Chapter Nine

 

 

 

^“YOU WANT ME TO pretend to be what?” Olivia asked. Her slack jaw was no act. Lord Rathsburn had peeled off every last pretense of social veneer and tossed it to the wind. Though she should have guessed he would propose such an action from his earlier declaration at the banquet table. “I can’t be your research assistant. I know nothing of biology.”

Scientists. They were all mad. That much she knew. Still, she’d followed him, and therefore it fell upon her to bring him around to her point of view.

“I find it hard to believe that the sister of Lady Thornton can make such claims.” Doubt laced his voice.

“My sister built some kind of clockwork spider contraption.” She wiggled her fingers. Under no circumstances would she admit to playing any role—‌however small it had been—‌in the neurachnid’s success. “It spins new nerves. That is the entirety of my medical knowledge.”

Lord Rathsburn frowned. “Then I hope you’re a quick study. We have about ninety minutes before we land.” He reached inside his coat and, from a pocket, tugged forth a small notepad—‌its pages curled and worn—‌and the stub of a pencil. “I can teach you the basics, write down a few key phrases.” He began to scratch away. “As to the rest, simply nod and agree with whatever I say.”

Nodding and agreeing. Parroting and regurgitating. The very behaviors Lord Carlton Snyder had most admired in his future bride. She excelled at such performances. Except no one had ever asked her to play a role requiring her to project scientific intelligence. A confident medical research assistant? No. Not possible. Not if it required she interact with that vicious device. There was certain to be blood involved.

The parson’s mousetrap, though tried and true, was also a bit stale and overused. Despite the unsettling feeling that it was only a matter of time before he would see through her carefully constructed façade, such a role was also her best chance of success. She pressed a hand to her throat. What other fiction had she to fall back upon?

He paused for a moment, tapping the pencil against his lips in thought as he stared at his scribbles. A wave of golden brown hair tumbled free across his furrowed brow, and she longed to reach out and brush it back into place.

Heat crept across her face. Not once in all the long months that she’d been Carlton’s fiancée had she ever wished to touch him. Carlton had been a threat to national security, a snake in the grass to be monitored. A task. Her task. But as much as she wished to serve her country, marriage to such a man…‌ well, it had been a relief when Emily’s scandalous behavior became public knowledge.

“I’d do much better impersonating your wife,” she said, desperate to re-direct Lord Rathsburn. Given how she’d thrown herself at him, the idea should have occurred to him on his own, but the annoying man didn’t even look up from his notebook.

Where had she gone wrong?

He was attracted to her. Of that she was certain. A moment ago, his eyes had taken in her every feature, her every curve, and before he’d turned away, she’d seen desire flare in his eyes.

Yet without so much as a glance her direction, he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I disagree. I was instructed to come alone. I can argue that as my assistant, you are essential. As my wife, you simply become another potential hostage.”

“Another hostage?” Olivia’s eyebrows rose. A new complication. But that was to be expected when one made hasty decisions and assumptions. So Lord Rathsburn did not travel of his own volition. Good. She hated to think the man a willing traitor.

His lips pressed into a thin line. It was clear she was going to have to drag it out of him.

With a resigned sigh, Olivia crossed her arms and dropped all pretext of having cotton wool between her ears. “Fine. Tell me where we’re going and why.”

Lord Rathsburn looked up at her, his eyes narrowed, the air between them charged with unspoken truths. Cogs and pins. He knew. Knew she wasn’t entirely what she pretended to be, for he’d already expected her to know where and why.

How? Where had she gone wrong?

“To a castle in Germany to rescue my sister. They—‌whomever they are—‌somehow believe that I can correct a fundamental problem with an experimental cell line merely because they command me to do so. Because my sister Elizabeth is their prisoner, we will not disillusion them. Instead, we will reassure them that such a thing is possible. We will set up a make-shift laboratory and strive to convince them that we are making progress.” He presented his plan as if there was no alternative. “In short, we will lie.”

Olivia was still digesting his words when he ripped off a sheet of paper and handed it to her.

“I promise to explain the situation in greater detail. Soon. But time is short, and you have a great deal to memorize.” He cleared his throat, a sound she recognized as a prelude to a lecture. “We study bone.”

“We?”

