Combustion (15 page)

That task complete, Eli sat down on the chair next to her and pulled her into his lap. This was unexpected. She relaxed into him, enjoying his warm body against hers, feeling deliciously sated and surprisingly unembarrassed by the whole situation.

She could feel Eli laugh, her ear pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Only about forty-five minutes left to wait.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Disoriented, it took Astrid a moment to realize she'd fallen asleep on Eli's chest, and she'd come awake because he'd said something. “Hmm?” She blinked.

“I said it's almost time. They'll be here soon. Come on.”

She straightened up, rubbing sleep away from her eyes. As she pulled a compact from her handbag to powder her nose and restore her appearance, she noticed that she could still smell Eli on her skin, a souvenir from her nap in his arms. It took her a few minutes to restore her appearance to some model of respectability. When her hair was straightened and her jacket buttoned, she inspected the Ossy itself. Eli had cleaned it to sparkling perfection, and any signs of their impropriety had been removed. Just looking at it, she felt her cheeks heat. A few hand-cranks lowered the shaft to the down position, and to the uninitiated, the device resembled a particularly sumptuous saddle.

“Here, take a look at the paperwork. See if there's anything you want me to change.” Eli held out a sheaf of papers, which she took and leafed through. At the top of the first page was the name of their machine and its specifications in his fine, neat handwriting. In his description of the machine's function, he had chosen his words carefully, with a finesse for language she knew she lacked.

“It passes inspection?” He fastened the buttons on his suit coat, watching her skim over the documentation.

She could spot nothing wrong. “It does.” Her own smile felt tight on her face, anxiety resurfacing with their imminent inspection.

The hubbub outside their booth had grown louder now, and Astrid couldn't resist lifting the door hanging to peek outside. The bright sunlight assaulted her eyes after the dimness of the booth, and she had to squint and blink to see anything at all.

When she ducked her head back inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust again. “They're right next door. I saw a group of men going into this booth right here.” She gestured to the hangings next to them, where the dull murmur of voices barely penetrated the din outside. The moments seemed to stretch on endlessly before at last their own tent hangings were lifted, and four men stepped into their tiny booth.

Between their somber expressions and their dark clothes, they could have all been pressed from the same mold. The only difference was in ages; one man's whiskers had gone gray, while two others were salt-and-pepper, and the youngest had almost no gray at all. Beyond that, it was hard to tell them apart—similar average heights, similar average builds, similar intense focus on their paperwork.

At last one of the salt-and-pepper men adjusted his small round glasses and looked up at them. “Ah, Mr. Rutledge. It's good to see you again.” He extended his hand to Eli with a smile.

“Good to see you, Mr. Pilbright.” Eli shook the man's hand. “Miss Bailey, Mr. Pilbright. He and I are acquainted from the International Federation for Commerce and Trade.”

Mr. Pilbright shook Astrid's hand. This led to other introductions to each of the other judges, whom Eli did not already know. Finally, when hands had been shaken and tight smiles exchanged, they turned to the Bailey-Rutledge Oscillating Felicitator.

Pilbright led the investigation, whether because he knew Eli or because he was in charge, Astrid wasn't sure. First they pored over Eli's documentation, identical furrowed eyebrows on their faces. Then, they examined the machine itself, walking around it, expressions stern, albeit a bit confused. Graybeard Man—she'd already forgotten everyone's names but Pilbright—peered into the saddle where the shaft was nearly out of sight, then turned to the other three men and called them closer. No one even turned on the machine. They murmured to each other in a huddle, and even though Astrid tried to eavesdrop, she couldn't hear much over the noises outside their booth.

Finally, they broke apart, and the scowls on their faces were not encouraging. Astrid felt another twinge of anxiety in her stomach. Pilbright addressed Eli directly, as if Astrid weren't even in the room.

“Is there some kind of joke here, Mr. Rutledge?” Pilbright looked down at the papers, then back up at Eli.

Eli blinked. “I don't understand. What do you mean? This is our invention for the World's Fair contest.”

Next to Pilbright, the other Salt-And-Pepper Man scowled more deeply. “So you mean to tell me that you expect this machine to be on display, in front of the God-fearing people of London? Spreading your message of depravity?”

