A Dangerous Liaison With Detective Lewis (26 page)

Rafe frowned.

Hugh leaned forward. “Might be safer than the trains.”

Fanny arched a wary brow at the elder Scotsman. “You’ve tested this submariner well? I’d hate to be sitting twenty feet underwater and have the main ballast tanks fail.”

Professor Minnow grinned. “So, it’s true, then. Ambrose had a nautilus of his own in the works. Ha! I knew it! Did a bit o’ testing in the inlet there along Queensferry, I expect.”

She grinned. “Father had a large boathouse built on the firth. Houses a number of mysterious seaworthy conveyances.” This time it was Fanny’s turn to wink.

Rafe considered Hugh’s words. The trains coming into London from the north would likely be monitored. “Yes, why not?” He perked up. “We’ll take the submariner.”

Fanny fidgeted. “Is the debriefing over, because I wish to prepare a wire home. I was promised a trunk of clothes shipped to London, was I not?”

“Bollocks. I’d quite forgotten.” Rafe reached in his coat for a pencil stub and notepaper. “Fire away.”

Fanny moistened her lips. “I suppose I should prepare for the worst. At least a week or two of wardrobe.”

“Depends on how long it takes us to run down these culprits. Might be months.”

Fanny glared. “Do you have to be so bleak about it?”

Rafe flattened a grin. “Your list, Fan?”

“I’ll have the blue and white striped traveling dress with the matching pelisse and the straw skimmer with the cornflower blue ribbons. That will require white petticoats and chemise. White or slate gray stockings and blue garters . . .”

“Matching garters?” Rafe quirked a brow. “Who the devil even knows what color garters you’re wearing?”

She stared at him. “I do.”

Rafe tempered his retort. “Do you always plan your wardrobe down to the color of your unmentionables?” He watched her face flush. “Never mind, of course you do.”

“I’ll need at least at least five day frocks. The plain blue muslin and the pale yellow pinstripe with the pink and white paisley waistcoat.” She detailed a shirt and jacket and skirt combination before stopping with a sigh. “And I suppose something respectably black.”

Minnow snored comfortably from his corner and Hugh settled back into the plush bench seating and tipped his hat over his eyes. Rafe noted a half smile from the agent whenever Fanny detailed matching underthings.

As her day and evening selections proliferated, Rafe developed a kind of shorthand: five day frocks, one black. The train slowed as it pulled into the station. He needed to wire Scotland Yard, as well as send off Fanny’s trunk list. He folded the note.

She frowned. “We’re not done. I haven’t selected shoes and jewelry.”

“Oh yes, you have.” Rafe unfolded the paper. “Coordinate shoes, gloves, and jewelry with wardrobe.” He neglected to mention he had already added undergarments to his list of color-coordinated accessories.

He rousted Hugh and the professor, who took up weapons and followed him out the door. Rafe dipped his head back in the compartment. “Lock us out, Fan.”

“Address the telegram to Mrs. Lockley and tell her to have Fiona do the packing.” She rose to secure the door.
“You might also send a cable to 7 Abercromby Place, to a Mr. J. Silas Connery, my father’s solicitor. He will know where the exposition machine was shipped.”

Rafe smiled. “Very helpful of you.”

“Anything to facilitate the demise of the Utopian Society.” She slid the latch.

Fanny plopped back into her set and yawned. The sun had broken out over the lowlands and warmed the compartment. For the next few hours, she might try to get some sleep. She folded her jacket to use as a pillow and tucked herself into a sunny corner by the window. A myriad of suppressed questions, mostly regarding Rafe’s ill-fated marriage, came bubbling up and she was left with no distraction but to consider yesterday’s revelation.

Of course, things made better sense now, especially if Rafe had somehow been duped into thinking he’d been jilted. If she recalled correctly, it had been Claire’s idea to write Nigel and mention Fanny’s acquaintance with the Duke of Grafton. Rafe was sure to hear about it secondhand. She bit her lip. The letter had implied a flirtation—enough to nettle Rafe for not making the trip, but nothing that might plunge him into deep despair.

