Part 36 (1/2)
Both Bennett and London nodded, somber.
”Our information has said that the Heirs have almost unlocked the Primal Source,” Catullus continued. ”Which means we will need Astrid. She and Michael spent one winter studying it in Africa. They knew the Primal Source better than anyone. And now she alone possesses knowledge about the nature of the Primal Source that is essential in our fight against the Heirs. So there's no choice but to find her and bring her back. She may hate the Blades, she may hate me, but none of us have the luxury of personal feelings or grief anymore.”
Everyone around the small table lapsed into a grim silence, contemplating this.
Catullus shook himself. ”This is what happens when you let an inventor out of his workshop,” he said with a wry laugh. ”You show up, full of good news, and I stomp all over it with my usual lack of tact.”
”Lack of tact, indeed,” Bennett snorted. ”This from a man who owns a hundred waistcoats.”
Catullus grinned, smoothing his hand over the bronze and forest green silk of the waistcoat he now wore. ”We're all allowed a desire for variety.”
”Not me,” said Bennett. He picked up his wife's hand, stroking it between his own. ”Once you find something exactly right, there's no need for anything else.”
London laughed. ”Are you comparing me to waistcoats?”
”No, love,” said her husband. ”For one thing, no waistcoat has your ear for language. The best one can hope for in a waistcoat is a smattering of French.”
The lighter mood restored, they spent the next few hours talking of their mission in Greece and catching up on gossip and trifles. Everything Catullus heard amazed him, but he was especially gratified to learn of the success of his illumination devices and glider. Their teacups were refilled three times before Bennett stood and stretched, then helped his wife to her feet.
”We'll come back tomorrow,” he said. ”There's still much to discuss. And there's the matter of London's initiation.”
”Aren't you going to stay here at headquarters?” Catullus asked. ”I'm sure the staff could have your room ready in a trice.”
Bennett shared a look of scorching intimacy with London. ”We have lodgings elsewhere in town. No one would appreciate it if we slept here.” His tone made it clear that sleeping would be fairly low on his and London's list of things they would do in a bedroom together. And London's carnal blush confirmed it.
Catullus was well acquainted with his friend's amorous pursuits, but not the love gleaming in Bennett's eyes. Once again, Catullus felt isolated, lonely. It was difficult enough for him to merely find a woman who understood his mania for his inventions. He was Negro, which meant that the color of his skin that forever marked him as a stranger in his own home country and, in fact, wherever he went. What woman could see him as a man first, and not a scientific anomaly?
Still, as Catullus walked Bennett and London to the door, he saw his friend's love for his wife, a love that was reciprocated wholeheartedly. If someone had told Catullus even the day before that Bennett Day would find one woman to whom he would be forever faithful, Catullus would have laughed at the impossibility. Now, it was not only possible, it was real. The scientist in him couldn't dispute the evidence.
If such marvels could happen for an unrepentant scoundrel as Bennett, then maybe Catullus might find his own miracle. After all, the world was full of magic.
Don't miss the rest of the Blades of the Rose series!
In September, we met a WARRIOR in Mongolia...
To most people, the realm of magic is the stuff of nursery rhymes and dusty libraries.
But for Capt. Gabriel Huntley, it's become quite real and quite dangerous...
IN HOT PURSUIT.
The vicious attack Capt. Gabriel Huntley witnesses in a dark alley sparks a chain of events that will take him to the ends of the Earth and beyond-where what is real and what is imagined become terribly confused. And frankly, Huntley couldn't be more pleased. Intrigue, danger, and a beautiful woman in distress-just what he needs...
IN HOTTER WATER.
Raised thousands of miles from England, Thalia Burgess is no typical Victorian lady.
A good thing, because a proper lady would have no hope of recovering the priceless magical artifact Thalia is after.
Huntley's a.s.sistance might come in handy, though she has to keep him in the dark. But this distractingly handsome soldier isn't easy to deceive...
There was a knock at the wooden door to the tent. Her father called out, ”Enter.” The door began to swing open.
Thalia tucked the hand holding the revolver behind her back. She stood behind her father's chair and braced herself, wondering what kind of man would step across the threshold and if she would have to use a gun on another human being for the first time in her life.
