From the roof of the mews, Nick kept his eyes on the activity of the stable hands in the alleyway below them, waiting for Lord Aldridge’s distinctive steam carriage to emerge from the carriage house. Clockwork horses mixed with the living beasts, an increasing rarity in the city. Most vehicles housed in the stables that backed against the terraced homes of Mayfair were of the steam-driven variety, though a few crank-wagons were kept close for the sake of convenience.
“You’re certain Lord Aldridge won’t have us thrown behind bars?” Skirts hiked, Colleen crouched beside him. As did Sorcha. The cat sìth had followed them across the rooftops. Not closely, but behind them. Occasionally in full view, but the feline often disappeared behind rooflines and chimneys and aviaries.
It was all he could do not to let his gaze wander to Colleen’s ankles, to admire the boots snugged against her calves, to note the shape of her stockinged knees. Later. There would be time later to contemplate how easily the woman he hoped to call his wife transformed from a lady into a thief. Perhaps he ought not feel so deeply satisfied that she hadn’t so much as hesitated when he suggested they sidestep propriety to invade a gentleman’s private conveyance and demand answers, yet he was nonetheless.
“For the minor transgression of a brief ride in his steam carriage?” Nick smirked. “He ought to appreciate the discretion with which we approach this matter. He was asked—directly—by a Queen’s agent to provide information that would inform a course of action—”
“To be fair, you were prying into matters for personal gain, not in the service of the Crown.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you not his employee?”
“Debatable. The Lister Institute’s board supervises the medical school and all research conducted under its roof. Some of us, including Lord Aldridge, also answer to the Duke of Avesbury. His will supersedes all.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Does it now? There seems to be some debate about that, given his daughter, Lady Amanda, somehow managed to enroll in medical school. And I hear Lady Olivia was involved recently in some kind of scandal? Though both seem happily married now.”
“Indeed.” He wasn’t privy to all the details, but the whispers he’d heard were fascinating. “Marry me, and I’ll introduce you to them. Perhaps you can pry free their secrets.”
She gave an amused snort. “Are you attempting to lure me to the altar with the promise of gossip?”
“Among other things. Have you ever thought of becoming a Queen’s agent yourself? Not all of us are scientists.” He winked. “I could be persuaded to put in a good word.” She laughed, and it occurred to him he’d never asked. “What exactly precipitated your appearance in Lord Aldridge’s study?”
“I snatched his daughter from the jaws of a harsh future. What?” She smacked his arm. “Don’t look so disappointed. You know I worked to set wrongs to right, not to relieve the wealthy of their family jewels or stock holdings.”
True. “An ethical sneak thief, so rare.” He grinned. “You’ve never been tempted to snatch a necklace, a ring, stock certificates? By now you could have built a hoard that even a dragon would envy.”
“Temptation at every turn. But no. None of my activities could ever be traced back to me.”
“Ah, but they could,” Nick disagreed. “If an interested party presented Mr. Witherspoon a number with enough zeros.”
“With all I know?” Her lip curled. “I doubt it.”
“Bedtime stories?” he teased.
“None that would lull you to sleep. The peerage, for all its talk of honor, has a dark underbelly.”
That it did. “Not a problem,” he said. “I’ve no real interest in using a bed for sleep. Not if you’re in it.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he debated teasing her with a few possibilities for passing the small hours of the night, but a belch of black smoke curled about the roof’s edge, and a moment later, Lord Aldridge’s steam carriage jerked and rattled onto the cobblestones. It was time.
“Ready?”
Her eyes—muted behind the dark lenses once again propped upon her nose—swept their surroundings once more. Satisfied, she nodded. “Let’s go.”
The scratch of a phosphorus match across the roof slate ignited a flame that he touched to the short wick of a loud firecracker. He lobbed it to the cobblestones below.
Bang!
A cloud of smoke billowed upward, and shouts rang out as stable hands turned about, searching for a miscreant guttersnipe who laughed at their expense. But he and Colleen had already leapt to the ground and slipped inside the earl’s steam carriage.
None of them paid any attention to the cat who followed, disappearing beneath the vehicle, no doubt finding a handy cubby in which to secrete herself.
A well-appointed interior surrounded them. A Lucifer lamp for light. An iron box filled with hot coals for heat. And velvet upholstery for comfort. But even better was the view. Perched on the seat opposite him, Colleen unhooked her skirts from their hikes to smooth them over booted ankles. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to dwell on the memory of them wrapped about his hips, braced on the railing while he—
“Straighten that cravat of yours,” she chided.
His eyes snapped open, the dream shattered.
Colleen’s eyes glittered in the lamplight. She knew exactly where his mind had wandered. “And tuck in your shirt. Or Lord Aldridge will think we commandeered his carriage for entirely different purposes.”
Such a plan inked itself onto his mind. A private carriage on the streets of London. He’d see it happen. And soon. “Not helping.” His voice was strangled.
