CamillasConsequences (18 page)

The drug is finally wearing off, and I am able to prop myself on one elbow. After Hephaestus locates the reel, he places it by the Panoptoscope display machine and comes to my side. He heaves me onto his shoulder and carries me to my viewing chair, where he drops me. I am half-slumped in the seat, still unable to walk, but able to stop myself from falling to the floor.

“Take the cellulose reel and place it in the display machine.” I explain how to position the reel, which knobs to press, and then tell him to draw the curtains.

When darkness shrouds the room, Hephaestus presses the final knob, squeezes beside me on the chair and scoops me into his lap. The equipment whirs and images appear on the screen. For this particular encounter, I placed the handbag, which was designed with an opening sufficiently large for the lens of my ’Scope, on a work bench. Baron Laurence McDermott and I sit opposite each other in the laboratory he constructed inside his immense mansion.

I must say it is odd to look at oneself in this manner. In terms of clothing, I had not yet opted for dark attire. Instead, I wore the apparel in vogue in ’91, which consisted of the overcorset, an unyielding copper-plated bustier worn over a blouse. My hat, an imitation of a man’s top hat, sat askew upon my head, fastened under my chin with a lacy bow, and a short veil covered half my face.

As I watch Baron Laurence McDermott sitting stiffly in his chair, deep grooves in his brow, holding a Panoptograph as though it is a kerchief someone has recently wiped his nose upon, the memories resurface, and I recall every single detail of our meeting.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Odd assortments of half-assembled mechanical parts, papers covered in hand-drawn designs and scale models of rudimentary aircraft are strewn about the laboratory’s work table. McDermott has a reputation as an obsessive inventor who spent years honing devices that fail with alarming regularity. Only one of his inventions has so far been produced for the enjoyment of the public, an Aeroglider designed for a single pilot, an aerial pleasurecraft, if you will.

“You are a brash, perverted young woman,” the Baron says. “No wonder your fiancé ran off to the Americas.”

I do my best to ignore his insult, but it galls me nonetheless. With both elbows set firmly on my chair’s padded leather arms, I steeple my fingers. “Perhaps there is a hint of perversion in what I do, but it is does not compare to the perversion involved in engaging in sexual relations with one’s fifteen-year-old niece.”

Unable to deny my allegations, he stares at the Panoptograph.

“You impregnated her.”

He rises to his feet. His height is impressive, as is the breadth of his shoulders, but days spent tinkering in his laboratory have made him soft, and his belly bulges against his waistcoat. “She was overly familiar with the stableboy and the coachman. I am certain they enjoyed her as well, perhaps both at the same time!”

“Your vulgarity does not intimidate me. Neither do your lies. Sit down.” I cross my legs and lean nonchalantly against the back of the chair. “You sent Lexadora to the Moonstone School for Girls, and only one type of girl is welcome in that establishment. Lexadora is with child and will give birth within four months, according to the dear woman who houses these unfortunate girls.”

“It was my familial obligation to raise her after the death of her parents. She was innocent when she first arrived but quickly grew into a temptress, a vixen. How can a man be expected to resist such bounty when it is constantly within his reach?” He begins to shred the Panoptograph of him copulating with his niece, ripping it in long strips that flutter to the floor among discarded bits of copper wire.

“Have you no self-control?”

“Against a woman’s beauty, a man has no defenses. It is a woman’s duty to be modest to avoid unwanted attention.”

“Lexadora was yours to protect!”

“I cannot keep a promiscuous girl in my home, so I banished her!” Spittle flies from his lips.

“She is fifteen! How dare you blame her for your misconduct!” Which implement will I use on him? Only yesterday, I received an electric prod pole from America, and I also have a particularly nasty whip. “Do not tarnish her name! You forced yourself on her. Only you. No one else.”

He grunts, tearing another strip off the Panoptograph, most of which is in shreds at his feet.

“I take it she will return to your home after she has given birth.”

