The Golden Spider (The Elemental Web Chronicles Book 1) (31 page)

He had known Amanda but two weeks, two weeks under strange and unusual circumstances. What would happen when normal, everyday life resumed? When they both returned to their separate pursuits involving long hours of work? When his leg failed?

“Then I will miss her.” In his laboratory and in his arms. Gripping the head of his cane tightly, Thornton nodded and took his departure.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

H
E FOUND HIS AGENT
standing guard in the chicken coop. Thornton had thought the man exaggerated when he’d described Amanda’s laboratory, but beady-eyed hens did indeed scratch and peck about his agent’s feet.

The man cast him a pained look.

Any other time on any other case, Thornton might have teased the man, mocked him for the fine coating of down and sawdust that covered his shoes, but learning of Amanda’s impending engagement seemed to have paralyzed his every facial muscle. He neither smiled nor frowned. “Dismissed,” he said.

“Sir?”

“I will take it from here.” He and Lady Amanda required a private word.

“Yes, sir.”

He knocked. A moment later, the door cracked open, and her bright blue eyes appeared in the opening. “May I come in?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Yes, of course.” A flush crept up from beneath her high-necked collar, and, as the door swung wide, her eyes flickered to a small, but neatly made up cot stuffed into the corner of her makeshift laboratory.

Before he could take a step, an orange cat slipped past his ankles, dropping a limp mouse at her feet, and yowled for her attention.

Thornton followed, stepping into the small, cramped space. He propped his cane against the wall and waited.

A large portion of her work surface was currently given over to chemistry equipment and a distiller. He recognized the
amatiflora
blooms that were submerged in water and boiling over an alcohol flame. Steam rose, then cooled, spiraling down glass coils before dripping into an amber collecting flask.

“Good work, Rufus,” she praised, reaching down to scoop up the injured mouse and deposit him on a cotton pad. She twisted open a can of sardines for the monocled cat, who purred loudly in anticipation.

Did he imagine it, or was she avoiding his gaze? She wouldn’t promise herself to another, to Sommersby, and still invite him to her…‌ cot, would she?

Knowing it might be so, could he still accept?

It distressed him to realize the answer was, no, he could not. He would not take what had been promised to another. Disappointment settled over him like a low-hanging, sulfurous fog. “Amanda, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“About the formula?” she asked, her voice pitched a touch too high. “You’re early, but I expect to be done with the distillation soon. If you’d like to stay‌—‌”

“About Mr. Sommersby. Have you accepted his proposal?”

“How did you‌—‌?”

“I saw his carriage. Answer the question, Amanda. Should I leave?”

Her face burst into flame as she took his meaning. “I…‌ no…‌ I mean.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Yes, Mr. Sommersby proposed. I declined.” Amanda placed a hand on his arm. “Please don’t leave.”

He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, and the sudden rush of air into his lungs, the rush of oxygen to his brain provided stunning clarity. He wouldn’t be her last lover, but he would be her first. He would do his damned best to make certain she would never forget him by staking his claim in the primitive manner mankind had done for thousands of years.

For tonight, at the very least, she was his.

He reached out with one hand and set loose the first tiny button beneath her chin. “The cot seems convenient,” he teased. Another button fell free. And another.

She stepped forward, closing the space between them. Her hips bumped his as her fingers found his coat buttons. “Overnight distillation was my only option,” she murmured. “I sometimes sleep here.”

He unfastened the last button that peeked above her leather corset. “Sleeping wasn’t what I had in mind.” Hooking a finger over its edge, he tugged her forward. He was hot and hard and wanted her to know how badly he wanted her. “You’re certain you want this?”

She nodded.

He ran his finger under the edge of her corset, brushing over the hardened peak of her nipple. She gasped, and he saw her pulse begin to race. He wanted more. “Say it,” he demanded, deliberately holding his hand still.

“I want this,” she whispered. Her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him to her, pressing her stomach against the hard length of his straining erection. “I want you.”

Satisfaction raced through him as he bent his head and claimed her lips with his own. They had all night and he meant to savor every minute.

A loud knock sounded at the door behind him. “Amanda? It’s me, Ned.”

With great effort‌—‌and soft swears‌—‌he pulled away.

Amanda reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging him back. “Ignore him. He’ll go away.” Her lips pressed to his throat.

Thornton growled his approval. His palms caressed the smooth leather of her corset, shaping the curves of her hips before dropping lower to cup the swell of her bottom.

The knocking grew louder and more insistent. “I know you’re in there, Amanda. Open up. Father sent me.”

It seemed the traitorous, over-privileged heir wasn’t going away. Not without some forceful encouragement.

With a groan, Thornton pushed her away. He turned and, flicking the locks, yanked the door open. A young man wearing an ambulator cage that stretched from hips to toes stared back. “Lord Edward.” Thornton addressed Amanda’s brother, his tone anything but polite. “I’m afraid we are very busy. Busy solving
your
problem. Tomorrow would be a better time to visit your sister’s laboratory.”

“I’m certain you’d like that, Lord Thornton.” Ned snorted. “Father indicated my sister might be up to something of interest. I never guessed‌—‌”

She cast her brother a dark look over her shoulder, cutting off his words. “Come in, Ned.” Amanda stood before her workbench, making adjustments to the equipment. Aside from the stain in her cheeks, she was the picture of innocence. “Lord Thornton and I are working on reproducing Emily’s original formula. Nadya pointed us in a new direction last night.”

