Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (21 page)

own in the airship cargo hold, hidden from the view of the busy crewmen, Cara knelt on the floor and succumbed to a girlie indulgence. She lifted the lid of her shiny, new, and enormous, steamer trunk and revealed the contents to her eyes only. She had packed a selection of her new gowns and skirts. Thin sheets of tissue paper protected the expensive clothing and added to the allure as she pulled back the concealing veil and reached out a hand to stroke the fabrics nestled inside the chest. Her clothing options ran from sensuous chiffons that clung to her form to wools so soft they must have been shorn from silk-wearing sheep. She opted for the green form-hugging military jacket and its matching skirt. She gave a heavy sigh, and closed the lid on her pretties. Draping the required garments over her arm, she headed back up the tiny spiral staircase to the cramped room she shared with Nate.

Her wayward husband played ladies maid, pulling Cara’s corset laces tight while complaining how much he preferred to remove her garments. He didn’t manage to keep his hands to himself, unable to resist caressing her skin under the pretext of helping. By the time the last tiny pearl button was done up, Cara’s body thrummed with more than the vibration of the airship engines. She kicked herself for the self-imposed celibacy; this was supposed to be her honeymoon. Her clothing should never have made it out of the trunk, or the dress should be adorning the floor in a soft green puddle.

As she secured her hat with several pins, she cast an appreciative eye over Nate as he finished dressing. He pulled on a deep green waistcoat to complement her dress. His roving hands had not just affected her; he had spoiled the flat appearance of his pale buckskin pants. The bulge of his erection made her swipe her tongue over her lips, and she almost demanded he assist in removing her clothing.

“Maybe Prince Albert has the right idea, you might scare the locals with the size of that,” she said from beneath lowered lashes.

He growled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. His lips tasted the pulse at the base of her throat and she arched her neck to give him better access.

“I’m no eunuch, and I don’t care who knows it.” He breathed against her skin, feathering kisses up the column of her throat.

“I’m still mad at you,” she reminded him as she slipped from his grasp and out the door. They walked the narrow passageway between the bridge and the mess. Through the glass insert of the bridge doors, Cara saw Loki at the helm, yelling orders to his men. Nate led her out onto the small deck running along the side of the airship. A polished steel railing with mesh panelling was the only thing between them and a fatal fall. The wind tore at her clothing and she was grateful for the extra pins she stabbed through her hat, but wished her hair had more length to hold them secure.

The Hellcat cruised over the Gulf of Finland and made her approach to St. Petersburg. Cara gasped as the airship banked and the city came into view, tucked into the curve of the Neva River. Loki angled the Hellcat low and her keel met the water, slicing for several moments, sending up plumes of water, and terrifying the circling seagulls. With a plop and a slight backward pull, the vessel settled into the river’s deep embrace. They cruised toward the sea dock at the mouth of the river, the fierce airship turning into a sedate paddle steamer.

Cara stood on the deck, her eyes wide at the wondrous sight of St. Petersburg, her architecture so different than that of England. Sunlight glinted on gilded onion domes that rose above the stone buildings and gave the entire city a festive atmosphere. Trees in full riotous autumn colour bathed tracts of the city in jewel tones of carmine red, daisy yellow, and fiery orange.

They cruised to a fairy-tale land. Even the air smelled different; the tang of salt heavy, unlike the vague stench of rotting fish that rose off the Thames. The dock on the edge of Vasilyevsky Island swarmed with workers in thick wool tunics, wide leather belts, and flat hats pulled low over their ears. Unloading towers stood in the deep water, perched on tall metal spider legs with monstrous claws dangling underneath, ready to pluck cargo from waiting vessels. Dirty and battered mechanised carts roved the wharf, carrying their loads back and forth. Steam puffed from the older trolleys, their wide, flat decks perfect to receive the larger containers dropped from above. Several airships of varying sizes and types bobbed on the gentle current. As the Hellcat drew near to land, lines were thrown from the airship crew to those on shore and the metal ropes were tied around the mooring bollards. The sleek ship was secured in her allotted space and pulled close to the wharf.

Nate stood behind Cara with his arms wrapped arms around her waist as they watched the bustle of activity on the shore making the bobbing vessel secure. “Loki and Miguel will be staying with the Hellcat. You and I will relocate to a hotel in the city.”

“How long will we be here?” The city beyond beckoned, even though she knew they had a more pressing mission.

“It depends how difficult Sergei is to find. Nikolai will be circulating at the Winter Palace tonight and will be far easier to locate. Then it’s a matter of digging up what leads we can about Nolton. We’ll check into our hotel, but we have time to take in a few sights, if you wish?”

The familiar itch to explore a new city called to Cara. This is what she loved: new streets to roam, unusual foods to taste, strange sounds to wash over her ears. The only difference, this time she had someone who wanted to share the experience with her.

Once the Hellcat was restrained to Loki’s satisfaction, the workers wheeled over a metal gangplank with wooden rungs. Nate pulled open a portion of the railing that acted as a gate. The ramp swung over, and pushed into the opening and secured at either side with metal clips. Nate stood on the swaying bridge and turned, his hand extending to Cara. She picked up the green skirts in one hand, and placed her other in Nate’s palm. Together they walked to the dock.

The cry of numerous voices in Russian swirled around them. Cara didn’t understand the words, but she could understand the tone. Jokes flew between men, light hearted and tinged with laughter. Sharp reprimands carried clipped syllables and jerking hand gestures. Then there was the deeper, sultry tone of cat calls as she walked by in her skin tight jacket.

