Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Two days later, on the way to the Dunmore Military Academy, Will asked Angelika, “Whose carriage is this? Did you create these footmen last night in your laboratory?”

“Our neighbor lets us borrow it, in exchange for using our fields for his goats and sheep. It’s a good arrangement. As you know, Victor is not fond of formal outings anywhere. Myself, I’d love a coach drawn by eight black horses to see the world in.”

He had empathy in his expression. “I truly wish that for you. I wonder how Victor has gotten on. Will he send a messenger, or just arrive home?”

“He took a pigeon with him. He’s trained them to fly home. They arrive and wait on the windowsill, with a note in a canister on their leg. It’s frightfully exciting. Last time, he sent me this silver necklace.” She hooked her thumb into the chain at her throat.

“How pleasant, to be so wealthy a bird can be trusted with such a delivery.” He thought this over, and a brilliant grin spread across his face. “Another Frankenstein invention.”

“I’m sorry you got caught up in our nonsense.”

Will was seated opposite her, their knees sometimes brushing and her boots held secure between his. It was another of those I wish this was forever moments. In her instant daydream, they were just married and about to crest a hill, the ocean below foaming against the shore. A ship was docked, ready to take them across to new worlds. She felt she could travel for hundreds—thousands!—of days, until the ache of being manor-bound had eased off. And she would do it gladly, holding Will’s hand, with a tired ache in her thighs and his kiss on her mouth.

This much was true reality: now that they had touched lips at the morgue, it seemed impossible to stop staring at each other. Being left behind in cooling bathwater the other night should have been enough to chill Angelika’s passion. Instead, she was in a constant sweat over him.

She attempted a joke to break the silence. “Buy me a carriage and horses when we are married. I promise to be very surprised by the gift. But—you do not seem comfortable?”

His hands clutched tight on the seat. His face appeared pale, and his Adam’s apple was bobbing in swallows. “Something about this enclosed space is fraying my nerves,” he admitted, looking through the lace curtain at the forest they were traveling through. “I feel like I’d rather get out and walk.”

“Fresh air will help—breathe deep and count to one hundred.” Angelika was gratified that after a minute of deep breaths, he turned a better color. “Perhaps this is a fear from your last life.”

Now he was concerned about something else. “Victor mentioned there have been robberies on the roads. He says the military presence is the only thing keeping it checked.”

Angelika did not want to panic him further, but it was true. “Carriages have been stopped or overturned. The passengers robbed or worse. There is no point in dwelling on it. I have my pistol. As I’m sure they do, too,” she added, nodding up toward the drivers. “Everything is all right, and we are close to Dunmore, judging by how the road has turned to cobblestones. If we only have minutes, we should discuss our strategy.”

“Strategy?” Will repeated, his eyes back on her face. “I haven’t thought about it. You are beautiful today. You smell like lilacs.”

“You are quite the connoisseur of flowers,” she teased. “Please focus. You cannot utilize your twin brother story line again.”

“Why not?”

She began checking her appearance in a small mirror. “Because you don’t know his name. It’s not remotely believable. These men at the military academy are a thousand times more clever than Helsaw at the morgue. They will want to hear the full tale and, my love, you have not devised one.”

This had him panicking. “I see the outer gates,” he said after putting his head out the window. “Whatever will we do?”

Most men would be too proud to ask for help, and she liked that about him. “I have devised a story.” From her valise, she retrieved an heirloom. “This was my grandfather’s medal. I am here to research it. I hear women nowadays fill their time researching their genealogy. This is my latest little project. I grew tired of cross-stitch.”

Will rubbed a hand on the healed stitch line at his collarbone. “No one could speak to you for more than ten seconds and be convinced you fill your time with mindless needlepoint.”

“You forget, my love. I am a rich lady. That buys me access to most places. And I have an appointment with the new commander of this facility. And while I am here, I will find out all about the tragedy that befell his men.”

“You have an appointment. Meanwhile, what should I do? Maybe I could go to the kitchen and speak to some of the servants, to find out what they know.”

“No. Wait in the carriage.” Angelika pulled her gloves on.

Will protested, “Why even bring me?”

“Because I love looking at your face, and I was hoping for another kiss.” She leaned forward to quickly peck his cheek. “If you can bear the confinement, stay here, and do not show yourself. Someone might think they have seen a ghost.”

Angelika’s gray kid boots hit the ground and she walked off without a backward glance. DUNMORE MILITARY ACADEMY was written across the arch she was crossing beneath, along with a Latin motto she read as: Duty Before All Else.

Will would like that motto, she thought. And here I am, assisting him to find his way back to his familial responsibilities. I am a fool.

She did not have long to ponder that because she was being handed along by various assistants and underlings until she was left alone outside an enormous pair of walnut doors, at least twelve feet high.

“What a tree this must have been,” she said, at the exact moment they opened.

“I do often think that myself,” the man before her agreed. “Miss Frankenstein, I presume? I am Commander Keatings.”

He was much younger than she had anticipated, and much better-looking: tall, fair, with remarkable cornflower-blue eyes and winsome smiling brackets framing his mouth. He offered his hand and shook hers firmly. He wore no rings.

