“Hence he lives on pins and needles daily,” Amelia said. “What of the Freaks who read immediate thoughts? What if their skill progresses to a point where they can read one’s future intent?”
“You see the moral dilemma.”
“Indeed.”
“And those are just two of several reported ‘gifts.’ Talents vary, and many have yet to hone and master their skills. Freaks are a minority, yet their gifts make them powerful and potentially dangerous. Hence most people fear them. Freaks are shunned or they’re exploited. Between their bizarre eyes, otherworldly skills, and progressive natures, they are not welcome among polite society. Many are denied the opportunity to excel in the professional field of their choice, and all are denied citizenship. British law also prohibits marriage between Freaks and Vics.”
Amelia frowned. “I was unaware.”
“Most people are. On top of all this, Doc has personal
issues that make him extra cautious. His parents were persecuted and, though it was never proven, killed for bringing two Freaks into this world.”
“Two?”
Tuck nodded. “Doc has a younger brother, Jasper. After their parents were killed he went on a bit of a rampage. He’s been in hiding for years. Given his altered race, Jasper’s punishment, if he is discovered by radical Old Worlders, would be more extreme than his crimes merit. Doc’s riddled with guilt,” Tuck went on, “thinking he could have somehow prevented Jasper from going rogue. I know Doc wants to save Jasper, but thing is, that boy don’t want to be saved.”
Amelia palmed her forehead. “I had no idea Doc’s life was so complicated. No wonder he took offense to my views.”
“He’ll get over it. Doc’s a gentle soul. Easygoing. Usually.” Of late he’d been jumpy as a bit-up bull in fly time.
“I can’t imagine living under that kind of pressure. Between being estranged from his brother and being damned because of his race…” Empathy burned through her blood.
Tucker cut her a warning glance. “Don’t pity him, darlin’. He won’t like it.”
“Of course not. That would be like expressing sympathy regarding Jules’s limp.”
“Your brother has a bum leg?”
“War injury.” She sat up straighter, pride shining in her eyes. “He’s a decorated hero. Not that I know details, and not that he’ll talk about it. But it’s rumored he acted most courageously in a very important matter to the Crown. Unfortunately, his legs were mangled in the process. His recovery was quite astonishing, though hard-won. Now, to Mother’s horror, he lives in London, indulging in decadent vices and writing science fiction books.”
Sounded to him like Jules Darcy had demons, but instead he focused on the man’s present profession. “A visionary.” Like all of the Darcys.
She furrowed her brow. “I wonder whether Doc could heal Jules’s leg. Although I suppose it would be intrusive to ask, considering he wants to keep his gift a secret.”
Tuck suspected Amelia loved and admired her brothers deeply. That she’d refrain from tapping Doc’s special skill in deference to his desire for anonymity spoke volumes of her character.
“At any rate, I am not sure Jules would succumb to Doc’s touch. Not because he is a Freak, but because he is a physician. He swears he’s been poked and prodded enough for two lifetimes.”
“Something tells me I’d like your brothers.”
“You would. Did I mention they are twins? Different, yet alike. Innovative. Reckless. Confident. Much like you. Unfortunately, it would be unwise for you to meet them. If they knew about…us…I fear they would kill you. Or march you to the altar at gunpoint. Which is, of course, something we both wish to avoid.”
He didn’t comment, and she scrambled to safer ground. “Regarding Doc Blue, I will honor his secret. Although…”
“What?”
“It seems sinful to withhold the gift of accelerated healing from the world. He could ease so much suffering.”
“Something he wrestles with every day, trust me. But there’s also the risk of being coerced or manipulated into using that gift for ill means. Living in the shadows has advantages. Doc uses his gift at his own will and discretion.”
“And with good intent. Unlike the Stormerator.”
Tuck angled his head. “What do you know about the Stormerator?”
“Only what I overheard Mr. O’Donnell and Mr. Chang discussing. Captain Dunkirk’s secret weapon. A Freak who generates tornadoes, blizzards, and lightning storms, enabling the air pirate to discombobulate, disable, and escape his quarry. At first I thought they were sharing a tall tale, but then I thought about the night you rescued me. The Stormerator
generated the rainstorm that extinguished the airship’s fires, correct?”
