Under Her Brass Corset (12 page)

“This thing definitely could use a steam engine.” He checked the brass directional compass. The dirty glass made it hard to see the needle. “Merlin, wipe off the compass.”

He waited until the furry paw finished rubbing before he tried to look again.

“Good. Northeast should be the right course to get us to Eric’s ship.” He kept pedaling. “If anything happens to her, it’s my fault. I should have stayed in the shadows and never let her see me. I certainly wasn’t thinking clearly when she came onboard. All that sass and bravado distracts a man.”

Merlin made a noise that sounded as if he scoffed at his lame reasons.

“Yes, I know it, didn’t help that she’s interesting and attractive. But there’s more to the woman than meets the eye. How many men would know or even care to know her likes and dislikes, her triumphs and sorrows?”

Merlin coughed.

“Well maybe many, but they’d not appreciate every detail as I do. I really should have kept my distance. However, there’s no changing any of that now. Look, there’s the balloon. Obviously we’re making good time with wings, while Eric can only rely on the air.”

The biggest problem he had was how to get to Abigail. It wasn’t as if he could park his bicycle and stroll on over to her.

Abigail lunged at Eric. “You could have killed me, you bastard!”

He wrapped his arms around her middle and cinched her tight, stopping her attack. “There, there now, Cousin Abigail. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing!” she shrieked, still feeling the soreness of where the slug from his gun had left a bruise on her belly. “If I wasn’t wearing this brass corset, I would be dead from one of your bullets.”

She clenched her jaw and forced her lips together to stop the seething hiss of her chagrin from becoming vulgar language. When she quit struggling, Eric released her. She moved as far from him as she could get. The basket of the balloon didn’t allow much more than a six-foot distance.

His glance shot to the dent in her corset and then back to her face. “Not a vital spot. You may have bled a good deal, but you would have lived. Blackthorn would have seen to it. One sip from the Fountain of Youth, and you’d be—”

“Immortal?” She took a deep breath, exasperated by the far-fetched idea. “Are you working with him? If you are, then you should know he has the map and the Crystal Compass. I suggest the two of you confer more before continuing this ruse to steal the bloody things from me.”

“He has them both, you say? On his ship?”

She looked over the side for a way down, for any escape from the mess she was in. “Of course on his ship,” she said, hoping it might get him to return her there.

“And you think I’m in cahoots with the black-hearted braggart?” Eric laughed, and then his expression and tone became serious. “He’s a pirate, Abigail. A thieving, unsavory sort that you should have never met. He’s out to steal our treasure, you know.”

“
Our
treasure?” She looked at him wide-eyed in surprise.

“Yes, our inheritance from our grandfather, Blackbeard the Pirate. Certainly Blackthorn has informed you of the details.”

“He hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know. As for you and I being related, I highly doubt it. I’ve only heard about you through Jasper, and according to you, I shouldn’t believe a word he says. Yet you’re confirming he’s more reliable with his assessments by you proving to be a very rude, ill-tempered man.”

She studied Eric’s features, trying to distinguish something familiar. His nose was similar to her father’s and his eyes the same shade of green. He also had the same shade of brown hair as her, but straighter. She conceded he did generally resemble her family, but then wasn’t that also the case with a lot of other people in the world who weren’t related?

“Tell me about the Crystal Compass. How does it work?” he asked, and reached up to tug a cord with a mechanical hand made of chrome.

“Don’t you know?” She looked at the flames from atop a canister that released gas into the balloon.

“How would I know? Blackthorn has kept it hidden for years. He’s very secretive and devious.” Eric growled, frustration razor sharp in each syllable.

Abigail had to agree. Jasper had secrets. Even something as small and seemingly insignificant as the ring in his ear had become a big mystery. He had also said Eric shouldn’t have known about the compass. Had he lied?

“Well I don’t know how the thing works. I thought it was a fancy snow globe,” she told him, confused by the whole situation. “I’m more convinced than ever that this is all a hoax the two of you have plotted out together.”

“I’d never team up with that man,” Eric replied, rather irritably. “Now tell me what you know of the Crystal Compass.”

“How do you know Jasper?” Abigail countered, prodding Eric to slip up and confess he and Jasper were really friends, or at least associates instead of enemies as they had both tried making her believe.

“He’s a friend of our grandfather’s.”

“Blackbeard?”

“Yes, of course Blackbeard. Now I won’t ask you again. How does the Crystal Compass work?”