She should probably let Eli do the talking, but his wide-eyed stare made her step forward. “There's nothing depraved about it. It's a perfectly normal and natural act. I sell felicitation devices to women of all backgrounds.”

“We haven't treated hysteria as a disease in decades.” Graybeard's face was turning a reddish-purple color from the neck up, at last addressing her directly. “What you're proposing has no medical purpose whatsoever. It replaces the marriage bed with some sort of mechanical filth.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Eli had found his voice. “You're being unreasonable. This is a product with a need. There is no law against any sort of felicitation device, and it would serve the lonely women of our community and provide a marital aid to those who struggle with the physicality of their nuptials.”

Salt-and-Pepper Man shook his head. “There may not be a law against this sort of thing, but that doesn't mean it's welcome in the World's Fair contest. We are a dignified affair. And you, a member of the London Business Council? You of all people should know that.”

Before Astrid could say anything, Pilbright began speaking again. “Mr. Rutledge, I'm surprised you would put your name behind something like this. You are an upstanding member of the community with a very successful business. This type of investment could ruin you.” He stepped closer, ignoring Astrid completely, giving a sidelong glance at the Ossy, and his tone became more urgent. “Do you think the LBC wants their name tied in with this sort of claptrap? I don't know what game you think you're playing here, but if you don't choose your associates carefully, you'll find yourself out of the council faster than you can imagine.” When Pilbright looked at Astrid, his eyes were flinty.

Graybeard clapped Pilbright on the shoulder. “That's enough of this nonsense. Mr. Rutledge, we'll consider this a temporary lapse in judgment. I look forward to seeing what sorts of wholesome products you'll be exhibiting at the Fair next week. You're young, Mr. Rutledge, and a few business indiscretions are to be expected, but I hope you'll show more sense in the future.”

Pilbright tore their documents in half and dropped them in the straw behind him, and the group left.

Astrid stood rooted to the spot, numb with shock, anger slowly swelling within her. How dare they say such things about her and Eli? Stodgy old men, wouldn't know pleasure if it bit them on the ass. She turned to Eli, expecting to see the same outrage on his face.

Instead, he had begun quietly packing up, dismantling the Ossy and loading it into its packing crate, his head down.

“That's it?” She couldn't believe it. “You're done? He insults us, and you just pack up and go quietly? You don't even fight?”

Eli turned to her, his eyes haunted. “What do you expect me to do, Astrid? Fight back against the judges? Tell them they're wrong? Jeopardize my entire business and my standing in the community?”

Oh, so that was it. Of course. She felt her anger still rising, only now it had a much closer target. “You're just worried about your precious reputation. Worried about associating with women like me, right? That I'm going to cost you your good name with my wild ways?” She knew her voice was getting louder, but she couldn't help it. Eli's passivity, his hesitation, was infuriating. She couldn't seem to stop yelling in her disappointment and her pain. “I should have quit when I wanted to. Getting into a partnership was a stupid idea.”

“Can't accept help from anybody, can you?” He slammed the front wall of the crate into place, the crack of wood on wood echoing even over the din. If he'd seemed ambivalent before, he was certainly angry now. “I cared about this too, Astrid. But now it's finished. You need to learn when to give up. Go take Cecily's contract. At least there's one person in the world you feel comfortable enough to trust.”

Astrid bristled. Something huge and ugly had risen up inside her, clouding her vision, making it difficult for her to speak. The small space seemed impossibly claustrophobic, now, their dalliance on the Ossy a lifetime ago. “At least Cecily treats me like an equal. She isn't worried about sullying herself with me.”

His shoulder muscles bunched in anger, he hammered the nails into place that would seal the crate. Each swing of the hammer punctuated his words. “Right. I don't care about you at all. That's why I rented the flat, bought all the equipment, worked day and night for weeks to get this goddamned machine built.”

Was he serious? “Oh, so that's because you care about me? It has nothing at all to do with the fact that you didn't have an idea for the Fair?” She wiped her face, angry that she was crying, angry that he could make her cry. “Here's news for you, Mr. Rutledge. When people care about each other, they don't stand by and let other people insult them. You didn't even defend me!”

