20
the chase—daniel is captivated—lies and illogic— taking a moment to appreciate art— daniel resorts to mathematics
Pirates are almost always better than their neighbors think they are. They attend church (do you realize how many silver candlestick holders and golden plates are in a church?). They respect the law (as one does respect a powerful enemy). And they can be counted on (to do the wrong thing).
As they spilled into the corridor four minutes and thirty seconds before the head start was completed, a chorus of Tally ho! announced that the hunt was on—for while pirates might embody Shakespeare’s “to thine own self be true,” they cheerfully skipped the “thou canst not then be false to any man” part.
Daniel could not help but feel a rush of exhilaration as the ladies roared in pursuit. Danger was, after all, what he had been constructed for. Even as he ran, he calculated risks, scanned for potential weapons, and consulted his mental map for the best escape routes. The Wisteria Society might be wicked villains, but he was something far more dangerous—a professional hero. They would not catch him. And he would kill every single one of them before they even touched Alice.
The name fluttered softly, like fine, rose-scented fingers, beneath his heart. He almost stumbled. Alice? Since when had Agent A, Miss Dearlove, rival and mission associate, become Alice? And why did his pulse shiver when he glanced at her, seeing several locks of hair tumble from her coiffure as she withdrew the miniature dagger concealed therein?
A shadow loomed at the corner of his eye and he looked over just in time to realize he was about to collide with a tall vase at the edge of the corridor. Focus on where you are going, he reminded himself sternly.
Alice reached inside her bodice to withdraw another dagger.
He crashed into a statue.
“Are you all right?” Alice asked, glancing at him.
“Left,” he snapped in response. They turned into a narrow corridor leading to a rise of stairs, and Daniel pushed Alice ahead of him. Her red petticoat swirled around her like a—a—red swirly thing. Her hair fell completely from its pins in the manner of—of—
Damn. He almost wished for the pirates to catch him before the urge to romantically similize completely destroyed his brain.
Besides, Alice Dearlove was truly incomparable.
“Left,” he said again at the top of the stairs. As they ran, the pursuers shouted advice:
“Just give up!”
“Surrender!”
“At least slow down, I’m getting too old for this kind of thing!”
But their voices were diminishing, and Daniel began to think escape was just around the corner.
Then he turned the corner.
“Damn,” he swore with uncharacteristic passion, coming to a halt as he stared at the dead end ahead of them.
“Well, that’s a nuisance,” Alice remarked. “And no door, no window, to escape through.”
“Aaaaaahhhh!!” added the approaching mob.
Turning to face the way they had come, Alice set her feet apart and spun the tiny daggers in her hands. Daniel himself had no knives, and the spare gun in his concealed holster was obviously useless if Miss Darlington had been telling the truth about stealing their bullets. But he did have his bare hands, which were registered weapons (the paperwork had taken him hours). He and Alice did not need to glance at each other to share a battle plan.
Go Down Fighting.
Alice squinted as she aimed her dagger at an imagined foe, then spun it again with casual proficiency and used the tip to scratch at her eyebrow. Daniel considered whether he had enough time to push her against the wall and kiss her until they both swooned.
The floor began to tremble. The horde was growing closer. Probably no, in that case. He took a step forward.
Suddenly a panel in the wall swung ajar. A hand emerged, beckoning.
“Quick,” someone urged from the shadows. “In here!”
Immediately Daniel grasped Alice’s arm and sent her through the doorway, hurrying in behind her. They found themselves in a tiny, bare room only just discernible in the faint light coming through the open door.
“Thank you,” he whispered to their rescuer.
“My pleasure,” the mysterious figure said. Then she shut the door—having first exited through it.
Darkness clamped down.
“I’ve got them!” the rescuer villain shouted. “They’re in here!”
Daniel cursed beneath his breath. How could he have been so stupid as to trust someone in a pirate’s house?
Jostling him aside, Alice crouched down. Daniel heard a scraping noise, then she rose.
