Courting Trouble (9 page)

“They’ve gone beyond advocating it,” Jed said grimly. “They’re committing it.”

Esme gripped his sleeve. She didn’t have to put her fear into words.

He put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, ignoring the crowd. “I know, sweetheart. I promise you, if the damn thing works, he won’t get his hands on it.”

Chapter Thirteen

The final tweaks to the prototype had taken longer than Jed anticipated, but late the following morning it was finally ready to test.

Using jeweler’s tweezers, he picked up the chip of emerald he’d pried from a posy ring the jeweler had willingly created for him—emerald for
e,
sapphire for
s,
moonstone for
m
and a second emerald for
e
spelled
Esme.
He fitted the emerald chip into the gold cradle of the sonic exploding prototype.

Beside him, Esme watched closely.

His whole body tautened at the rose-and-sandalwood scent of her. Her hair was frankly messy after their busy hours in the workshop. Sweet disorder, the poets called it. He had another name for the tantalizing lure of her hair brushing against his jacket and clinging to the rough weave. He wanted to feel her unbound hair against his skin, to coil it around his hands and hold her prisoner for his kiss. She’d be the most rewarding prisoner, so beautifully responsive.

He shifted abruptly, trying to discipline his thoughts and his body.

It was torture having her this close and knowing her ambivalence. She wanted him. He couldn’t miss her awareness of him, the hitch in her breathing, their lingering exchange of looks. But he couldn’t force her acceptance of her own feelings. He wanted everything—her love, freely given.

He turned back to what he could control.

All was in place for this first test of the device. They had removed the kerosene lamp, and the small workroom was lit by candles, which had no glass to shatter. The unguarded flames shifted in the slight breeze from the ventilation system, sending their distorted shadows dancing over the limestone walls.

He put the tweezers down and checked the blueprints one last time. “We’re set.”

Esme handed him cotton wool to stuff in his ears. He wound the key of the clockwork mechanism till it caught. As he released it, the first note struck, signaling the start of the internal cylinder’s revolution.

The device worked on the principles of an old-fashioned music box. He had soldered pinheads to the cylinder in the pattern dictated by the stolen blueprints. As the cylinder revolved, the pinheads plucked the teeth of a steel comb.

An alien tune, repetitive and haunting, filled the air. He took her hand and they retreated three steps—all the space the small room allowed them. He stuffed the cotton wool in his ears. Esme did the same, her hands clenched.

He’d modified and miniaturized the design of a phonograph’s trumpet to a long, narrow horn, like a cannon with a flare on the end. The flared end engulfed the emerald in its gold chamber. If the inventor of the infernal device hadn’t been crazed, then the “music” would set up a reverberation in the emerald chip that would express itself as a vastly amplified, single note.

Esme had placed a china eggcup beside the trumpet. Stretched over the top of the cup was a translucent onion skin. If it ruptured, they had proof of concept—and his troubles really started.

I never thought I’d wish an invention to fail.

A high pure note started his ears buzzing despite the muffling cotton. Like Esme, he leaned forward.

The onion skin tore.

He darted forward to switch off the machine, inserted a thin steel needle to stop the cylinder spinning, and grasped the tiny trumpet to dampen its vibrations. Its buzzing ceased and he took the cotton wool from his ears.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she answered absently, her attention on the tattered onion skin. Then she looked up at him. “It worked.”

He realized she hadn’t truly believed it would. He picked up the eggcup, peeling off the onion skin and discarding it to run his finger around the smooth rim. Even held to the light, there wasn’t the slightest fracture in the porcelain. Relief flooded through him. “It worked exactly as I’d calculated.”

“You sound pleased.” She sounded accusing.

He smiled at her. “I am. The original inventor was overenthusiastic in his calculations. I spent some time researching physicists’ work on sound waves and crystals. I thought the onion skin might tear—if the device worked. The inventor of Kali’s Scream thought the eggcup would crack.”

“So we have proof of concept, but the concept isn’t as powerful as we feared?”

“Exactly. According to my calculations, the emerald would have to be of exceptional size to bring down a building. But to be sure, I have a larger emerald to test. I think it should be safe enough in here.” He glanced around the small room that Aaron Smith had braced in the manner of an experienced miner. “We’ll wait outside though.”

