The Clockwork Wolf (34 page)

I glared up at him.
Really, Lucien, you're not helping.

Allow me to finish.
His hands cradled my face.
You're not just any woman, Charmian.

I knew what was coming.
Don't say it. Once you do, you can never take it back.

I know.
He sounded as grumpy as I felt.
But it has to be said now, before you do something you'll regret for the rest of your days. Marry me, Charmian.

No, no, no.
I banged my head against his chest.
Bloody hell, why did you have to say it?

You know you can't marry Doyle because you're not in love with him.
He stroked the back of my head.
You haven't accepted it yet, but you're in love with me.

Light flared between us as Lucien set me at arm's length and used his hands to capture the sparkling air. He shaped it, his long fingers spinning it smaller and smaller until it formed a ring.

This is my heart,
he murmured, drawing back.
You've had it since that day in the market, and whatever you do, it will always be yours.

The ring drifted toward me, and when I reached up it nestled onto my palm. I peered at him.
You're asking me to marry you only because Doyle proposed.

I'm asking you to marry me because I love you, Charmian.

Miss.

Miss.

“Miss?”

I hurtled myself out of the dream by latching onto that voice, and opened my eyes to see Annie frowning over me, and the sunlight of dawn streaming into the room. “No. Yes. Sorry, I'm awake.”

“Almost couldn't find you, miss.” She gave me an unhappy smile. “Some gentlemen came to call on you. I've put them in your sitting room with a tray of tea.”

I had an image of Doyle and Dredmore glowering at each other over my crockery. “Who are they?”

“Never seen them before, miss,” Annie admitted. “But they look important.”

I rolled off the bed. “Tell them I'll be down in a few minutes.”

I had no clothes stored in my old flat so I was obliged to dress in my damp, soiled gown. I dragged my fingers through my curls to fluff them and checked my reflection. I looked as bedraggled as an alley cat after a rainstorm, but it couldn't be helped—everything I needed to restore an illusion of respectability lay in the room with Lady Bestly and her baby.

I heard the men talking as I came downstairs, and squared my shoulders as I entered the sitting room. There stood three nobs from the Hill, all in fancy evening dress.

I cleared my throat to interrupt what sounded like the beginnings of an argument. “Good morning, gentlemen. I'm Miss Kittredge. How may I be of service?”

The oldest gave me a hard look. “You're the dispeller who defeated the Wolfmen and struck peace with the
natives?” Before I could answer he said to the youngest man, “This is nonsense, Dickie. She's hardly out of the schoolroom.”

“Augustus.” The middle of the trio, a quiet-looking chap with calm eyes, put a hand on the oldest man's arm before coming to me and bowing low. “I am Lord Raynard, Miss Kittredge. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Lord Raynard, the mayor?” When he nodded, I dropped into a hasty bob. “Forgive me, my lord, I—I'm an idiot.”

“I have had many reports about you, Miss Kittredge, and that is not how you were described to me.” He gestured at the other men as he introduced them. “Allow me to introduce Lord Augustus Chapel, my city manager, and Viscount Richard Logen, the city treasurer.”

Lord Chapel looked as if he were making the acquaintance of a skunk. “Kittredge.”

I bobbed again, but not as deeply. “Milord.” When I turned to do the same for the viscount he grinned like a boy and grabbed my hand before I could tuck my foot back again.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Kittredge.” He shook my hand, patted it, and seemed prepared to cover it with kisses before a harrumph from Chapel put a small damper on his enthusiasm. “Forgive me, I have heard so much about you, and none of it was exaggerated in the slightest. You are a scintillating vision.”

“I try never to scintillate before tea, sir. It makes me queasy.” I regarded the mayor. “To what do I owe the honor of this visitation from the city government?”

Raynard gestured for me to sit down, and Logen set about pouring me a cup of tea. Chapel wandered over to the window, peering out and frowning as if not quite sure where he was. I switched my attention to Raynard, who sat across from me and kept his expression pleasantly bland.