“I’ve jammed a dagger beneath the door,” she explained in a whisper. “But it won’t keep them out for long.”
Even before she finished speaking, the door shuddered as the pirates tested her theory.
“Let us in,” Mrs. Rotunder called out in a voice as sweet as Mrs. Kew’s tea. “We only want to chat!”
“Chat you right off the plank,” Millie added, chuckling.
“Millie!” Mrs. Rotunder tsked with exasperation. “I’m trying to fool them into a false sense of security.”
“They’re spies, not idiots,” Millie retorted. “Well, not complete idiots.”
“Fair point,” Mrs. Rotunder said, and the thumping against the door grew louder.
Daniel began to shove at the walls. “It’s a secret room,” he whispered to Alice, “therefore it must have a secret exit.”
“That is a fallacious statement if ever I heard one,” Alice said, but she joined him in his efforts. “I must say, Mr. Bixby, being in mortal peril is no excuse for illogical—”
She fell abruptly silent. Groping through the darkness for her, Daniel felt her hand catch his. She pulled him forward, and he stumbled with her into a newly opened space. A dim light above indicated she had found a secret staircase. Daniel closed the door behind them, Alice wedged her last dagger beneath it, and they hurried up toward the light.
Thud! The pirates broke through the first door.
“No one here!” came a shout. “Muriel Fairweather, you’re a liar!”
“I told the truth!” Muriel replied indignantly. “They were here a moment ago. They must have found the secret passageway!”
“A pirate telling the truth?” The pirates laughed.
“How rude! Edwina Ogden, I demand you apologize!” There followed the sharp sound of a sword being drawn.
“I’m a widow,” Mrs. Ogden replied. “That means I never need to apologize again!” Another sword scraped from its scabbard.
“En garde!”
“En garde!”
Metal clanged.
“Take that, fiend!”
“Be careful of my hat!”
The agents reached the top of the stairs and cautiously entered a room that glowed with the soft golden light of dimmed gas lamps. They stared in confusion at an assortment of beds, rocking horses, and tall standing easels displaying art. Not immediately seeing an exit, they grabbed paintbrushes as makeshift weapons and pressed themselves against the wall at either side of the half-open door, listening to evaluate the threat of pursuit.
Thud! The second door below slammed open.
The agents exchanged a grim look and tightened their grips on the paintbrushes.
“More stairs? Really?” came Mrs. Rotunder’s cry.
“I am as fit as the next person,” replied Millie the Monster (a tiny woman whose age had long ago gone for a stroll in the mists of time and never been seen since). “I could continue this pursuit for hours. But frankly”—she paused for a heaving breath—“it has become boring.”
“I’d rather be playing with The Baby,” Muriel added.
“Dearest Evangeline! I have never seen a more prodigious child!” Mrs. Rotunder’s voice faded as the pirates began to leave. “Only four months old, and yet at luncheon last week I looked away for no more than a second and she stole my teaspoon.”
“Ridiculous name, though,” opined Millie (short for Verisimilitude).
“It’s from a poem, apparently,” Mrs. Rotunder said, and the resulting laughter dwindled away.
Daniel exhaled just as Alice did the same. He closed the door, and noticing a chest of drawers nearby, they hauled it over to serve as a barricade. Then leaning back against it, they stared wearily into the middle distance.
“I am just so shocked,” Alice murmured.
“Oh?” Daniel asked, wondering which of the screaming women with a torch, terrifying pirate horde, exploding ceiling, or further terrifying pirate horde had troubled her in particular.
“ ‘It’s a secret room, therefore it must have a secret exit,’ ” she said, and shook her head. “Have you read no Aristotle at all?”
“There was a secret exit,” he pointed out.
“That is beside the point.” She shook her head again, as if trying to settle the thoughts therein. “I also cannot believe Jane blew up the library ceiling in an effort to kill Cecilia Bassingthwaite, and everyone applauded her. Even Cecilia.”
“Pirates,” he said.
“And they keep tigers in their bedrooms.”