The driver of an open landau, pulled by matching blood bays, hailed Nate. The horses were restless amongst the bustle and noise of the dock. The deep russet of the driver’s jacket a perfect match for the gleaming coats of the horses. A tall top hat perched on his head and a long driving whip in his gloved hand. He bowed as Nate approached, and gestured that he waited for them.

Cara stepped up into the carriage while their luggage was loaded into the back. She settled onto the brown leather seat and marvelled at how different travelling with Nate was compared to her previous adventures. She normally hit the docks on foot, swung a duffle over her shoulder, and disappeared amongst the locals.

The landau travelled along the outer edge of the island before turning onto Palace Bridge. Cara did not know which direction to look in first; her head spun with the sights, smells, and sounds of St. Petersburg.

Nate watched her with a glint in his eyes and a relaxed smile on his lips. “What do you think?” he asked as their carriage headed down Nevsky Prospekt.

She turned large eyes to him. “India was exotic and heady. St. Petersburg is magical like we have stepped into another world. I keep expecting to see a unicorn prancing down the road.”

Nate took her hand is his. “Let me show this world to you before you consider divorce.”

Opposite the magnificent curve of the Kazan Cathedral, the horses pulled left, down a smaller lane and stopped outside the ornate Hotel Alfonsino. Built in the 1820s, the hotel had reigned supreme in Europe for forty years as the most luxurious home away from home for the nobility.

The façade was of the palest stone with columns holding aloft a portico deep enough to shelter four carriages at a time. Ornate cornerstones and spouting, depicting mythological creatures, appeared to claw and scrabble their way over the building. Four stories high, an enormous glass and leadlight dome dominated the roofline.

Porters in uniforms of deepest green with white frogging rushed to assist. Two loaded their luggage onto a small gleaming black railcar, sitting above polished brass rails while the third held open the carriage door and took Cara’s hand.

She just had time to see their luggage chug away through a hole in the side of the building, before Nate tucked her hand into his arm and led her up the wide stairs and into the foyer. Light flooded the reception area, the high glass dome overhead allowing the sun to penetrate the large hotel as though it were open to the skies. An intricate pattern of green, cream, and amber marble tiles must have taken workers months to lay. Palms soared higher than in Nate’s conservatory back in London, having four stories to stretch their fronds instead of just two.

Women who had stepped from the latest Paris fashion plates glided across the floor. The newest Worth dresses, dripping expensive embellishments, moved alongside the free flowing, but just as pricey, artistic movement gowns. Cara smoothed a hand over the green wool outfit she chose to wear, grateful for Nate’s subtle hint to change. She would have felt like the pauper amongst these women in her usual pants and corset combination.

A double staircase caressed each side of the lobby, the railing an ornate confection of black wrought iron topped with a pristine brass hand rail, as the two sides merged at the first floor landing. Chandeliers the size and width of Shetland ponies hung every thirty feet, their arms dripping with crystals, waiting for dusk to throw their magical light over the guests below.

“Is this acceptable for our stay?” Nate’s voice, low in her ear, interrupted her wide eyed inspection.

Cara gulped. “I’ll manage, somehow.”

Hotel staff littered the foyer like autumn leaves, waiting to be of assistance to their wealthy patrons. One concierge in a grey pinstripe suit made a beeline for them and inclined his head in greeting. “Welcome to the Hotel Alfonsino. How may we help you today, sir?”

“Viscount Lyons and my wife. We have a suite booked.”

Cara wondered how he managed to book a Russian honeymoon while trapped in the Tower. Although knowing Nate, confinement wouldn’t have been much of an impediment to his plans.

“Of course, milord. One moment please.” The dapper man waved a hand at a second, younger employee, who scuttled over. A few brief words were exchanged and the younger man darted away at high speed on an unknown task.

“If you would follow me, milord, milady.”

They approached a bank of four elevators at the back of the foyer. Their ornate doors each depicted different birds in full enamelled and coloured glory. The hotel employee selected the elevator behind a pair of peacocks. He held the gilded gate open and gestured for them to enter. Once happy that Cara’s short train was safety contained, he pulled the door shut. The male peacock held his tail high, each feather picked out and enamelled in colours that seemed to glow. His smaller peahen in lush shades of brown and so expertly worked, she appeared made of warm silk, not cold metal. Cara had to reach out a hand and stroke the bird. The concierge smiled at her indulgently as though guests petting the metal birds were a regular occurrence.

The elevator attendant waited his signal from the concierge, and then pulled a lever. With a jerk and
whoosh
, the elevator started to rise. Floors appeared; giving a brief glimpse of lavish wallpapered corridors, and then disappeared as the open cage kept rising. A bump heralded their arrival at the top floor and the door was pulled open, making the two peacocks vanish into the surrounding wall.

They stepped out onto a deep red carpet, complemented by red and gold wallpaper. Small occasional tables every twenty feet held floral arrangements in colours to blend with the main theme of the floor.

Their guide stopped at two panelled doors, the edges picked out in soft gold, a large brass number
42
straddling the join. Four on the left, two on the right, the numbers split apart as he pushed open the door.

“I hope this suite is satisfactory, milord,” he murmured to Nate as they entered the light and airy rooms with carpet of the deepest red. Floor to ceiling glass windows led out to a private balcony.

Like walking over dried blood
, Cara thought. The walls and furnishings were tones of brown, cream, and taupe, blending and not competing with the red. Sofas and daybeds littered the room in small conversation areas. A large desk held a private aethergraph for their use. A table, large enough to seat ten sat in front of the window, sunlight spilling over its French polish surface.

She moved around the room, touching objects, picking up a cushion as Nate held a conversation with the manager. Their luggage arrived and he issued orders for its placement while she continued to explore. Pushing open the glass doors, she stepped out on to the balcony and peered down the street while evaluating how easily she could climb down the side if necessary.