“Heavens.” She blinked at the large emerald he extracted from an inner pocket of his waistcoat.

It was a sizable stone, and for a moment her response distracted him from the business at hand. He wondered what she’d say if she knew he’d bought it as part of an engagement ring. Of course, he’d bought it purely for the emerald, but the jeweler had smiled approval, mistakenly thinking Jed intended to propose with it.

Some people had no imagination. Esme deserved sapphires to match her eyes, not a green stone chosen because its name started with
e.

“Can you pop upstairs and collect a crystal glass and perhaps a solid crystal vase, please?”

She nodded and left. He bent to fit the larger emerald. The small-scale prototype only just accepted it. He used tweezers to adjust the placement.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Returning, she set the crystal glass and vase on the worktable beside the eggcup.

“We’ll wait outside the door and stuff our ears with cotton wool once more, but yes, I think it’s safe—far safer than Nazim hoped.”

He wound up the sonic destroyer then closed the heavy door behind them. They waited on the far side of the cellar. Esme stood tensely in the circle of his arm, while in his other hand he held his watch, timing carefully the length of time it would take the device to run down its clockwork mechanism.

He snapped the watch closed, restored it to its pocket and took the cotton wool from his ears.

Esme did the same. “Well, I didn’t feel the earth shake, so it can’t have been too destructive.”

Perhaps it hadn’t worked at all, with the size of the emerald overwhelming the prototype? He opened the door and they studied the workshop by the light of the candles they held. The crystal glass had broken, but the chunkier vase stood. He took Esme’s candle and set it by his on the worktable. The eggcup had a crack along its rim.

“You were right.” She hugged him enthusiastically.

He tilted her face up to his, wanting to kiss her.

“Ahem.” The dourly amused throat-clearing came from Francis, who stood in the doorway.

Jed glanced up impatiently while Esme backed out of his arms.

“I thought you’d be wanting to know. That young Indian boy, Gupta, he’s here. Someone’s beaten him.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m s-sorry.” Gupta hugged his ribs miserably. His right eye, bloodshot and bruised, was swelling visibly. There was a graze on his chin and his jacket had torn at the left shoulder.

Rage, red and hot, burned in Jed’s veins. The boy had trusted him to protect his cousin and himself. Yet Nazim had beaten him. He’d failed.

His ire chilled to a deadly fury. It could have been Esme. Nazim could have attacked her.

“Francis, have you called Dr. Palmer?” She touched Gupta’s face lightly, turning his head to show the imprint of a ring where a fist had hit him.

“N-no,” Gupta said urgently. He looked down at his feet. “I failed Lajli. I told
him
she was not here.”

“You didn’t fail anyone.” Jed nodded to Francis to make the phone call to the doctor. The way Gupta held himself, he likely had a couple of broken ribs. “Did Nazim demand the return of his blueprints?”

The boy shook his head, winced and caught his breath painfully. “He just wanted to know where Lajli was. I couldn’t tell him. I think he believed me…in the end.”

“He seems obsessed with Lajli,” Esme said.

“She disrupted his plans and stole his money. He’ll want that back, or he’ll want revenge.” Jed understood the feeling. It boiled in him now.

“Too bad for him. It’ll be all right, Gupta.” Esme gestured Maud forward from the shadows of the hallway. “You’ll stay here till we’ve finalized this business.” And to her housekeeper, “No, no questions now. Just look after Gupta. Admit Dr. Palmer to the house when he arrives, but no one else.”

Jed looked at Gupta. “I’ll find Nazim. He’ll pay for this.”

Esme caught Jed’s arm and tugged him into the seldom-used parlor, shutting the door for privacy and with scant regard for the proprieties. “What are you planning?”

“Nazim wants the blueprints and notes. He can have them. They’ll do him little good. Then he and I are going to have a word. He’s getting desperate. He must know the Indian authorities are on his trail. I intend to take a chunk out of his hide first.”

“Jed, don’t do anything rash.”

He gripped her arms. “It could have been you he caught. You he tortured.”

