Brilliant Devices - By Shelley Adina Page 0,83

were holding back a much stronger opinion. “Though I must say, I will have a whole new appreciation of the resourcefulness of ladies after this.”

Was he thinking of Alice? Was he already regretting that he had not leaped aboard the Stalwart Lass when he had the chance? Alice would have welcomed him. And if she did not, an educated and trained engineer would not go amiss in any crew in the skies.

But Claire did not have the courage to ask him, and now was not the time in any case. She must not allow her mind to wander to matters of the heart—if he were indeed here, the count’s life would depend on quick action and clear thinking.

In fact, perhaps she ought not to think about matters of the heart at all. Because it was a stark and simple fact that she could not make up her mind where men were concerned. She had kissed three—once on purpose, twice not—and the only conclusion she could come to was that, on a purely sensory level, kissing was a most pleasurable occupation. But what it meant was an impenetrable jungle of feeling and emotion that she simply was not ready to explore. It was too strange, too frightening … and too permanent.

She had proven herself capable when it came to helping her friends out of tight spots—and getting out of them herself. But she was as clumsy and inexperienced as a fawn when it came to the connection of committed affection, and she had no idea if it got easier as time went on.

Andrew assisted her up the ladder and onto the coaxial catwalk that ran the length of the ship. “The cargo area will be through those doors,” he said. “You might power up that rifle, in case there are guards there, too. They may have heard our friends shouting and be ready with an ambush.”

Right. This was not the time to be mooning over men. She must collect herself and be ready to face whatever lay behind that door. But first—

She unholstered the rifle and laid her free hand on Andrew’s arm. “Thank you for being with me,” she said softly. “I should find this very hard to face without your company.”

He turned to her, surprise in his brown eyes. “That is the last thing I should ever have expected you to say.”

“What, thank you?”

“No. You are the most fearless, capable woman I know, along with Alice and Lady Dunsmuir and Isobel Churchill.”

Alice. First in his thoughts, first in his heart.

“Fearless?” She huffed a laugh. “Hardly. There may not be much time for terror, but believe me when I say I feel it.”

He grinned at her. “Don’t destroy my illusions. Come. Let us storm the door. Together.”

He pushed the door open, and together they stepped inhey on to a large cargo space, illuminated by a strip of electricks that ran from strut to strut of the iron gridwork supporting the fuselage. Claire’s hands tensed on the rifle, but the two of them were not accosted. In fact, the space was silent except for the excited scrabble of rats, off to one side, down one of the alleys formed of boxes and crates.

Andrew inhaled and his shoulders lost some of their tension. “I do not believe there is a guard. Hush. Was that a cat?”

A mewling sound issued from the darkness. “A cat … or a person who has been gagged?” Claire whispered.

Slowly, cautiously, fully expecting a guard to leap, firing, out of the shadows, they made their way down the corridor, dirt crunching under their soles. An odd smell hung in the air, like smoke and kerosene and something sour.

The mewling sound came again. Claire flicked the lever on the lightning rifle, and it hummed to life. The globe on its underside began to glow as the lightning woke, flickering and exploring its rounded prison. She held the rifle upright so that the globe became a lamp.

“Mmmph!” someone said in response to the light.

“That is not a cat, nor a rodent,” she said, and stepped out of the darkness of the corridor into a wider area formed by crates piled high.

On a pallet on the floor lay a man with his hands and feet tied behind him, his knees bent nearly double so that his ankles and wrists could be tied together. A calico sack did duty as a hood, concealing his face. But no sack could conceal the fact that he was in evening dress, his white shirt front

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