The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter (13 page)

Ping shot a piercing look over the rims of his dark glasses. “And how is Outremer Paris?”

The question stopped Tim’s fork midway to his mouth. “The Eiffel Tower is looking more like the leaning tower of Pisa—it has a few weeks at best.” He shoveled food and shrugged. “Just a guess.”

Exeter settled back and returned the genie’s uneasy gaze. If Prospero enjoyed relations with both sexes, he would be unduly intrigued with Ping and Jinn. “We’re going to need all your talents for this one, Mr. Ping.”

Ping smiled as he sipped his Darjeeling tea. Mysterious silver eyes met Exeter’s over the edge of his cup. “Truly.”

 

Mia finished her breakfast in relative silence—as they all did. Afterward, she and Exeter trailed behind the others as they crossed the Seine on the Pont Neuf. “We have an appointment for a showing at the House of Worth this morning. Would you like me to cancel?”

Mia paused to admire dark and light swirls of water rush under the bridge. “Call it a premonition, but I keep picturing a hasty retreat out of Paris. It might be best to get the shopping over with.”

“I hate to rush you, but . . .” Exeter pulled her close, rocking her gently in his arms. “Let’s get your new wardrobe selected and purchased, Baroness de Roos.”

His reference to her title caused a flare of heat to sweep over her cheeks. Mia glanced at the emerald on her ring finger. “I’m quite a tireless shopper, Baron de Roos. We shall get the job done in one day.” Exeter grabbed hold of her hand and maneuvered through a tangle of carriage traffic to the tree-lined quay that ran along the Seine.

“I believe it might be time to discuss the next phase of your training, my dear.”

He hadn’t let go of her hand; in fact, he wove those long tapered fingers through hers. Mia’s heart did a bit of dancing about in her chest. “And that would be?”

“It is time for you to get comfortable in your cat suit.” His eyes crinkled, slightly. “Valentine’s notes were quite adamant about the fact that these metamorphoses are hard on the system, at least initially. To give your body a chance to recover from each shift, you must try to remain a cat for a few hours at a time.”

Exeter stopped beside a low wall overlooking the river. “We have yet to acknowledge this to one another, but we have begun to communicate telepathically.” He curled a finger under her chin and tilted her face upward. “When you are the panther, I am quite sure you recognize me—and you understand what I say. On the roof of the train, you knew Jersey and Valentine as well, did you not?” He moved closer, searching her face. The harsh morning light played across his dark beard stubble. He appeared tired, though ever her handsome, stoic protector. The man she loved with all her heart.

“Of course she knows you, Exeter.” She smiled to reassure him. “She understands instinctively who is friend or foe.” In fact, the cat was a rather excellent judge of character; she found Exeter to be the most intriguing male in all the world. “While I am the cat, I am completely present—aware of all the elements, some of them beyond my ken. Her sensory abilities are raw and unfiltered and she is both wary as well as enthralled by . . . everything.”

For a moment, she could feel her feline essence; a dazzling bit of sunlight off the Seine caused her pupils to narrow into slits. “I am seeing the world again, through new eyes.”

“We might encourage you to shift for several hours tonight.” Exeter smiled somewhat wistfully. “But, I must ask one thing of you, Mia.”

She searched his face. He appeared hesitant, as though he was embarrassed to ask. “What is it, Exeter?”

“May I collar you?”

A flush of heat moved across Mia’s cheeks. “You would put me on a leash?” The wild feline inside stirred.

“Only because . . . I don’t want to lose you. The cat often runs off, you could get lost in the catacombs.” Exeter swept a stray wisp of hair away from her face, and tucked it under her cap. “My word, you are provocative in newsboy attire.”

Mia chewed on a bottom lip. “I’m not sure she will take to it—but I suppose we must try.” Myriad thoughts, many of them wild and wicked, accompanied this strange idea he proposed. The flutter in her stomach reminded her of their first night together—when he had fastened her wrists to the poster bed. Mia leaned against Exeter and rubbed her cheek against his.

“We will continue your lessons this afternoon. This time, at the edge of climax, you will let her shift.” He used his husky bedding voice—the one that encouraged moisture between her legs, even when he hadn’t touched her.

“Might that be dangerous? Her fangs left you marked.”

“A mere scratch.” He kissed her lightly. “My darling, Mia, you have taken possession of me body and soul.”