And goodness, how remarkably neat his appearance was. There was not a single hair lying loose on his brow, and not a crease on his clothing. Angelika found herself searching all over for one singular flaw: a loose stitch, a crack in his thumbnail, a budding yellow pimple. She found nothing.

The old Angelika would have been wondering whether he found her fair or plain. The creases of his smile deepened, revealing lovely white teeth, but her heart did not flutter.

For the first time in her life, it was not love at first sight.

She had to explain herself. “I’m sorry to stare, but you are the tidiest-looking man I have ever met. My goodness, I do believe I could eat my dinner off your white collar.”

He laughed in delight. “I do not know why I am this way; it is not through any particular effort. I do not so much as carry a comb.”

Angelika gestured in the direction of the central courtyard. “You must inspire your men to turn themselves out nicely for inspection.”

His grin widened. “In the limited days I have been here, I have caused them to despair. Please, come in.”

Angelika could not ignore this realization: Commander Keatings found her very fair. This she ascertained without doubt or conceit. He was as taken aback by her appearance as she was his, studying her with an equal fascination.

She moved an eyebrow. “Did you imagine an old crone, hoping to find the names of some ghosts to pester?”

He laughed again. “I confess I did. I have a page bringing up the relevant record book. Take a seat, please.”

He sat behind the desk, framed by the window and surrounded by militaria. Compared to him, the velvet drapes looked crumpled and sad. On the wall was the mounted head of a buck with impressive antlers.

“I hope you don’t consider this impertinent,” he began after she sat, “but you do not strike me as the type to sit indoors and write down the names of great-great-great-uncles and -aunts.”

It was more or less what Will had observed about mindless needlepoint.

“Oh, but I am,” Angelika countered. “I am trying to improve myself. According to my brother, Victor, I get into all sorts of mischief if I am not kept occupied at all times.”

“I am sure, madam, that you speak honestly,” Commander Keatings said with a look designed to make her blush. “Are your parents well?”

“I live alone with Victor, and we have no other family.”

This grave news pleased him immensely. The commander was husband material, and from Mary’s gossiping she knew he was unattached. He had a title, a history, a family name. They were getting along wonderfully, and eye contact produced a spark in her stomach. Even still, her heart pulled toward the man waiting outside for her, the one who’d leave one day without looking back.

Fate was a trickster.

“Are you quite all right, Miss Frankenstein?” Commander Keatings asked, leaning forward in concern. “You have gone quite pale. Here, take some brandy.” He went to a cabinet by the far wall and poured her an inch of liquor into a snifter. “Your journey has tired you.”

“How thoughtful.” She sipped the glass as he sat on the edge of his desk. “You’re right. I am a little tired. Please, tell me about your work, Commander Keatings.”

“Call me Christopher. What do you wish to know?” He seemed amused. “I say, it’s nice conversing with a woman. I spend all of my time with men.”

She swallowed the rest of her brandy in a gulp. “What is it like being the commander? Is it Duty Before All Else?”

He enjoyed her clever use of the Latin motto. “Lately, yes. It’s a lot of office work, writing letters, approving requests, and releasing funds. Very much like managing a large country estate, but instead of cattle, I have one hundred men to feed and water.” He added, like he was unable to resist: “I am also fortunate enough to have my own country estate, where I like to spend some time out in the fresh air.” He looked up at the glassy-eyed buck on his wall.

Angelika attempted to transition the conversation. “What sort of men train here? Are they all officers, like you?”

“It is a mix, like all militia,” he explained, taking her empty glass. “A touch more, I think,” he decided, going to refill it. “You are getting your coloring back. There are lower-ranking men reporting to officers. We train them here so they may be available for times of war. They live in the barracks.”

“That must be difficult for those who are married,” she prompted. “Having to live apart from their wives.”

Christopher took this as a flirtation. “Many of us are married to this way of life,” he said slowly, his eyes on her mouth as he sat back on the desk. “But I’ve been thinking lately that there is more to life than just work, and training, and maintaining an immaculate wardrobe.”

“Well, don’t tell them that.” She nodded toward the grounds and he laughed again. Stop being funny and lively, she scolded herself, and then was astonished at the thought. I am charming this man. How is this happening?

“We have a row of cottages in Highgrove Street where the married officers live with their families. I live here, and I must tell you, Miss Frankenstein, this place is cold at night. And sometimes I hear howls, but I do not know what animal it could be.”

“Sandstone produces the most frightful kind of cold.” She attempted another subject change, but she was too abrupt. “Now, tell me of this accident they are speaking of in the village.”

His expression lost all amusement. “What accident?” He stood from his perch on the desk and went back to his imposing chair. “Whatever do you mean? Ah, thank you, put it here,” he said to his page, who approached at that moment holding a huge leather-bound book.

Christopher took the opportunity to gather his wits as he fussed with turning the page to the correct record. “Frankenstein,” he read out, his tone significantly cooled. “You will find your ancestor’s information here. I will step out to allow you privacy.”

Angelika regretted her tendency to speak without thought and leaned forward to put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. I spend a lot of time alone. I speak my mind without thinking. I had heard someone mention something terrible happening here, and I wondered if you were all right.”