Eli slammed the hammer down on the top of the crate. “What do you want from me, Astrid? You want me to give up my whole life? Quit the LBC, jeopardize my business? For what? For some ungrateful, overly independent woman who won't even tell me how she feels about me?”

For a long moment, they stared at each other, and the question hung between them like a physical wall. Astrid felt the tears hot against her cheeks. She knew what he was asking of her, what he wanted her to say. He wanted too much. How could she tell him she loved him? How could she risk her heart again when he so clearly put his reputation above her?

But how could she remain silent, knowing he was about to walk away?

While she stood there, her throat tight, trying to decide what to say, Eli kicked the switch that fired up the engine on the dolly. “That's what I thought. I'll have this delivered to your flat next week.”

He pushed past her, leaving Astrid standing in the dim, empty booth, her heartbeat echoing in the space he left behind.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Eli slammed down the spanner so hard onto his workbench that the cash register rang. He hadn't been able to get Astrid off his mind since leaving her at the Judges' Viewing Saturday. How dare she accuse him of not caring, after all he'd done for her? She
knew
how hard he'd worked for his reputation, to keep his business afloat, and she wanted him to throw it all away?
Now, another miserable Monday morning, no one in his shop, and another goddamned watch to assemble with no end in sight. Was this his future? A lonely lifetime bent over pocket watches?

It was even sunny. Somehow that made him feel worse. When it was raining, as it so frequently did in London, he was able to justify his glumness. With the sun shining, though, his own negativity felt cast into sharp relief against the beauty of the spring day. He leaned on his worktable with a sigh, staring out the front windows and wondering what would become of him.

The World's Fair was opening the following weekend. That information felt more like a burden than a joy; his two previous Fairs had been immensely successful, bringing in substantial revenue and dozens of new mail-order customers, but he didn't even know if he wanted to exhibit anymore. Maybe he should say to hell with all of it, give up his booth and let someone else deal with the mess. He wouldn't do that, of course–those sorts of thoughts were irresponsible. Eli Rutledge was nothing if not responsible. Even in his mind, the words sounded bitter.

Astrid hadn't been far from his mind since Saturday afternoon, and he thought of her again as he drummed his fingers on the worktable. Had he done the right thing? Logic and reason told him that yes, he had acted properly; they also reminded him that getting too close to her had been a bad idea from the beginning. At least he'd escaped with his reputation and business intact, right?

Logic and reason, though, felt sour, and had grown ever more sour since leaving her on Saturday. The hurt expression on her face, the angry tears she kept swiping away with the back of her hand, pained him anew each time he remembered. Was this who he was now? Was he a man who would put reputation above his feelings? Above what he knew in his heart was right?

The bell above the door chimed. Sunlight spilled across the hardwood floors as a lovely woman stepped over the threshold, a blue parasol perched over her shoulder. She didn't walk so much as sweep over to him. As she approached, he surveyed her, stepping around the counter. Her body was all curves and softness, her ample bosom accented by a tan corset against her deep blue skirt and blouse. She brushed back her long red curls and looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Why did she seem so familiar? He had never met her in person, he was sure; he would have remembered someone as striking as her.

“So it's you, then.” With no introduction, she looked him up and down, tapping her fingertips against her lips.

“I'm sorry? I don't believe we've met.” He held out a hand. “Eli Rutledge.”

“I know who you are.” She let him take her hand and kiss it formally, one eyebrow arched. “I'm here to see if you're really worth all this fuss. I'm Cecily Lahey.”

Eli straightened. So this was Astrid's lover. The thought brought all kinds of images to mind, and he put them aside, suddenly uncertain. She wanted to see if he was worth all the fuss? What was this about? “I see. Can I help you with anything?”

Cecily dropped her handbag down on the counter with a thud. “You've made a regular arse out of yourself lately, you know.”

Eli's mouth dropped open. He'd never even met the woman, and she had the nerve to talk to him so rudely? Before he could even respond, she cut him off.

“Don't bother to deny it. Astrid told me everything. Poor girl, you've destroyed her. Never thought I'd see that girl with a broken heart, tough as she is, but congratulations. You're the bloke who's done it.”

“Wait a minute.” He held up a hand. “Astrid and I had a business arrangement for the World's Fair.”