Her pulse thrummed a strange, erratic rhythm as his soft kisses and sensuous bites angled back and forth across her lips. And she had neither solicited nor cajoled him into such affection. She badly wanted to ask, even as she repressed the thought.

I
N THE WAR ROOM
,
née
“dining room,” of their hotel suite, Exeter studied the image maker intently. “What is a hologram, exactly?” he queried, as Tim set up yet another odd contraption.

“In this case, it is a moving photograph of an interference pattern that, when suitably illuminated, produces a three-dimensional image.” Tim’s shoulders bounced up and down. “This little portable player doesn’t really do the transmission justice, but you’ll get the picture.”

At first, there was nothing but a voice in the dark. “If there is a way to crack open Pandora’s egg, I will find it.” The voice was soft, gravelly—measured.

Phaeton Black sat behind bars and yanked absently on his bindings. “You are persistent, I’ll grant you that, but you cling to myths, Prospero.” The cell appeared to be shallow, enclosed by an old iron gate. Exeter squinted at a rather daunting lock mechanism. Absent a keyhole, but adorned with colorful lights, the device blinked in the dark. “Ping was quite clear,” Phaeton continued, “the Moonstone knows your intentions. You cannot trick the stone with your wily wizardly ways.”

A figure moved through shadows like a wraith in the dark. And a face, in profile, appeared inches away—nose to nose with Phaeton. “If that is the case, why hide it from me?”

A grin that was pure Phaeton Black lifted Exeter’s spirits. “Might I suggest more sex torture? Might loosen my lips a bit—and mind I get a bit of anal play this time—before you bugger me. Or perhaps you might suck my cock?” Phaeton boldly stared the wizard down. It was as if they were two sides of the same coin—the cruel emperor on one, the court jester on the other.

“Continue to prevaricate, Phaeton, and I shall be obliged to use additional force. If I cannot have the stone, you will be kept . . . subdued.” Exeter concentrated on the man called by many names—scientist, sorcerer, the tinker, the master—the lathe and plaster in Skeezick speak. The Nightshades had settled on the name Prospero for this enigmatic foe, and the isolated character from
The Tempest
appeared to suit. The enemy even answered to his name.

These captured images, along with snippets of conversation, had been sent to Black Box in London. According to Tim, his brother Oakley had personally extracted the transmission. Exeter could not shake the thought that Prospero continued to spin his web and he was drawing them in. Surprisingly cat and mouse, for such a high-stakes game.

Phaeton appeared irritated, and somewhat bored, but otherwise hearty enough. From what he could surmise, they were watching part of an interrogation. “Phaeton must have attempted an escape and been recaptured,” Exeter mused aloud.

Valentine nodded. “He’s got fresh marks on him—some bruising and a cut over his eye.” He and Mia sat at the table, along with the other Nightshades, analyzing the strange, disturbing imagery. Phaeton was strung up—nearly naked as far as he could tell.

“There—another look at Prospero.” Taken aback, Exeter caught his breath. Younger than he imagined.

Even Mia gasped. “Rather attractive. Strong, symmetrical features—except for the eyes, which are most unusual, wouldn’t you say?”

Mia’s admiration of another man’s looks sparked a touch of—well, it rankled—yet Exeter had to agree. The eyes appeared to be both light and dark at once. Not unlike Ping’s eyes—only a good deal more menacing. “Can we see that again?”

Tim nodded and pushed several switches.

The hair on the tech wizard’s head was shorn extremely short; no more than a stubble of growth formed a widow’s peak in the middle of an otherwise intelligent brow. Exeter did not believe Prospero could be much older than himself.

Black eyes flashed with silver. “What am I going to do with you, Phaeton, short of killing you?” The image crackled with static and flickered out altogether.

“That’s all there is.” Tim said.

Exeter scanned the uncomfortably quiet room, stopping on Noggy. “Once more from the beginning?”

America stood up to leave. Exeter caught her hand. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Do whatever you need to do to bring him back, Exeter.” Tears welled in her eyes, and spilled over. She appeared to wobble a bit on unsteady legs. Exeter shot up from his chair and caught her as she collapsed in his arms. She cried the first tears he had seen from her since the day Phaeton was lost to them.

As her pregnancy advanced these past few months, she had been wonderfully courageous. They had given her work to do, and she had proven herself an excellent nurse to Gaspar, whose unraveling body had kept them all busy trying to find ways to arrest and repair the damage.