“Just one tiger,” he pointed out reasonably.
She impaled him with a look that ought to have been given its own entry in the A.U.N.T. index of weaponry. “They are . . . are . . .” She cast about for the worst insult possible. “Utterly inexplicable. At least we can now leave this place, since the weapon does not exist. Our mission is complete. We can take the cottage and be back in London before dawn.”
“I’m not flying that alleged building at night,” Daniel countered. “We’re safe here; we should take a break.”
That idea perked Alice up at once. “Good idea! Break what, though? Frederick’s bones? Windows?” She looked around the room. “Where exactly are we?”
“The castle nursery, I think,” Daniel said. “But it seems someone has turned it into an art studio.”
Drifting over to one of the easels, Alice tilted her head as she contemplated the large charcoal sketch on display. Then she tilted it in the other direction.
“The artist appears to have a poor understanding of gravity,” she commented.
Daniel went to stand beside her. One glance at the sketch and he swallowed dryly, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. “No, I think they understand altogether too well.”
Alice peered closer. “Is that supposed to be Jane?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Why is she wrestling that gentleman? He—wait, that’s one of the Bassingthwaites’ footmen, isn’t it? Why is he not wearing trousers?”
Daniel raised his eyes heavenward. “Miss Dearlove, I cannot believe you are that innocent.”
She jumped back as if the sketch had tried to assault her. “Oh. Well, goodness me. Of course I am worldly to the correct, ladylike degree. It’s only . . .” She tilted her head again. “Surely that is not normal practice?”
Daniel regarded the image thoughtfully. “Actually, it’s not abnormal, as such. Just not very safe for her neck, I should think.”
“Well. Fiddlesticks.” A delicate flush warmed the frown on her face, making her practically luminous with disapproval. Daniel’s brain informed him tersely that he was staring at her and, if he did not stop, it would send an official complaint to his nerves. He ignored it.
Was there a more exquisite woman in all the world than the one standing before him? If so, Daniel had not met her, and never expected to. Alice Dearlove defied even his ability to find a suitable quote from literature; he could only say she was e∧(iπ) + 1 = 0 in feminine physical form. Her mouth shaped a general, silent reproof with gorgeous perfection. Her eyes were so opulent they might have inspired any amount of poetry were Daniel’s imagination capable of bending further than “dark brown.” And the memory of her soft, creamy skin pressed against his body as she attempted to strangle him made him ache with longing. He moved unthinkingly, helplessly, toward her.
She took a step back.
“I have questions about how Jane effected the ceiling collapse,” she said. “We must debrief.”
“Tomorrow.” He took another step, and although she did not retreat this time, her fingers tapped a staccato beat against her thigh. Daniel stopped at once, swallowing disappointment.
Then she broke his world apart and pieced it back together with molten gold: she took a step toward him. He drew in a breath he hadn’t known he’d been inhaling, and almost choked.
“Tomorrow it’s over,” he said, his voice gritty. “We go back to headquarters, get reassigned.” Gathering all his courage, he offered a dream in disguise: “We could use tonight to professionally expend our residual marital energy, as a way of transitioning out of the mission roles of husband and—”
He got no further before Alice grasped hold of his shirt, pulled him against her, and gave him his wish. She kissed him rapaciously, devastating every barricade and barbed trap he had within. Sensation barreled free, overwhelming him with emotions. It was all he could do not to weep. He desired her with such intensity, the fact he had her in his hands now was a bomb he could not safely defuse. He tried to pull away but was holding her too tightly to escape.
Her hands roamed his back, fingernails digging through shirt linen, making new, tiny thorns amongst his inked roses. The pain was delicate, and it stirred him beyond lust into deep, warm fondness for the woman. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her lovely face, tenderly stroking loose strands of hair away from—
Thud. Pain burst through him as Alice shoved him back against a wardrobe, his head smacking on the wood. Stars filled his vision.
