His Clockwork Canary

for a while, denying him lucrative “work,” might inspire the man to treat Bingham with more respect in the future —when next Bingham needed him.

The Scottish bastard eyed him up and down, then smiled. “I be takin’ the ornithopter.”

Bingham watched as the intimidating man gently scooped up his “prize.” “Oh, Dunkirk. You neglected to mention the status of Miss Darcy.”

“Dead.”

“Pity.”

“Aye, it is,” he said on his way out.

Bingham sensed true regret in the pirate’s voice, when all Bingham mourned was the chance to dominate Miss Darcy in bed. Ah, well. At least her demise would please his mother.

He called for his captain. “Set a course for Australia.” He would not dawdle and pine over Miss Darcy’s less- than-thrilling discovery. Certainly he would not mourn the outspoken utopian’s death. He would seek the expertise of Merriweather, who had firsthand knowledge of the Briscoe Bus. As backup, he intended to contact Miss Goodenough.

Time to turn up the heat on Simon Darcy.

But first he would deplete some of his frustration by ravaging his sex slave and confidant. He moved toward his private cabin, knowing the automaton was naked and waiting in his bed as ordered. “Renee!” he bellowed. “Get on your hands and knees.”

CHAPTER 11

JANUARY 16, 1887 EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

Heaven.

Willie had died and gone to heaven. Surely that was the only explanation for the bliss flowing through her. No worries. No agony. Unlike before. Before there had been such blinding and weakening pain that she’d felt her mind and body shutting down. But instead of finding peace in a state of unconsciousness, she’d been pummeled with sporadic agitated dreams.

Now, however, there was bliss.

Quite certain she would awake to golden archways and fluffy white clouds, Willie smiled a little as she opened her eyes. Disappointment resonated as her gaze fixed upon a cracked blue sky. No, not sky. Ceiling.

“That smile was all too brief.”

Willie jerked at the sound of a husky voice very close to her ear. She would have bolted upright, but she was pinned down. Fully aware now, she registered the soft mattress beneath her and the hard man wrapped around her like a human vine.

Simon.

She was conscious of his leg draped over her thighs, his arm wrapped around her middle. Heat stole though her body, a heady rush, as she tried to make sense of the moment. Surely this was, at the very least, inappropriate.

In spite of her fuzzy head and a now aching shoulder, Willie tried to shift away whilst looking directly into Simon’s intense gaze. “Why are you in bed with me?”

“You invited me.”

“I did not.”

“True. I was attempting to be a gentleman. You did, in fact, beg me to join you.”

Willie’s cheeks burned hot. She searched her memories, which took her back to the catacombs. A dark corridor. A man. A gun. An excruciating assault to the shoulder. Her shoulder.

“You sustained serious injuries and spent the past two days in a feverish delirium,” Simon informed her. “This morning you shivered as though subjected to subzero temperatures and cried out for warmth. Demanded it, actually. Curse me if you will—”

“That would be petty,” Willie said, forcing her words around a humbling lump in her throat. “Something tells me you saved my life.”

“You most assuredly saved mine,” Simon said.

For a moment they simply stared into each other’s eyes. They’d been intimate in this way before—in bed, entwined—but that had been long ago. The rapid beating of Willie’s heart was all too familiar. However, she did not recall Simon’s hair color resembling that of a fine cognac, nor his eyes, not just blue, but cobalt blue. How vibrant he looked! Vibrant and intoxicating.

She remembered then that she’d abandoned her corneatacts. Of course, everything would appear less muted. That also meant that Simon was gazing intently into her unshielded eyes, her freakish kaleidoscope eyes.

Self-conscious, she looked away.

Simon trailed a finger down her jawline, then grasped her chin, gently bidding her attention. “Although I was seduced by vivid green and intrigued by brown, there is nothing more enchanting then a rainbow of swirling shades.”

Her breath hitched. Could he truly be charmed by an affliction that repelled so many? “Some fear that if they peer into our naked gaze too long, they’ll be hypnotized by the swirling effect, and would then be powerless to our whims.”

Simon’s mouth quirked. “The swirling is very subtle and I am not a gormless twit.”

No, indeed. Simon Darcy was most intelligent. It was one of the things, along with his adventurous spirit, that had drawn her to him twelve years prior. That, and his sinfully handsome face. She had not thought it possible, but Simon had grown even more bonny over the years. His chiseled facial features and impeccably, closely groomed beard, which was really more like a sexy whiskered shadow, contrasted with his perpetually disheveled, longish hair.

Had his body matured in a similar fashion? Could time improve upon what she remembered as perfection? Willie could scarcely breathe as her mind took a prurient turn. Even though Simon was fully clothed, she could easily imagine his bare chest, his muscled abdomen, his . . . “How long was I senseless?” she asked, desperate to break the sensual spell.

“Three days, give or take a few hours.”

Three days and two nights. Had Simon slept with her throughout? He must have. Glancing about, she noted there was only one bed and this was not her room. He would have no qualms about sharing a bed with a woman, especially one in need of comfort and care. Had he stripped her naked, tended to her wounds? She found it difficult to ask. She felt exposed enough as is. “The Houdinian—”

“Is gone.” Simon shifted, resting on one elbow and peering down at her with an enigmatic expression. “I stepped out when you seemed . . . restful,” he said. “Filmore, Flash, whatever name he goes by, fled his post at Spirits & Tales. No notice. No explanation. I backtracked our journey through the catacombs and found nothing. I suspect he moved whatever he was protecting.”

“Why are you lingering here three days after?” Willie snapped. “You should have followed whilst the trail was hot!”

“And leave you cold?”

Her body stiffened and her heart jerked. “You abandoned me before.”

“That would be the other way around, my dear.” His tone was harsh and it heightened Willie’s sensibilities. He dragged a strong hand through his glorious hair, mussing it even more. “I waited for you that day at Paddington Station. Long past the time you had said you would join me.”

“I sent Wesley with a missive of explanation.”

“I received no missive.”

“Wesley said—”

“He lied.”