Her Sky Cowboy (9 page)

“I prefer my women spirited and curious.” She didn’t flinch, but he knew he’d shocked her. “And yes, it’s true about the James brothers.”

“Astonishing,” she whispered.

He didn’t know whether she referred to his taste in women or his air skirmish with the James boys. Didn’t matter. What charmed him was her general sense of awe. Her fascination with aviation stimulated his sexual appetite like French champagne. He’d never known a woman pilot. Never encountered a woman so hungry for technological knowledge. Yes, she was beautiful, but it was Amelia’s sharp and inquisitive mind that made Tuck randy as hell.

Breathing deeply, he fought an almighty urge to free those corn silk curls, allowing them to flutter around her mesmerizing face. She looked fetching enough in the moonlight as it was. Also, he didn’t figure she’d appreciate the intimate gesture. For all her bluster and salty language, Miss Darcy struck him as an innocent. Or maybe she was frigid. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care, except the better he knew their guest, the better he could anticipate how best to handle her presence on the
Maverick
.

“Just in case you were worried, Eli dropped your friend safely at a reputable inn.”

“I wasn’t worried. Mr. Boone seems most respectable.”

“Many would argue that point.”

“I’m well aware of your crew’s reputation and your frequent brushes with danger.”

“Yet you’re not afraid to fly with us.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“With that peashooter you pulled on Axel earlier today?”

She squared her shoulders, but kept her gaze averted. “With whatever means available.”

Tuck crossed his arms, studied her slight form, and pondered all that sass. “Seein’ as you’re acquainted with my colorful history, I assume you know I’m a wanted man.” A fact that ate at his gut every day.

“Wanted in America. I know.”

“For theft and murder.”

“I know.”

“You’re not bothered by that?” He sure as hell was.

“I would be if you were guilty.”

“According to the evidence, I am. What makes you think I’m innocent?”

“You said so four months back, in that interview with the Clockwork Canary.”

Tuck thought back on the awkward meeting and the way that confounding reporter had pried into his innermost thoughts. Yes, he’d wanted to spread the news of his innocence, but he hadn’t aimed on sharing the more sordid details of the case. Somehow, some way the Clockwork Canary had gotten Tuck to open up about his relationship with Ida Titan, the woman he’d been accused of killing. How they’d been past lovers and how he’d broken off with her when she’d become obsessive and delusional. He hadn’t meant to speak ill of Ida, even though she’d plotted against her own father to secure a future for her and Tuck—a future that had been rooted solely in Ida’s fanciful mind. Even though she’d threatened Tuck with his own gun when he’d refused to play her twisted game. No matter her transgressions, Ida hadn’t been of sound mind.

Gut knotted with regret, Tuck shook off the sour memories of his last and fatal meeting with his twisted former lover and instead focused on the feisty ingenue in front of him. Amelia’s unquestioning belief in his innocence was humbling…and worrisome. The case against Tuck had been built by Ida’s father—a vengeful man and a powerful judge. The evidence (though mostly concocted) had been damning and well publicized in respected publications throughout the world. Yet Amelia took Tuck’s word as reported by one sensationalized newspaper? Never mind that it was true. “Believe everything you read?”

“Of course not. Certainly not everything written by that disreputable reporter, but in your case…” She finally looked his way again, and even with those goggles on he could see the bald admiration in those big blue eyes. “You are incapable of such an atrocity, Mr. Gentry.”

Though he was indeed innocent of the aforementioned crime, he’d sinned plenty in his efforts to uphold the law. Her admiration was misplaced and it galled. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Are you speaking of the criminals you killed in the line of duty? Unfortunate. But sometimes good men have to do bad things to obliterate evil.”

Just when he’d thought Amelia was a naive innocent. Swear to God, he’d never met a woman of such contradictions. Tuck shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m beginning to think Axel’s right about you. No sane woman would willingly board a ship manned by reputed outlaws. I don’t care if you have some romanticized notion about us. We’re still healthy men with carnal needs.”

“No need to be crude. Or cruel,” she said, no doubt in reference to her mental stability. “I told you: I am desperate to get to Italy.”

“I read the newspapers too, Miss Darcy, and I have to wonder why your brothers aren’t accompanying you on this journey.”