“Dickie, Augustus,” the mayor said, “I think it best that I have this conversation with Miss Kittredge alone. Why don't the two of you take a turn in the garden?”

“There is no garden.” Chapel glared at the back of the mayor's head and then at me. “Why should you be alone with the gel when we know all about it?”

“I should like a turn outside. I've never been in this part of the city. Oh, come on, Gus.” Logen trotted over and ushered the old man out.

“That'll cost you an earful later.” I drank some tea before I set aside the mug. “But now you have no witnesses.”

The mayor inclined his head. “I am by nature a cautious man, Miss Kittredge. Most politicians are.” He set his elbows on his knees and linked his hands. “Three nights ago the commander of the city militia reported to me that the native tribes had retreated back to their territories.”

“That must have been a relief.” I picked up a scone and nibbled off one corner.

“Indeed it was, as well as somewhat confusing,” Raynard said. “A few hours before this report I received word that the tribal chiefs had declared war on Rumsen, and had sworn that they and their warriors intended to burn the city to the ground, or die every man trying.”

I swallowed and coughed a little. “They must have thought better of it.”

“Not according to a rather bedraggled agent from the Bureau of Native Affairs who arrived shortly after the commander,” the mayor continued. “Mr. Gervais had witnessed everything, and reported that the hostilities had ended thanks to a young woman who had exterminated a small army of beasts, defeated their commander, and returned to the tribes some sort of sacred property. Thus the city is intact, peace has been restored, and evidently we owe this all to you. We came to officially express our gratitude, and we will, as soon as one matter is clarified.” He leveled his gaze at me. “How did you do it?”

“It really wasn't an army of beasts,” I said slowly. “Certainly there were a few of them, and I did break the spell that was controlling them, but it couldn't be helped.”

He sat back. “And the sacred property was . . . ?”

“That? An old animal skull. Nothing you or I would call sacred, although I'm sure it has a great deal of sentimental value to the tribes.” I smiled wanly. “You know how natives are with their animal bits.”

His mouth thinned. “Is that all the explanation I'm to expect?”

I took another sip of tea. “It's all I can offer you, milord.” I picked up one of the cake plates. “Unless you'd care for a crumpet?”

•   •   •

Over tea his lordship the mayor and I came to a swift and mutually amicable agreement: neither of us would explain to anyone how Lykaon's Wolfmen had been defeated or why the natives spared Rumsen and returned to their lands. Raynard would order to silence the
commander, the Bureau of Native Affairs agent, and lords Chapel and Logen, while I would say nothing about the matter to anyone for as long as I lived.

“I sincerely wish I could present you with a key to the city or some other form of recognition for your courageous intervention, Miss Kittredge,” Raynard said, choosing his words with great care. “There is no doubt in my mind you have earned that and more. However, questions would arise that would almost certainly compromise our agreement, particularly where the press is concerned. Indeed, I am rather relieved that I will be retiring at the end of my term in office.”

I had no need of medals or keys, but the mayor wasn't getting off that easy. “I want something that is within your power to grant.” I told him what I wanted, and when he frowned I added, “My name need never be mentioned in connection with the change in the regulation. You may present it as your own notion.”

He gave me a sharp look. “You are aware that in doing this I will be reviled by every man in the city.”

I nodded. “It is a good thing you are retiring.”

“Considering what was demanded of you last night, perhaps it is fair compensation.” He stood and held out his hand. “I shall see it done by the end of the week. You have my word.”

“Thank you, milord.” I tried not to look at the window where I spotted Lord Chapel peering in at us. “I believe your companions are ready to rejoin us.”

“Let them sit on the stoop.” Lady Bestly swept into the room wearing my best dressing gown. “Hello, Raynard. I might have known you'd make an appearance.”

