“I’m so sorry. I’d no idea a clockwork squirrel could be so very vicious!” Evie side-eyed the motionless contraption. Frowned at the dark stain upon its incisors. Then angled Ash’s chin away, directing the fall of lamplight onto his ear. Dried blood trailed down the side of his neck. “Aether, its bite pierced your ear!”
“And other bits, not to mention my pride.” He plucked Mengri from his shoulder and stuffed it into his coat pocket. “I may have lost the battle, but your ransom won us the spoils of war.” He dipped his head and captured her lips with his.
A celebratory kiss that breathed pure oxygen onto banked coals. She parted her lips to let him slip inside. He groaned, kissing her harder, with a hunger that left her in no doubt that he too had replayed their earlier kiss in his mind and also wanted so, so much more. Flames rose to lick at her body, and she wrapped her arms about his waist, running her hands up his back beneath his coat, over the linen covering strong muscle, higher—
Wet and sticky cloth met her fingertips.
Aghast, she pulled away. “Your shirt is torn! How bad is it?” Circling him, she took in the long slash the mechanical animal’s teeth—or claws—had torn in his overcoat with a gasp. “Let’s go. These lacerations need to be cleaned.”
“In a moment.” Ash caught her hand and spun her about, pulling her to his chest. “The pain is manageable. How often will we have a chance like this? Unless, of course, you’re cold?”
Snowflakes swirled about as he walked her backward, until she felt the rough bite of bark at her back as he pinned her to the oak tree with his delightfully solid weight. The hunger in his eyes shot a new rush of heat straight to her frozen toes. “Cold?” She stroked the close-cropped beard at the edge of his jaw with her thumb. Not with such a thrilling heat source raising the temperature. “Is it winter?”
His laugh was almost a low growl as he unwound the thick muffler from about her neck, letting it drape about her shoulders. “Hard to say. It feels like midsummer.” With one hand he popped free the first button of her coat, then ran a fingertip along the edge of her collar, tracing the pattern of embroidery. “What with vines running rampant, twisting in invitation.”
She dropped her head back against the tree trunk. Cold air nipped at her neck, but it was anticipation that sent a shiver across her skin. “As was intended.”
“Good.” Warm lips brushed over the soft skin beneath her ear. Pop. Another fastening came undone, this time the one that held her collar closed.
“Ash.” Her whisper was a plea. She slid her fingers once more beneath his jacket to grip the waistband of his trousers.
His kisses fell along the edge of her jaw, then trailed downward, stopping to nip and suck at the curve of her neck. With each bite, an aching warmth between her legs grew, and only the frosty night air kept her from melting into a puddle at his feet. This was the delicious danger of secluded gardens, a danger that made girls far more innocent than her willing to risk their reputations.
Lips met hers again. A hard kiss, one demanding she answer in kind. She tipped her head back delighting in the rough scrape of bark across her scalp as if she were a dryad, at one with the great tree at her back.
Opening her mouth, she groaned at the warm, slick slide of his tongue over hers. A deep, drugging kiss driving her mad, pushing all awareness from her mind. Save for where their bodies met. Her world reduced to the flick of his tongue, to the crush of her breasts, to the frustration of their hips, separated by an exasperating thickness of wool, cotton and linen. Cloth foiling any hope of further explorations.
Chit. Chit. Chit. A muffled complaint from Mengri emerged from the depths of Ash’s pocket.
He tore his mouth away with a curse. “That damn squirrel. It needs to be stuffed away in a locked box.” His voice was thick and gruff, and his next words touched a match to the smoldering need his kisses had sparked. “Might I escort you directly to the greenhouse for a tour? We’ll set the mistletoe to steep, then I’ve wonders to show you.”
“That confident, are you?” She laughed softly.
His eyes flashed. “Would a man dare to make such midnight promises and fail to deliver?”
She bit her lip, pretending to consider the question. “It is Christmas. And I can’t help but wonder what you have in mind.” Her voice was a husky whisper, for there was little breath left in her lungs. Amidst all those plants in the greenhouse, there would be warmth, privacy, and more than enough oxygen. Plenty to fuel the combustion that threatened between them. She brushed a dusting of snow off his hair. “I’d like nothing better than to pass the small hours beneath the fronds of tropical plants while snow falls upon the glass above us.”
As they gathered up the rope and hand sickle to leave the park, Evie sent a silent thank you to Mengri, for sending them on their way.
