Her Sky Cowboy (39 page)

“Then you shall be the most fetching prisoner by far. Jesting,” she said with an awkward smile.

Amelia cast her fashionably though conservatively dressed mother a suspicious glance. “I have never known you to jest.”

“I have never been inside Windsor Castle.” Seated next to Amelia on a cushioned bench in an ornate hall, the pudgy woman leaned close and whispered, “I am nervous. What if we say or do the wrong thing? Are you certain you do not want me to try to contact your brothers?”

“I am certain. Please, Mother. Simon and Jules are on a quest, and I don’t want to be the cause for their failure. Someone has to restore respect to the Darcy name.” Amelia had only heaped on more scandal.

Upon being escorted back to England by an ALE
cruiser, she had refrained from reading the newspapers, specifically the
Informer
. She was anxious and chagrined enough without reading about her “international incident,” as reported by a sensational journalist. She had, however, asked her mother, who’d joined her in London, to peruse all of the city’s papers for news on the Sky Cowboy. There had been none. Bothersome, that. Nor had she heard from Tucker himself, or any of the crew. Distressing. She worried that they had indeed been sent back to America. But, given his fame, wouldn’t a sensational story like that make the news or a penny dreadful? She’d tossed and turned every night, pondering their fate, pining for Tucker—even worrying about his poor sister, Lily, a woman she knew nothing about, but still felt a kinship toward.

“Did you skim every newspaper this morning, Mother? Even the
City Beacon
?”

The woman nodded and fiddled with her decorative bonnet. “Every paper, Amelia. No mention of Mr. Gentry. No mention of you. As you know, I have scanned the news every day for the last three days, and even in the days before that, as I try to follow the latest on the Triple R Tourney. There has been no mention of the ‘incident,’ nor of you and Mr. Gentry. At. All.” She lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper. “I suspect a cover-up. You are an embarrassment to the British Empire, dear.”

Amelia cringed. “Let us hope they do not strive to brush me under the royal rug.”

Her mother patted her hand. “I meant no offense. I am, indeed, most impressed with your efforts, Amelia. I am”—
sniffle
—“proud.”

She swallowed an emotional lump. “I confess you have been most supportive these past few days. I’m surprised and most touched.”

“Yes, well, things have changed for the Darcys. We must adapt.” She sniffed into a dainty handkerchief. “I miss your father.”

Amelia blinked back tears and squeezed her mother’s hand. “As do I.”

Agent Toppins stepped into view and cleared his throat. “Forgive the intrusion, but Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, will see you now.”

Both women stood.

Toppins, who’d been assigned to escort Amelia back to London, had been intervening on her behalf and acting as her official bodyguard for the past week. Today he’d escorted her and her mother to Windsor to learn her official fate. Ever formal, he nodded apologetically at Anne. “Miss Darcy only, please.”

Amelia expected her mother to bluster. She’d been most keen on meeting Queen Victoria, not only as her ruler, but as a woman who shared her Old Worlder views. Instead of complaining, Anne smiled and squeezed Amelia’s hand. “I’ll wait here and…think good thoughts.”

In a spontaneous show of affection, Amelia briefly embraced her mother, then, pulse tripping, followed Agent Toppins through a great many large rooms and halls. Never had she seen such opulent furnishings and decor. “Astonishing.”

“Quite,” Toppins said with a stiff nod. “Miss Darcy.”

“Yes?”

“Remember what I told you about loose lips.” He guided her through a small antechamber, opened a door, and…

“Crikey.”

Toppins groaned, then disappeared.

“I mean…” Amelia performed a small awkward curtsy. “Beg your pardon, Your Majesty.”

The queen was sitting on a small chair near the window, and a book lay open nearby. Amelia would have recognized the short, stocky, grandmotherly-looking woman anywhere. Her white hair was pulled into a severe bun. Her conservative gown: mourning black. Yet, unlike in most of the portraits Amelia had seen, the noble queen’s expression was not dour, but sweet.

She waved Amelia into the warm and welcoming room. “Come in, child.”

Amelia moved forward. Another curtsy. Was that wrong?

