Chapter Seventeen

 

 

 

OLIVIA DREAMED SHE was in the kitchen, standing before a toasty oven. She reached out and pressed her hand against the delicious heat, sliding her palm over its hard surface. The stove grabbed her wrist.

“Olivia,” the stove said. “Wake up.”

Her eyes flew open. “Ian,” she breathed. He was stretched out beside her on the bed—‌beneath the covers—‌one arm about her waist.

Half undressed, she was curled against him, her head on his shoulder, one leg draped over his. He held her hand pressed to his chest. His warm, hard chest. Never had she been so cozy and comfortable and…‌ humiliated.

Wine. There had been much wine and no food. No edible food.

She groaned and tried to snatch back her hand, but he held tight. She lifted her head. “What did I say?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “What do you remember? Anything?”

Her face grew hot as memories of the night before flooded back. She’d all but stripped in front of him, suggested he was the motive behind attempted murder…‌ and thrown herself at him, begging for a kiss.

He’d turned her down.

But he hadn’t slept on the floor. That had to be a good sign. On the other hand, where else would he sleep? They were supposed to be married. Anyone with a key could march into their room at any moment, and appearances must be maintained.

A rush of guilt chilled her. “I remember that I was slow to catch your sister as she fell. I’m so sorry.”

“The break was minor, and Warrick is capable enough.” The admission came through tight lips. “Though I will double check his work.”

“He has the eyes of a basilisk,” she said. “No wonder you don’t trust him.”

There was venom in his answering laugh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I should. Your wife would know. Tell me, how is it that your sister came to be engaged to such a man?” Any man who would force a woman to his will using axon thrall bands didn’t deserve a wife, he deserved a prison cell. It pleased her that even in a muddled state, she’d managed to smuggle the bands away, to kick them beneath their bed. The minute an opportunity presented itself, she would secrete them inside Watson.

Ian’s eyes met hers. “Not everyone considers a man of medicine a social pariah.”

“I didn’t say…‌” Olivia sighed. “I did. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’m becoming rather fond of one physician in particular.”

“Then put your head down.” Tension melted from his face. “It’s a long tale.”

Lowering her head again to his shoulder, she curled back into his warmth. There were, it seemed, to be some benefits to her temporary marriage. She’d have to be careful not to become too accustomed, but she would not argue if Ian wished to hold her close. It was the oddest sensation to feel so secure.

“Once, Warrick was a student at the Lister University School of Medicine. I became his mentor when he asked to join my laboratory, to work upon my research project. He was a bright young mind. We became friends. One summer, he came to visit me—‌all the way to the wilds of Yorkshire—‌at my crumbling, country estate.”

Crumbling? That would explain rumors of the heiress hunt that had reached her ears. “Where he met Elizabeth.”

“It seemed like love at first sight,” Ian said. “And he offered for her hand. Before Warrick, she had no prospects, no hope of a family, and she begged for my blessing. I hesitated.”

“As would any caring brother. Her condition…‌”

“She was of age. If she insisted upon marrying, who better to look after and care for her than another scientist, a future physician?” His fingers tightened upon her wrist, and his voice grew resentful. “Except Warrick wasn’t courting her. He was courting her condition. Who she was as a person didn’t matter.”

Olivia knew the feeling. She too had been viewed merely as a prize, a means to an end. “How could you know?”

“I didn’t. Not at first. Our research had become his obsession. He found her mutation fascinating and was convinced a cure was possible. If they married, Warrick would have the legal right to—‌”

“No.” Olivia gasped. “You can’t mean…‌ He wouldn’t…‌” They had to save Elizabeth from marriage to such a monster.

“I do.” His hand slid over the back of her hand, and his fingers threaded through hers. “When a project has merit, when it has shown potential to effect a cure, it is protocol to conduct the first in vivo—‌in a living animal—‌study upon rodents. We proceeded, but our cells quickly grew out of control. The rats were riddled with tumors. Somewhere, our work had taken a wrong turn.”

The poor creatures. She curled her fingers, holding tightly. There was comfort in touch. “Continue.”

“Warrick insisted our work was valid, that a human’s immune system could control the cell growth. But to perform such a test would break every last rule and regulation set in place by oversight committees at Lister Laboratories.”

She stiffened. “He didn’t!”

“Not on British soil,” Ian answered. “While looking for a particular data set, flipping through his laboratory notebook, I came across a research proposal addressed to a group identified only as CEAP. With this group’s approval and funding, Warrick proposed to test the cells in humans. A perfect first candidate, he argued, would be a woman suffering from osteogenesis imperfecta.”

“Elizabeth.” Olivia lifted her head and stared into Ian’s eyes.

He nodded, his eyes haunted. “If her bones could be made indestructible, he argued, think what the cells might accomplish within the ranks of the British military.”

“Unbreakable soldiers,” Olivia said. “Such as the count’s guardsmen.”

“I confronted Warrick.” His arm, strong and muscled, tightened about her waist. “He didn’t even bother to deny my accusations, answering only that his project was supported unconditionally by a shadow board within Lister University.”

“A shadow board? You think CEAP and this shadow board are the same thing?”

“I do.”

Something cold trickled into her stomach. She’d heard that term before, shadow boards. In her own home. Listening at doors, one rarely heard anything good. A lesson learned at the tender age of eleven.

Unable to sleep and annoyed with her nursemaid for taking away her book, Olivia had slid silently from her room and tip-toed down the grand stairway. She’d slipped, unseen, into Father’s library and pulled the largest book she could reach from the shelves, a volume written by Charles Babbage. Secreting herself on a window seat behind heavy curtains, she’d read by the light of a small, bioluminescent torch, secure in the knowledge that her nursemaid would never find her. Later, when the meeting convened at midnight in the library, no one thought to look behind the curtains.