McDermott shakes his head. “She is never to return, for she might spark rumors of why she left to begin with. I will pay her fare aboard the next dirigible to the Canadas and give her a small allowance to begin a new life.”

How abhorrent! “What of the child?
Your
child?”

“No one can prove the babe is mine. With any luck, the runt will die during childbirth and so will she.”

His callousness stuns me. “How can you be so harsh? Do you not have children of your own?”

“So you spy on me with your Panoptograph, know the location of my niece, but you are ignorant of my son?” He raises his brows and scoffs. “If you must know, I am ashamed to call him my son. He wishes to be an artist. What kind of man wants to be an artist? A gentleman must admire fine art, appreciate it, know when to buy a fine piece at auction. He does not sit in front of a block of marble and chisel it with a hammer like a common laborer.” McDermott pauses and reaches into his jacket for a cigar. He places it between his teeth and pats his pockets, seemingly unable to find his strike lighter. “Two things are paramount in life—status and scientific discovery. My son stands to inherit all my land holdings, but he has no interest in learning how to manage our tenants. And science means little to him.”

“Where is he now?”

“I sent him to Europe, just as he asked, hoping he would realize the foolishness of his endeavors. When he returns, he and I will have a serious talk about the responsibilities of a land owner.”

“What will you tell him?”

“He needs to forget about art and take on more duties or else I will disinherit him.”

“You would leave your own flesh and blood with nothing?”

“Of course. My wife is dead. I have only myself to think of.”

Perhaps I should leave him with nothing as well. Although he appears quite wealthy, I have discovered that he is in debt. His scientific tinkering has been funded by his land holdings, the sheep farms, the cattle, the barley and wheat. He spends far more than he earns.

“What do you want?” A sheen of sweat appears on his brow. “Jewels? A fine coat made from the fur of an Arctic fox? Pure white, they are. Have you ever seen one?” He bites on the end of the cigar.

“I will take the pendant hanging on that wall.” Heart-shaped and glittering with rubies, it appears very out of place in the laboratory. “It will look very pretty against my neck, do you not think so? Fetch it for me.”

Reluctantly, he stands and gets it. “Now get out.”

“Impudence will not be tolerated. When you address me, you must be polite. I am not a young girl who can be pacified with a mere trinket.” I fasten the chain around my neck. “Sit down, for I have only begun to discipline you.”

He laughs. “Discipline? You would make a fine headmistress.”

I suppose I would. “Imagine what the Scotland Yard constables would say if these Panoptographs ever came to light. I have a full cellulose reel of you defiling that poor girl in your summer home near Brighton.” Standing by the window and watching made me feel dirty and depraved, but I needed to collect evidence against him. “Let me quote the law, McDermott.
Whosoever shall engage in unlawful coercion of a girl between the ages of eleven and fifteen shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and at the discretion of the court shall be liable to be kept in penal servitude for a period of one to three years, which may or may not include hard labor
.”

The cigar drops from his lips as he utters an indignant
hmmpph
.

“The age of consent is
sixteen
,” I say. “Lexadora is fifteen. Therefore, in exchange for my silence, you will give me your patents for the Aeroglider and the aetherical communicator.”

“Never. They are the product of a lifetime of work.”

“You have nothing else of any worth. You have borrowed against your holdings in order to fund your scientific endeavors.”

“It seems I am heavily in debt, but not for long. The Aeroglider is already in production at Dirigible & Sons. It is proving very popular with rich, daring young men who dream of being aviators. I am certain my communicator will be equally successful. Imagine an apparatus that allows individuals to communicate at great distances using aether as a medium instead of wires?”

“Surrender your patents or surrender yourself to Scotland Yard. You can keep your lands and your estate.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hephaestus reaches over to shut off the Panoptoscope display machine. It is just as well, for my harsh discipline of his father is the next event to transpire. As I rest against Hephaestus’ chest, I hear the loud beating of his heart, and his arms curl tightly against me.

“The Panoptoscope does not lie. Your father was guilty of the crime of which I accused him.”