The man ducked to make it through the door, then immediately removed his hat, uncovering a head of close-cropped, wheat-colored hair. He was not precisely handsome, but he possessed an air of command and confidence that s.h.i.+fted everything to his favor. His face was lean and rugged, his features bold and cleanly defined; there was nothing of the drawing room about him, nothing refined or elegant. He was clean-shaven, allowing the hard planes of his face to show clearly. He was not an aristocrat and looked as though he had fought for everything he ever had in his life, rather than expecting it to be given to him. Even in the filtered light inside the ger ger, Thalia could see the gleaming gold of his eyes, their sharp intelligence that missed nothing as they scanned the inside of the tent and finally fell on her and her father.
”Franklin Burgess?” he asked.
”Yes, sir,” her father answered, guarded. ”My daughter, Thalia.”
She remembered enough to sketch a curtsey as she felt the heat of the stranger's gaze on her. An uncharacteristic flush rose in her cheeks.
”And you are...?” her father prompted.
”Captain Gabriel Huntley,” came the reply, and now it made sense that the man who had such sure bearing would be an officer. ”Of the Thirty-third Regiment.” Thalia was not certain she could relax just yet, since it was not unheard of for the Heirs to find members in the ranks of the military. She quickly took stock of the width of the captain's shoulders, how even standing still he seemed to radiate energy and the capacity for lethal movement. Captain Huntley would be a fine addition to the Heirs.
There was something magnetic about him, though, something that charged the very air inside the ger ger, and she felt herself acutely aware of him. His sculpted face, the brawn of his body, the way he carried his gear, all of it, felt overwhelmingly masculine. How ironic, how dreadful, it would be, if the only man to have attracted her attention in years turned out to be her enemy. Sergei, her old suitor, had wound up being her enemy, but in a very different way.
”You are out of uniform, Captain Huntley,” her father pointed out.
For the first time since his entrance, the captain's steady concentration broke as he glanced down at his dusty civilian traveling clothes. ”I'm here in an unofficial capacity.” He had a gravelly voice with a hint of an accent Thalia could not place. It was different from the cultured tones of her father's friends, rougher, but with a low music that danced up the curves of her back.
”And what capacity is that?” she asked. Thalia realized too late that a proper Englishwoman would not speak so boldly, nor ask a question out of turn, but, h.e.l.l, if Captain Huntley was was an Heir, niceties did not really matter. an Heir, niceties did not really matter.
His eyes flew back to her, and she met his look levelly, even as a low tremor pulsed inside her. G.o.d, there it was again, that strange something something that he provoked in her, now made a hundred times stronger when their gazes connected. She watched him a.s.sess her, refusing to back down from the unconcealed measuring. She wondered if he felt that peculiar awareness too, if their held look made his stomach flutter. Thalia doubted it. She was no beauty-too tall, her features too strong, and there was the added handicap of this dreadful dress. Besides, he didn't quite seem like the kind of man who fluttered anything. that he provoked in her, now made a hundred times stronger when their gazes connected. She watched him a.s.sess her, refusing to back down from the unconcealed measuring. She wondered if he felt that peculiar awareness too, if their held look made his stomach flutter. Thalia doubted it. She was no beauty-too tall, her features too strong, and there was the added handicap of this dreadful dress. Besides, he didn't quite seem like the kind of man who fluttered anything.
Yet...maybe she was wrong. Even though he was on the other side of the ger ger, Thalia could feel him looking at her, taking her in, with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. And intriguing.
Regardless of her scanty knowledge of society, Thalia did did know that gentlemen did not look at ladies in such a fas.h.i.+on. Strange. Officers usually came from the ranks of the upper cla.s.ses. He should know better. But then, so should she. know that gentlemen did not look at ladies in such a fas.h.i.+on. Strange. Officers usually came from the ranks of the upper cla.s.ses. He should know better. But then, so should she.
”As a messenger,” he answered, still holding Thalia's gaze, ”from Anthony Morris.”
That name got her attention, as well as her father's.
”What about Morris?” he demanded. ”If he has a message for me, he should be here, himself.”