Listening to the words of men who visited Father in the dark of night had become a habit, and quite some time had passed before she’d been caught. Enough so that she knew too much. With reluctance tinged with pride, Father had brought her into his fold. If he’d thought to stop her eavesdropping, he’d failed. At some point, she’d overheard a discussion concerning shadow boards, a group of scientific-minded gentlemen who worked together to bypass official protocols. One such board aimed to study individuals in possession of unusual traits or abilities: The Committee for the Exploration of Anthropomorphic Peculiarities—‌CEAP.

It fit. Who else would be interested in a human with bones that could not be broken?

Her heart stopped a moment, then began again, galloping like a clockwork horse whose springs had been wound too tight. She swallowed. Could Father be involved with Warrick? No. Her mind rebelled at the idea. Absolutely not. Neither he nor Ian would betray their country in such a manner.

On the other hand, Ian had stolen equipment from a laboratory and transported it to Germany. Technically, that was treason.

How to label this shade of gray?

“I found no evidence of such a board, no matter how I searched, no matter who I questioned. Warrick disappeared along with the cells. Scandal erupted. An internal investigation was conducted. My laboratory was turned upside down in a hunt for evidence of intent. They found nothing. In the end, I had to take responsibility.” Ian paused. His next words were grim. “They were my cells.”

“You are not to blame for Warrick’s actions.” She squeezed his hand. Not to blame, but she understood his guilt. His work had inspired and motivated Warrick’s actions, and such vile research had to be terminated.

“I was responsible for his oversight and on that regard, I failed.” Ian turned his head on the pillow and looked directly into her eyes. His next words came slowly, heavy with the weight of implication. “Your father himself accepted my resignation.”

Her breath caught. That meant…‌ he was—‌or had been—‌a Queen’s agent. It explained much. “For my father?” she asked, doing her best to project ignorance. She might have agreed not to conceal her intelligence from Ian, but she wasn’t yet convinced she ought to reveal her place within the organization. “How? You work at Lister University.”

Dawn had arrived, and Ian lifted her hand so it caught the light pouring in through the windows. His fingertips brushed across the odd calluses and scars she’d acquired fiddling with steambot mechanics, punching tin and copper cards, picking locks. “Do you remember telling me you were a spy?”

“I did no such thing!” She was nearly certain.

She tried to pull away, but his arm held fast about her waist, keeping her pressed against him. It seemed there would be no escaping him or the topic under discussion.

“True. You said you wished you were. A spy. Why would a pretty, young woman like you want to be a spy?” He was smiling now, a deliberate attempt to lighten the dark mood while still hunting for information.

Pretty. But not beautiful. Or, it seemed, kissable. Yet he’d shared so much, he deserved a measure of honesty in return.

“Do you know how tedious it is to be a respectable young lady of the ton? The hours wasted shopping. The days spent at endless teas, balls and garden parties. The years spent behaving impeccably. All in search of a husband.” Olivia huffed. “Only to lose the one thing you thought you’d secured at last.”

“You never did mention why Lord Snyder abandoned you.” His breath was warm on her hair. Why, then, did it make her shiver? Especially when every inch of her skin burned for his touch.

“He did not wish a wife tainted by family scandal.”

“Family scandal?” he scoffed. “Your sister married an earl. Your brother, the daughter of a viscount.”

“You pay no attention to ton gossip, do you? My youngest sister, Emily, ran off with her gypsy lover.” Beneath her cheek smooth linen and hard muscle shifted as Ian’s chest rumbled in her ear. Laughter. He thought the impropriety amusing? “It’s not funny,” she protested. “Her behavior reflected upon me, and no gentleman wants to marry a woman who won’t conform to the expectations of society.”

“Are you trying to tell me you wish to live a conventional life?”

Olivia pressed her lips together and stayed silent. How was it he so easily saw through her pretenses? One by one he stripped them away.

“Exactly. So perhaps he had good cause,” Ian pointed out. “You too are a rebel, teaching yourself difference engine programming.”

True. Mollified, she allowed herself a smile. “And robotic engineering skills,” she bragged, tempted for the first time to reveal her degree from the Rankine Institute. “Among other things. Can you blame me for wishing to have the opportunity to put such skills to use?”

“So you’re not a spy,” Ian concluded. “You’re simply an unusually talented young woman whose father took advantage of her, tasking her with planting acousticotransmitters in the luggage of an unmarried gentleman while she conveniently traveled aboard the same airship.”

“Yes.” Close enough. No need for him to know all her secrets.

Casually, Ian’s thumb began to trace a path back and forth across the base of her palm. Her breath caught as his touch ignited a low flame beneath her skin, one that flared hotter with each sweep. Not that he noticed.

“What did he promise you in return?”

Several heartbeats later she lifted her gaze to his. What could it hurt? “A chance to find an Italian husband.” His thumb now stroked the sensitive inside of her wrist, making a clear and logical mind nearly impossible to maintain.

“You sound disinclined to matrimony,” he said, studying her as if she were a puzzle he was determined to solve.

She was. Or, at least, she had been. Why could Lord Ian Stanton, Earl of Rathsburn not have been her assigned target? “A duke’s daughter has little choice.”

“Is that why you locked yourself in my storage closet?” His mouth was inches from hers.

Behind her lock pick-lined corset, her heart tripped, recovered, then picked up its pace. “A decision I soon came to regret.”

“I’m sorry I’m not the gentleman you believed me to be.” His fingers stilled.

No. She didn’t want this moment to end. She closed her eyes and clarified. “I regret the location and the circumstances, but not the man.” She tipped her face upward and let her lips part slightly. There could be no clearer invitation.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, but there was nothing tender left in his voice. Instead, it grew rough and caustic. “Because you’ll need to kiss me.”