She turned her pert nose to the stars. “Otherwise engaged. Matters of grave importance.”

“Graver than a dying grandpap?”

“They’ll join me as soon as they are able. Trust me when I say family is uppermost in their minds.”

“They had no reservations about you traveling all that way alone?”

“I wasn’t alone.” She cut off his next words with a gasp. “Look at all that water.” She glanced over her shoulder and caught his eye, causing his goddamned heart to pound. “Is that the English Channel?” she asked in wide-eyed wonder.

And just like that their tense conversation was over. “It is.”

The moon sat high, lighting their way and casting a brilliant glow over the coast of Sussex and the vast waters rippling between England and France. Over the past year he’d flown this path several times, enough times that the impressive landscape had lost its shine. Amelia looked as if she’d just gotten her first glimpse of diamonds. “You’ve never seen the channel?”

“With the exception of one excursion to London to visit my brother Jules, I have never been outside of Kent.”

A sheltered country girl with a thirst for adventure.

His gut blared louder than Birdman’s megahorn.

Left to her own devices, Amelia Darcy was an all-fired beacon for trouble.

Even now he could sense all eyes on deck assessing the woman gracing their bow like a living figurehead.

“What are you doing?” she asked when he whisked her off the barrel.

“Doc’ll tan my hide if you catch pneumonia.” Granted, her good health was of concern, but mostly this was an excuse to get her below and out of sight.

“I assure you I am quite hardy.”

“No doubt.” A woman who’d sustained more than a few injuries due to flying incidents. A woman who’d intended to
pedal a flimsy kitecycle over the damned English Channel. It wasn’t Amelia Darcy’s constitution that Tuck questioned. The burr under his saddle pertained to a suspicion that this young gal possessed more sass than sense. Between her pretty face, enticing curves, and infectious sense of wonder, she’d have his men twisted up in less than three days. At a time when he carried a hold full of the banned hallucinogenic liquor known to the French as
la fée verte
. He envisioned a crew of sky pirates absconding with his precious green-fairy cargo, his crew in shackles due to being distracted by a spitfire in leather.

“I insist you put me down.”

“Noted.” He shouldered open his cabin door, and as much as he wanted to fling this obstinate filly on the bed, he set her gently on the mattress and stepped away. Distance was key. Every time he touched her, all of his thoughts went south of his waistline.

Shifting his position to hide another damned hard-on, he gave her a stern look. “Let’s get one thing clear, Flygirl. This is my boat. I give the orders, not you. As our guest, you’ll be afforded protection, food, and board until we reach Paris. In return, you’ll keep out of our way, belowdecks and out of sight as much as possible.”

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you just confine me to quarters?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I need to work on Bess.”

At least it would keep her occupied. “I’ll set you up a workplace.”

“And I prefer my own sleeping compartment.”

“I prefer you here.” Safest place for her. He could curb his randy desires. Chantel, in all her flexible glory, was only a day away. And
she
wasn’t a virgin.

Red-faced, Amelia pushed herself to her feet, clinging to the bedpost for stability. “If you think—”

“Farthest thing from my mind.”

She blinked. “Really? Why?”

For the love of…“Contrary to what you may have read or heard, Miss Darcy, I don’t cotton to seducing innocents.”

“I’m not…That is to say…” She palmed her forehead as if wrangling stray thoughts. “I didn’t mean to offend. I just…It’s been an unusual day.”

“Won’t argue that.” Restless, he moved to the threshold. “It’s late and I’ve got a four-hour watch in front of me. If you need anything—”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll ask Doc to bring you some food and to check your bandages. Make sure you didn’t foul up those stitches. Make yourself at home.” He gestured toward his spacious lodgings. “Good view from those windows. Plenty of reading material. Scientific periodicals and the like.”

She blew out a breath and sagged to the bed as if she’d spent her last ounce of energy. “You’re a complex and somewhat infuriating man, but you do have your moments.”

“That your way of saying thank-you?”

“No, it is not.” She managed an exhausted smile that tugged at his heart. “Fly safe, Mr. Gentry.”

“Sleep well, Miss Darcy.”