They had left Cutter and Ruby behind with Gaspar, and the urgency of getting to Phaeton could not be more compelling. They must return to London with the Moonstone—they were dangerously close to running out of time to help the Nightshades leader, while courting cataclysmic disaster for the Outremer. And if they failed—it seemed likely that both worlds would cease to exist.

Indeed, they needed Phaeton and the Moonstone to restore both the future and the past. Like it or not, they were inextricably linked—one could not exist without the other.

Exeter rocked America in his arms. How dearly she loved Phaeton and how terribly she must miss him. They had all spent these past months wondering if they would ever find the extraordinary, incorrigible Mr. Black. Given the odds, the prospects were beyond dismal. Ping and Noggy had worked quite tirelessly on locater gadgets and by trick or accident of fate, the flies on the wall had brought them to Paris.

Parts of the transmission had been rather graphic—too graphic for the ladies, yet America had insisted on watching. But he could not, for the life of him, think of a reason to subject America or Mia to a second viewing. He caught the eye of Mia, who put her arm around America. “I ordered baths the moment we arrived. Shall we find a nice hot soak somewhere?” As if in answer to Mia’s suggestion, a knock on the door produced a number of attendants carrying copper tubs and buckets of steaming hot water.

Exeter rolled the doors to the dining room closed and signaled for a replay.

Tim hesitated. “That wasn’t the end of the recording.”

He pulled up a chair. “Some lurid scenario, no doubt.”

Tim nodded his head slowly. His eyes darted over to Valentine, who defiantly arched a brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

“This is shocking as well as vividly salacious,” Tim warned, as he pressed the play button.

Exeter leaned forward. He sensed something purposely voyeuristic about the way the scene had been captured. Due to the poor image quality, Prospero could be heard, but he was always in shadow.

The unseen wizard paced around the small cell—lingering behind Phaeton, presumably ready to sodomize him. “You can take my cock in your mouth anytime.” Phaeton was purposely baiting the man to perform fellatio, while a shapely female figure dressed in black leather entered the cavern.

Exeter grinned. “Phaeton appears to be holding up brilliantly—devoted hedonist that he is.”

The image broke apart and resolved into a picture of an ebony-haired woman—attractive in a jarring, severe sort of way. She was scantily clad in leather, with a great number of tattoos scrawled over her body. Leather holes cut in the front of a bustier displayed pointy nipples and bulbous breasts.

Exeter didn’t quite know what to make of it. “Good God—are those real?”

“Surgical implants.” Tim offered. “They make an incision and stuff plastic bags filled with saline in there.”

He continued to stare, though he was not sure why. Horror? Fascination? Lust?

The female stepped into the light snapping a riding crop against tall boots. Up until now, all they had seen were breasts. “Domina Valor.” Tim uttered the name in a hushed tone.

“Who is she?” Jersey leaned forward.

Tim paused the image. “She’s a porn star in the Outremer. Victor recognized her immediately; he owns a big collection.”

Exeter stared. “A collection of pornography?”

Tim nodded. “She once did fifty guys in a hour in
Domina does Dallas
.”

Jersey snorted. “Does she flagellate them or fuck them?”

“Both . . . I think.” Tim’s eyes darted about. “Okay . . . I . . . didn’t actually
see
her do it—I just heard about it.”

“Well, I know I’ve seen enough.” A wary, slightly amused Valentine rose from her chair. “You boys enjoy yourself. I’m off in hopes of finding another hot bath.”

“Ready?” Tim punched the button again.

Phaeton was speaking. “. . . No? Then how about a spanking—or a few love bites, right there on the tip?” Exeter could not help but think Phaeton’s openly lurid taunts made him vulnerable to harsher treatment—still, there was often method to his madness. Methods that could only be guessed at, if one reached into the darker corners of one’s sexual fantasies.

“But for the restoration the Moonstone can bring—I would not waste my time,” Prospero sneered as he circled Phaeton.

“Handsome cock you’ve got there, Mr. Black—and ramrod hard by the looks of him.” Domina dropped to her knees. A long pink tongue unfurled from ruby-red lips.

“If only we had run into each other earlier, Prospero—I would have gladly handed it over.” Phaeton looked down and groaned. “
Domina flagellates Phaeton
. . . be sure to send Victor a copy . . .” He exhaled a groan of pleasure. “That’s it—suck the tip, love.”