She laughed. “While I have to admit I rather like that hungry look on your face, you need to make yourself respectable.”
While he did his best to repair his attire, his eyes were fixed upon Colleen’s own transformation. It was like watching a butterfly crawl back into its cocoon. Loose locks of hair were ruthlessly pinned in place. Her spectacles adjusted upon the bridge of her nose. Elbow-length gloves—over which she carefully slid her ring—appeared from inside a pocket slit into her skirt. All of this followed by a small hat and a glinting hatpin to position it at a jaunty angle upon her sleek, dark hair. By the time the steam carriage jerked into motion, she looked every inch a lady while he—hatless, gloveless and rumpled—still very much resembled a profligate rogue.
“Tell me I’m the only one to ever watch such a transformation.”
“The only man.” She leaned forward to trail a single gloved fingertip down the edge of his face while the ghost of a tease clung to her lips. “Isabella, working to stall or divert my discovery, has caught glimpses.”
Two days, he reflected as the steam carriage chuffed, clattered and swayed toward the Lister Institute, was not going to be enough time with this woman. He wanted to look into those golden eyes of hers and speak vows. “How set are you on returning to Scotland?”
She blinked at the sudden change in topics. “Extremely.” Colleen glanced out the window, worrying the stone of the amber ring with her thumb. “I’ve long-neglected responsibilities to shoulder.”
“The University of Aberdeen, complete with research facilities, is a short dirigible ride away from Craigieburn Castle,” he answered, initiating negotiations.
“Are you offering to relocate?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.
“I am. Not all Queen’s agents are located in London year-round. If a position were to open, might there be any chance you would allow me to build a landing platform upon its roof?”
“Were there a roof to build upon.” His mouth fell open while she recounted a story of irresponsible boys and a fiery crash—and the reason behind her participation in the obfuscation chain involving the rosewood box. “Now is the perfect time to incorporate such an upgrade. But are you certain you wish to leave London?”
“Do I detect a slight note of regret?” he asked. “Could it be you’ll miss the city? Do you worry you might tire of land management and home repairs?”
She pressed her lips together. “It’s true. The city, though overcrowded and grimy, is bursting with innovations and activity of all sorts.”
An interesting tangle. “Married female agents are not unheard of. Many work on a case by case basis. Any interest?”
“You’d permit a wife of yours—”
He leapt across the space separating them to sit beside her. “Not permit.” He growled in her ear before nipping the lobe. “Encourage.”
Her breath caught. “Perhaps we could split our time between country and city.”
“A perfect compromise.” He nibbled at the corner of her jaw as he spoke.
Alas, the carriage chose that moment to rattle to a stop. Outside, there were thuds as feet landed upon the ground.
“I suppose that might depend upon the outcome of this interview. You might find yourself summarily dismissed from employ.” She batted at his leg, and her voice took on a haughty tone. “Now place a respectable distance between us, that I might cling to the few remaining shreds of my reputation.” As the carriage door swung open, Colleen folded her hands and dropped her gaze, once again assuming the mantle of the demure, lusterless young lady she was anything but.
Nick drew himself straighter. He was about to step onto thin ice with little knowledge of what clawed tentacles might lurk beneath, ready to snag his career at Lister Institute into an abyss from which he might not escape.
“Torrington?” Lord Aldridge gaped for a brief moment before his bushy eyebrows slammed down. He pointed a silver-capped walking stick at Nick. “What cause have you to invade my carriage? If it’s about that—” He caught sight of Colleen and recoiled. “You.”
Interesting.
“And you would criticize my manners?” Nick reproached. “May I presume a prior acquaintance with Lady Stewart?”
Lord Aldridge pressed his lips into a flat, bloodless line.
“Join us,” Nick waved, inviting the man into his own vehicle. “We need to discuss the whereabouts of one Dr. Farquhar.”
“Sir?” The guard holding the door—for that was his role despite his braid-embroidered livery—possessed an unusual amount of muscle. A single word from Lord Aldridge and he would empty the carriage of uninvited guests.
His graying mustache twitched. Lord Aldridge knew something. “No worries,” he told his guard before climbing into the carriage. The ease of his movements suggested a wiry strength, identifying his walking stick as a weapon, not a support.
The door closed behind them and, a moment later, the carriage lurched into movement.
“The scientist is mad,” Lord Aldridge stated. “His whereabouts do not concern me.”
“And yet he might be the only hope of my sister surviving her third decade. Would you decline to answer my questions knowing that you might deprive an infant of her mother?”
“You’d let a mad man experiment upon your own sister?” Lord Aldridge growled back through clenched teeth. “Like as not, he’d kill her.”
“Genius is often mistaken for insanity,” Nick countered. “I am a trained physician and scientist, capable of evaluating any treatment he’s developed. He was in custody not two hours ago. I’d prefer not to cause a scene at the local station house, but if he’s my only lead…”
Not for the first time, Lord Aldridge’s gaze darted to Colleen who sat still and silent beside him. “Is it?”
