Miss Minnie and the Brass Pluggit

He isn’t made of brass…but that won’t stop him from steaming up her nights.

Flouting convention and raising eyebrows from aristocratic drawing rooms to Whitehall, Lady Minnie Dalrymple takes men to her bed as she pleases. She doesn’t do favors outside the boudoir, particularly for politically powerful men whose motives are rarely pure. Yet when her lover asks her to visit the mysterious Dr. Pierce Lowell, she’s intrigued. Why should she be asked to essentially spy on the reclusive scientist?

Pierce has several projects under development, none of which he cares to share with the public. The arrival of any unexpected guest rouses suspicion, but the wealthier-than-God, eccentric young widow certainly isn’t threatening…not to his experiments, anyway. To his heart? That’s another matter entirely.

Their lighthearted, mutual exploration is interrupted by the discovery of a woman’s body found strangled just offshore. When Minnie learns this is the fourth such crime, it isn’t difficult to convince Pierce that working at his side to uncover the plot is the safest place to be. Until she is kidnapped. To save the woman he has come to love, Pierce must call on every ounce of ingenuity and brilliance—and reveal his most closely guarded secret.

Warning: Contains scientific references, unlaced Victorian desire and some really nasty villains at war with fascinating machines. Author is not responsible for any consequent urge to dismantle a vacuum cleaner and build a mechanical man.

Chapter One

“Minnie, darling?” A masculine hand rippled the satin sheets, stroking the curves of her body. “Are you awake?”

“Mmmph.”

“I need to ask a favor, my sweet.”

“Oh heavens, Roger.” She moved and masses of tousled chestnut hair tumbled over the pillow. She brushed them to one side. “Do you think that now’s a good time?”

He grinned. “Definitely.”

“Bastard.” It was an affectionate insult. “Well, what do you want?”

“I need you to go south and visit the Brass Pluggit.”

There was complete silence while Minnie turned those words over in her mind. Then she lifted up on one elbow, tucking the sheet around her breasts. “Darling, I’ve heard you accused of possessing brass balls many times. But it’s the first time I’ve heard you’ve got something else of brass as well, not to mention the first time I’ve heard it called
that
.” Her eyebrow lifted as her hand slid down his abdomen to cradle his relaxed cock. “And to be quite honest, it doesn’t really feel much like brass right now.”

He chuckled as her fingers proceeded to play. “Your doing, Minnie my dear. He’s quite exhausted.” A particularly clever caress made him shiver. “But you mistake my meaning. The Brass Pluggit I’m talking about is on the south coast. The Isle of Wight, to be precise.”

She made a little moue of distaste. “Really? I tend to avoid that place if I can. Her Pompousness might take it into her head to visit Osborne. You know we don’t…associate, if we can help it.”

“I understand. But I’m informed that she’s scheduled to be up at Balmoral for several weeks. Should be more than enough time for you to pay a call.”

“On whom?”

“An old friend. A very old friend.” The smile curving his lips was anything but pleasant.

“Hmm.”

Lady Minnie Baxter Dalrymple noted the grin and filed it away for future reference. She kept her expression carefully schooled into polite interest, wondering exactly what Sir Roger Lutterson was hiding and why.

She’d condescended to take him as her current lover, since he was handsome, erudite, intelligent and witty. He was a widower—something else they had in common. He was clean, not eager to use her as a political asset, which she appreciated, and overall a pleasant companion, both in bed and out.

He was, however, the duly elected Tory Member of Parliament for Lower Wittleford. Minnie never forgot that.

She believed that politicians—as a general rule—should never be trusted
not
to sink to their lowest common denominator if given the opportunity. It was a mistake she’d never make.

Thus, at this particular moment of intimate conversation between sated lovers, she still kept her wits about her and simply listened to what Roger was—and wasn’t—saying.

“Pierce Lowell, my dear. We went to Eton together. He went abroad to study in some foreign place instead of going on to Oxford or Cambridge. Scientist, he was. Still is, I believe.” Roger considered his words. “Probably one of those clever chaps who are always inventing something.”

“Perhaps.” Minnie kept her voice low, interested in spite of her self-imposed restrictions on doing favors for lovers. “Why do you want me to visit him? Couldn’t you go yourself?”

