A Dance Like Flame (Of Magic & Machine Book 1) Read online

  A knock at the door interrupted his murderous thoughts. “Forgive me, Mr. Nash,” a round-cheeked maid said, dropping a curtsy as she entered the room. “He is insisting you see to your other patient in the blue parlor now.” Her eyes darted to the bed where Lady Elizabeth rested. “His Grace is also asking for you to join them in the parlor, my lady, if you’re able.”

  Ezra began to protest that his patient needed more rest, but before he could, she said, “It would be my honor.” His muscles clenched as his heart dropped. Apparently he had gone to the trouble of saving Lady Elizabeth’s life only to have it taken from her again in the same day.

  Chapter 3

  Beautiful silk wallpaper the color of freshly churned butter lined the hall. Beneath her feet, the lush carpet was a red so deep it almost appeared to be black. Dark wood framed the ceiling where breathtaking scenes of woodland creatures and winged women were painted.

  “This is the most lovely home I have ever had the pleasure to visit,” Bits said, meaning every word. She had been in homes more lavishly decorated, had even spent the last decade living in the Duke of Keaton’s home where everything that could be adorned with gold was gilded to the point of ostentatiousness, but none were as awe-inspiring as the palatial home she found herself following the surgeon/mage through.

  “Breena Manor is the primary residence of the Duke of Sidhe,” the man in question replied, not breaking his stride. And a long stride it was. Bits was not a small woman, she almost always towered over all the ladies and occasionally a few of the gentleman at any gathering she was forced to attend, but she most certainly had to look up to Mr. Nash. He wasn’t just tall, but long. Long legs eating up the length of the hall at such a rapid pace she grew short of breath trying to keep up. Long arms, one offering a resting place for her hand as he escorted her through the house and the other swaying with controlled, measured movements in time with his stride. Long fingers clenching and unclenching at his side.

  She really should have been more focused on the information he imparted - after all, it wasn’t every day a woman found herself inside the home of the only Touched man with a title - but something about the surgeon fascinated her. She tried to assure herself it was just because he was the first person she had encountered who could use magic to heal and one of the few males to ever engage her in conversation beyond the weather or location of the refreshments, but she didn’t believe her own excuses. Something about Mr. Nash drew an interest from her she didn’t know she possessed until the moment she opened her eyes to see him sitting on the floor, legs crossed, arms relaxed, and his face completely at peace.

  The face was the tipping point. She had seen handsome men before and had appreciated their beauty in the same sort of way one might appreciate a well-formed sculpture or particularly lovely painted cup.

  Mr. Nash was no teacup.

  It wasn’t the high cheekbones, eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky, or hair that put one in mind of brass springs which truly captured her attention. It was the restfulness, the ability to be completely at ease with himself. Perhaps it was superficial and his aristocratic bone structure was the root of his confidence and her interest, but Bits wanted to believe it was something more than that. She liked to think of herself as a person of substance, and she desperately wanted to believe the same of Mr. Nash.

  They turned yet another corner, the movement causing her hand to shift slightly where it rested on his arm. A zing of awareness traveled from her fingertips to her very core, making her breath hitch in her lungs.

  Maybe it wasn’t curiosity or base human attraction at all. Maybe her fascination came from the magic he’d poured into her body. She thought the last of it had dissipated, but the buzzing started again in earnest. For a brief moment she considered mentioning it to Mr. Nash, but found herself too embarrassed to admit the sensation was primarily in her lips and breasts.

  “Ah, here we are,” he said, bringing her to a stop. She certainly hoped he knew what he was about. As far as she could tell, the door they stood in front of was no different than any of the dozens of others they had passed. Instead of knocking to announce their arrival, he turned slightly and captured her gaze with his own. “I feel it is only fair to warn you before we enter,” he said, the muscles beneath her fingertips tightening. “As I’m sure you know, it is rare for an Untouched to be allowed beyond the gates to Corrigan…”

  “Both fae and man can enter into the gates, but only the fae ever exit,” she said, reciting the line every child growing up in Britain had heard at least a hundred times.

