“What of the megalodons? Sound will carry better through a metal hull. It might attract their attention.”
“She runs quiet. Just the propellers and whatever noise we make. But either way is a risk, boat or submersible. We have to decide which we like better.” His expression grave, he stopped close, looking down at her. “If we took a boat, it wouldn’t be anything for this airship to come after us. They’d spot us on the water and that would be the end of it. But if we’re under the surface, we’d be out of their sight.”
So they would have to weigh the uncertain chance of attack from an enormous shark against the certainty of being caught again. Georgiana knew which risk she’d rather take. “What of the air? Without another vessel, we couldn’t use a pump or hose.”
“We’d come up when we needed it, open the top hatch to let in the fresh air. Then go down again before they could catch up to us. It wouldn’t take long before they’d lost us completely.”
Georgiana nodded. “How will you bring it up from Oriana?”
“I wouldn’t have to. If she’s still full of air, she’ll pop up to the surface as soon as I release the bolts. The question would be when to dive for her.”
So that they could avoid anyone on the airship knowing they had a mode of escape. It would have to be at night—but that would make seeing anything underwater almost impossible.
A sharp knock sounded at the door. The equipment had arrived. They would have to discuss this more later.
For now, her only task would be to assist him in checking and rechecking every seal and valve, and every inch of that hose. Lord Pinchpenny would use a threat against her to make Thom go down. She would help make certain that he came back up alive.
FIVE
Lord Pinchpenny threatened their lives . . . then sent Mrs. Winch to invite them to dinner in his cabin.
Georgiana debated whether to refuse, and saw the same struggle in Thom. But in the end, refusal didn’t seem worth the risk, and she told Mrs. Winch that they would join him as soon as they’d washed up. With a sigh, she rose from her kneeling position beside the tub, where she and Thom had just rolled up their sleeves and begun running the long coil of air hose through the water to check for leaking bubbles.
With shorter sleeves and a bit of lace at the scooped neckline, her pink cotton dress seemed most suitable for dinner, but she wouldn’t wear it for Lord Pinchpenny’s sake. She only wanted to please Thom—and she changed into the dress to please Thom, too, though she wasn’t quite bold enough to face him after she unfastened the blue wool and stood in front of the wardrobe, clothed only in her chemise and stockings. Her cheeks felt as pink as her dress when she tugged everything into place, but the burning in his eyes when she turned around was worth every moment of embarrassment.
He must have watched her the entire time. When she’d left him by the tub, he’d been rolling down the right sleeve of his linen shirt. Though several minutes had passed, the left sleeve was still bunched up over his steel elbow.
She glanced at his hands. “You’d best finish covering those.”
The sound he made in response might have been a yes but emerged more like a primitive grunt.
Smiling, she moved to the mirror and began repinning her hair. In the reflection, she watched him pull on his woven gansey, followed by the gloves. Oh, but he was such a handsome, incredible man. Every part of her felt more alive when he was near.
And though Georgiana liked his hair wild, she would like this even more. “Have a seat. You could use a good combing.”
“I can do it.”
“I know. But I want to.”
That seemed good enough reason for Thom. But Georgiana’s true reason was that it gave her an excuse to move in between his knees when he sat on the edge of the bed, and stand with her body close to his. He would only have to lean forward to pillow his cheek upon her breast. His gaze had settled there instead, his lips parted, as if the shadow of her cle**age was an entrancing thing.
Her heart pounded. She slicked the wet comb through his thick hair, trying not to think of his mouth so near to the bare expanse of skin above her neckline, unable to think of anything else. Each breath she took seemed to tighten her bodice across her br**sts, and she could hardly bear the ache at their tips. Thom must see how her ni**les beaded beneath the cotton. But though she yearned for him to touch her, his hands had fisted at his thighs.
Now was not the time, anyway. Desperately, she searched for something to distract her. Anything. Such as dinner with Lord Pinchpenny. She wondered breathlessly, “Do you think that he put off his cook with the rest of the crew? He doesn’t seem like a man who will tolerate poor fare at his table.”
“He doesn’t.” Thom’s voice was rough. “But he also doesn’t seem a man who does anything by half.”
“Then he would have had to hire another for this job. A mercenary cook. I didn’t even realize there was such a thing, though I suppose all of the knives come in handy,” she said, and smiled when Thom laughed. That quiet rumble counted among her favorite sounds in all the world.
When his laugh faded, she felt his hand upon her hip. But not to pull her closer. It was a small touch of apology, instead. “I won’t be good company at dinner. I’d as soon kill him as talk to him.”
“I won’t care if you don’t speak a single word, Thom. You are always good company to me.” She used her fingers to smooth back a few dark strands near his temple, then sighed. “We should not delay much longer.”
“No. But I’ll need another minute before I’m decent.”
“Oh?” Then she saw the state of his trousers, and heat flooded her cheeks. “Thom!”
He laughed again at her admonishing tone—though the truth was, she did not mind a bit.