Brass and Bone by Cynthia Gael Read Free Book Online Page B

I must know one thing before I can possibly agree to help you. Simon and I—or at least our services are, for want of a better word—for sale. But I need to know precisely where you want this thing,” she pointed at the brass box, “taken.”
    The angry color in Sir Eli’s face was fading and he was looking again most corpselike. “Forgive me, my dear. I thought I had mentioned that already. It is rather a long journey, but I shall provide whatever money and equipment you need to repair your grandfather’s airship.”
    My heart sank as I saw the look of utmost joy on Abigail’s face, but she said never a word.
    “And when it’s airworthy, I wish you to take this box,” he waved at it, “with its contents, along with Mademoiselle des Jardin and Henri d’Estes, to Australia.”
    “Australia!” I gasped. “Good lord, that’s halfway around the world! Surely, Abigail, you cannot accept such a commission.” I gave her my most pleading look.
    She was having none of it. I doubt she’d heard anything at all past “repair your grandfather’s airship,” but she proved me wrong, as Abigail so often does. “Two passengers, Simon, myself and our man Rupert,” she said, and went off into one of her calculating modes, some blather about weight and displacement and airspeeds and buoyancy, a place where I do not have the learning nor talent to follow. “It can certainly be done, with careful planning. We’ll need fueling stops, and I shall have to plan a most careful route. In fact, it will be quite an adventure, don’t you agree, Simon?”
    I did the only thing possible under the circumstances. I covered my face with my hands and groaned.

Chapter Three
Cynara
    France, my home, was so close I could see it. I could almost reach out and touch it. While the sea took up most of the scene before me, there was a haze on the horizon I knew to be France. I leaned forward against the balcony’s chill stone railing, trying to make out some faint details, but my attempts were for naught. I was still here in this damned icy England. Stuck on this little estate of Lady Abigail’s, so near to my homeland. Waiting to fulfill the duties to ensure my freedom.
    And when I did, I would be free of the Witchfinders forever. If it was blood they wanted, then they should have it and be done with me.
    I sensed Henri as he approached me from behind, long before his strong fingers seized my arm. He’d been in excellent spirits, but I’d refused to speak with him since we left Sir Eli Hopkins to his liquor, though I longed to release my anger.
    I jerked my arm away and widened the distance between us, never once removing my gaze from my beloved France.
    Henri grabbed me. Try though I might, I couldn’t struggle against the pleasure that came with his touch. Instead of fighting back as my anger would have me do, I let him pull me into his embrace.
    He held me for a moment, brushing a kiss against the top of my head, before I spoke. “Bitch, am I?”
    He laughed, and I hated him for it. “What would you have me do, my darling? Rush to your defense with Eli right there? Why, he’d have my head instead of yours if I tried such a thing.”
    I slapped his face.
    Henri brushed a strand of gold from my eyes as he responded, still chuckling under his breath. “Surely you aren’t surprised, Cynara. Your very blood makes you my most hated enemy. No matter what we’ve shared in the past.”
    “As you are mine,” I whispered into his waistcoat, breathing in his familiar scent of tobacco and cologne. I became consumed with my once-cherished memories of the time I spent in his favor and, despite his hateful nature, I wanted nothing more than to be with him as I used to be. I spoke, my voice thick with the emotion brought on by those remembrances. “Henri, you must know that I expected nothing from Jean-Pierre—”
    “Except my inheritance?” Henri turned to stone in an instant before shoving me away. “You are my weakness, Cynara. I admit