  The corners of Mr. Nash’s lips jerked. Bits wasn’t a very apt pupil when it came to reading people, but she was pretty sure it was the beginning of a grimace instead of a smile.

  “While that may be exaggerating things slightly, it is only very slightly.” He paused, and in that moment of silence, Bits’s unease grew. As if sensing her rising fear, Mr. Nash covered her fingers with his own. Suddenly the cold she’d been feeling just moments before vanished. In its place was a warmth so powerful she thought she might melt into a puddle on the floor. “Whatever happens inside this room, please know that I will do everything in my power to get you back home to your family where you belong.”

  She considered correcting him in regards to her family but thought better of it. It was most likely he already had an impressive list devoted to her shortcomings as it was. There was really no point in her adding to it.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” she said, attempting to smile but finding it impossible. Something was very off, and for the first time since waking up in a strange bed in a strange house, she was afraid.

  “There you are.”

  Bits jumped, completely unaware the door had been opened. Seeing the man filling the doorway did nothing to put her at ease or calm the rapid beating of her heart. He was around the same height as Mr. Nash, but where the doctor was slim and sleek, this man was wide and hard. His shoulders stretched from one side of the doorframe to the other. Even in a respectable, expensively-made jacket, the evidence of strong muscles was obvious. His white-blond hair was queued back like her grandfather might have worn his hair in his younger days. Oddly, there was something familiar and comforting about his brown eyes.

  “I was beginning to think you had run off without seeing to your other patient,” the behemoth said, a smile playing on his lips. “I was just about to send Bricky to retrieve you.”

  Mr. Nash narrowed his eyes, and Bits felt as though she was missing part of a joke. There was no question the larger man was teasing the surgeon. His eyes twinkled with the same mischievous glee she had seen reflected in her nephew’s eyes right before he did something to make his sister shriek with outrage.

  “No need for a retrieval,” Mr. Nash said. “I was merely giving my first patient enough time to recover fully. Lady Elizabeth, may I present the Duke of Sidhe. Your Grace, Lady Elizabeth Warner.”

  Bits dropped into the most graceful curtsy she could manage, which involved elbowing Mr. Nash in the side and nearly losing her footing.

  My goodness, Bits. You already look like a lumbering beast, must you also act like one?

  Thank the heavens her sister wasn’t around to chastise her in person. The lecture given once they were alone would have gone on for hours. After all, this man wasn’t merely a rich, handsome duke, but one of the most elusive and gossiped about members of the aristocracy. He attended very few social events, but was always in Town for the Season. Many speculated he only feigned aloofness and disinterest in the trappings of society to appear as though he was better than them, but Bits had another theory. Unlike most of the ton, she actually paid attention to the political sections of the newspaper and knew the Duke of Sidhe never missed a session of Parliament, often voicing his opinions on matters both in England and abroad. He was highly educated, intelligent, well spoken, and deeply committed to his position on the House of Lords. A person simply could not put that much energy into caring about the affairs of the empire and stil
l have time to attend balls and the theater every night.

  The Duke of Sidhe’s eyes darted to Mr. Nash for a brief moment, an unspoken something passing between the two of them, and then he offered her a bow.

  “Lady Elizabeth, a pleasure. Your husband…”

  “No husband, Your Grace. My father was the Earl of Braxton, a title that has now been passed down to my brother.”

  The duke’s eyebrows rose. “I was under the belief you were wed to the Duke of Keaton.”

  “That would be my sister, Sarah,” Bits said through teeth she was trying to unclench. “I’m his other daughter.”

  “Ah. Yes. You can see where my confusion comes from. You and your sister bear a shocking similarity to one another.” His smile was warm and genuine, even if his words were a complete lie. Saying Sarah and Bits resembled one another was like saying a butterfly resembled a toad. “I don’t remember your father, of course. I was much too young when the accident occurred, but my father thought very highly of him.”