Amelia roused herself through a bleary fog, heart heavy, mind discombobulated. Perhaps she would skip today altogether, whatever day this was. Exhausted, she turned her face into her pillow, wishing away the void. Wishing Papa home. She’d slept fitfully, tortured by dreams of the man who’d filled her life with affection and wonder. The same visions that had plagued her since the demise of
Apollo 02
.

At first the dreams were pleasant pieces of memories—happy memories; then they’d melded into something she hadn’t even experienced. His last hours, as she imagined them. His last minute. His last breath. The explosion. So horrific she couldn’t breathe. Only last night, when she’d choked on cogs, gears, and fragmented metal, he’d reached down from heaven to ease her anxiety. Last night she’d felt less alone.

Not that she was alone now, as evidenced by the smell of…bay rum?

Tucker Gentry.

Amelia burst through the last wisps of nocturnal fog, acutely aware of her surroundings and circumstance. His airship. His cabin. His bed. She half expected to find him stretched out alongside her. The air vibrated with the man’s charismatic presence.

Upon keen inspection of the dimly lit quarters, she noted she was, in actuality, quite alone. Odd that her heart sank. A respectable woman would be relieved. In spite of her unconventional approach to life, Amelia was indeed chaste. She’d experienced a brief infatuation a time or three in her
twenty years, and had even allowed Phineas Bourdain, a military acquaintance of Jules’s, to steal a kiss. But the infatuations, like Phin’s kiss, had fizzled. More curious about aeronautics than lovemaking, she’d never been tempted to explore more scandalous pleasures.

Until last night.

Peering over the bow of the
Maverick
, seeing the vast English Channel glittering below them, she couldn’t imagine anything more exhilarating. Then she’d turned and caught Tucker staring at her. Those intoxicating eyes simmering with…curiosity? Desire? Whereas she’d easily assessed Lord Bingham’s moral character and lecherous intent, the Sky Cowboy was an enigma. Near as perplexing was her reaction to the man and the moment. The more he tried to frighten her away, the greater her attraction.

She had no illusions. Tucker Gentry was a dangerous man. Not because of his ability or willingness to kill in extreme circumstances, but because of the sensations he evoked with a mere brush of his hand, a sensuous look, an inappropriate statement. She’d experienced all three and she’d nearly expired from the heady rush. Heat had singed her cheeks and radiated between her legs. She’d ached in the most curious manner, yearning for things she couldn’t precisely describe. It was the first time she’d felt the full force of her sheltered upbringing, making her bitter and defensive. Then, when he’d assured her he had no intention of seducing her, she’d been perplexed and more than a little disappointed. She’d been so certain he fancied her, or at least her curvaceous figure, as most men did. After half a day in his company and an evening of skimming his personal library, she was fast learning Tucker Gentry was not like any man she’d ever known. She wanted to know him better…and she didn’t.

A knock on the door dashed her musings. Pulse racing, Amelia smoothed her hair from her face and clutched the coverlet to her chest. “Yes?”

“It’s Doc Blue, Miss Darcy.”

“Oh.” She cursed her disappointed tone and forced a smile even though he couldn’t see it. “One moment, please.” She pushed out of bed, ignoring stiff muscles and the twinge in her thigh. Cinching her dressing gown tight, she clasped the bedpost for support, then invited him inside.

The door swung open and, with only a brief nod of greeting, the young doctor strode across the room carrying a breakfast tray. “How did you sleep?”

“Very well,” she lied. She’d spoken to no one of the nightmares and had no intention of doing so. In the light of day she managed to lock away the images, the grief and guilt, and as a result kept her wits and heart, if not whole, then at least functioning.

Doc cut her a glance that said he didn’t believe her, which meant she must look a fright. Instead of arguing, he gestured to the array of food he’d placed on the table. “An assortment of cakes, breads, jams, and fresh fruit. Plus a pot of hot tea, a hearty blend from East India. Sound good?”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you.” Last night he’d brought her a delicious dinner, not that she’d had an appetite, but she’d eaten so as not to offend. After sampling the stew, she’d understood why StarMan had raved about his cooking, and why Tucker had declared him a man of many talents. “I feel bad that you’re serving me in this manner. Is there a common dining area?”