she’d grown easier with the idea of working with him. It was surprising how well they’d managed.
He cast a quick glance back at the two uniformed guards standing at the mooring ropes, joined for the moment by the first pilot. One guard lit a cheroot as Leo watched, shaking out the match.
“They’re bored, and most importantly, they’re men.” His hands slid over her shoulders, earning him a wary glance. He teased the clasp of her cloak open. She was shivering wet underneath it, and he was glad he’d left it under a hedge for her. “Why not use the few weapons we have?”
With that, he dragged the cloak off, letting it fall to the folly floor. The duchess wrapped her arms across her chest, her lips trembling.
“Look at you,” he whispered, kneeling at her feet. “All wet and cold, with some miscreant having stolen your dress—and dare I say it, your virtue?” Taking hold of her petticoats, he tore them up her thigh, earning a hissed intake of breath. “Trust me. We don’t need an extensive diversion.”
Mina’s lip curled. “One would argue that you’re saying men are base fools, to be led by their instincts.”
“Have you only just worked that out?”
“I’m going to kill you for this.”
“Go.” He gave her a gentle shove in the back. “And I would advise you to let your arms drop. You’re hiding your best assets.”
Giving him a truly evil glare, she dropped her arms, revealing how tightly her stays and chemise clung to her full, rounded breasts as well as the tight puckering of her nipples. “You’ll pay for this, Barrons. I promise you that revenge will be excruciating.”
He didn’t look. There would be time enough for that later. “I shall await your endeavors with great anticipation.”
Oh, how those eyes burned him. Leo muffled a laugh as the duchess turned on her heel and strode out of the folly. Hardly the damsel in distress.
She changed, however, when the men caught sight of her, the guard choking on his cheroot.
“Sir, oh sir!” the duchess called. She looked utterly miserable, bedraggled, and glorious, the flickering gas lamps playing over her gently rounded curves. “Could you please help me?”
Dangerous minx. Leo eased into the shadows, moving around toward the airship. How easily she slipped into the role, as if she’d been fooling people her entire life.
Grabbing hold of one of the mooring ropes, he climbed hand over hand, up toward the deck that lined the edges of the gondola, the muscles in his shoulders burning. Listening for a moment, he stole over the edge and crouched low. The engines were silent, the enormous inflated envelope above keeping the dirigible floating nearly twenty feet off the ground.
What a bloody travesty. The decks were obviously designed for its owner to “take in the air,” with a foredeck covered in a daybed and mounded pillows. For the view, no doubt. A floating pleasure palace. Matheson was a modern-day Louis XIV. Leo strode toward the engine room. Its structure reminded him somewhat of the Valkyrie, which he’d sailed aboard on his way to Saint Petersburg and back. Only minutely. Captain Alexi Dansk would have sneered at such extravagances, and no amount of frippery would have survived the icy winds as they’d crossed the Baltic Sea.
Jerking open the captain’s cabin, Leo found himself face-to-face with a second pilot. The man had his feet kicked up on a stool and was flipping through the London Tribune. The moment Leo appeared, the pilot’s jaw dropped and he opened his mouth to yell.
“A hundred quid to keep your mouth shut,” Leo said, slipping through the door and examining the control panel. A series of gears and levers greeted him. Hardly incomprehensible, but he preferred to take his time to examine such things before he tried to levitate them off the ground. Stripping out of his wet coat, he tossed it aside.