“So you are Miss Amelia Darcy. Distant relative of the Time Voyager. Sister to the civil engineer who thought to construct a futuristic monorail high above the streets of London. Daughter of the inventor who blew a hole in Kentshire.” The older woman raised a brow. “And now you, a mere wisp of a girl, have created an international incident between Italy and the British Empire.”

Amelia flushed hot. She wondered whether they would float her into the Tower through Traitors’ Gate. Would she be imprisoned for life, or perhaps would they lop off her head? Was Tucker facing a similar fate this very moment? Her stomach churned with the possibility. For an instant, she understood the temptation of time travel. If only she could go back and confess her heart to Tucker.

I love you.

Why had she been so obstinate in the matter?

“Regarding this scandal,” the queen said, “we are most displeased. However, I understand that this incident also involved the destruction of a codex containing perilous information.” She smiled a little. “On this matter, we are pleased.”

Amelia blinked. Was she referring to da Vinci’s codex on time travel? Amelia had said nothing to ALE or the Italian officials, or even Agent Toppins regarding the existence, or onetime existence, of that codex. She had not seen the point.

“We would be even more pleased if Mr. da Vinci’s rare ornithopter were returned to the Italian government.”

Was that her punishment? Her penance? Her salvation? To reclaim the ornithopter?

“We are taking steps to ensure this. We are also inclined to attend to your tarnished reputation, Miss Darcy. Although we frown upon most of your family’s escapades, we
are most fond of your brother Jules. We do not wish him worries or hardship”—she pursed her lips—“or scandal. Given your frolicking with the Sky Cowboy and his crew, no respectable Englishman will have you. Thus, I have secured you a foreign husband.”

For the first time since she entered this room, Amelia’s legs threatened to give way. Stomach wrens fluttered until she was certain she would be sick. How could she marry another man when she was so hopelessly in love with Tucker Gentry? She started to speak, but then remembered Toppins’s observation regarding her digging deeper holes every time she opened her mouth.

“Do not look so stricken,” the queen commanded. “I wedded a foreigner. I assure you, I was blissfully happy. Of course, Albert was from Germany. I have no idea what you can expect from an American.”

Amelia’s heart pounded. “An American?”

“She speaks! I was beginning to worry you’d lost your wits, Miss Darcy. Mr. Gentry,” she called, and Tucker magically appeared on the threshold of an adjoining room. “Do take this young woman and explain the bargain we have agreed upon.” She fanned her face. “Good
heavens, her mere presence is draining.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Ma’am,” he said with a slight bow, excusing himself and crooking a finger at Amelia.

Adrenaline surging, she smiled at Queen Victoria and curtsied. “Ma’am.” Then she backed out of the room and into Tucker’s arms.

He shut the door and smiled. “You look beautiful, Flygirl.”

Oblivious to her surroundings, she threw her arms around her aeronautical hero, her one and only Sky Cowboy, and kissed his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth.

“Missed you too, darlin’.” Smiling into her eyes, he finessed her across the room to a more private corner, then proceeded to kiss her senseless.

Heaven
.

No. Windsor.

Remembering her royal whereabouts, she eased back, embarrassed by her fervent display but smiling like an idiot. “You’re alive. And well!”

“You were worried?”

“Yes,” she said plainly. Heart pounding, she caressed his handsome face. “I hoped and wished…I imagined you coming back for me, but I never expected this. How? What?”

“Sit.” He grasped her hand and pulled her down alongside him on a velvet settee. “I promised the queen I’d speak plainly and quickly with you and then we’d be on our way.”

“I’m listening.” She couldn’t stop staring. He looked so dashing, dressed to the nines in an American frock suit. So handsome, even with the lingering bruise on his clean-shaven jaw. “Wait. How’s your shoulder?”

“Good as new, thanks to Doc. Although…”

“He betrayed us,” she said, acknowledging the sadness in Tucker’s eyes. “Mr. O’Donnell told me. I’ve been pondering on this, and although Doc’s actions were unwise, they are not unforgivable. I’m convinced he’s a good man, Tucker.”

“I know he’s a good man, Amelia. But a troubled one. Doc needs to put his grievances with Vics to rest. Needs to banish his fears and prejudices. If he’d trusted my men with his true race and quandary, I guaran-damn-tee you, we would have worked as a team to learn his brother’s whereabouts.”

“Instead he trusted a stranger, simply because she was a Freak, one of his own kind,” Amelia said.