“Do try to assume the persona, will you?” He exhaled a heavy sigh. “Recall your sister’s mannerisms and words. Her drive for everything neurological. Adopt those behaviors, but incorporate these terms and phrases.” He tapped pencil on paper. “Can you do that?”

The role of wife would have been preferable, but she had no intention of ending her days in a dungeon. So, until she collected more information and could judge the situation firsthand, she would accept his assessment. She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

Standing beside her, he pointed to the first of many diagrams scribbled upon the paper. “Bone is a living tissue composed of both organic and inorganic substances.”

“Organic?” she asked.

“Living,” he answered through gritted teeth.

“Then inorganic is non-living?”

“Correct.” His voice was tight. “There are two cell types you must remember. Osteoblasts and osteoclasts.”

“Cells. The basic building blocks of all life forms.” Yes, it seemed she had absorbed something from her sister’s ramblings after all. “They are the organic part,” she concluded, flashing him a pleased smile, quite proud that she followed.

But Lord Rathsburn’s flat regard offered no praise. “Yes. Together these two cell types maintain bone homeostasis.”

Homeostasis? Olivia frowned, but stayed silent.

“Osteoclasts break down bone tissue. Osteoblasts build it. Provided their activity balances each other—‌that they maintain homeostasis—‌the bone remains healthy.”

That wasn’t too hard. One kind built bone, the other destroyed it. “Go on,” she said.

“Now for the inorganic portion.” His finger moved down the page. “The non-living minerals, elements really, are calcium and phosphate. Together they form hydroxyapatite, a calcium phosphate mineral that composes seventy percent of our bone.”

He was beginning to lose her. Thank goodness this was all written down. It was going to take her at least five minutes to force her lips to pronounce the hydroxy word.

And Lord Rathsburn’s finger was only halfway down the first page.

“Calcium phosphate is the predominant form of calcium found in the milk of all bovines.”

“Bovines?”

“Cows.”

“Why not simply say that to begin with?” she asked. Such a mouthful when a three-letter word would suffice.

“Because bovine is a more accurate term.”

“Only if you’re speaking to someone who also speaks medicalese.”

“Medicalese?” His eyebrows rose.

It was Olivia’s turn to sigh. “Two living cells, one to build, one to break down. Drink milk to maintain your minerals. Close enough?” she asked.

“To start.”

Thus began a long-winded, overly detailed and tedious explanation of the intricacies of bone development and maintenance. In mere minutes, Olivia’s eyes began to cross.

Any chance that she would be able to assemble such unfamiliar vocabulary into anything resembling an intelligible sentence was so remote as to be impossible. She would be caught in the lie and immediately be thrown into whatever prison they were keeping his sister. If she were going to accompany him, it was time to reconsider impersonating his wife regardless of the risk.

Verbal reasoning hadn’t worked, but perhaps she could persuade him by other means.

Slowly, Olivia slid a stockinged foot across the floor until it bumped against his boot, then shifted her weight in his direction. Her skirts swayed, wrapping themselves about his leg. She leaned, and her bare shoulder skimmed the fine wool of his coat.

Oblivious, he kept talking.

Olivia leaned in closer, tilting her face as if to study the papers he held. Instead, she studied him. The faint shadow of a beard darkened his jaw. His lips were so expressive, so earnest and serious in their explanation. She longed to see him relaxed and smiling once again.

She pressed the side of her breast against his elbow. “Mmm,” she murmured.

His breath caught ever so slightly, and she was almost certain he stumbled over a word. Alas, it wasn’t one she could pronounce or define, so she couldn’t be certain.

“Lord Rathsburn,” she said, placing a hand lightly atop his. The fine, crisp hairs dusting the surface of his skin brushed her palm.

His words tripped and staggered to an uncertain halt.

Tipping her face upward, she stared into his bright, blue eyes and asked a question she knew would unbalance him. “I’m sorry, but I’m hopelessly lost. Is bone matrix organic or inorganic?”

He released the notebook pages into her hands and stepped back. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “The osteoblasts lay down the matrix so it is necessarily organic. I believe I mentioned that some ten minutes past.”

“I believe I mentioned biology was not my forte some fifteen minutes past.”

His lips twitched. “So you did.”