By the time they crossed back onto city streets, now all but deserted, a fine coat of snow covered the pavement. Ash kept an arm about her waist to protect her from the slippery surface while keeping a careful hand atop the bundle of precious mistletoe tied to his belt.
A faint unease crept up her spine, as they rounded a corner and approached one of Lister Institute’s lesser known entrances. One that led to the morgue. Inside, Dr. Wilson’s remains would await a final verdict as to the precise nature of the blast that killed him and injured several others.
Ash stiffened as they approached the door. “The guard is rather more bright-eyed than one might expect for such an hour. Something is afoot.”
Ash pressed a hand to the security pad, held still as the pectin coagulator verified his identity. Click. A green light flashed, and the door popped open. They started inside.
“Stop, please.” The guard turned suspicious eyes upon them, barely giving the mistletoe a glance. “I’ll need the lady to verify her authorization as well.”
Evie pressed her hand to the pad. The green light flashed.
“Thank you.” The guard held out his hand. “I’ll also need to see your identification cards.”
With the slightest hesitation, Ash produced his identity card. “An unusual request,” he commented. “Palm identification is quite rigorous. What’s going on?”
The guard recorded Ash’s name and time of entry. “Standard procedure for holiday entry.” As he handed the card back, the guard lifted an eyebrow. “Any particular reason you ask, Mr. Lockwood?”
“None.”
Evie fumbled with the buttons of her coat, slid her hand into her pocket. Was the guard recording names? If so, why? She’d never been told not to work after hours, but should Mr. Davies be informed of her unusual late arrival, would he demand an explanation? Remove her from the joint project with Ash? Her corset felt overly tight. Bells and blazes, would it jeopardize her offer from Oxford?
Only now did she realize how badly she wished to accept the scholarship. She also wanted this night with Ash. She straightened, putting some starch in her spine. This mistletoe experiment was important. Doubly so. For if it succeeded, it would benefit both her father and others. Her presence was important, as much so as those rare female agents who freely came and went from Lister at all hours. Why not her?
Both men looked to Evie. Unless she wished to turn about and return home, there was no choice but to comply. Cowardice would win her nothing. She must count on Mr. Davies being unable to resist the lure of academic grandeur for the library.
She held out her card.
The guard picked up his pen but hesitated as he wrote down her name. “If you’ll wait here a moment, Miss Brown.” He did not return her card. Instead, he marched down the hall and rapped upon a closed door.
Evie rose onto her toes and whispered, “What’s going on?” The guard conversed with someone inside a room. “Are those interrogation rooms?”
“They are. This is most unusual.” Ash gave her hand a quick squeeze, dropping it when a man emerged.
“Mr. Lockwood. Miss Brown. How utterly convenient.” The sardonic voice belonged to a dark-haired gentleman. Not one she recalled ever visiting the library, but as he knew her.
“Have we…” Recognition struck. “You’re Mr. Black. From the… explosion.”
He offered her a faint smile, though he looked tired about the eyes. “Guilty.” He waved his hand toward the room. “I realize the hour is late, but we’ve been looking for you.”
“Me?” Incredulity made her voice squeak. “Whatever for?”
“We’ve a few questions concerning Dr. Bracken’s recent behavior.”
Dr. Bracken’s dramatic cry as he’d rushed to his colleague’s fallen form sprang to mind. She’d chalked it up to attention-seeking behavior, but if Dr. Wilson’s death had been determined to be foul play and they were seeking out the chemist… and had linked her name to his.
Her heart pounded. Aether, she’d abandoned her family with Dr. Bracken upon the doorstep. Holding flowers. A prospective suitor.
A sick feeling stirred deep in her stomach. They couldn’t possibly think her an accomplice, could they?
“Our relationship is a purely professional one.” Evie found her feet nailed to the floor.
“Yet we’ve information to the contrary.” His voice was firm, and Mr. Black waved his hand toward the open door. “If you’ll both step inside, have a seat?”
“Do we have a choice?” Ash asked, wary.
“Not really, Mr. Lockwood. Time is of the essence.”
Ash eyed the small interrogation room. It didn’t look nearly as terrifying as one might expect. An overly bright light hung overhead. There were three chairs. And a wooden table upon which stained papers were stacked. Behind it, chipped teacup at his elbow, sat none other than Lord Thornton.