“I’d have fought back. Poor Gupta.”

“Esme, you are not invincible. For the love of God, stay here.”

“While you go out and hunt down Nazim?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t let you do that. Not by yourself.” She grasped his lapels, trying to shake some sense into him. In this unfamiliar mood, she couldn’t trust him not to do something reckless. He could get hurt.

But even as she worried, a wild excitement coiled in her stomach as his hands tightened and hauled her against him.

His eyes glittered fiercely as he searched her face. “Sweetheart, we’ve danced around the issue. But enough’s enough. You want to keep me safe. I need to keep you safe. Whatever your doubts, your pride, there’s one indisputable reality.”

She waited, hands pressed against his chest.

“You’re mine.” His kiss was hard, hungry and hotly possessive.

Like a lion roaring, claiming its mate,
she thought dizzily. Other men had kissed her, politely or sloppily. None had kissed as if she were the center of their universe.

An answering passion blazed through her veins. She slid her hands up, around his neck, and opened her mouth.

Jed groaned. He wrapped one arm around her waist and curled the other around her nape, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear.

She shivered and pressed into him.

“This wasn’t what I planned.” He scattered hot kisses over her face.

She was dazed, blissed, shocked at her own responsiveness.

“Our first kiss. I wanted…” He found her mouth again and that sealed off further words.

It was like falling into a sensual storm. She tasted the deep, rich maleness of him. His body, hard against her softness, made her ache. She wasn’t weakened but awed by the power of passion.

He cupped her face with both hands, ending the kiss. “We must stop.” His forehead bumped hers, a gentle caress of regret, acknowledging their shared frustration. “Gupta…we’ll be interrupted.”

“Jed.” She heard the breathless need in her voice.

A shudder shook him. He caught her hands and set her at a distance. “You are death to my self-control.”

“Mmm.” She licked her lower lip, tasting him on her.

“Esme, have mercy.” His gaze was riveted on her mouth.

“You started it,” she teased.

Fire leaped in his eyes. “And I’ll finish it.” It was a vow.

Shocks of responsive passion rippled through her body. She hugged herself.

He smiled knowingly.

“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” she said.

“I knew. It’s been driving me crazy. First it was your politics and everyone’s insistence on helping me with my bounding-vehicle, not to mention your very busy servants. Then Nazim and your doubts.”

She studied his face searchingly while he all but vibrated with the need for her to accept his protection, his right to protect the woman he loved. She sighed. “All right. Go and hunt down the villain.”

“Sweetheart.” He gave her a smacking kiss, more about the violence of his relief at her agreement than of passion or tenderness.

She tugged at his collar. “But if you come back hurt, I’ll never let you hear the end of it. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” he said easily.

Too easily.
Jed was in no mood to be cautious. He strode out the door and down the front path, tall, smart, strong and stubborn.
And heaven help me, I love him.

After all her heart searchings, the reality of love and life was devastatingly simple: desire was a risk, but it was also a fabulous gift.

Still…
She drummed her fingers on the sideboard, leaving smudged marks on the polished surface. She rubbed at them with her sleeve, then wandered around the room, thinking.

She’d given him permission to play the hero while she waited, like a damsel in distress in her tower—and it felt as if she’d chosen well. Why?

For so long she’d worried that accepting Jed’s courtship compromised her role as a suffragette. She had fought long and hard for women’s rights, and personally, for the respect of her community. But…

She exhaled, stirring the peacock feathers arranged in a tall vase.

“I confused independence with respect.” Strength didn’t mean going it alone.

Worse, in striving for independence, what role had she left for Jed? She hugged her arms around herself, feeling cold as she recalled the desperate look in his eyes. As much as she craved respect, he needed to be needed—by her.

Men as well as women had to adjust to the new role of women as equal partners. There had to be compromise so that women could assert themselves without emasculating the men—not that Jed’s masculinity could be so easily threatened.

Gupta and Lajli had given him respect as a protective problem solver. She had to love and respect him for that inherent part of his nature, too.

She crossed to the parlor door. She would honor the promise to stay safe while he saved the day.