  He didn’t mention her brother, which didn’t surprise her. Henrick wasn’t exactly known for showing up on the floor of Parliament. If the duke frequented Brooks’s he might be better acquainted with the high-spirited earl, but otherwise their paths most likely never crossed.

  “Thank you for your kind words, Your Grace,” Bits said, blinking back the tears that always threatened to fall when someone spoke fondly of her father. It was such a rare occurrence she was never quite prepared to handle it. “And thank you for your hospitality. I’m still not quite sure what happened, or even where I am, but I am very grateful for being given a place to recover.”

  “It was my honor,” the duke said. “I understand you stood up for my sister when no one else would. A bed in a house filled with rooms is no great payment in return for such kindness and bravery.”

  Finally the pieces fell together. She had been confused when Mr. Nash referred to Alice as a lady, but now she understood. The duke’s eyes were familiar because they were an exact replica of his sister’s.

  Although, if Alice was indeed the sister to a duke, why didn’t she put Lady Birkitt in her place on the train? Even if she had married a commoner, her rank would have still exceeded the widow’s.

  Speaking of that onerous old woman…

  “I don’t suppose you know how the other passengers fared? My maid was traveling in another car, and while Mr. Nash assured me she is well, I am quite worried about her. And there was another passenger in our car, Lady Birkitt. Did she survive without injury?”

  “I see Alice’s assessment of your character was spot on. It’s a truly gracious woman who rises from her sickbed thinking of the wellbeing of others,” the duke said, his smile as warm and sincere as his words. “I was told everyone survived the crash and the only person to sustain any serious injury was you, my lady.”

  “Even those men? The ones with the guns?”

  The duke’s smile tightened. “Let me clarify, all the original passengers survived and are doing well.”

  Bits normally wasn’t one for wishing harm on another person, but as they’d tried to kill her, she wasn’t incredibly saddened by their fate.

  “Jack, don’t leave our guests standing in the doorway,” a voice said from within. “Allow them to come in and have some tea. I’m certain Alice’s friend could do with a bit of refreshment after the taxing day she has had.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the duke answered. His face folded into a full grin, making him look more like a huggable child instead of a giant, imposing duke. “The master beckons,” he said to Bits with a wink. He moved to the side and Mr. Nash released her arm, allowing her to step inside.

  The parlor was decorated in shades of light blue and beige. Large windows opened onto a garden bursting with riotous color. Alice sat in a chair near the window, and to her a left a woman with sable hair and catlike green eyes lounged on a chaise.

  “Lady Elizabeth, may I present my wife, the Duchess of Sidhe. And of course, you already know my sister, The Lady Alice Pearson.”

  “Your Grace. Lady Alice.” Bits attempted another curtsy, this time managing to not injure anyone else in the process.

  “Forgive me if I don’t rise,” the duchess said, running a hand over the swell of her stomach. “I’m afraid by the time I managed to lift myself up and find my feet you will have perished from thirst and hunger.”

  “Oh, please do not put yourself out for me. If there was ever anyone you can let the rules of propriety fall by the wayside with, it is I.” In truth, Bits would be grateful if they could just let all the rules of proper etiquette go and pretend they never existed in the first place. Unlike her sister, Bits didn’t have the instinctive ability to interact with other nobles. She always flubbed it up, and the more she thought about it, the more nervous she got, and the larger the spectacle she made. “It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. You have the most lovely home I have ever seen. This room and the gardens beyond are more beautiful than any piece of art.”

  The duchess practically glowed at the compliment. “Thank you. I am so glad you are here to enjoy it.”

  “Lady Alice,” Bits said, turning to the duke’s sister. “I do hope your son is doing well after the rather unsettling events on the train.”

  “It’s Alice. We’re friends now, remember?” the blond woman said, patting the seat next to hers in invitation. “And Robert is resting upstairs. He was frightened, of course, but Mrs. Bingham mixed him a tonic which has calmed him a great deal.”