Raynard's jaw dropped. “Eugenia, what on earth—”

“Should you need an official excuse as to why you called on my young friend, you may use me,” she continued. “Last night when I called on her my pains began and she very generously saw to my comfort. You may congratulate me, for I now have a son.”

“I think I need to sit down.” Raynard dropped back into his chair.

“Nor should you be scampering about the house, milady.” I went to guide her to the chaise and pour a cup of tea for her. “The scones are very good. Annie is a fast learner.”

“She's had to be, thanks to the ton.” Lady Bestly regarded the mayor with impatience. “Oh, do collect yourself, Foxy. You are the mayor. Try to act like one.”

Foxy.
In my mind I heard it differently; squealed from the mouth of a rat.
Fox hee.
“How did you acquire such an interesting given name as Foxy, milord?”

“It's Foxworth, actually, after my mother's family.” The mayor cleared his throat. “Eugenia, I should like to see this new boy of yours.”

“That won't be possible, milord,” I said before Lady Bestly could answer. “In fact, I must ask you to leave now.”

Lady Bestly gave me a quick look before she said, “Yes, perhaps you should, Foxy.”

I accompanied the mayor to the door, where he paused. “I do regret any disturbance I have caused you, Miss Kittredge. You understand in all that I do, I have only the best intentions for our great city.”

“I know you were the one who sent the rats after me,” I told him flatly. “I know you won't admit it, and
I'll never prove you did. But if it's the last thing I do, I'll find out why.”

“I cannot claim responsibility for your vermin problem, but I am sorry for it.” He pressed a card into my hand. “Should you ever need to contact me, this is my private tube number.”

I crumpled the card in my fist. “You think I'd ask you for even the time of day?”

“Do you know the funny thing about intentions, my dear, is how easily they can be misguided? Such as being persuaded that an extraordinarily gifted person is using their talents for evil, and then discovering quite the opposite. Such as when that gifted person saves the life of a much beloved spouse. Twice.” He doffed his hat. “Good day, Miss Kittredge.”

I stood there long enough to compose myself before returning to the sitting room. I dropped the card onto the table, picked up a crumpet, and took a large bite.

“Foxy isn't a such a bad chap, you know,” Lady Bestly said as she refilled my cup. “He could be very helpful to you in the future. Such as when he passes the change of regulation next week.”

I set down my crumpet. “You were eavesdropping?”

“I did no such thing. I merely delayed joining you so you could finish bargaining with the mayor.” She gave me a serene look. “Now what sort of carri are you considering buying once you are issued your new driving permit?”

The adventure of launching a new series brings with it a towering heap of work; while working on
The Clockwork Wolf
I was blessed to have these folks to provide invaluable and unstinting assistance:

My guy and my family, who always do whatever they can to make room for my writing life, bail me out of housework, make dinner, do laundry and still cheer me on. I suspect I will never love you as much as you deserve, but I'm going to try.

My editor, Adam Wilson, who by now probably needs a strong suit of his own. Thank you for being the kind of editor a writer dreams of working with, and for always being willing to help with anything no matter what I ask.

Author Jeff Somers, wicked marvel, superb writer and splendid chap, has my eternal gratitude for being so great, so talented, and so patient. This is the man whom you want to make a book trailer for you; trust me on this.

My loyal readers and regular visitors at my Paperback Writer and Disenchanted & Co. blog, who have always been so enthusiastic and supportive of my work, but
never more so than with this series. I owe you more than you can imagine, thank you so much.

Finally, author Darlene Ryan should get combat pay for being there for me with this novel, especially during that moment with the pink thing (the dedication is not nearly enough, but for now it will have to do).

abstainers:
religious agnostics

across the pond:
When in Toriana, a reference to Great Britain or Europe; when in Great Britain or Europe a reference to Toriana (“pond” being the Atlantic Ocean)

aid-solicitor:
legal representative provided by the Crown to defendants who can't afford to hire a barrister

ambrotype:
photography that uses chemicals (silverblack) to etch images on glass plate negatives