* * *

“Miss Esme.” Andrew the gardener’s lad panted through the front door and skidded on the tiles.

“Did you tell Dr. Palmer we need him to attend Gupta?”

“Yes, miss. That is, I told his wife. He’s on his rounds but she’ll get a message to him.”

“Very good. Thank you, Andrew.”

“Miss.” He thrust an envelope at her as she’d have turned away. “A gentleman said to give this to you. He said as how it was urgent.”

“A gentleman?” She ripped open the envelope. “Oh, Lord.” She recognized the notebook tucked in with the letter. It was Jed’s inventor’s design book. He’d never willingly part with it. She dropped it on the hall table and shook out the letter. For all her confidence in Jed, that lone notebook terrified her. How deadly might a thwarted anarchist be?

Miss Smith,

Your American cavalier found me. I have him safely tied up, keeping company with some dynamite and a timepiece, so don’t try anything clever. You have an hour to bring me either Lajli or the emerald, or he dies. Attempt no heroics. Meet me at the abandoned mill, Carnarvon Street.

Nazim

Emerald? Her eyes widened in sudden, shocked understanding. The letter crumpled in her fist as she ran upstairs. She dashed into the guest room Lajli had occupied. The little thief hadn’t wanted sanctuary in a rich man’s house for herself, but for her ill-gotten gains.

Cushions flew and vases wobbled as Esme searched frantically.

“Miss Esme?” Gupta and the servants watched from the doorway.

“Nazim has Jed. I must ransom him.”

“Heaven defend us.” Maud gripped the doorframe. “I’ll call Colonel Munroe.”

“No.” Esme spun fast. “Call no one. Say nothing. I am handling this.”

“Mr. Reeve has not been gone long,” Gupta said doubtingly.

“Long enough.” The desk lid thudded as Esme released it. She surveyed the room assessingly. Jed’s life was in danger for a stupid green rock. She glared at the crowded doorway. “Leave.”

The servants scattered. Gupta shuffled off.

“Lajli, where on earth would you have put it?” The emerald Nazim demanded had to be the stolen Jungle Heart stone, reportedly the size of a man’s fist.

Lajli had mentioned the bathroom, but the emerald was too large to hide in a bar of soap. Too expensive to risk a servant finding amid the stack of towels.

Esme looked up.

The chandelier was remarkably beautiful, totally ridiculous and never used during the day. With no guests, it wouldn’t be lit at night, either.

She dragged a chair across the tiles, ignoring the harsh grating sound, and climbed up. She balanced a fraction higher by stepping onto the rim of the high marble bath. Her fingers searched blindly, fumbling through dust and then, thank God, encountering a smooth, dustless, faceted surface. She gripped the emerald, hidden by the elaborate arrangement of brass and crystals, and withdrew it carefully, then jumped down from the chair.

A towel hid the emerald from curious eyes as she ran for her room. In a few minutes she’d shed her dress and stepped into her most practical bloomers suit. She forced the emerald into her pocket. The long modest jacket, designed to disguise the swell of her hips, would serve to hide its bulge. She laced her boots, the special ones modified by her father to her design.

She picked up a handbag and stuffed a pistol into it. That ought to distract Nazim when he went looking for the emerald.

As far as she was concerned, he could have the wretched stone…except perhaps the Jungle Heart was large enough to bring down a building using Kali’s Scream?

Never mind. She’d deal with Nazim. The important point was that the emerald—or rather, his greed for it—would distract him. She needed only an instant.

She tucked a knife into the sheath strapped to her right wrist and tugged the sleeve down over it.

On her left hand she fumbled on two rings made by Ayesha and filled with the finest, sharpest mix of eye-watering spices. They’d serve the purpose of distraction. She pinned a fob watch to her jacket. In reality it contained acid that would squirt out at the press of a button. The distance of the stream wasn’t as great as Ayesha had hoped, but again, it was a weapon of desperation.

As Esme walked down the stairs, she coiled a radically thin and flexible whip and pushed it into her spare hip pocket.

She was as ready as she’d ever be.

Vengeance.

And after she’d dealt with Nazim, she’d find Lajli and give that girl the trouble she deserved.