She wished he hadn’t asked at all. Her trust still leaned toward Jasper. “I already told you, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a snow globe. You shake it up and the glitter inside swirls around.”

“Where has Blackthorn been keeping it?” His gaze narrowed on her as if he thought a hard stare might help him read her mind.

“He hasn’t. It was in my house,” she said, seeing no point in deviating from the truth.

“No, it wasn’t. I searched for it myself after your father denied any knowledge of the device,” Eric shouted.

“You talked to my father?” A sick feeling churned in her stomach. Tears blurred her vision. “You killed him, didn’t you? You killed my father.”

“All he had to do was tell me where the map and compass were,” he replied coldly. “I would have taken them and been on my way.”

“You bloody bastard.” She lunged at him, pushing him back against the basket in the hopes that he’d fall out.

Eric’s balance was better than hers and he fended off her attack.

“He didn’t leave me any choice by threatening to go to the police.” He shoved her away.

She felt around at her side and grasped the rope still hanging from the hook latched under a buckle of her corset. She gripped the hemp tight. It took a considerable amount of bravery or stupidity to contemplate her next move, but she saw no other option.

She casually glanced over the side. If the fall didn’t kill her, maybe she could stay afloat until a ship came along. Though she hadn’t seen signs of any other vessels. She’d be like a needle in a haystack—a needle no one was looking for, at that.

Or perhaps so. On closer observance, she spotted Jasper below pedaling a bicycle outfitted with flapping wings. The contraption became a beacon of hope.

“What are you looking at?” Eric leaned to see for himself.

His distraction was her best opportunity. “My escape from you,” she said, throwing her leg over the side and dropping from the basket, thinking she’d land in the water and Jasper could pick her up.

Free-falling rushed adrenaline through her body. She prayed the hook stayed attached to her corset. She knew it had when she jerked to a halt and dangled facedown. It was then she realized she hadn’t thought her plan through very well. How to get free?

“Abigail, are you all right?” Jasper steered his flying machine under her.

“No, I’m not all right,” she yelled, even though having Jasper there was more calming than she could have ever imagined.

“You’ll have to grab hold of me.” He let go of the handlebars and swung his arm out. “Put your legs around my waist like you did in the shower closet.”

Her cheeks heated as the memory flooded her thoughts. She closed her eyes, envisioning the moment of her ecstasy and the feel of his hard body rocking against her. Somehow, she managed to straddle the bike and him.

“Hold tight,” he instructed.

She folded her legs behind his back and did the same with her arms. The rope jerked and tried pulling her up and away.

“Steady, Abigail.” His hand moved around under her bottom.

She gasped as he moved the hardness from beneath her thigh. “Jasper!”

At the sight of the gun in his hand, she hugged him for dear life. Burying her face into his neck, she felt the coldness of the gold ring in his ear pressed against her cheek. It reminded her that he kept secrets. The shot of the pistol and the tension on her corset loosening reaffirmed what she liked about him. Despite his deceptions, he had been her hero in so many ways.

“Thank you,” she cried against his collar.

“I told you before I’d keep you safe from Eric.”

She looked up at the frayed rope whipping freely above. She saw Eric in the basket, a scowl on his face and a gun in his hand.

She ducked at the sound of gunfire. “Jasper, he’s going to kill us.”

“Merlin, I think you should do something to help.” Jasper slowed his pedaling and they dropped farther away from Eric’s balloon.

Abigail took a quick peek in the basket on the handlebars. “You brought your cat?”

“He insisted.”

A bullet ripped through the right wing and then the left.

“How long can this thing stay up if the canvas is torn?”

“Only till we hit the water.” He looked over at the left back wing. “It’s not too bad.”

She concentrated on remaining calm and staying still. From the up and down movement beneath her bottom, she suspected her weight on Jasper’s lap made pedaling for him much harder.

“Come on, Merlin,” Jasper coaxed. “I apologize for saying you’d be of no help. Please, would you go give Eric some trouble?”

Abigail turned her head and watched the cat stand up in the basket. He stretched and yawned, and stared at her. His penetrating gaze held her spellbound. He had that same concentrated look when he had watched her take a bath. It gave her a chill when she thought of him having the capabilities of understanding human nature. Then she thought,
how silly to worry over being naked in front of a cat.

She wanted to hit Jasper for steering her mind into such ridiculous directions. The exasperation and frustrations were too much.

“Today, Merlin,” Jasper said, prodding the cat to perform.