He shook his head. “It’s risky these days to visit with anyone whose affiliations aren’t quite clear. Especially for those of us in Parliament.”

“Ah.” She dipped her head in agreement. “I see.”

What she
saw
, of course, was the appropriate snobbery and over-inflated ego of the upper-class British politician. She sighed.

“That’s why I’d be very grateful if you could find a little time to pay a call on him. It would be a chance for you to get out of London as well. Avoid the summer heat. Enjoy the coastline.”

“And I would present myself as what? Your representative?” She frowned. “That wouldn’t be terribly prudent, I believe.”

“Very true.” Roger glanced at her approvingly. “I suggest a call out of curiosity, perhaps. He’s working on various projects I hear. And goodness knows anyone who lives in a place known to the locals as the Brass Pluggit must expect a certain number of interested parties stopping by.”

“And if your Mr. Lowell invites me in?”

Roger cleared his throat and shifted his shoulders, his gaze drifting to the empty fireplace as he quite failed to meet her eyes. “Well, that’s when I’d be relying on your charm and intelligence, my dear. We in the House of Commons would be quite interested in knowing just what he’s working on these days.”

Minnie chuckled inwardly and promised herself never to partner Roger at bridge. He could be utterly transparent at times. “Can’t you just ask him?”

“Good Lord, no. Not done. He might get the wind up and leave the country again. Or simply refuse to speak to us.”

“Ahh.” Minnie merely tilted her head slightly, a move which—to Roger—signaled acceptance and understanding.

The fact that it actually meant
so you’re up to something, you sneaky rat
went right over the unfortunate man’s head.

“I’ll give it some thought.” Minnie rested her head back on the pillow and smiled at him. “Would you fly me down in your airship?”

“If you wish…I think it might be arranged.” He paused. “But I didn’t think you liked them.”

“I don’t.” She smiled to herself. “I was just wondering exactly how much you wanted me to do this favor for you.” She snuggled into the linens. “Apparently you want it quite a lot.” That fact alone signaled the end of her relationship with Roger. Asking a favor threw an immediate red flag into her arena, and especially one like this…well, it went beyond Minnie’s personal definition of what constituted an acceptable sexual dalliance.

“Well, I…er…”

“Never mind, Roger. I’ll do it. Good night.”
And goodbye
.

She turned her back to him and let sleep claim her, but not before she spared a thought for Pierce Lowell. What did he have that Roger and his cronies found so interesting? What was important enough that she had just been asked to act as some sort of spy for the government?

And what on earth was a
Brass Pluggit
?

A few weeks later, with Roger firmly ushered out of her bed and her personal affairs, she prepared for a trip to the Isle of Wight. He was no longer her lover, but she couldn’t turn her back on his intriguing request. She would do it, but as much for her as for him. And there wasn’t much else going on in London. It was summer. Many of her friends were taking advantage of the weather and leaving town.

Having elected to take the train south rather than risk life and limb in an airship, Minnie sighed with pleasure as her personal carriage was coupled to the engine and its associated bits and pieces. Not one to spend a lot of time on the mechanical intricacies, she had been more involved with the design and the functionality of this delightful way to move around the English countryside.

Easily rolled onto a train flatbed, it locked into place with a few quick twists of shining levers, then sat there, carefully polished windows shining brilliantly on top of a gleaming ebony and brass framework. She’d indulged herself by having her intertwined initials painted on a rather elegant bit of scrollwork that adorned the side panel.

She had the money, and cherished her reputation for eccentricity. Why shouldn’t she forge ahead with a touch of decadent opulence?

The interior certainly fit that description, being warm, welcoming and exactly suited to Minnie’s needs, not to mention her tastes. It contained a small but efficient water closet and a petite bathing chamber where she could rinse the dust of her journey from her body should she desire. There was a desk, bolted down securely, where she could—and did—work now and again, keeping up with the tasks involved in running the Dalrymple shipping business. On top of the desk sat a box, beautifully carved of course, which revealed the workings of a telegraph when opened. She could keep on top of important news, no matter where she was.

A few chairs dotted the space, matching an enormous sofa complete with the softest cushions, and an overlarge ottoman for resting her feet should she feel like a nap. Small curtains could be rolled up or down depending on her mood and need for privacy.

