Time Rovers 03 Madman's Dance (62 page)

“We should stay...” his voice broke, “until they’ve buried her.”

“Find the gravediggers. I’ll stand vigil.”

As he strode away across the darkening landscape, a single rose petal floated downward on the breeze. Cynda caught it between two fingers, remembering Defoe’s boutonniere. This petal had a fragrance. She tucked it away in her pocket, a memento of a love lost to fate.

~••~••~••~

The silence inside the carriage was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Part of it was grief. Part of it was uncertainty. The sure knowledge that things couldn’t remain the same between them.

Unfinished business.

They held hands, a simple bond of flesh against flesh. It was comforting.

When he placed his arm around her, she pulled off her hat and veil, not willing to relinquish the warmth of his shoulder.

His embrace suddenly tightened. “Why did you confront Copeland alone? You should have left when Hopkins didn’t arrive on time.”

She turned toward him. “If you didn’t want me to fight for myself, why did you teach me?”

“I wanted you to be able to
defend
yourself, not go into battle like some Valkyrie,” he retorted.

She liked that image. “Copeland would have found us, one way or another. I made sure he came to
me
, on
my
terms, not his.”

“I should have been there with you,” he insisted.

“You did your hero bit. You saved thousands of lives. Taking down Copeland was my job.”

“It could have gone so wrong, Jacynda. I could have lost you.”

He hugged her tighter, gently brushing back a strand of hair. Touching her cheek as delicately as a faint autumn breeze, he leaned close and kissed her. It was a powerful beginning to whatever lay in their future.

When they broke apart he began whispering to her, so quietly she had to listen closely to hear his words over the sound of the carriage wheels.

“Harter was right,” he admitted. “I would have been jealous of him if it hadn’t been for you.” His voice gained strength. “I was not in favor of Chris and you being together. I thought you too erratic, and I told him so. After you were knifed, it all changed. I was there when you arrived. Though you were dying, you clutched your Gladstone like it held the Crown Jewels. What a silly woman, I thought, worrying about a piece of luggage.

“Then I found my nephew’s ashes in that case, and realized you’d risked your life to bring him home.” He swallowed heavily. “I felt a heartless fool. It made me look inside myself, and I loathed what I found.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Every trip you took to 1888 became harder for me,” he told her. “By the last time, I almost refused to allow you to leave.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

“I know. I realized that I couldn’t very well spout platitudes about choosing your own path, and then proceed to put myself directly in the middle of it.”

“It was the right decision.”

His fingers caressed her cheek again. “It could have gone so wrong. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing the woman I love. Not a second time.”

He put his arms around her, drawing her close. Part of her wanted to say she needed more time, that she didn’t want to make a mistake. That would be a lie. Her heart had already weighed in on the matter of Theo Morrisey.

As Cynda unlocked the door to the hotel room, he trailed in behind her on silent feet. She could feel his apprehension. It matched hers. He set aside his top hat and jacket, regarding her with those dark eyes. Waiting. The moment her hat, veil and mantelet were set aside, she turned toward him.

“Theo…” He wrapped his hands around her waist, drawing her close against him. A kiss on her ear. She shivered at his warm touch. It stirred a greater need. The next kiss was on her lips. She savored it like a fine wine.

A second later, his control broke. Her back was against the wall in a heartbeat, kisses flaming across her mouth, cheeks and neck. She met his desire with hers, hands running under his waistcoat to pull him closer. Nervous fingers worked her bodice buttons, and one by one they opened. His hands glided across her breasts. She reveled in the sensation, spiraling into the stark passion that began to claim her.

“No,” he muttered and abruptly stepped back, a flush of color on his cheeks. He took a deep breath. “Not this way. Not for our first time together.”

He was right. This was more than just easing the ache. She caressed his cheek. “Go warm the bed. I’ll be there soon.”

After another deep kiss, he left her alone.

Lighting a gas lamp, Cynda selected a piece of hotel stationary, dipped the pen in the ink and began to write her resignation. Until tonight, her world was time travel. Now, it had expanded to include the man waiting for her in the other room. She would give him the paper in the morning. He’d be sure to protest, but somehow they’d find their way forward.

She heard the creak of a bedspring. Leaving the paper on the desk, she turned down the oil lamp and entered the bedroom. Theo was already in place, covers pulled to his waist, his chest mottled with nearly healed bruises.

Cynda took her time undressing, knowing he was watching. Seduction came in many forms. First she removed the boots, then the hose, making sure he got a good view of her legs. Then her skirt, petticoats and the bodice. That left the onsie with the lace edging, which was about as feminine as she got. She reached for the ribbon ties to remove it.

“No, leave that for me,” he said. She shook out her hair and moved closer. “You are beautiful, you know,” he confided huskily.

She scoffed, even though she enjoyed hearing it. “You’re biased.”

“I know true beauty when I see it. Adelaide Winston had it. So do you, now,
and
in the future.”

The compliment warmed her cheeks. She never blushed, but she would for this man.

“What did she say to you?”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, brushing back a stray strand of hair. “That if we trust our hearts, all will be well.”

Sitting on the side of the bed, she remembered the ring. As she went to remove it, he stopped her. “It’s only fitting that you keep it,” he said.

“But—”

“You didn’t see it, did you?”

She shook her head. “See what?”

“You were still wearing it. I think that bodes well for us.”

Cynda could only nod, flooded with new emotions that were hard to comprehend. He slid his hands down her arms, pulling her closer. The kiss was beautiful in its simplicity.

“New beginnings are always scary,” she admitted.

“For both of us.” He had as much to lose as she did. As she crawled under the covers, she noticed his interface was open on the nightstand. “Ah, what’s that for? You have other plans for tonight?” she joked.

