The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

“You don’t sound convinced.” He shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t encourage this discussion.

She sighed and sank onto the chair across from him. Thornton struggled to keep his eyes on her face. “I’m not a fan of society’s expectations. Nor of balls, teas or garden parties. The privileges of a peeress are many, but the expectations are constrictive.”

If she did not wish to marry, why was she here? “As an earl, I concur.” Rather contradictory, her behavior. Encouraging Sommersby one minute, hiding from him the next.

“Ah, but you have many years before society will force a woman into your arms.”

“Force? Am I that distasteful?”

“Not at all.” She leaned forward, her breasts straining against the silk cords that bound them.

“No?” He leaned forward as well, lowering his voice. “I must warn you, locking me in a darkened room might not have been the wisest choice. For I’m anything but predictable.”

Her smile fell away. The tip of her tongue darted between her lips. “You certainly aren’t,” she whispered, her gaze alighting on his mouth. She turned her head quickly to look out the window and into an empty garden. “What drug, may I ask, do you use to calm the nerve in your leg?”

“Somnic,” he said, naming a powerful nerve agent that was as damaging as it was effective. A muscle in his foot twitched, a reminder of the reason he’d entered this room.

“But the side effects are irreversible!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with concern. Lady Amanda knew her nerve agents.

“They are,” he said. “But every other available drug no longer has any effect.” Thornton watched her mind run through the implications, watched as it pounced on the inevitable conclusion.

“The neurachnid might still work,” she said. “If completed before the drug loses its efficacy.”

He nodded, acknowledging her conclusion, and began to unscrew the silver cap of his cane. Let her know the worst, know the dosage upon which he now relied. He needed an injection now, or he would be incapable of leaving the room under his own power. The cap came free in his hand and he swore.

“What’s wrong?”

He held up an empty vial. Henri had assured him that he would refill the vial. Clearly, he’d forgotten. And he had failed to check‌—‌an inexcusable mistake that could well cost him his leg.

Still, there should have been enough residual medication for at least a half dose. Was he really using such a large quantity of Somnic? Tipping his head back and glaring at the ceiling, Thornton swore again. At this rate, he calculated, the drug would become ineffective in less than two weeks.

There was a rustle. A whiff of roses. A light pressure against his knee.

He looked down, and his jaw fell slack.

“Let me help. I’ve been studying the Oriental practice of using pressure points to relieve pain.” In a rumple of brocade and silk, Lady Amanda knelt on the floor before him. Her fingers pressed through his woolen trousers around his brace, expertly seeking out the damage.

“I don’t think…‌”

Her finger found a pressure point. He gripped the arms of the chair, sucking in his breath at the sudden piercing pain, then exhaled. Slowly. And found the pain had lessened.

“Where did you learn to…‌?” Her fingers deftly landed on another pressure point, and his jaw clenched. He hissed on an indrawn breath

“Does it matter?” Her fingers moved behind, then beneath, his brace.

Thornton was incapable of response. Not since the initial injury healed had anyone touched his leg. There’d been no need for a second opinion. Already the top physician in his field, Thornton knew exactly what to do, knew exactly what was to come.

Her fingers still moving, she tipped her face upward. “Which nerve? Only the superficial fibular affecting the lateral component? Eversion and plantarflextion?” The superficial fibular nerve innervated the lateral muscles of the lower leg responsible for turning the foot outward as well as pressing the foot downward.

The pain was less now. He unclenched his teeth and exhaled as slowly and as calmly as he could manage. “No, the deep fibular nerve as well,” he answered, closing his eyes, lulled by the decreasing pain. He’d not experienced this kind of relief since the very first dose of Somnic. How long would it last?

Thirty minutes or three, he didn’t care.

Her hands moved, lifting the hem of his trousers, sliding underneath. Upward. To his knee. She pulled his hose free, baring his skin to her cool fingers.

“So dorsiflextion as well,” she stated.

“Yes.” At times he also found it difficult to lift his foot. Soon, walking would become difficult. Running, impossible.

“Better?”

“Much.” The near-constant pain in his leg had faded to a distant ache. He relaxed his grip on the chair and slitted his eyes, finally able to enjoy the close-up view as she leaned ever closer, still on her knees before him. It was difficult to stop his mind from drifting down erotic pathways.

No. It was
impossible
.

Dark eyebrows arched over half-closed eyes. Long lashes fanned over pink cheeks. A delicate nose rested above full red lips. All that attention focused directly upon his person.

Other parts of his anatomy began to ache, every instinct insisting she returned his interest despite her now intimate knowledge of his weakness.

She shifted and her breast brushed against his knee. There was a slight catch in her breath, the slightest hesitation in her touch. About her face, dark locks of hair were twined with black velvet and pinned into submission. All but a single lock that had worked itself free and skimmed over her cheek.

He reached down, gently tucking the strand of hair behind her ear.

Her hands stilled, then released his leg.

With one finger, he traced a path down the side of her neck to rest where her pulse beat strong and fast. It echoed his own racing heart. He watched the rapid rise and fall of her chest, waiting. Her lashes lifted, and two dark pools met his eyes. Her lips parted, and her breath hitched. Something between them shifted. He slid his gaze to her lips, making clear his intent.

Yet still he waited, giving her a chance to stop him, to back away, but desperately hoping she wouldn’t. Anticipation burned in his chest as he reached out with both hands to capture the base of her skull, tugging her upward. His fingers slid into her soft hair as she rose to meet him halfway. He tilted her mouth to his, the warmth of her breath a soft caress, and her eyes fluttered closed as he claimed her lips.

Lips that were warm, soft and inviting. They parted, inviting him in. She tasted of champagne and strawberries, of longing, of a future he’d not dared to hope for in years.