In her opinion, he put too much hope on a miracle.

“Bloody hell, when will he stop?” she squealed, hiding her face against Jasper again while another volley of shots whizzed past her ear. “Can’t you just tell him you’ll give him what he wants so he’ll stop trying to kill us?”

“No need.”

She sat back to see him smiling. Then she looked behind her at the cat in the basket. Except the cat was gone and a hawk stood in Merlin’s place.

“Where did he come from?” She stretched her neck to see deep into the basket. “And where’s Merlin?”

The idea that he fell out made her look below. She didn’t see the cat, but she did see Jasper’s ship through the break in the clouds.

The bird expanded his wings, stretching them wide. The pretty brown feathers ruffled up. It took her attention from worrying about Merlin. As he preened and flapped, he also stared. Abigail didn’t like his lingering gaze. It reminded her of the cat. The intensity of his observance rattled her nerves.

She watched him nonetheless as he took flight and soared into the sky. The graceful flap of his wings sailed him toward Eric’s balloon. She didn’t really believe the cat was a bird. But whatever trick, whatever sleight of hand Jasper performed, still left her in awe.

“He’s not an ordinary animal,” Jasper said.

“I’ll say not,” she replied. “But where did he come from?”

“Weren’t you watching? That’s Merlin. I should have told you before, except…Well, I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“What are you talking about?” She strained to see the bird heading toward Eric’s balloon through the wispy mist of clouds.

“We’ll talk after I land this thing.”

Abigail imagined the bird carrying out Jasper’s request; his flapping wings extinguishing the gas flames or his sharp talons ripping through the silk balloon. Whatever he did had worked to distract Eric, because she no longer heard him shooting.

The flight back to the ship took less time than she expected. It surprised her at how easily Jasper lowered the pedal bird and smoothly landed on the deck.

“There’s your cat.” Abigail pointed with relief to see Merlin had come to no harm.

The cat stood on the rail and walked the narrow edge, confident in his balance.

“But how’d he get down here?” she questioned.

“The cat changed into the bird, Abigail.”

“That’s not possible. Now tell me the how the trick works.”

Jasper walked toward Merlin and demanded, “Show her.”

Merlin jumped down from the railing and strolled across the deck. His white tail swished once from side to side.

“What do you mean, no?” Jasper hitched his hands on his hips and shook his head. “He likes being difficult,” he said to her, as if that should explain why the cat didn’t make the magical transformation.

“If I were to take a guess, I’d say he thinks you’re crazy,” Abigail commented.

“Forget him.” Jasper flicked his hand in the direction of the cat. “Let’s talk about you. Eric didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. He wanted to talk about the map and the snow globe. He has the same crazy story as you do about there being immortals.” She followed the cat. “I’m hungry.”

“It’s not crazy,” Jasper said.

“I still don’t believe it,” she replied.

“Would stabbing myself in the heart convince you? It hurts like bloody hell, but—”

Abigail cringed at the suggestion.

“Your father. I’m sorry, Abigail.” Jasper grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re still in mourning and here I make light of death. That’s not very sensitive of me.”

“I haven’t known men to have a sensitive nature in general.” She turned away, not wanting to show her vulnerable side to Jasper, and yet unable to stop talking. “It’s all about what they want. How they feel. They all act selfish, regardless of what I may need.”

“All men?”

“Yes.” She thought of Randolph, and then amended her statement. “No. Not my father. He was a rarity. If there was anything at all he could do to make someone else feel better, he did it without any thought to himself.”

“Abigail, I really am truly sorry. I should have remembered how your father died. I’m an idiot.”

She glanced over her shoulder, angry and upset, yet holding on to an inner strength she liked to believe she inherited from her father. She replied coolly, “Yes, you are.”

Tired and hungry, she left Jasper standing on deck and went in search of something to eat. The galley still didn’t have anything substantial. In her hunt, she came up with a covered tin containing shelled nuts. She picked through them, tossing out the shriveled-up dry ones. The better of the bunch she dropped into a small tin cup. She carried the cup to the storage room to see if she had overlooked anything substantial there that she could turn into a meal.

Merlin joined her. He jumped from crate to crate as she looked in them. When she spotted the tipped-over mechanical device that she recognized from the museum as the earliest model of a typewriter called a writing ball, she moved everything to pick it up. She struggled to retrieve the device wedged between the crates. Unable to get it free, she pulled the slip of paper out from under its roller. She perused the yellowed paper with faded letters and held it closer to read: