CamillasConsequences (8 page)

I am a hypocrite. I find flaws in others but ignore them in myself. “Please release him into my custody.”

“Londoners will not benefit if I return him to the streets to steal again.” He shakes his head, and his long hair brushes his shoulders. “I will call the constables and have the boy taken away.”

“No!” Taking a step forward, I latch onto his arm.

“Why not? What is he to you?” Hephaestus insists.

Now I realize that my feelings for Devlin have always been tempered by the fact that he is a boy. When I think of Devlin years from now, I see him as another Samson or Aldridge. I am horrible indeed. The boy has infinite potential. He is intelligent, helpful, resourceful. My prejudice against men should not taint my opinion of him. Not all men betray the women in their lives, and I should not measure each man with the same yardstick. “Give him a second chance.”

“No.”

Why is he doing this? I have no leverage against Hephaestus. In dealings with men, I always have control, but not now. “I promise to send Devlin away to school. He will no longer be on the streets of the Warren, will no longer steal.”

“You wish to send a young man of his age to school for the first time? To a private establishment? He is unruly, undisciplined.” Hephaestus’ eyes flash and his voice deepens. “He will feel the sting of the headmaster’s strap several times a day and will soon be expelled.”

True. “Then he must learn a trade,” I say quickly. “Perhaps—and please hear me out as I suggest this—but perhaps Devlin, with his appreciation of fine jewelry, might apprentice with you.”

Hephaestus shakes his head and grunts his disapproval. His flesh quivers under my palm.

“Please allow me to finish. Although Devlin does not have the robust stature for heavy ironwork, he is dexterous, has a quick mind and knows all about precious metals and gems. He can easily be taught to fashion jewelry.”

Hephaestus stares at me as if I am daft. “You wish me to employ the young man who stole from me?”

“It is ironic, I agree, but yes.” It appears I am not being convincing enough. Since flattery works on every man, I will try it. “In your presence, he will learn the value of hard work. He will become a better man under your tutelage.”

Hephaestus’ dark eyes grow darker. Sharp lines form between his brows. Dear Lord, what other tactic can I employ? What can I offer him? I would give a piece of my soul to be able to read his thoughts.

He expels a long sigh, and my grip on his arm tightens. “Since you are so adamant, Miss Covington, I will agree to apprentice the
boy
.”

My heart takes a leap.

His voice is as rough as lava stone. “On one condition.”

My heart cracks wide open. How often I have said those very words. Heat crushes my lungs, and it is difficult to breathe. I swallow and step back, my fingers plucking at the fabric of my cloak. Hephaestus takes the garment from my arms, pulling it from my reluctant hands. He gazes at my figure, setting my cheeks aflame. I may as well be nude. Tilting my head, I hide under the brim of my hat, until Hephaestus removes it as well. I try to stand very still, but my body quivers. Being exposed in this manner is most shameful.

And yet…hunger stirs within me.

The fire crackles. The automaton leans forward, silvery arms pressing down on the bellows, and a burst of air fans the flames. Hephaestus is fanning my flames, for a rush of heat spreads through my cunny. In my fantasies, he ravishes me, strips me bare, lays me out on his work bench and slides his member into my moist slit over and over again. In reality, however, I have experienced only a few chaste kisses from Samson’s lips.

I value my virginity. It embodies my honor, my reputation, and it guarantees I am still a suitable marriage prospect.

Is that what Hephaestus will ask for? My virginity? He seems to have no interest in my fortune.

Hephaestus takes a breath. “I wish to court you.”

“Court me?” I glance up. Of all the things he could demand from me, this is most unexpected.

“Since you are a private individual who seldom ventures into society, I will ask for a few private engagements. No one need know but you and me.”

“What do you mean by private?” In his bedchamber? In mine?

“At the opera. You can enter the building as the curtain rises. I will wait for you in a private box. No one will notice you are seated with me.”

This is far too simple a request.

“As long as you allow me to court you, I will keep Devlin in my employ.”

“And if I wish to terminate our courtship?”

“That is your right. But Devlin…”

“Will be handed over to the constables?”

“No. After our first encounter, you are free to stop seeing me. If you feel I am not a worthy suitor, I will simply terminate Devlin’s apprenticeship. He will return to the streets. Not prison.”

I inhale a long, relieved breath. Devlin will not sit in the prisoner’s box, will not be judged, will not be sentenced. Hephaestus has shown compassion, a worthy trait.

All I have to do is spend an evening at the opera with Hephaestus. In a public venue such as London’s Opera House, my honor will not be compromised, so why am I hesitating? He is, after all, offering me what I have fantasized about.

Am I to be courted by a metallurgist when it is my desire to be courted by an aristocrat or a wealthy merchant? Samson’s social status suited me perfectly. He was a brilliant inventor whose Panoptoscope company grew rapidly year by year. Why am I limiting myself to men from the upper echelons of society? My victims have been politicians, entrepreneurs, bankers, all of whom were wealthy and from respected families. Yet their scandalous behavior necessitated my intervention. I should give Hephaestus a chance to prove himself. He might provide me with precisely what I desire, despite the fact he is a member of the middle class.

“Very well,” I agree. “We have an understanding.” Our evening at the opera will also provide me with ample opportunities to learn about his past.

“Since you expressed interest in my automaton the other day, I made a few modifications. It has been altered to answer the door and show a visitor to the parlor. But it will do nothing else. I expect payment, of course, for the automaton is not a gift.”

“Of course.” I open my purse, digging past the threatening letter and seizing a handful of gold.

“Sovereigns will not suffice.”

I shut the clasp and stare at Hephaestus, who towers over me. His hand closes over mine. So warm. So firm. “What will suffice, then?”

“A kiss.”

A kiss? I have wanted Hephaestus to kiss me since the beginning, so why am I staring at the floor once again? If I develop strong feelings for Hephaestus, will he betray me as well? Perhaps it is time I allow myself to trust. I must stop seeing betrayal everywhere I turn. “A chaste kiss?”

“A passionate one, for when you look at me, there is hunger in your gaze,” he says, “but I see fear as well.”

“I am not afraid,” I lie, fingers twisting over the clasp of my purse.

Hephaestus grabs the handbag and tosses it next to my cloak. His powerful hands grip my waist. He lifts me off my feet, sending my heart into a fury of pounding, and sets me down hard on the work bench. A cry spills from my throat. His grip slides to my thighs, stopping above the knee. My muscles tense, and I cannot breathe. My palms rest over his and my thighs clamp together. Sweet Lord above, whatever will he—

Hephaestus spreads my legs and forces himself between them. His girth is massive, like the trunk of a tree. I cannot bring my legs together, cannot draw breath. My lungs are aflame. I open my mouth to cry out, but he leans over me, his lips closing over my lips. Oh the fiery heat of them. Their softness astonishes me, and my head tips back as I kiss him in return. There is a hunger in him that far surpasses my own, and his kiss becomes harder, as if he wishes to devour me whole.

Strong arms wrap around me and hold me tight, squeezing the air from my lungs, crushing my breasts against his chest. One hand twines into my hair, grabbing a handful at the crown and pulling. Soon, I am moaning in pleasure as my scalp comes alive with delightful tingles. I forget about the forge, the fire, the oppressive heat, and focus on the sweet sensations as Hephaestus lets my hair slide slowly through his fingers. How delicious, and he begins again, thrusting his hand upward, seizing the hair and pulling, pulling until I moan.

Our lips connect, exploring and searching, his touch heating me to the core. I kiss him back readily, with greater passion, my mouth adjusting to his. He pulls me closer, and my mound presses against him, sending a current of pleasure through my body. The elation is almost more than I can bear. Deliberately, I edge my hips upward until the current shocks me again, and I am floating on a cloud of ecstasy.

His lips give me a moment’s reprieve. My hands fly to his face, touching the roughness of his cheeks, the strong line of his jaw, the small cleft in his chin. At his temple, near the hairline, I find a small scar and trace its length with my finger. I ease both hands into his long black hair, and then wind one of the curling tendrils around my index finger before releasing it. I want to touch more of him, want to reach under his shirt and rub my palms against his chest.

His eyes burn into mine. In the light of the fire, they glow as bright as embers. “More?”

Words do not come forth, so I nod. His head tilts toward mine. I lose myself in another burning kiss. It waxes and wanes, from hot to blistering, every touch kindling my desire. Now I understand for myself why carnal acts are so irresistible. If this is the result of a kiss, how will I feel when he touches my pearl, or flicks it with his tongue, or after his cock slips into my cunny?