“No. The night is ours. The interface will dampen any…sounds we make.”

Like Defoe’s watch had masked their conversation in the dining room.

“Sounds? What did Chris tell you?” she asked, suddenly nervous.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying her embarrassment. “He was always a gentleman when it came to you. I just thought we might embarrass our Victorian neighbors, especially since they believe we’re brother and sister.”

She’d forgotten that little white lie. “We’ll have to sort that out tomorrow.”

His fingers deftly untied the top ribbon on her onesie. “That is tomorrow.” Another ribbon fell to his fingers. “I am only concerned with tonight.” Another ribbon. Then the last one. He gently parted the two halves of the garment. His eyes reflected a hunger, a wonderment that she never thought possible. Curving his hands underneath her breasts, he ran his thumbs across each nipple.

Cynda moaned at the sensation. It had been too long. She’d made love, but never
been
loved. That was what she craved.

Leaning closer, she whispered, “Make time stand still…for both of us.”

Wednesday, 14 November, 1888

Arundel Hotel

It had been his interface that had pulled him out of her arms. The message made him curse: things were starting to fall out with TPB and Guv wanted him home. Pronto.

“I should ignore them,” Theo said, frowning. He pulled her back in his arms. She relished the feel of their naked bodies sliding against each other. She could still hear the words he’d whispered in her ear as they’d made love. Their cries of passion as they found their release as one.

I don’t want you to go.

Not after last night. They’d savored each other, then rested, then began again. Each joining built the bond between them. A bond for the future.

Now he had to leave.

With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed and began to dress. After he finished, she propped herself up and watched as he sorted through his suitcase, even though he’d not brought that much with him. He took a great deal of time folding and refolding his one pair of socks, delaying the inevitable.

She had to make it easier for him. “It’s not the end of the world,” she jested.

He dropped the socks into the suitcase like they were burning coals. “It is to me. After last night…” His deep eyes met hers. “I’ve…never felt that way with anyone, Jacynda. Not even Mei.”

Her heart melted. “I’ve never felt that way, either.” Then she winked at him, hoping to bust through his melancholy mood. “You can welcome me home in a day or two after I settle things here. I promise I won’t stay any longer than necessary.”

He snapped the suitcase shut and then pulled out his interface. “One minute is too long for me, Jacynda.”

“For me as well.” She pulled on a robe as she walked toward him. Once in his arms, she delivered a kiss that glazed his eyes.

It took all her resolve to step back. “Now off you go!” she said, waving her hand to shoo him away. “I have other paramours to consider, you know.”

An eyebrow arched. “You are too cheeky by half. We’ll have to work on that.”

She sobered. “Don’t let the bad guys win.”

“I won’t.” Then the transfer took him away from her.

The ache began instantly. The bond between them stretched taut.

I’ll be home soon. I promise.

She hadn’t been lying about the paramours. Well, Alastair and Keats weren’t exactly lovers, but she owed them a goodbye. They weren’t the only ones: so many bridges to burn. The official story was that she was returning home to New York. She’d need to visit Sephora and Sagamor, see how his lordship was doing. Then there was Davy and his mom, and dear Mr. Pratchett at the bookshop.

It was proving difficult, caught between the desire to go home and the sadness of leaving true friends behind.

As she prepared for her visit to the Wescombs, Cynda was about to jam the hat pin home when the maid arrived with a calling card.

“Do you wish to meet him downstairs?” the domestic asked.

“No, send him up.” Whatever had brought Chief Inspector Fisher to her doorstep wasn’t a topic they’d want to discuss in the dining room.

From the moment he stepped inside the door, Fisher was all business, which told her this wasn’t a social call. He looked older, more war weary than the last time they’d seen each other. After they’d sat on the couch, he jumped right into it.

“I owe you my most sincere gratitude for saving Jonathon’s life,” he told her. “I still cannot see how you were able to speak directly to His Royal Highness, or for that matter, convince Flaherty to come forward.”

“Sometimes you get lucky.”

He examined her closely. “No, I suspect it had little to do with luck.”

“How can I help you, Chief Inspector?”

“By being honest with me. I am about to retire, Miss Lassiter. I’ve had a long career, and though not every case I’ve encountered has been successfully concluded, this one has. At least, that’s the general consensus. I, on the other hand, have a lot of questions that have gone unanswered since the moment I first heard your name.”

Oh boy, here we go.
“What kinds of questions?” she hedged.

“For a start, who you really are and who do you work for? Please, don’t bother with the Pinkerton’s hoax. I have a friend who recently retired from their service. He tells me that you have never worked for Pinkerton’s in any capacity. Neither has Mr. Anderson, nor Mr. Hopkins.”

“Checkmate,” her delusion called out. “He’s got you.”

She lounged back on the couch, pleased with this man’s astuteness. “What took you so long to work that out?”

“My friend has been quite ill and was unable to answer my enquiries for some time. I received his letter just this morning.” Fisher leaned forward. “So who are you, really? How could you possibly know the details of the Lord Mayor’s Day plot so intimately? Where do you go when you disappear from the city?”

If anyone deserved the truth, it was Fisher.

When she didn’t answer right away, he fluffed up. “Miss Lassiter, it’s about time I knew the real story.”

Cynda removed the interface from her pocket, setting it in her palm. As she began to wind it, she let him see the display. Both of his eyebrows raised in surprise as the dial lit up.

“You’re absolutely right, Chief Inspector. It’s about time.”

~••~••~••~

Thursday, 15 November, 1888

The Crystal Palace

“I’m glad Flaherty didn’t blow this all to pieces,” Keats remarked, gazing up at the roof of the massive cast iron and glass building. “It’s such a marvel. No matter how many times I come here, it still makes me feel so insignificant.”