“Nadya? That old gypsy woman Emily was always hanging about? Wasn’t she some relative of Luca’s?” Ned asked, shouldering past Thornton, his mechanical steps heavy but sure.

It took every ounce of willpower not to shove Amanda’s brother back out into the chicken coop. Though perhaps her tactic was sound. The sooner they answered Ned’s questions, the sooner they could be rid of him. He focused on breathing deeply, on studying the sibling for whom Amanda went to such great lengths.

“Yes.” Amanda kept her eyes on the equipment before her. “She recalled a location where late-blooming
amatiflora
might be found. She was correct.”

Her brother immediately brightened. “Any luck?”

Thornton eyed the steam-powered, exoskeletal device Ned wore with interest. The dials were within easy reach of the hands, the power packs small and compact, and the smoke it emitted minimal. The hinges and joints moved with only the slightest hiss of steam. Before long, he himself might require something similar. This morning, his ankle had begun to fail, twisting oddly beneath him.

“We’ll know momentarily. I’ve enough distilled to run the test on one small subject.” She waved a hand in the direction of the caged mouse. “Though if it works, there are only sufficient flowers to make enough for one vial of the nerve toxin.”

Amanda pulled on protective goggles. Turning the stopcock, she shut off the steady drip of fluid. She pulled the amber collecting flask and, using a bulbed pipette, withdrew a measured amount of the distilled essence. Squeezing the bulb, she squirted the liquid into a waiting beaker, one that already contained an orange-red liquid. The solution shifted color as she swirled the glass, stabilizing at an odd yellowish-green color.

“Excellent,” she said. “Exactly as Emily predicted.” She glanced at him. “It’s ready.” She positioned the limp mouse on a steel tray before filling a glass syringe with a fraction of the fluid. With deft hands, she targeted the mouse’s injury.

Several minutes passed during which no one spoke.

She slid her patient into the observation chamber of an aetheroscope and manually activated the vacuum. With a quick adjustment to the magnification, the feline-induced wound to the rodent’s legs came into sharp focus. Amanda inhaled deeply and held her breath. With a tungsten probe, she contacted the nerve and delivered a pulse of electricity.

His eyes were glued to the needle of the readout dial. It twitched, sweeping into the green zone before returning quickly to rest position. The barest of nerve response. Perfect for the neurachnid’s probe.

“You’ve done it,” he whispered, his lips pulling into an amazed smile.

“Done what?” Ned asked. “Did it work?”

Amanda turned around. Pulling off her goggles she gave them both a wide grin. “It did!”

Ned grabbed her in tight embrace, while Thornton fought the impulse to do the same. “My brilliant sister. Sisters!” He released Amanda. “Is the spider ready? Shall I cancel my appointment?”

Her face fell.

“Appointment?” Thornton asked.

Ned turned to him. “Ferrous replacements. Next week.”

Ferrous replacements. A brutal, horrible surgery members of the
ton
turned to. Such a procedure worked. Barely. But it did allow gentlemen the appearance‌—‌if not the actuality‌—‌of normalcy.

“You can’t manage a few more weeks?” Irritation laced Thornton’s voice. Behind her brother, Amanda shook her head. He ignored her. “Have you any idea of the trouble you’ve caused?”

Ned had the sense to look ashamed. “I regret the trouble my decisions have caused.”

“Regret.” He barely managed to pry the word from between his clenched teeth.

Amanda stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. Her eyes pleaded. “There are extenuating circumstances.”

Ned nodded. “Georgina, the woman I would have as my wife, will be engaged to another man in a fortnight. Her father will accept my suit only if I am whole.”

Thornton wanted to thunder that there were plenty of women who would have a future duke, broken or whole, but a glance at Amanda had him biting his tongue. He had an idea now what a man might sacrifice in order to possess the woman of his dreams. “There is protocol to follow,” he said. “Rat studies will take, optimistically, a solid month. Long term outcomes,” he waved a hand, “upwards of a year.”

“A year!” Ned yelled. “No. Absolutely not.” His eyes narrowed. “Ferrous replacements it will be.” He stalked to the door, steam rising about him.

“Wait,” Amanda pleaded. “Thornton, please.” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Can an exception be made?”

Such an exception could cost him his career. A risk he found he was willing to take. For her and her alone. “Very well. The new neurachnid is complete. Can you wait three more days for us to make arrangements?”

“Yes.” Ned nodded. “Thank you.”

Thornton held up a hand. “You realize that the surgery may very well fail?”

“Of course.”

“I have one condition.” One look at Ned’s face and Thornton knew the lordling would agree to anything. “You must have your father’s permission. Know I will speak with him myself concerning the risks.” Only then would he proceed, risking his career…‌ All for one woman’s happiness.

“Agreed.” Ned turned to Amanda with pure glee in his face, seemingly convinced his sister’s contraption was incapable of failure.

Thornton would speak with the Duke of Avesbury again and outline the terms of his son’s surgery. If‌—‌when‌—‌the procedure worked, when the duke’s heir walked again using his own nerves, his own muscles, Amanda would be free to marry on her own terms and on her own schedule.

Chapter Thirty

W
ITH THORNTON’S
promise, Amanda didn’t have much trouble ridding herself of her troublesome brother. He’d broken the mood by barging in and then pushing Thornton to proceed with an unapproved surgery.