“Tormenting potential witnesses again, Black?” Lord Thornton asked in a deep booming voice, rising. His face was all sharp angles and planes, softened only by stray curls that twisted at the ends of his dark locks. Not a face that encouraged a person to relax.
“Slipping in through the morgue entrance at the midnight hour, one with a rope slung about his shoulder while the lady carries a hand scythe?” Mr. Black lifted an eyebrow. “They’re up to something.”
Lord Thornton sighed. “And yet you let her keep the weapon.”
“They don’t look dangerous.” Mr. Black tipped his head. “Instead, they’ve the air of a tryst about them, wouldn’t you say?”
Beside him, Evie’s face flushed.
Ash did not care for the direction this interview was taking. “We were in Hyde Park,” he indicated the bundle of mistletoe that hung at his hip, “collecting mistletoe growing upon an oak tree, a necessary ingredient for a botanical cure.”
“Is that—?” Mr. Black leaned forward. His eyebrows drew together as he stared. “It’s Rúkkersaméngri, the clockwork squirrel from The Druid Oak.”
The creature had popped its head out of Ash’s pocket. He stuffed it back inside. “The very one.”
“Well that explains the state of your face.” Mr. Black snorted. “And your need for sticking plaster.”
Exasperated, Ash huffed. “Do you require a detailed explanation of our project, or will it suffice to say that I’m a botanist facing a tight timeline and that Miss Brown is a colleague in possession of valuable historic insight?”
Lord Thornton’s lips twitched. “As our questions pertain to Dr. Bracken, we’ll consider the nature of your nighttime wanderings irrelevant.” He pulled out a chair. “Miss Brown. Mr. Lockwood. Please, sit. We’ll try to keep this short.” His voice held notes of frustration and impatience. “Were it not important, it would not keep me from my wife on such a night.”
Evie lowered herself onto the edge of the seat.
“Is this about Dr. Wilson’s death?” Ash ignored the earl’s invitation. He preferred to remain standing. “It was deliberate then, the explosion?”
Without answering, Mr. Black directed his next statement to Evie. “We’re attempting to locate Dr. Bracken. I’ve information that suggests he is a suitor of yours.”
Evie stiffened. “Certainly not.”
“Yet I’m told he paid a visit to your home this evening, flowers in hand, and was welcomed inside where he remained for some time.” The agent’s eyes never left Evie’s face.
Jealousy nipped at Ash’s heels, but he bit his tongue. He had no cause. Bracken moved among the gentry and had resources—financial and social—that Ash could never hope to offer her, but Evie had made her preference for him clear. He smirked. It warmed the heart to know the chemist was wanted for questioning in a possible murder case.
Did they think Bracken responsible?
Why else would they go to the trouble of tracking his movements on Christmas Eve?
“I told my sister to tell him I was ill, to turn him away, then I slipped away via the kitchen door.” Evie’s face burned a furious red. “Dr. Bracken is a colleague who oversteps his bounds, making uninvited and unwelcome advances.”
Mr. Black leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Ones distasteful enough to send you fleeing your residence, on Christmas Eve, no less.”
“While that may be, I had another motivation to return to work.” She lifted her chin. “My father is ill, yet he plans to leave on an extended voyage in three days. The botanical cure we seek to prepare is for him.”
Mr. Black twisted his lips and gave Ash a sideways glance, as if he weren’t convinced her answer fully explained their presence at the Lister Institute at such a late hour.
But it appeared that, in his line of work as a Queen’s agent, Mr. Black was accustomed to such odd comings and goings, for he let the matter drop. “You’ve not seen Dr. Bracken since departing your home?” he asked.
“I have not.” Pulling back her shoulders, Evie shifted and prepared to rise.
But Lord Thornton slid a piece of paper across the table. “Can you enlighten us as to your connection with Dr. Wilson?” The handwriting scrawled across the page was a tangle of chemical formulas involving numerous elemental symbols.
“Of course.” Evie took a deep breath. “We are—were—composing a joint monograph concerning the roles of specific metals in medieval herbal remedies. In the first modern translation, Oswald Cockayne interprets them as magical or superstitious elements. Instead, Dr. Wilson and I argue that they are key components of the formula. Copper and silver, for example, have known antimicrobial properties.”
Mr. Black looked to Lord Thornton. At the gentleman’s nod, Mr. Black visibly relaxed.