“That would be my guess.”
“A most curious gift. Surely one that would be better used by providing rain for farmers suffering a drought.”
“Spoken like a true utopian.”
She gave a righteous sniff. “What, pray tell, is wrong with yearning for a world where all live harmoniously?”
“Nothin’, darlin’.” He cut her a glance brimming with cynicism born of life experience. “But it
is
unrealistic.”
Incensed, she scrambled off the barrel. “How can you be so jaded? Oh, wait. That’s right. You, sir, are a Flatliner.” Fists clenched, she paced back and forth. “The only future you are concerned with is your own. Only…only that isn’t true.” She studied the toes of her boots while wearing a path on his deck. “Doc mentioned that you took in misfits. You mentioned that everyone on the crew was persecuted at some point. So…you must have taken them in. Given them a job, purpose. Provided them with sanctuary as well as camaraderie.” She stopped in her tracks. “You are not a Flatliner.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What are you?”
“Why does it matter?”
She stared.
Exasperated, Tuck grasped her forearms. “I’m open-minded, Amelia. I understand the views and concerns of Old Worlders and New Worlders. Of Mods, Vics, and Freaks. Of Indians, Africans, Orientals, and every other ethnicity I’ve come across. I don’t cotton to one religion or one political affiliation. I tailor my actions according to specific circumstances. Take life as it comes. Accept people as they are. When they disappoint, as they often do, I put it in perspective and adjust.”
He tightened his grip and stared hard into those intense blue eyes. “I don’t give a good damn whether you’re an Old
or New Worlder. What I care about is intent. Good or bad. Determined or lazy. Generous or stingy. Your utopian mind-set grates, but I respect it. I respect you. Now that I’ve bared my moderate stance, can you say the same about me?”
She blinked, then pulled away, as if distance would clear her thoughts. “I don’t know. I’ve…I’ve never met anyone like you, Tucker Gentry.”
“Which makes me unique in your eyes.” He grinned, hoping to alleviate the tension. “Admit it. I intrigue you.”
She pursed her lips. “Arrogant
and
perplexing.”
“Independent and adventurous. Like you. We’re good together, Amelia. In more ways than one.”
It occurred to him that he’d never been inclined to spend the rest of his days with one woman because he’d never met a woman who would accept and nurture his love of flying, his addiction to adventure, and his preoccupation with technology. With Amelia he could live full-out and guilt-free. Then there was the matter of the affection and possessiveness building steam by the day. He’d been her first. He damn well wanted to be her only.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to…you know. Kiss me.”
“I do want to kiss you. I want to make love to you, show you the stars. I want to explore the skies with you, grow old with you.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What…what madness is this?”
“The kind that involves forever. A life as man and wife. I just have to figure out how to make that happen.”
She opened her mouth, closed it. Clenched her fists, frowned. “Was that your idea of a proposal?”
“No, it was not. Just letting you know my intention.”
“How awful! Has the thin air addled your mind? I insist you retract that sentiment at once.”
“Can’t do it, darlin’.” Before now he’d considered only
the negative aspects of an official union. He’d operated under the assumption that Amelia would be better off without him. Somewhere along the way he’d changed his mind. He just hadn’t known it until the words had tumbled out of their own accord. His plan had altered. Clear his name, free his men, reunite with his sister, and marry Amelia Darcy.
Eyes narrowed, the hellion who’d lassoed his heart marched up and punched his chest.
“What the hell?” Most women would’ve smiled or swooned at the prospect of hitching their wagon to his post. He knew she had a dim view of marriage, but damn.
“You lied to me.”
“How so?”
“You said you couldn’t offer forever.”
“You’re right. I lied. I can. After I clear a few obstacles.”
“This is absurd! You barely know me. Why would you…Is it because you feel guilty for being my first? Or…or because you’re worried about my brothers hunting you down? No, no, that wouldn’t be it. You handled the James brothers. I’m certain you think you could handle the Darcy twins.” She resumed her pacing, chewing the thumb of her glove, deep in thought.