As Domina Valor alternated whip and tongue, Prospero grew more insistent for information. The erotic imagery cut in and out as Phaeton’s pleasure turned more and more to pain. There was no way to tell if the scenes were contiguous or not, for they often seemed oddly truncated, causing Exeter to grow even more suspicious. “Prospero certainly has in mind an insidious carrot-and-stick reward scheme. And I believe Phaeton is aware that he’s being recorded.”

“That’s all there is.” Tim flicked off the machine and turned toward the wall. Hundreds of tiny green specks dotted layers of catacomb maps. “See here,” Tim pointed to a very small cluster of bugs. “This may develop into something significant, or it may not. We’re looking for a much larger mass.” The rotund young scientist turned to Jersey and Exeter. “I don’t think we’re going to see anything definitive until late this afternoon.”

“Is there a way to hurry them along?” Exeter exhaled an impatient sigh.

“They’re stealthy little bugs, mate, what do you expect?”

Exeter left the dining room in an irritable frame of mind. The bugs were moving at a snail’s pace, and he was overstimulated in the way a man becomes aroused by viewing French nudes in a stereoscopic. He loosed his cravat. Hopefully Mia would be near to completing her toilet. He enjoyed a momentary fantasy. Mia, naked in her bath. Good God, such a wicked thought. I am the beast, otherwise known as Mia’s guardian.

In truth, he had become her lover. And it was a guilty pleasure, one that he had not completely reconciled, as yet. He knocked quietly and opened the door. Two young women were having a bath in a familiar copper tub—what a sight to behold.

With the curtains drawn back, sunlight warmed the room. The young ladies’ singsong laughter brought to mind two woodland sprites having a splash in a pond. The lovely sight eased both his mind and spirit. He paused a moment, with his back to the door, just to enjoy them.

Mia noticed him first. “Oh dear, it’s Exeter.”

America shrieked a laugh and sunk deeper into the water. Amused, Exeter ventured closer. “Actually I find this most timely. I’ve been meaning to do a late-term exam on you, America.”

Exeter shrugged out of his coat and held up a bath sheet. America rose from the bath and he wrapped the towel around her. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” He helped America out of the tub and turned to Mia.

“I hate to hurry you along—but you might begin to dress, while I have a quick look at mother and child?” He covered Mia in a Turkish towel, redirecting his attention to America. “Having Mia here should make you all the more comfortable with the exam, I would hope.” He opened his medical bag and removed a jar of paraffin jelly and a sterile cloth. “Have you felt the baby move today?” Rolling up his sleeves, he scrubbed his hands in a nearby washbasin.

“Oh yes, with some regularity all morning.”

“This shouldn’t take long—I am curious to see if the child is engaged.” He scrubbed vigorously with soap and water.

“Engaged?” America raised up on her elbows.

“When the head drops down into the pelvis, it is called ‘engaged. ’ In first-time mothers it usually happens in the last two to three weeks.” Exeter propped several bed pillows under her lower back, tilting her hips up. “And you, my dear, are nearly thirty-seven weeks, if our original estimates are correct.” He lifted the towel covering her belly. “I’m going to place one hand on your lower abdomen and two fingers inside you.”

“She’s quite a bit larger than a pea in the pod.” As Exeter palpitated, he smiled down at her. “At this point, you may be feeling more pressure and an occasional, sharp little twinge—that would be the infant turning her head.”

America nodded. “Yes, I have felt both the twinge and the pressure.”

“All completely normal, nothing to worry over.” He slid his fingers up into her vaginal canal. A bit wide-eyed, America inhaled a breath. Exeter gently palpitated. “Your cervix has softened a good deal—I suspect there may be some dilation, as well.”

He glanced at Mia, who was leaning over his shoulder, all round eyes and flushed cheeks. Her towel had slipped off a shoulder, exposing a lovely shaped breast and a hint of beige nipple. “And how are you holding up, my dear?” he asked.

“I’m . . . completely and utterly . . . enthralled, Doctor Exeter.” Mia moved up beside him. “Might I—watch?”

“Even better, I shall put you to work.” Exeter reached for his bag and pulled out a bar covered in paper. “Extracted from the cacao bean. Cocoa butter.” He peeled back the wrapper and placed the waxy square on America’s distended belly. He gently pressed it to her skin and circled slowly. “Her body heat will cause the bar to melt as you stroke her skin.” Exeter showed Mia how to use her fingers and massage. “This conditions the skin and prevents striae—red marks from the skin being stretched.” Exeter handed Mia the cocoa butter. “The baby will enjoy the rubdown, as well.”