Yes, thought Minnie as she leaned back in one of her favorite wing chairs, this had been an expensive investment, but one which had paid off in other ways. The trip to Southampton wouldn’t take more than an afternoon, but it wouldn’t be wasted time.

And of course, upon reaching that southern metropolis, her carriage would be transferred in its entirety to an appropriately fitted boat, re-fastened to a deck this time, and ferried over to the Isle of Wight. Another short trip, this time down Southampton Water and across the Solent. Although with the vagaries of the weather and the occasional delays at the docks, it would probably be close to dark before they actually tied up at the Yarmouth mooring. She’d resigned herself to spending the night aboard ship, but with the conveniences at hand, she wouldn’t mind at all. If there were no local power connections, she could manage quite well by candlelight.

She let a small smile curve her lips as she recalled one quite memorable night spent in this very carriage. By candlelight.

And yes, the sofa had proved quite accommodating for two.

A slight shudder, a lurch, and they were underway, the slow but steady increase in their speed distracting Minnie from her memories. Now a new adventure was about to begin. There wasn’t much she enjoyed more than the anticipation of something fresh and exciting.

Shrugging out of her snug jacket, she sighed with pleasure and stretched, watching the landscape move ever faster outside the windows of her unique carriage. Idly she pulled pins from her hair and rubbed her scalp as the soft locks cascaded freely halfway down her back. Now
this
was the way to travel.

Eschewing a maid—after all, there wasn’t really room for a servant to be permanently on call—Minnie was quite content to do for herself. She could pour her own glass of sherry, for instance, with no trouble at all. And she could undress herself as well. She’d often wondered why others experienced the total inability to function without the ever-present companion-maid-butler-valet lurking at their elbows.

It would drive her mad. She preferred her isolation and wasn’t afraid to make that clear to any and all who wondered aloud.

Was she eccentric? Apparently many thought so. Widowed at a young age and possessed of a fortune which had been variously described as “massive”, “embarrassingly enormous” and “larger than God’s”, she’d shocked her peers by assuming control of the business she’d inherited from her late husband. And shocked them even more by making a raging success of it.

After her year of mourning, she’d emerged into society, ready to enjoy some of the benefits her hard work had brought her. She never touched the Dalrymple capital, only using her income from the interest. The fact that this particular line item was increasing every year did not go unnoticed by those in financial circles, and from there it was a short hop across the newspapers and the port at the gentlemen’s clubs to those in search of a wife.

She was courted, wooed, very nearly compromised a couple of times and became a target for men who wanted her money, her body, and—occasionally—her heart.

The latter was low on the list of their priorities, however.

With the benefit of a shrewd brain and sharp wit, Minnie had deliberately used her position and her fortune to create a public persona for herself. She was now a well-known figure within the aristocracy. Her birth and her marriage had given her the cachet to enter that social circle, her current exploits kept her there, and her intelligence helped her avoid matrimonial traps.

With caution and deliberation, she had selected her first lover. Not an unexpected or surprising move, given her widowhood. It was more the man than the act, which had astounded London. She had given a wide berth to any and all eligible gentlemen. Also the married ones who openly kept mistresses.

No, Minnie was nothing if not unusual. Her first lover had been a writer and a scholar, one whose work had attracted little attention up until then. They’d been discreet, knowing that of course their liaison would be discovered and not really caring very much.

They’d enjoyed each other until circumstances parted them, sorrowfully bidding farewell, but moving on with their lives and leaving no regrets behind.

That affair had set the pattern for Minnie’s passions, and in the six years since then, she’d enjoyed several men and learned to thoroughly relish the sensual side of her nature. The occasional article of a slightly scandalous nature endeared her to the press, and her acknowledged disinterest in marriage endeared her to single girls and their mothers who didn’t have to worry about her as a potential rival for eligible men. Of course she’d seriously irked her monarch at the same time, although that hadn’t been done on purpose.

Being a wealthy and titled woman, Minnie had known the young Queen, been introduced to her on several occasions and done the obligatory weekend at whatever country houses the Court was invading at the time. Minnie had managed to stifle her yawns and developed a dislike of the stiff formality.

The Queen had been charming—still was—and Minnie had nothing against her personally. She still had the lovely engraved serving tray that the Royals had seen fit to gift her and her husband on their wedding day. Her Majesty’s sympathies on Minnie’s consequent loss had been sincere and heartfelt.