Idiot, he cursed himself, even as Alice lifted a hand to strike. No goddamn light touches. Blocking her attack effortlessly, he ducked, slipping around behind her, and shoved her in turn against the wardrobe. Twisting her arm back, he pressed his body to hers so she could not move.
She whimpered.
And then—“Harder,” she commanded.
Everything in him went instantly, obediently hard, even as he angled her arm further.
“I still have a hand free,” she pointed out.
He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “You don’t scare me, Alice.”
She went so still at the sound of her name in his mouth, Daniel wondered for a moment if she was going to detonate. But then she gave a soft, quiet sigh. It seemed to echo the yearning he felt, and he closed his eyes, bent his brow to the back of her head, as if she was an altar he would pray on.
“I scare the living daylights out of myself,” she confessed. “We should probably stop.”
Fine. That was fine. He had no need to caress her, nor kiss her rosy mouth until the razor-sharp edges of his heart began to soften. He needed nothing at all but a gun and a rule to live by. Releasing her, he stepped back—
“Tsk,” she said.
And he frowned, feeling more lost than he’d ever been in his life. “Perhaps you could help me understand what you want?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, never mind his heart.
Alice turned to face him, leaning back against the wardrobe. Her hair was disheveled, her face almost white in the mingling gaslamp-and-moon light, except where shadows limned her eyes. Daniel could hardly fathom such loveliness.
“I want to not be ruled by should and ought,” she said. “I want—” She paused, then huffed a brief, sardonic laugh. “I want to be to my own self true. But I cannot, can I? Neither can you. We live to serve.”
The sentiment nauseated him, because it was true. Suddenly he burned with a furious desire to destroy every single Academy teacher who had broken Alice Dearlove’s will and manipulated her into doing only what benefited A.U.N.T., just as they had to him. But he stayed calm, focused, the way he did when faced with any other monstrous villainy.
“You’re right,” he said. “My whole life has been in service. Only books have given me any kind of escape. But this week I’ve been starting to realize I want more than that. For example, I want you.”
Alice flushed in a way he loved to see, going all hot for him. But her gaze slipped away over his shoulder. “No one wants me,” she said, “except as a fixer. A servant who can fetch their handkerchief, carry their hatbox, disarm their villainous criminal. What can I do for you, Mr. Bixby?”
“Nothing,” he said instantly—then paused to think it through, to give her a real answer. She had already said it herself: “Be your own self true. I want you.”
Emotion rippled over Alice’s face—grief, maybe, swamping her eyes with tears; or perhaps it was anger, making her jaw muscles go tap-tap; or God only knows—Daniel could have done with an instruction manual on women just at that moment, along with a cross-referencing bibliography and several diagrams.
“I am dangerous,” she said.
“You won’t hurt me,” he answered at once. “I won’t let you.”
She gave him a cynical look. “Good luck with that, Mr. Bixby.”
“I don’t need luck.” Reaching out fearlessly, he took hold of a satin button on her bodice, and rolling it between two fingers, he recited a slow, sensual line of Latin poetry. The wardrobe behind them lifted, floating across to the door, where it settled to strengthen the barricade.
“Witchcraft!” Alice gasped. “Does A.U.N.T. know you can do that?”
“What do you think?” He slipped the button from its fastening. “You’ve spent a few days in pirates’ company and admit yourself corrupted. I spent years with them. Share the night with me, Alice.”
“I rather have to,” she answered. “There seems no safe way out of here except—”
“I mean,” he interrupted with endless patience, “making love together. Just us, Daniel and Alice, not Agents A and B, not Mr. and Mrs. Blakeney. Our own selves true. Only—only if you want, though, of course.”
Forcing himself into silence before he could utter a cringing apology, he reached for the next button on her bodice.
“Yes,” she said.
Yes! his heart echoed, trembling with sheer, amazed delight. She said yes!
“But,” she added. Her hand clamped his against the button, stopping him. Her countenance became deadly tranquil once more, and Daniel felt electrified.
“Before we go any further,” she said, “let’s list some rules for ourselves.”
And just like that, his nervous system invented nuclear fusion.