“I do, however, have extensive experience in the role of fiancée. As newlyweds—‌”

“No.” Lord Rathsburn snapped his fingers. “Lady Farrington mentioned you possess programming skills. Is this true?”

Every cell in her body let out a frustrated howl. Wife! she wanted to scream. But she had a part to play. She cast her eyes downward as if embarrassed. “I’m afraid it is. If you examine my reticule in the storage closet, you’ll find proof.”

Lord Rathsburn turned on his heel and marched into the engine room. The door to the storage hatch clicked open.

Olivia held her breath, afraid to move. If he discovered the acousticotransmitter…‌

But he didn’t. He strode back holding her reticule. Already he’d yanked open its drawstring and was examining the contents. Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to hide evidence of her mission. Tucked safely behind the steel boning of her corset, the final as-yet unactivated transmitter seemed to burn.

“An assortment of unpunched paper, tin and copper cards.” He placed the cards upon the dirigible console and reached back into the bag’s depths. “A Franconian multipunch?” He studied her with newfound interest. “Impressive, Lady Olivia. The only men I know who use the Franconian multipunch have quite advanced skills.”

“If you consider punching recipes for the best cream cakes in London an advanced skill, then yes.” Lord Rathsburn looked stricken. She shrugged. “Mother is prone to sinking spells. For years I’ve managed the household. Occasionally, I try my hand at improvements.”

Watson emerged next from the depths of her bag. “A metal sphere.” His eyebrows rose in question. Clearly the man was hoping for more than pastries.

“My pet hedgehog,” she answered, smiling sweetly just to aggravate him. She held out a hand. “If you’ll allow me to demonstrate?”

He dropped Watson into her waiting palm. In one smooth movement, she drew her other hand over his gleaming surface in a caress, and Watson uncurled, his spines emerging from the perforations in his many segments.

“Impressive craftsmanship,” Lord Rathsburn observed.

“I cannot claim to have built him,” she answered. “Only to have modified a childhood toy.” Her finger triggered the mechanism that sent him into clockwork mode. In such a state his eyes would not glow, no probes could be engaged, nor could his secret compartment be opened. “Watson runs quite simple programs.”

“Watson,” he repeated.

She placed the hedgehog on the ground and issued a series of commands. “Spin.” Watson spun in a circle. “Sit.” Watson sat. “Beg.” Watson straightened, balancing on his hind legs, front paws curled to his chest.

Tea cakes and animal tricks. How could he not see things from her perspective? She let the corners of her lips curve in a gentle, wifely manner.

“It’ll have to do,” Lord Rathsburn pronounced with resignation. “You will be my programmer.”

“Programmer?” She echoed the word through clenched teeth.

“In the meager time left to us, our only hope is to have you speak intelligibly about Babbage cards and programming.”

He crouched before his insulated case, unlocking it. Fog escaped. She watched, frozen in horror, as he carefully donned gloves and lifted the menacing device from its padding and turned toward her. With the twist of a knob, a set of copper punch cards slid from the contraption’s interior.

With trembling fingers, she accepted the cards he held out, examining them closely. Better to stare at a pattern of punches than long, steel needles.

Or so she thought.

If she read the program correctly…‌ The cabin seemed to tilt. Olivia lowered herself onto the nearest seat and made herself inquire. “Its function?”

“My early experiments, which the Germans have managed to reproduce, require that modified osteoprogenitor cells be inserted not via blood transfusion, but directly into bone marrow using a large bore needle.”

She swallowed. The very mention of needles always made her ill. Her head felt buoyant.

Lord Rathsburn did not seem to notice her distress. “This device, the osforare apparatus, is designed to take a different approach.” Eyes gleaming, his voice grew animated as he pointed out specific features of the contraption. “After filling the glass reservoirs with transforming fluid, a small rotary motor punctures the skin and drives the needles through muscle to the very surface of the bone.”

With each additional word, the buzzing in Olivia’s ears grew louder. She clutched the edge of her seat. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please. Stop.”

But he didn’t hear her.

“Pressure gauges provide feedback, slowing the needles’ approach so that they barely pierce the periosteum, a thin membrane on the surface of bone, before injection…‌”

Her vision grayed at the edges. Then darkness closed in.