“What of Lexadora? You did not banish her? It was him all along?” He appears stricken.

“Yes.” I struggle into a sitting position, holding my bound arms over my breasts. “Go to my cabinet and look in the second last drawer. There you will find all you need to know about Lexadora.”

Quickly, Hephaestus slides me off his lap and strides to the cabinet, wrenching open the drawer. He takes out an assortment of small Panoptographs I took several months ago during my trip to Lyon, and he returns to sit next to me.

“A portion of the earnings from the Aeroglider is reserved for Lexadora and her son. She has a house in Lyon with a maid and a governess. We discussed giving the child to a family in need of a son, but she refused to hear of it. Instead, she decided to pose as a young widow whose husband passed away a few short months after their marriage.”

Hephaestus holds a Panoptograph of a four-year-old boy astride a Shetland pony. “He has my father’s eyes.”

“William is your brother, Hephaestus.”

“William? She named him after me?” He stares at the picture. “I must visit her. How could I not see what Father was doing? Whenever he was near, a light went out in her, yet she never hinted that this sort of depravity was the source of her unhappiness. Had I known, I would have protected her.”

“Do not blame yourself.” But he does.

“Why did I not see it? I should have questioned her, should have questioned Father. I merely believed her to be moody in his presence. Even at the dinner table, when he spoke to her, she answered tersely and picked at the food on her plate. What did her life become after my departure?” Hephaestus sits on the bed, his face in his hands. “I always thought my father sent me to Italy because he supported my dream, not because he wished me to fail. I thought he had pride in me.”

I want to comfort him but cannot yet walk without collapsing on the floor.

“Thank you for looking after Lexadora, for doing what I did not.” Hephaestus looks at me. “There is good in you, Camilla, but there is also darkness so deep I fear I will lose myself in it.”

“If you feel there is a measure of goodness in me despite what I have done, then there is hope for us still.”

He shakes his head. “I am unworthy of any woman. Look what I did to you. I should have listened when you wanted to tell me about my father. I allowed revenge to obtain a stranglehold over my life.” Swiftly, he crosses the room and crouches by my side. His voice cracks. “A good man would have listened. A man with integrity would never have drugged and beaten a woman.” He gazes at his hand and then at the purple welts on my buttocks.

“Your chastisement was well-deserved,” I say. “If you still have feelings for me we can pursue this relationship and repair whatever damage has been done. We both need to heal.” He must not walk away. I need him.

Hephaestus turns around, seizes the paddle from the bed and throws it across the room. He kicks my handbag so hard all my instruments scatter, the prod pole, the immobilization bar, a riding crop.

“We would make a poor match.” With angry, jerking motions he removes the restraints, sweeps me into his arms and puts me down on the bed. “The effects of the drug will soon vanish. Goodbye, my sweet. Stay well away from me. Your actions made me into the man I am today, and I am ashamed of what I have become. To be a better man, I must be away from your influence.” His lips linger on my cheek. I make a desperate grab for his hand, but he pulls away and walks out the door, my heart-shaped pendant squeezed tightly in his palm.

I stare outside my bedroom window. Hannibal and Ironheart lie at my feet. In two weeks, Hephaestus has not sent me a single message, even though I have exhausted several rolls of paper by sending him apology after apology through the aether. It occurs to me that he may no longer have the communicator, since he wished to sever all ties with me. Neither have I heard from Devlin, nor do I have the courage to visit the forge and face him there. Sighing, I rest my head in my hands. Hannibal whines and his tail thumps against the floor.

More than ever, I am convinced Hephaestus is the man I should spend the rest of my life with. He has been ruled by revenge, but in the end his conscience prevented him from completing his scheme. Therefore, he is a good man, a kind man worthy of redemption. If he were not in France visiting Lexadora, I would take the Silverwing and fly to him, but crossing the English Channel is imprudent, for the wind currents are treacherous.

Suddenly, the communicator vibrates on the night table, the keys emitting a furious staccato. I rush toward the device, open the lid and read the words on the parchment. The message is from Devlin.
Hephaestus is back.