She felt upended by Rafe’s obvious distress, but also nettled. The longer she thought about the now infamous missive, the more puzzling Rafe’s response to their prank became. And it was quite impossible to confront either Nigel or Claire at the moment.

Fanny adjusted her makeshift pillow. Her eyelids grew heavy. Three raps. She jerked awake. Three more raps. Grumbling, she got up and let her bodyguards in.

During various stops, either Rafe or Hugh busied themselves sending or collecting telegrams. The farther the train traveled without trouble, the more everyone was able to catch a wink or two of rest.

“Fanny.” She felt a tug on her sleeve and opened her eyes. “A quick good-bye, before I return to Glasgow.” She blinked and peered out the window. The sign on the station read
Lockerbie
. They were near the border.

Hugh leaned over and kissed one cheek, then the other. She reached out and stroked the stubble of beard along his jaw. “It was very nice making your acquaintance, Agent Hugh Curzon.”

A slow smile curved the edges of a strong mouth. “Likewise, my dear.” He covered her hand in his and brushed the inside of her wrist with his lips. “Love is not love unless it is tested in some way.” He winked at her and backed out the door.

Hugh hoisted both long guns over his shoulder and wove a path through the travelers on the platform. She thought he turned back once, to look their way, before he disappeared into the crowd.

She sat back and met the darkest green eyes she had ever seen. Her gaze shifted to the professor. Still snoring. Reluctantly, she returned to Rafe. “Don’t look at me that way.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t suppose I enjoyed watching that intimate little tête-à-tête.”

His jealous words could not have touched her more. She inhaled a deep breath and kept her voice down. “I find it rather sweet, this sudden possessiveness of yours.”

“You are spectacularly lovely, Fanny—even when you try your shrewish best to bedevil me.” Rafe shook his head in wonder. “It’s no wonder men are drawn to you like hounds to the scent. Frankly, I am still a bit bewildered you remain—”

She interrupted. “Unwed, on the shelf? A spinster?”

He snorted. “For God’s sake, Fanny, you’re four and twenty. And quite the beauty, as well as the richest heiress in all of Scotland. You could have your pick of the most eligible men in the empire.”

Rafe settled into his seat like he expected a good story. “So, what exactly kept you on the market all these years?”

Fanny averted her eyes briefly. “Well, it wasn’t because I never got over you—that’s what you’d like to hear, isn’t it, Rafe?”

They both sat facing each other, arms crossed.

“I’m not sure, actually. I was surprised to see Nigel still sniffing about.” Rafe tilted his head. “I thought some handsome fortune hunter would come along for sure.

“There were plenty of those. And I consider Nigel a friend, nothing more.” She huffed. “I just never thought I would marry anyone else, I suppose.”

“Anyone else but me?” The most irritating smile edged the corners of his mouth.

“Could you possibly do me a favor and wipe that dull-witted grin off your face?”

He lifted a finger to his lips, rose from his seat, and sat beside her. “Come here, you.” He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against his chest. “You’re a bit overwrought.” She straightened her shoulders and tried to resist, but he stroked her back with a gentle hand. “Rest your head on my shoulder and sleep.”

She closed her eyes and didn’t remember much after that. A dream, perhaps, in which she was carried from one moving train to another. She awoke to find herself lying across an upholstered train seat, covered by a coat. Fanny inhaled his potent male scent.
His
coat.

She propped herself on an elbow and wrinkled her nose. The compartment air felt a bit swampy. The professor had a rosy glow about him. There must be a whiskey bottle somewhere close by. She wrinkled her nose. “Where are we?”

Chapter Twenty-three

R
afe couldn’t help it: there was something wonderfully sensual about Fanny when she woke up. Her mop of curls, always a bit askew, and those heavy-lidded sleepy eyes inevitably caused his manly parts to stand up and take notice.

He glanced out the window. A gray sky and a few dark clouds loomed overhead. “I was just about to wake you. We’re in Oxfordshire, almost upon our stop, Port Meadow Halt—just up the lane from Lucy’s Ironworks.”