Ash cleared his throat. “Any chance you might enlighten us as to why you suspect Dr. Bracken is involved in his colleague’s death?”
“Any reason we ought not share?” Lord Thornton asked Mr. Black.
Mr. Black lifted a shoulder. “None. Given Dr. Bracken is hauling about an emerald ring, perhaps they’re best forewarned.”
“He intended to propose?” Evie’s jaw dropped. “Tonight?”
“A ring?” A slow burn began to build in Ash’s stomach. His own offering was much more modest. His voice rose in challenge. “How can you possibly have such information?”
“Dr. Bracken and Dr. Wilson are both candidates for the Hatton Chair of Chemistry,” Lord Thornton replied. “As Dr. Wilson was one of ours—”
“An agent?” Evie asked.
Lord Thornton nodded. “With a specialty in nitroglycerin.”
“That’s an explosive!” she exclaimed.
“It is.”
Confused, Ash countered, “But Dr. Wilson was studying the effectiveness of hawthorn, a member of the rose family, for relieving symptoms of angina, chest pain.” Ash was acquainted with the man from his visits to the greenhouse to collect plant material for his work.
Lord Thornton nodded. “He was comparing its efficacy to that of nitroglycerine, a known vasodilator. A convenient cover for his production of the substance for more… volatile uses. Therefore, while accidental detonation was not an impossibility, Dr. Wilson would not have recklessly transported such a large quantity of an unstable substance on his person.”
Mr. Black crossed his arms. “Handled roughly—bumped, banged or shaken—as one might expect of a crowd exiting Lister Institute for the holidays, it could easily detonate.”
“And someone who knew of his research,” Ash added two and two, “might take advantage of that fact. You believe Dr. Bracken slipped a vial into, say, his coat pocket.”
“Aether.” Evie lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. “All to eliminate competition for an academic position?”
“Dr. Wilson’s work had made great strides,” Mr. Black grumbled. “Dr. Bracken’s research, on the other hand, was a miserable failure. His extract from the oleander plant, while effective, was acutely toxic.”
“Oleandrin,” Lord Thornton said. “Cardiotoxic, hepatotoxic and nephrotoxic.”
“Heart, liver and kidney failure,” Mr. Black added as a footnote, then pulled a face. “So many dead laboratory rats.”
Lord Thornton rubbed the back of his neck. “Which leads us to suspect—”
“Dr. Bracken.” Ash leaned forward and tapped two fingers upon the table. “As a member of the Chemistry department, he had the means, the knowledge and the opportunity. With a vial in place, all he needed to do was wait. When that blast shook the floor, he was standing not three feet away from me. The man smiled. Smiled!”
“Not, alas, an admission of guilt,” Lord Thornton said.
“Nor is his melodramatic performance at the crime scene,” Mr. Black said, taking up the tale. “Nonetheless, I instructed agents to shadow his movements. After a brief stop in the library, Dr. Bracken returned home. His mother was most forthcoming. She and her son are, in her own words, very close.” He rolled his eyes. “Dr. Bracken changed his attire, then retrieved an heirloom ring from the safe.” Mr. Black’s mouth twitched as he shifted his gaze to Evie. “Mrs. Bracken is utterly convinced of your acceptance.”
Evie’s lip curled.
“Though he was traced to your doorstep, Miss Brown, the direction of the crank hack he hired after he left was lost in the evening traffic. It may well be that he’s drowning his sorrows in a pub.”
Mr. Black looked unconvinced. Ash too had his doubts.
“Be careful, Miss Brown.” Lord Thornton glanced from her to Ash. “If our summation is correct, Dr. Bracken also views you as competition. One man is already in the morgue.”
“Most of him,” Mr. Black quipped.
Ash cringed at the dark humor.
“We don’t wish to add your corpse, Mr. Lockwood,” Lord Thornton said. “Or another patient to the hospital ward where the victims are no longer in full possession of their extremities.”
Mr. Black stepped away from the door. “We won’t keep you any longer, but take care. Dr. Bracken appears to have a ruthless streak and,” his dark gaze shifted to Evie, “a strong desire to make you his wife. Should you encounter him before we are able to locate him, send word immediately.”
“Of course.” Rattled, Evie rose. “About our late-night entry…”
The corner of Mr. Black’s mouth curved upward. “I’ll ensure the guard loses that paper. This interview never happened.”