“Betraying good folk, folk who lived, breathed, and fought beside him for more than two years, that ain’t no way to right a wrong. Doc not only betrayed you, honey; he betrayed me and every man on the
Maverick
.”

“But—”

“Ain’t sayin’ I don’t understand his motivation. Sayin’ he needs to grow some…” He dragged a hand down his clenched jaw. “Needs to show some sass.”

“When push came to shove,” Amelia pointed out, “Doc did stand by me, you, and the crew. He alerted ALE, and because of their timely arrival we’re alive.”

“The only reason I didn’t kick his ass to the Klondike.”

In spite of the betrayal, Amelia couldn’t dredge up any anger. “So Doc’s still with the
Maverick
? Still part of the crew?”

“Not presently. A mutual parting of the ways. At least for now. Meanwhile, I’m trying to focus blame on the person at the heart of this chaos. The person who turned Doc’s head. Someone out there’s paying a lot of money and twisting a lot of arms for certain information. It’s all tied in somehow to whoever paid Dunkirk to seize the ornithopter. Only I suspect the person of interest was expecting something more grandiose than a miniature aerostat.”

She scrunched her brow. “Like the codex? But why would someone suspect or assume I’d know the whereabouts of a codex on time travel?”

“You’re a Darcy, hon.”

She shook her head, trying to take it all in. “This person, he must be extremely wealthy, ruthless, and somewhat mad. I don’t know anyone who fits this description.”

Tucker smoothed a renegade curl from her flushed face. “Maybe it’s enough that this person knows you, darlin’. We’ll confer at greater length with Agent Toppins. Let it go for now.”

“But—”

“We’re wearing out our welcome,” he said with a nod to the adjoining room.

Her brain jumped tracks. “How is it that you ended up here at the palace, and on such friendly terms?”

“I’ve spent the past week tap-dancing, calling in some favors and such. As it happens, I’ve made a couple of illegal ‘runs’ for several close friends of the queen. Dignitaries who vouched for me and secured an audience. She may be a staunch Old Worlder, but she’s reasonable. In fact, she was quite pleasant.”

“That’s because you’re so charming.”

“I can be, when it suits my purpose.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, inciting a delicious tingle. “I presented my case with an open heart and valiant intentions. Especially in regards to you.”

Amelia licked her lips. “What is this deal she spoke of?”

“In return for making an honest woman out of you, Miss Darcy, and agreeing to recapture the ornithopter and bringing in Captain Dunkirk—the ‘scourge of the English skies,’ I believe she said—she will see that my name and reputation are exonerated in America, and has even arranged safe passage for Lily.”

Amelia’s pulse raced. “I’m pleased about your reputation and your sister.”

“But not the rest?”

She averted her gaze, needing him to say more. Something…romantic. Even though she believed his intentions noble, somehow the wording of that deal vexed. “So by marrying me, you’re gaining your freedom?”

“By marrying you, I’m gaining the wife of my dreams, a woman who’ll share the wheel with me, soar the skies, experience adventures.”

Her heart tripped and danced. “Was that a proposal, Mr. Gentry?”

“No, darlin’, it was not.” He shifted and knelt on one knee, and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I love you, Amelia Darcy. A bone-deep love that will never waver or die. Will you marry me? Will you promise me forever?”

Simple. Heartfelt. Perfect. “I will.”

“You won’t regret this, darlin’.”

She quirked a grin. “You might.”

“Nothing like living dangerously.”

Stars danced in her heart and mind. Her soul rocketed to the moon. “I love you, Cowboy.”

Cupping the back of her neck, he kissed her softly, deeply. “The adventure begins.”

G
REAT
B
RITAIN
1887

K
ENTSHIRE
—T
HE
A
SHFORD
E
STATE

Since the day he’d been born (three and a half minutes later than his twin brother), Simon Darcy had been waging war with time. Either he had too much of it or not enough. Somehow his
timing
was always off. Bad timing had cost him much in his thirty-one years. Most recently, his father, Reginald Darcy, Lord of Ashford.

The proof was in his pocket.

Simon didn’t need to read the abominable article—he had it memorized—yet he couldn’t help unfolding the wretched newsprint and torturing himself once again. As if he deserved the misery. Which he did.