  While she was speaking, Bits had arranged herself in the proffered chair, hoping she would be less likely to incite one of her infamous incidents while seated. The space between them was close enough that Alice was able to reach over and clasp Bits’s hand in her own. The contact sent a spark of sensation through Bits. It was completely unlike what she felt whenever Mr. Nash was near, but it put her in mind of the way the magic had moved through her as she was healing all the same.

  “I am forever indebted to you for what you did on the train,” Alice said, her normally reserved demeanor now intense with sincerity. “If not for you and your actions, my son—” She was unable to finish the thought, and for that Bits was grateful. It wouldn’t do for both of them to be in tears.

  “I did nothing other than get myself knocked in the head, but if that in some way assisted you and your son, then I’m entirely grateful for it.”

  “But you—” Every muscle in Bits’s body locked up. She didn’t want to have to lie to her new friend, but if it came down to it, she would. “Were so nice to us before the incident,” Alice finished in a tone unlike the one in which she began, as if she’d noticed Bits’s discomfort and changed what she was going to say halfway through. “That dreadful old crow of a woman had put both of us in a dreadful mood. You made my son smile and offered me your friendship. You were kind when it would have been easier to be indifferent, and for that, I owe you whatever kindness still lives in this twisted heart of mine. Forever and always, it will be at your disposal.”

  Chapter 4

  Jack’s eyes went wide at his sister’s vow, but he said nothing. This wasn’t playing out quite how Ezra thought it would. He expected Jack to start interrogating Lady Elizabeth the moment he figured out she was a member of the aristocracy, but instead he’d been as polite and cordial as if he’d met her in the parlor of his London townhouse. Now, as his sister made a declaration only slightly less binding than the oath she took upstairs, he was more shocked than apprehensive or angry.

  Not that he wasn’t angry. The signs were subtle, but Ezra knew Jack better than most. When he raged and yelled, which was quite often, he was merely annoyed. True anger sat on Jack like a silent shroud, weighing down his shoulders, adding strain around his mouth and eyes. A silent Sidhe is a deadly Sidhe, his mother once said when he was a boy nursing a bruised lip from the latest row with his friend. The moment young Jack quits talking is the time you should run to your room for the day.

  But just as he knew Jack was an
gry, he knew all that rage wasn’t aimed at Lady Elizabeth. If anything, he found the woman’s clumsy manners and innocent blushes endearing. His eyes softened in the brief moments he spoke with her. There was no reason such an observation should cause Ezra annoyance, but he found himself irritated all the same.

  “So, I’m to be ignored then?”

  Ezra turned towards the chaise where Hattie, the Duchess of Sidhe, lounged. She was nearing the end of her confinement, and it was a good thing. It looked as if her stomach might literally burst apart if she grew any bigger. Yet carrying a child suited her. She had always been the kind of woman who caught a man’s eye. Her figure swelled in all the right places, and those tilted green eyes and that lush mouth put a person in mind of things only fit for bedrooms and darkened corners. Impending motherhood thrust her into the daylight, giving her a glow of happiness and peace that made Ezra ache with longing. Not for her, not any longer, but for the life she represented. The life he would never have.

  “You, my lady, are impossible to ignore, which you well know.” He crossed the room, reaching her in three easy strides. She lifted her hand, and he obediently kissed it. “And how fares the future Duke of Sidhe?”

  “My girl is doing well,” she said, placing the hand he’d just kissed over where her child grew. “I do believe she plans to be a bare-knuckle fighter like her father. That or she has a particular aversion to her mother’s insides.”

  Ezra had not brought his medical bag with him, but he carried the only tools he needed on his person at all times. From the pocket of his coat he pulled out a small leather pouch. He took a pinch of the mixture within and sprinkled it over the duchess’s stomach. Skin contact would have worked better, but asking a duchess to disrobe in a parlor full of people wasn’t exactly an option. Next, from beneath his shirt he retrieved a string of small silver bells he kept hanging around his neck, and untied the knot binding the two ends together. Without prompting, Hattie took one end and held it so the series of bells hung directly over her stomach in a line that ran from east to west.