I rush down the stairs, out the door and to the stable, shouting at Derrenger, who is oiling a bridle with a rag. “Saddle the Equine!”

“Are you certain, miss? It’s only ever been harnessed. Don’t know if a saddle—”

“Follow my instructions!”

“Yes, miss.” He drops the bridle and rushes to the nearest stall, where the Equine stands motionless.

Riding the Equine can surely not be any different than riding one of the Friesians. Derrenger leads the Equine from the stable, and I mount it sidesaddle, my skirts fanning against the beast machine’s flank. I kick the heel of my riding boot into its side and the Equine breaks into a smooth, tireless canter.

I reach Flames of Paradise, and the Equine blows smoke from its nostrils, sparking cries of amazement from the gathering crowd. Quickly, I dismount and rush into the shop. Devlin stands at the counter, polishing silver pendants and brooches.

He nods at me, then looks down at the countertop, shame-faced. “Miss Covington,” he mumbles.

I stride over to him, stroke his cheek, smile at his freckled face and take his hands in mine. Devlin is no longer a boy. He is a man, and I must treat him as such. “Please do not remain angry. Forgive me for my conduct. I care about you. I always have.”

“I oughta be askin’ you for forgiveness, miss.” As he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “When you fell off your chair, I realized what we’d done to you, what
I
did to you ’cause I’m the one who went back and bought the drug and…I…felt sick. Did he hurt you?” He glances up at me.

“He helped me recognize my misdeeds.”

“I wanted more than shillings and gold sovereigns. You always paid me well, but I wanted a proper job.”

“You were right to want more. If you wish, I can see to it that you attend school. Or I can try to find more suitable employment for you.”

“No. I like it here. I’m an apprentice,” he says proudly. “Hephaestus treats me well.”

“All right. I will no longer be requiring your assistance with my nefarious deeds as I did before.” It is time to stop meddling in the affairs of others. “Keep the communicator, however, in case you need to contact me.”

He nods. A sharp
clang
echoes in the forge. Taking a deep breath, I enter, and fiery heat overwhelms me. Shirtless, skin gleaming with perspiration, Hephaestus hammers a twisted piece of iron.

His arm stops in mid-air. “Camilla.” The red-hot iron slips from his grasp and clatters to the ground.

“Please do not send me away. We cannot part in this manner. Listen to me this time, for I have much to say.”

He falls silent, and I long to touch the hair that curls at the base of his neck. The intense heat sinks into my skin, and I take a deep breath of the smoke-tainted air. I place my bag on the work bench and open it, aware that Hephaestus’ arm is inches from my own. I pull out a sheaf of legal documents and hand them to him. Our fingers briefly touch, and my heart skips several beats.

“Here are the patents for the aetherical communicator and the Aeroglider. These inventions are rightfully yours. Also, when your father needed to settle his debts, he sold off his lands at a bargain price, one parcel at a time, and I purchased each one, including the estate. The deeds are here. If you wish, you can return to your life as Baron William McDermott, for that is truly who you are, a member of the aristocracy.”

Droplets of sweat trickle down his temples. I wipe them away with my lace handkerchief while he peruses the papers.

“I prefer to be known as Hephaestus Alighieri, metallurgist.” The forge’s flickering flames reflect in his eyes. “I have done much thinking these past few weeks. When I left you at Bleak Hills, my mind was in tumult. You represented my thirst for revenge, and I blamed you for twisting me into a blackmailer.”

“But Hephaestus, I—” He places two fingers upon my lips.

“The fault lay with me, not you. I drugged you, I threatened you, stripped you bare and defiled you.” He looks down, face contorted in disgust.

“You believe your actions consisted of defilement, but some of those actions were most arousing.” I smile, and Hephaestus seems taken aback. “You taught me that my idealized concept of love was rigid and uncompromising. Most importantly, you taught me the importance of clemency and compassion. Your methods were unconventional, yet effective.”