“A pleasant ten-minute stroll, lass.” The professor returned to his racing reports in
The Sporting Life.

Fanny rubbed her eyes. “I dreamed I changed trains.”

“You did. In Birmingham.” Rafe folded his paper. “The professor bought our tickets and I carried you from platform to platform without so much as a peep from you.”

Fanny blinked at him. “Your eyes are bloodshot—you’ve had no sleep in days.”

Rafe smiled. “It is nice to know that even though you
withhold absolution, you still care about my health. I’ve even given up tobacco, in case you haven’t noticed.”

The train braked and she leaned sideways to look ahead. “I believe we have arrived, gentlemen.”

Rafe and Professor Minnow combed the country station for natty blokes and left Fanny to repair her hair and button her jacket. Upon their signal she debarked, and they proceeded down the lane toward the canal. The skies had clouded some since Ayrshire, but there was no rain as yet.

The ironworks factory was not huge by Greyville-Nugent standards, more of an artisan foundry, Rafe guessed. A maze of iron beams and massive walls surrounded huge smelting ovens and other production equipment. It was at least ten degrees warmer inside, and the smell of molten ore mingled with that of machinery grease as they crossed the shop floor. Fanny took it all in stride, commenting on the steel-plating equipment and a plethora of copper fittings, each of which she seemed to find fascinating.

“We transport raw materials as well as finished goods by canal.” The ironworks manager, a Mr. Huxley, steered them onto a pier, with a number of moorings that ran the length of the building. “Hull’s been reinforced, plus your arc lights and batteries are installed, engine has plenty of petrol. She’s all ready for you.”

Rafe halted midstride, as did Fanny. A low whistle escaped his mouth. “Blimey, Professor! What is she? Twenty, twenty-five feet?” Nearly half the submarine rested above water. The crew deck on the cigar-shaped
craft swept up to a four-foot hatchway at the center. Several pipes and a periscope protruded even higher. The sight was so strangely futuristic, one could only stand in awe.

Fanny stood on the gangplank that led to the submarine’s deck. “Can we go inside?”

Rafe turned to the foreman. “Any strangers about, asking after the submarine or Professor Minnow?”

The man stroked his chin. “Seems to me there was a couple of blokes nosing around last week. Had to ask them to leave.”

“Both of you, on board.” The professor leaned closer to Rafe. “We’d best be leavin’ right away. Give me a moment to settle the bill and I’ll join you.”

Trailing Mr. Huxley into the business office, Minnow called over his shoulder, “Don’t touch a toggle switch on her.”

Rafe followed Fanny down the ladder and entered the craft. A shaft of light from the overhead hatch revealed intricate pathways of brass tubes and copper wires, which traveled along the walls and roof of the ship connecting power sources to valves to gauges in the steerage compartment. Two large bulbous portholes looked out over the placid canal water. Rafe hardly knew which fantastic piece of apparatus to look upon next. He took in the size and volume of the sub and exhaled a low whistle.

“Due to its relative compactness and efficiency, the gasoline engine will far surpass the steam engine in the future.” Fanny pointed to an oval-shaped bulb mounted
to the ceiling. She reached overhead to flip a switch and hesitated.

“Go ahead, lass.” Minnow climbed down the ladder. Fanny turned on the lamp. A pinprick of light sparked from each end of two metal filaments, then an arc of electricity connected inside the glass. The tube glowed with ever increasing light intensity until the single lamp illuminated the entire steerage compartment.

Minnow wedged himself down a narrow corridor and opened up the engine compartment. With two swift cranks of a brass handle, the engine sputtered, then purred to life. “Cast off, Detective Lewis.”

Rafe had barely reeled in the line before the underwater craft quietly motored into the canal as smooth as silk. They were in the middle of the waterway, a good twenty yards past the ironworks, when Huxley ran out the huge open doors of the factory waving his arms.

As the sub took on more speed and pulled farther away, Rafe couldn’t make out a word. He shouted into the main hatch. “I believe Mr. Huxley is trying to tell us something. Shall we come about?”