Tuck couldn’t decide whether he was amused or insulted. She admired him, desired him, maybe even loved him. Why the hell wouldn’t she want to marry him? “I can alleviate your family’s financial woes. Provide for your mother. For you. As soon as I clear my name—”
“Is this about the ornithopter?” She stopped in front of him and glared. “About the Triple R fortune? Am I merely a ticket to freedom? You promised you wouldn’t steal the invention from me, but if we were married, it would be yours by law.”
Tuck’s mood turned dark. He was definitely insulted. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I? Tell me you don’t want da Vinci’s ornithopter.”
He couldn’t. That artifact would afford him the return of everything he’d lost, but it wasn’t the reason he wanted to marry her. “Let me explain.”
She swung out and clipped his jaw.
Tuck cursed, resisting the urge to grab her when she marched away in a huff. He was pissed. Not because she’d hit him, but because she’d just insinuated that he cared more about his freedom than about her. Not true. He wanted both. She’d also implied that she cared more about glory than about him, when she could damn well have both.
If
she wanted. Tuck had never considered himself insecure, but his thoughts took a powerfully ugly turn.
Had Amelia manipulated him, the way she’d intended to manipulate Dunkirk? Was he nothing more than a convenient courier? Someone to help her crack the mystery of the secret chamber and to transport her and the ornithopter to London? Part of him didn’t believe her capable of such coldhearted calculation. Then again, she’d misled him more than once, and she hadn’t been entirely forthright about the information relayed to her father by Briscoe Darcy. Had Briscoe shared his secret via a journal? A letter? Word of mouth? What was the full story? Amelia kept harping on that ornithopter. Did the ornithopter even exist, or was that her coded misnomer for
time machine
? Or maybe the ornithopter was in fact a da Vinci prototype
of
a time machine. The man had been a genius. He’d explored fantastical theories. Why not time travel? Tuck’s mind whirled with scenarios, and the more he thought about Amelia’s caginess, the greater his fury.
The last time he’d misjudged a woman, he’d ended up being accused of theft and murder.
Tuck spied Peg near the stern, looking up at the sky, pawing at the deck. His stallion wanted the hell out of here and so did he. He checked in with StarMan before setting off to fetch the horse’s wings. “Taking Peg for a flight.”
“In broad daylight?”
“We’ll take our chances.”
“Marshal—”
“Stay the course. I’ll rejoin you before nightfall.” He needed to clear his head, shake off his anger. Shelve his emotions and attack the problem analytically.
“If a storm approaches—”
“Protect Miss Darcy at all costs.” Tuck’s gut kicked “There’s more at stake than a fortune.”
Possibly the future of mankind.
Most definitely his heart.
Never in a million years would she have believed it, but Amelia was desperate to get out of the air. More specifically, off of this ship. After the mind-blowing altercation with Tucker, she’d stormed below and locked herself away with Bess. She needed time alone to fume, to settle, to sort her muddled emotions. In one morning she’d gone from thinking the world of Tucker Gentry to thinking the worst.
She supposed she could deal with the fact that the man’s political views shifted with the wind, depending upon who or what impressed him most genuinely at the time. Although his realistic—therefore, in her eyes,
cynical
—approach would most certainly
grate
, as he had put it, she had to respect his passionate determination to walk his own path. Indeed his tolerance was to be commended, as was his knowledge of world affairs. He’d simply caught her off guard.
But
then
he’d knocked her arse over teakettle by alluding to marriage. He’d offered up her altered dream on a platter. Had she thought his intentions sincere, she would have been over the moon. Given the circumstances, she was highly skeptical. Since their first intimate moment, he’d been adamant regarding his inability—or perhaps unwillingness—to commit to forever. Why the sudden turnaround? Why her? The man was a dime-novel hero even with his outlaw status. He could have any woman at any time, and from what she’d read he enjoyed the variety and relished his bachelor status. Beholden to no one. Free to live the life of his choosing.
Only
this
life, his present life, was not of his choosing. It
had been forced upon him by the American judge who’d accused him of seducing and murdering his daughter.
A man can buy anything with enough money. Including freedom.
Axel O’Donnell’s words rang in her ears, poisoned her thoughts. She couldn’t get the notion out of her head. She fixated on things she knew, and a scenario played out based on facts and assumptions.