“Oh, right, a business arrangement.” Cecily leaned on the counter and shook her head. “Tell me, Mr. Rutledge, do you always fuck your business associates?”

He could feel his face heating, anger and embarrassment mingling. Even though he knew they were alone, he looked around his shop automatically to see if anyone had heard. Needing something to hold, he picked up the pocket watch he'd been fixing and began turning it over in his hand. “I'm sorry. I don't see how any of this is your business. Just because Astrid's slept with both of us doesn't mean you're privy to the details. And I don't know what you want from me, but…”

Cecily cut him off. “I want to know how you feel about Astrid Bailey.”

The watch slipped out of his hand and clattered to the counter again. He snatched it up and closed his fingers around it, feeling the edges press into his palm. “And why should I tell you that? Did she send you here?”

Cecily sighed. “Of course not. I'm here because I want Astrid to be happy, and she seems to think she'd be happy with you. Lord knows why, since apparently you can't get your head out of your arse. Is it true you wouldn't even defend her to the Fair judges?” Cecily rested her chin on her hand, her eye contact making Eli feel more uncomfortable with each passing minute. He looked back down at the watch.

“Look, none of this is my fault. I can't change the fact that World's Fair judges are old-fashioned. We tried, we failed, and that's it.” He tossed the watch back down onto the counter. “She was going to quit the build, anyway, when she took your contract. I'm surprised she even cares.”

Cecily sighed. “Have you really been spending so much time with her, and you don't think she cares?”

Eli met Cecily's eyes again, guilt flooding through him. Of course Astrid cared. He'd seen the light in her eyes when she spoke about her shop, the way her face glowed with pride when he complimented her work. This mattered to her. The Ossy mattered, the World's Fair mattered and her shop mattered. She'd put her hopes in him, and she thought he'd let her down.

“I didn't mean to hurt her.”

“Of course you didn't. Men never do.” Cecily straightened up. “So do you want to help her?”

Sure, that was a likely scenario. He could have laughed, picking up the watch again. “She won't accept my help, I'm sure.”

“She doesn't want pity, Mr. Rutledge. But that doesn't mean she won't accept your help. Especially if you admit that you're in love with her.”

Eli's mouth went dry. How was he supposed to respond to that?

Cecily smiled. “I can always tell these things. It goes with my business, you might say.”

He found his voice. “This comes back to the same thing I said to Astrid. You're asking me to risk my reputation for a woman who won't even tell me how she feels about
me
.”

Cecily looked skyward. “I swear, you and Astrid are two of the most stubborn people I've ever met. If you don't know how she feels without her saying it, then I don't think I can help you.”

Eli rubbed his thumb across the watch face. “Women like Astrid don't fall in love with men like me.”

“You mean stubborn, pretentious bastards?”

“I mean boring businessmen.” Eli squeezed his fingers around the watch, feeling it dig into his palm. “I loved a woman once, a strong, independent woman like Astrid, and she never loved me back. I put myself out there and it destroyed me. Do you know what that's like?” He looked to Cecily, feeling desperate, exposed, pouring his heart all over the counter in front of a complete stranger.

Cecily's eyes were tight, her mouth set, no longer teasing him. “If you're going to lock yourself away here in your shop and grow old with your watch parts and your loneliness, then I can't help you. But if you aren't ready to give up on Astrid, then maybe I can help.”

Eli spun the watch in his fingers over and over again. What if she was right? He had a chance for a do-over, a mulligan. Was it worth risking everything?

Cecily snatched the watch out of his fingers, examined it briefly and set it back down on the counter out of reach. “Stop playing with that and listen to me, Mr. Rutledge. I have an idea for how you can win Astrid back. But if you can't open your heart, or if your business reputation will be forever ruined by association with felicitation devices, you should tell me to leave, and you can go on with your solitude.”

Eli met her eyes again, weighing the consequences. Surely Cecily was going to suggest something that could sully his good name, some sort of action from which his business might never recover. He'd have to risk heartbreak. In return, he'd have Astrid, with all her courage and independence, and maybe a chance at happiness, a chance he thought he'd lost.

He came to a decision more quickly than he'd anticipated.

“I'm listening.”