Her hands gripped his thighs. He deepened the kiss, pulling her closer against him, driven by a primitive need to claim her as his own.

Beyond the rushing of blood in his ears, Thornton became aware of a commotion in the hallway. He released her, already missing her warmth, and left desperately wanting more.

Breathless, they stared at each other for one long incredulous moment. Then the realization of what he’d done crashed down upon him.

“I…‌ we…‌” she began.

Now was not the time.

“Shh.” He held a finger to his lips, then offered a hand. She accepted. Thornton pulled her to her feet as he himself stood. Together they crossed the room, stopping before the door.

He heard the deep timbre of Black’s voice. Black would know Thornton was here at the ball. His carriage waited outside. If his partner had tracked him to a society event, it followed that there was pressing news. Likely of the bad variety.

He would have opened the door immediately, but for the presence of Lady Amanda. To be seen emerging from behind a locked door with a man would expose her to scandal. He turned his gaze on her. A rare combination of beauty and intelligence, one to which he was not entitled. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You go first. I’ll delay.” Amanda did not meet his gaze. “I understand the potential repercussions. Romantic liaisons between female students and staff is forbidden and grounds for my immediate dismissal.” She spoke the very words about to form on his lips then, passing him his cane, reached for the key and unlocked the door.

He waited for relief to follow as he stepped into the hallway‌—‌and kept waiting.

One kiss and he was perilously close to tossing aside those cursed rules and regulations, damn the consequences.

Chapter Thirteen

D
ECIDING SHE CARED
more about learning the cause for commotion than she did for her reputation, Amanda waited mere moments before emerging from the room.

She followed the deep rumble of Thornton’s voice to the library, where he stood beneath the low haze of cigar smoke beside both Black and Father. “Father. Mr. Black.” She swallowed. “Lord Thornton.”

“Amanda.” The corners of Father’s mouth pulled downward. His eyes narrowed and his bushy eyebrows drew together. She knew that look. It always proceeded a reprimand and certain dismissal. “What are you doing here?”

Black gave a slight snort, but when she returned his look with a glare, every hint of troublemaker fell away, leaving behind only the gravest of expressions.

She lifted her chin and returned Father’s stare with the knowledge that she had every right to be included. “If this concerns another gypsy, under similar circumstances, my consultation is required.”

Thornton nodded his agreement and, despite knowing another man might be dead, a certain thrill ran through her at being treated as a professional.

“My men have sent word that another body has been found,” Black said. “Putney Heath.”

Putney Heath, a known winter stopping place for gypsies, was a distant part of southwest London.

Father shot Thornton a dark look.

Thornton nodded slowly. What had just passed between them?

Emily
.

Emily and Luca were there. Thousands of icy spider feet ran down her spine.

“Word is the gypsies call him the eye doctor,” Black continued.

“Wonderful,” Father grumbled. “Let’s hope the newspaper men don’t catch word of that sobriquet.” He waved a hand. “Go. Sort this all out. And fast.”

Eye doctor.
Her device and Emily’s potion were now at the center of it all. Amanda desperately hoped the discovery of the latest body had nothing to do with Emily herself.

“What of our test subject? And the device?” Thornton asked Black, ignoring Father.

“For the moment, both transmitter and receiver are in good order. The man, however, is a bit green. I sent him home. Came directly here.”

“We’ll take my carriage,” Thornton said, turning for the door.

“There’s a faster way,” she said, and all eyes focused on her. “Lord Whitmore keeps a dirigible. On his roof. Sparrow class. Designed for two.” She paused, tipping her head. “Assuming someone knows how to fly one.”

Black scoffed. “Permission to commandeer the airship, Lord Avesbury.”

“Permission granted,” Father answered. “I’ll sort it out with Whitmore.”

“I’m coming,” she stated, in case she’d not already made that clear.

Voices rose in dissent. “A lady…‌ that dress…‌ campground…‌”

“It’s
my
neurachnid.” The grumbling subsided. “We’ve spent the last week improving upon the design. Who’s to say this eye doctor hasn’t been doing the same thing? The sooner I evaluate the body, the sooner you may have leads. The Sparrow class has a jump seat in the tail.” She crossed her arms and sized up Black. He wasn’t short, but Thornton was a good six inches taller. “You’ll fit.”

“Me?” Black’s voice objected, but his eyes took on a teasing gleam, and Amanda knew she’d won an ally. “You’re the shortest,” he retorted.

She returned his sly grin with her own, gesturing to the volume of her skirts. “You’d consign a lady in a ball gown to the jump seat?”

With a stage-worthy roll of his eyes and a theatrical sigh, he conceded. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Thornton pulled off his coat and held it out to her. “In that dress you’ll…‌”

Amanda raised her eyebrows. “Be a distraction?”

Father frowned, as if reconsidering the wisdom of allowing his daughter to go.

“Be cold,” Thornton finished.

She pulled the coat over her bare arms. The shoulders hung loose and the sleeves extended past her fingertips. Still warm from his body heat, it smelled of him, like soap and exotic spices and something that was uniquely male. It was probably the closest she’d ever get to having his arms wrapped around her.

“Button it,” Father grumbled as she passed by him.

She ignored him.

Minutes later, the three of them stepped out onto the dark roof. The blue light from the phosphorescent lamp Black swiped from a hallway sconce struggled to illuminate their path. Thick fog obscured everything more than five feet away.

She hoped the men were capable of instrument flight alone. She glanced at them. They seemed unconcerned. Nervous excitement coursed through her. She’d ridden in dirigibles, but never in one so small. Never at night. Never in a fog. Never with a man who made her lose her grasp on proper behavior.