“Slipping the drug into your tea was unpardonable,” he says.

“Hephaestus, if you require my forgiveness, you have it.”

He appears relieved. “And you have mine, but you must also forgive yourself. When we slept together in your bed, you spoke in your sleep.”

Did I? “What did I say?”

“You spoke of Samson. You called out to him. Do you feel guilty about your actions?”

My sleep is sometimes interrupted by dreams of that day. “What I feel most guilty about is the fact I felt no guilt. I felt a sense of justice, satisfaction. He sank deeper into the bog, deeper and deeper, and he took a part of me with him. Part of me died in the swamp, the part of me that knew how to love and forgive and feel compassion for others.”

“Forgive yourself, Camilla. He would have killed you.”

“You resurrected those emotions in me, Hephaestus.” He removes my hat and strokes my hair. His touch is heaven. “Will you accept a woman who is flawed, but who wishes to embrace love again?” After all these years, I can finally move forward.

“Here is your answer. I made this hoping it would convince you to forgive my behavior.” He reaches into a small cabinet upon the wall and removes an iron brooch shaped into an intricate design. A camellia, and not just any camellia, but the scalloped edges of the Camilla’s Everlasting Love. Its beauty takes away my breath. Small rubies decorate the stem and leaves. “This flower represents desire, passion and the deep longing I have for you.”

“You transformed my pendant.”

“You no longer have a heart of iron. You must allow your heart to bloom like a flower.” He pins it to my blouse, directly over my breast.

“It’s exquisite.”

“I also melted the chain and fashioned it into a smaller piece.” He holds up an iron ring made of two interwoven parts embedded with additional rubies.

Dear sweet Lord…is it, can it be…is it what I believe? My hand flies to my throat and I cannot speak.

Hephaestus gets down on bended knee. Flames shimmer on the ring’s metal surface, and all I hear is the frantic beat of my heart. “Will you accept the love of a less-than-ideal man?”

“Oh yes, Hephaestus!” My vision blurs. A lump grows in my throat. “Oh yes!”

He places the ring on the third finger of my left hand. As though kissed by fire, the metal warms my skin. Hephaestus has barely regained his feet when I throw my arms around his neck and tilt my head, begging for a kiss. His sultry mouth comes closer to mine. Our lips meet, blazing hot, ravenous. We break the kiss, and he folds me into his arms, where I bubble over with happiness.

“I will put my Panoptoscope to rest. My career as an avenger has come to an end.”

“You had a fine career as a Panoptographer. Embrace your talent once more. The International Wildlife Society would be pleased to have you return to the fold. Make inquiries.”

What an excellent idea. “You do not want a wife who merely sits at home and plans tea parties and balls?”

He snorts and breaks into deep laughter. “I do not want an ordinary woman. I want Camilla Covington.”

“If I accept an assignment that sends me aboard the next dirigible to a faraway land for a few months, will you travel with me?”

“Why not? It is important to broaden one’s horizons by traveling the world.”

I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It is time to spread my wings again and become the woman I once was, the fearless Panoptographer in love with the wild.

“When we marry, where will we live?” I ask. “Bleak Hills is a mausoleum for my cabinet of curiosities. I do not wish to return there. In fact, I am considering transforming my estate into a school for orphaned boys.”

“Devlin will be pleased.” Hephaestus takes a fistful of my hair and pulls, letting it slide gently through his fingers. “Now that I know what transpired between Lexadora and my father, I would also prefer to sell his estate. My memories have been tainted.”

He traces the line of my jaw, and I take his hand in mine, pressing my lips against his palm. “We will celebrate our new beginnings with a new home.”

Hephaestus cups my chin. “You know I do not like to follow social conventions. I want to break another rule, Camilla, if you will allow me.” Fierce obsidian eyes bore into mine. “I wish to make love to you before we marry.”

“I accept, for I am in love with you,” I say without hesitation. My nubbin throbs in agreement, and I stand on my toes to kiss his rough cheek. “Do not be overly gentle. Set your passions free, for there is a carnal beast within me that has always sought to be unleashed.”