Telling, that glance. Had it to do with the reason she’d been in his study, a fact he didn’t care to hear spoken aloud? Or was there yet more?
“I’m not here on behalf of Witherspoon and Associates, my lord. Blackmail is not a service he provides.”
Nick snorted. He’d beg to disagree.
But Colleen’s voice continued, eerily calm and professional. “I would, however, consider it a personal favor were you to provide us with information about Dr. Farquhar. A favor you might call upon should your—shall we say—willful daughter fall prey to any further indiscretions.”
Oh? Was Lady Sophia not quite the demure debutant she appeared? Had she been caught with a man? Impressed with the currency Colleen offered, Nick watched the exchange, pride swelling in his chest.
“Done.” The lord snapped up the bait all too quickly. Was anyone in the ton as they seemed? Certainly not Lady Sophia’s father, for intensity darkened his gaze. “A few years past, the board offered Dr. Farquhar a research position despite my concerns about his mental stability.” His gaze shifted to Nick. “Documents were drawn up. Laboratory space was assigned. But he declined in favor of private funding.” Lord Aldridge narrowed his eyes. “He threw away a promising career to chase after feral cats.”
Colleen stiffened, then carefully framed her question. “What have feral cats to do with studies of the heart?”
“An excellent question, Lady Stewart.” Sarcasm laced his voice. “Some are rumored to have nine lives. Perhaps that makes them a more robust experimental subject?”
All vestiges of good humor burned away as Nick scowled. “You knew of his connection to a shadow board and said nothing? Knowing my role as a Queen’s agent, knowing the smallest of connections sometimes matter most?”
“Your questions were of a personal bent. It was time you set aside your futile pursuits to focus on your career. And how dare you bring her into this,” Lord Aldridge hissed. “Such information is only for the ears of—”
“I’ve also informed her about the existence of CEAP.” Nick leaned forward. “Her involvement is directly relevant. My personal concerns and the Crown’s interests are one and the same. Tell me—us—what you know.” Had Lord Aldridge seen fit to share, Dr. Farquhar’s activities might have been unearthed months ago.
Lord Aldridge turned his glare upon Colleen. “I always wondered if your uncle’s ostensible acceptance of you in his household possessed a mercenary bent.”
Unhooking the wire of her spectacles from behind one ear, she tugged them free and tipped her chin upward in challenge. Her eyes caught the light of the Lucifer lamp affixed to the carriage wall and flashed a brilliant green-gold.
“Impressive, my dear,” he commented, his voice bland, for after five years in London Colleen’s unusual eyes surprised no one in the ton. “But I’m not prey to such superstitions. Animals shape-shifting to take human form is a ridiculous proposition. As is the reverse. Stuff and nonsense. Now, concerning your eyes, were one to propose a hypothesis involving descent with modification as an adaptation to a more nocturnal environment, we might be able to apply scientific reasoning to discuss the possibilities by which such an unusual feature might arise.”
His words—highbrow and clipped—were betrayed by a white-knuckled grip upon his cane, as if he feared the docile Lady Stewart might lunge without warning. A claw to the cravat? A bite to the neck? Yes, she was entirely capable of such actions, but as her fiancé, he would have to insist she confine such activities to one man.
“Don’t dodge the question,” Nick said. “Did Dr. Farquhar’s interests catch the attention of anyone suspected to be a member of CEAP?”
The gentleman’s gaze did not waver, but stayed locked upon Colleen. “Despite efforts to uncover these reputed shadow committees, no such organizations have yet been found to exist. As to rogue scientists managing something resembling loose organization?” Lord Aldridge offered Colleen a smile brimming with pity. “When your uncle became your guardian, the trappings of his lifestyle improved. Tell me, how much do you know about the goings-on at your estate?”
“It’s been some five years since I have set foot upon Scottish soil. I do, however, exchange frequent correspondence with my estate manager who—” Colleen’s mouth snapped shut. Anger vibrated off her in waves.
Eyebrows lifted, Lord Aldridge finished. “Makes frequent requests for funds? My dear, it appears Lord Maynard has fashioned himself a villain while ostensibly acting as a guardian.” He turned his attention back to Nick. “If you’re looking to connect Dr. Farquhar, feral cats, and Lady Stewart to a purported shadow committee, may I offer advice as old as dirt? Follow the money.” He raised his cane and thumped upon the roof, indicating their interview had reached an end. The steam carriage came to a stop. “Be careful not to misstep, Torrington. Lord Maynard has extensive connections.”
Nick refused to be dismissed. “One last question.”
Lord Aldridge sighed heavily. “One.”
“We need to speak with one Cornelius Pierpont. Can you provide an introduction?”
“No. I’ve never heard of the man.” The carriage door swung open. From the tone of his voice, Lord Aldridge was clearly at the end of his rope. “Out. Both of you.”