Grabbing my hair, he pulls my head back, exposing my throat. Hephaestus smothers it in kisses, intermingled with delicate nibbles, each nip of his teeth calling forth a whimper from my lips. He takes my throat in his hand, his thumb and index fingers resting below my jawline. He could do anything to me at this moment—tear at my bodice and expose my breasts, push me down on the work bench and climb on top of me—and it would be beyond my control.

And I want it to be so. Control rules my life. It is an obsession. Why not relinquish control and let Hephaestus do what he desires?

A finger glides down my neck, to the hollow of my throat, and hovers over the first button on my bodice. Hephaestus waits, his obsidian eyes bright and unblinking. It is difficult to think. Am I ready for more? Fantasy and reality are two separate entities. Do I truly want this to go further? He takes my pendant in his hand and closes his fist around it. My iron heart will melt in his grip as surely as if it were in the heat of his forge.

“What do you want more than anything, Camilla?” He squeezes my pendant, and my heart beats wildly in response.

“Love that is pure and true and unwavering.” I desire, more than anything, love that is idealized and romanticized, the kind of love every woman dreams of. I will settle for no less.

“Your standards are high, perhaps impossible for any man to attain.”

Are they? Surely my one true love can live up to my expectations. Does this mean Hephaestus is not the man who can give me what I crave? My heart thunders in confusion.

His hands settle around my waist. “You are a woman of intrigue, a recluse who lives a life of solitude in a grand manor.”

As a matter of fact, I leave home quite often, for much of my time is spent shadowing men to find proof of their philanderings. In order to do so, I skulk about the streets in disguise, most of the time at night, and occasionally in very disreputable areas of Lower London. “I venture into London when I must.”

“Several years have passed since your fiancé’s death.” His gentle tone soothes me. “Do you still grieve?”

I answer honestly. “No, I do not, but his passing changed my life forever.”

“You loved him?”

“Deeply. We shared many passions, such as Panoptography. I must say one thing about Samson. He did not share most men’s beliefs about women’s limitations. Whenever I asked questions about the Panoptoscope and its development, he shared his knowledge freely, asked my opinion, showed me how to tinker and make alterations of my own. I was his muse and his co-inventor. Panoptography Limited became the fruit of our combined labor.”

“Which explains the continued success of your enterprise, even after his passing.” His fingers inch farther up my rib cage.

“Yes.”

“Did he live up to your idealized standards for love?” Hephaestus sweeps a strand of hair from my face and tips my chin so I have no choice but to look at him.

How do I answer? At this juncture, I cannot tell the entire truth. “At the beginning, yes.”

“And then?”

I sense a twinge in my breast. Regret. For there was good in Samson, and for too long I have only thought of the bad. An image of Delphine encroaches on my thoughts, and regret dissipates into the aether. Samson came to a just end, and I should never forget that.

“What gives you pleasure, Camilla?”

Pleasure is almost a foreign concept, since I have so little of it. “When I climb aboard my Silverwing, I soar through the sky like a hawk. The sensation is exhilarating. Have you ever tried?”

He nods. “A few times, but my travel experience has mostly been limited to dirigibles.”

“A Silverwing gives you freedom and tranquility.” As often as I can, I take to the sky. “All your cares remain on earth while you glide through the aether, unburdened.”

“What else gives you pleasure?”

“Panoptography. When I visited the Dark Continent, I brought my Silverwing, and I tracked herds of wildebeest during the migration, flying over the river where ravenous crocodiles attacked them. The savannah is a place of beauty and savagery. I took thousands of pictures.” Should I tell him about the rhinoceros? “Once, I approached black rhinos on horseback. I coaxed my skittish mount to stay in the presence of these potentially lethal animals and snapped as many Panoptographs as I dared. A male rhinoceros lowered his head to discourage me from nearing, but his gesture only goaded me into closing the distance between us.” My heart erupted into a fury of desperate beats, and my blood sang in my veins. The possibility of death made me feel so alive. At any moment, the mighty rhino might have charged. “In the end, one of those pictures became the cover for the
International Wildlife Magazine
’s fall issue.”