Beth Ciotta - His Clockwork Canary

“I want you naked,” Simon said, tugging her skirts down and his trousers closed. “Now.”

Chest heaving, she blinked up at him in confusion and he wrestled with a moment of self-recrimination, knowing he was halfway to pleasuring his wife into mental and emotional submission. Believing he had her best interest at heart and prompted by bone-deep passion, Simon snuffed the flames of guilt licking at his conscience.

Sweeping Willie off the floor and into his arms, he stalked out of the library and across the hall, locking them in his master bedchamber. Setting her to her feet, he lazed against the wall with a cocky grin and a lustful gleam in his eye. She’d started this game, but he was the master. If she thought to take charge, she best think again. “Strip.”

• • •

Muted golden light seeped through a crack in Simon’s drawn curtains. Light from the newfangled electric lanterns lining the street in front of his town house.

Willie blinked into the darkened room. When they’d tumbled into this bed, it had been early evening—predusk. Their lovemaking had been shockingly intense, each vying for control. Simon’s stamina had been absurdly and wonderfully impressive. No matter her efforts to unhinge him completely, he had rallied and turned the tables, pleasuring her again and again. When she’d been too sated, too weak in the limbs and mind, to counter with her own passionate assault, only then did he surrender to his own need.

She did not remember drifting off. She knew not how long they’d been asleep. It was all she could do to remember her name.

Wilhelmina Darcy.

Her eyes burned with sudden emotion, her heart squeezed.

She had taken Simon’s name without pledging her love, and even now, even after he’d declared his affections, even now as she lay in his bed, in his arms, a dazzled and dazed recipient of his spectacular lovemaking, Willie had not spoken her heart. She had never considered herself a coward, but in this instance she could not deny her bone-deep fear. She was too unsure of the future to commit her feelings aloud. Speaking her heart would be opening her heart to possible obliteration. Staying silent afforded her a chance to live in denial, should the worst happen. As a writer she could imagine endless scenarios that would involve being ripped or thrown from Simon’s life. Her chest ached at just the thought of it.

“What’s wrong?” Simon tightened his hold and stroked a hand down her bare back.

How could he know her misery? Her head was tucked beneath his chin and although her mind had raced, her body had been most still. “How long have you been awake?” she asked, without looking up.

“A while.”

“Why did you not stir?”

“Given our extreme alliance,” he said with a teasing smile in his voice, “I am not sure that I can.”

She snorted lightly against his chest. “I’m certain you have exerted similar energies in similar circumstances.”

“There have been no similar circumstances.”

That brought her head up. “Knowing what I have heard, what much of London gossips about, do you really expect me to believe you’ve led a chaste life?”

“Certainly not. But there has been no one like you. No interludes that can compare.”

Willie’s heart fluttered as she gazed upon his handsome face, into his earnest eyes. Her night vision ensured that his expression was indeed sincere. “In our long yet spotty association, you have said some wonderfully sweet things, Simon Darcy, but that is by far the most romantic.”

His brow furrowed. “More romantic than my declaration of love?”

“Let us not speak of love.”

“I know you care for me, Willie. I know you desire me. And I know, once upon a time, you loved me.”

“Travel down this road if you wish,” she said, pushing off his hard, warm body, “but I shall not join you.”

Simon caught her hand. “What are you afraid of?”

“Losing you,” she said honestly, then broke free and rolled out of bed. She pulled on a shift and dressing gown just as Simon flicked on an incandescent lamp. She felt even more vulnerable, knowing he could now read her expressions clearly. She felt unhinged by their lovemaking and by his emotional commitment. She felt like a despicable rat for not telling him about the portion of the Aquarian Cosmology Compendium within her possession or about her plan to surrender the memory disk to the horrible man who’d threatened her loved ones and livelihood. However, she did not trust Simon not to intercede. He would want to protect her and he would want the ACC. Meanwhile the clockwork propulsion engine would be at risk.

Surely she was right to proceed as planned. Appease Strangelove with the compendium, locate and surrender the clockwork propulsion engine to the Jubilee Science Committee. Queen Victoria would order the engine hidden away, under lock and key. Simon would claim the Triple R Tourney prize, ensuring the financial welfare of their families and restoring glory to the Darcy name. Aye, she would do well to focus on the greater good.

She realized then that Simon had pulled on loose silk trousers and a robe as well. He knotted the sash whilst stepping into a pair of slippers. Was he walking out on their argument? On her? “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know about you, but I worked up an appetite and we missed dinner. I can promise you Fletcher set something aside.” Simon moved closer and pulled her into his arms. “I say we raid the kitchen and discuss whatever you learned from Thimblethumper. The sooner we submit the engine to the science committee, the sooner we can get on with our life. The sooner you’ll realize I’m not going anywhere.”

She wanted to believe, was desperate to believe. She’d been living on her own for so long—her mother gone, her father distant, her brother estranged. She’d trusted no one with her true identity or race—no Freak, no Vic—and therefore no friends. Phin had become her friend and Simon . . . She smiled up into his eyes. “I find I am indeed most famished.”

“It’s settled, then.” He gave her waist a squeeze, guided her into the hallway . . . and straight into Fletcher.

Willie yelped and Fletcher, who balanced an oil lantern in his hands, gasped.

“For God’s sake,” Simon said to the man whilst flicking on an electric wall sconce. “Step into the new age, man, and stop skulking about like a character in a gothic novel.”

“I do not skulk,” Fletcher said. “And I do not see the need in lighting up the house like a Christmas tree when a lone lantern will illuminate my way.”

“Very practical,” Willie said in the man’s defense. She realized then that Fletcher was staring at her. Self-conscious, she smoothed a hand over her bed-mussed hair, but then realized her eyes held his attention. She’d forgone her corneatacts.

“Ah,” was all he said.

“I hope this won’t present a problem,” Willie said outright.

“No problem,” Simon said. “Right, Fletcher?”

The stiff-postured man raised one brow. “You won’t make it rain inside the house when you’re feeling melancholy, will you, ma’am?”

Willie’s lip twitched. “That would be within my brother’s power,” she said. “But not mine.”

“You’re not one of those shape-shifters I heard about, are you? I would not be keen on cleaning up the shedding fur of a wolf or some such.”

Smiling now, Willie hugged herself, feeling somewhat exposed in her morning gown. “I promise you, I do not shed, Fletcher.”

“Then I foresee no problem, Mrs. Darcy. I’ll see to your dinner now,” he said with a curt nod.

“No need,” Simon said. “We’re on our way to raid the pantry.”

“I see.”

“But you don’t approve,” Simon said with a grin. “Go back to whatever you were doing, Fletcher. I thank you, but we’re fine.”