A devilish smile curls his lips. “Understood, my sweet.” He seizes my shoulders and turns me around, places both my hands against the work bench and whispers, “Do not move.”

I stand statue-still, shivers of delight dancing over my skin. He reaches in front of me, slowly kneads my breasts, holding them firmly and lovingly. Then his dexterous fingers unbutton my blouse. He removes my hands from the work bench only long enough to slip off my garment, and then he returns them to their place.

“Stay still.”

His breath warms my neck, and he begins to work on my corset. The laces make a sharp, whipping sound as he yanks them loose, and the garment, reinforced by strips of copper, drops to the floor. Now I inhale huge gulps of air instead of tiny sips, and my lungs fill like bellows. My breasts heave, and Hephaestus takes them in his hands, weighing them, comparing them, as if they are plump fruit ready to be plucked from the tree. His thumbs swirl around my nipples, teasing and flicking, and my bare back presses against his chest. The sweet teasing of my tender peaks ends in a sharp pinch that makes me gasp in bliss.

Tongues of flame snake and sputter. Firelight reaches higher, dancing on the silver-gray knight that stands by the forge. Hephaestus brushes aside my hair, and his tongue traces a delicious path along the back of my neck. He seizes the waistband of my skirt, taking hold of my undergarments at the same time, pulling them both down in one swift, gasp-inducing movement. Save for my ankle-high kid boots, I am completely nude, and it thrills me to be free of the layers of clothing society imposes on a woman. Moisture gathers in my cunny, and my pearl is swollen and eager for Hephaestus’ touch. I hear the shift of fabric behind me. What is he doing? Removing his trousers. When he presses his body against mine, he is nude as well, his skin lava-hot against my skin. He is so tall that his erect member presses insistently at my lower back.

“I want to see you,” I say, removing my hands from the work bench.

His body entrances me, especially in the firelight, and I slowly walk around him, my palms touching every surface, every crack, every cleft. Shadows leap and shift, highlighting the smooth curve of his arse, the brawny thighs, the thick cords of muscle on his arms and neck. He is mine.

The temptation is too great. I slap his buttocks and Hephaestus jumps. “If only I had my paddle.” My lips curve into a ravenous smile, and my hand lingers on his erection.

“There is no need for a paddle when I can do this.” He locks his fingers over my wrists, spins me around and slaps me hard on the buttocks.

The blow stings just enough for me to squeal in delight. “Yes, Hephaestus! More!”

The flat of his hand strikes me again, and with each squeal he slaps me slightly harder, until I am certain my skin is red. Nevertheless, I want more.

“Let me sate your carnal impulses.” He grips my waist and sweeps me off my feet, setting me down on the work bench.

Eagerly, I open my thighs and pull him close, my cunny throbbing in anticipation. Finally, after watching dozens upon dozens of couplings, I will experience the carnal act. Hephaestus covers my neck in frenzied kisses. His tongue flicks into my mouth, and I pull back in surprise before kissing him more passionately than before, parting my lips to welcome his tongue, which is so warm and unexpected.

The intensity of our kisses increases, and his lips bruise mine. My fingernails claw at his back as I attempt to pull him closer, to pull him into me. He grips my throat, his thumb and forefinger pressing hard against my neck. I am at his mercy, and I like it.

“Are you certain?” he asks.

“Yes. Take me here in your forge!” My thighs open wider. I have imagined this moment so many times in my mind it scarcely seems real. But it is. At last, it is happening, and my virginity is ripe for the picking.

Hephaestus pulls back, dips his head between my legs and laps at my pearl. I moan and moan and moan. His tongue pauses, lowers to my slit, sliding upward, stopping at my pearl, where he sucks until whimpering cries of ecstasy spill from my mouth. My back arches, my eyes close and sparks shimmer behind my eyelids. He lifts his head, his chin wet with my honey. When we embrace, he tastes faintly of my musk.