It was essentially the abbreviated truth. He heard her honesty and relaxed. “I was concerned there had been gossip.”

“Not as such. Just a passing comment that I decoded. I am too clever for my own good, and my mouth is smarter yet. I apologize for being so direct about such a traumatic subject.”

“No harm done. Yes, there was a training accident that went badly. I’d barely been here two weeks.” It was a terrible thing to witness the sadness in his once-sparkling eyes. “I understand we lost some very fine men.”

Angelika imagined that in her ear, Will’s voice encouraged: Look around yourself. See how you might offer to help another who needs it.

Inspiration struck.

“That is why I was asking of their wives. I thought I might make up a condolences basket of fruit and pantry goods, if there was anyone recently bereaved. I must step up my charitable efforts in the village.” Producing a notebook and a pencil from her pocket, she began copying down information on her ancestor to maintain her cover. She felt his eyes on her face but did not look up.

Christopher said softly, “How remarkably kind women can be.”

She answered defensively. “Nonsense. Anyone would do the same. Should I prepare a basket?”

“Just one married officer was killed.” He searched through his own notebook, filled with perfect handwriting. “Clara Hoggett. Yes, a basket is just the thing to do. I could assist you with the contents. My predecessor left some good Scotch here.”

Off he went for a third time to the liquor cupboard. Angelika finished her refill. She took the unopened bottle that he presented to her.

“I should like to accompany you to present this to Clara.” Christopher was sitting on the edge of the desk again. She wouldn’t have left those thighs at the morgue. The obscene thought poured heat through her, like a teapot.

“You’re a busy man.” Angelika got to her feet. “’Tis simple women’s work, like my genealogy project. You needn’t bother yourself.”

“I have neglected my duty in checking on her. As the new commander, I must go. As my new friend, you can ensure I don’t get lost. Have you taken down the details you need?” When she nodded, he offered her his arm. “I shall walk you to your carriage.”

Her traitorous hand grasped his firm biceps. Good gosh. “That’s quite all right. You’re busy.”

“I’m really not,” Christopher said, and he smiled broadly for the entire walk downstairs and across the grounds, making perfectly agreeable conversation and pointing out aspects of the architecture. Angelika ached to touch his porcelain-perfect shirt cuffs.

They halted at the carriage.

“Miss Frankenstein, may I call you Angelika?”

“Certainly, Christopher—as you said, we are friends now.” The carriage stairs were against the backs of her calves. She prayed Will had followed her orders; he must be holding his breath inside. “I must thank you for all your help. And I will ensure the poor lady receives this bottle.”

“I insist on visiting her home with you.” Christopher took her hand in his, smoothing across the knuckles of her glove. “Pray, allow me a moment to be quite impertinent. I would be grateful to call upon you. I wish to introduce myself to your brother, given you were both unable to attend the ball.”

“He is out of town at present, for another day or so.” Giving in to the urge, Angelika laid her hand on his cuff. No magic, no witchcraft: it was regular fabric.

“I trust you have plenty of servants to keep you safe. There are many thieves and rogues in the village. And there are tales of something more unexplained. You haven’t seen any monsters, have you?” He was clearly amused. “Something huge and barely human?”

“I haven’t, but I wish I would.” It sounded like Victor’s travel was wasted.

“Please, do not ever go out after dark. We are commencing night patrols. I shall send a card to your brother, and I hope to see you again soon. Do you ride?”

She couldn’t help herself. “Frightfully well.”

“I’d like to know all the things you are frightfully good at.” He wanted to hand her up into her carriage, but she couldn’t risk his seeing Will. She backed up the tiny stairs, attempting to squeeze through a four-inch gap. “Allow me, please,” he said, reaching past her waist and opening the door wide.

The carriage was empty.

“Thank you. Goodbye.” Angelika settled herself into her seat and blew out a breath. She heard Christopher exhale in a similar way, long and slow. He’d held his breath? He needed air? Oh, but wasn’t this a dark delight, knowing she would be in his thoughts as he lay alone tonight in his sandstone fortress—

A whip crack jolted her out of this forbidden thought. Flattery was a worse intoxicant than brandy. Where in the blue blazes was Will?

She drew the curtain on the opposite window and clutched her heart in fright. Will was hanging on the outside of the carriage, posing as a footman—a very irritated one. Quick thinking, but she still felt embarrassed that he had eavesdropped on that excruciating scene.

In contrast to Christopher, Will was thoroughly ruffled. He had hair falling on his brow, a clothing crease at every joint, and a sparkle of sweat on his brow. He was reassuringly alive.

Out the window, she hissed, “Get down from there.”

“Not until we are past the gates. No one can see me on this side. What is that for? A parting gift?” Will looked at the bottle of liquor on the seat beside her. He scowled through the carriage windows back at the building. “He’s standing there, watching your carriage depart like a lovesick youth.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is a contribution to the hamper I am making for the bereaved wife of an officer who was killed here ten days ago.” She hated how Will’s attention sparked up. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t ask for his name or any further particulars. It would have been suspicious.”

She pretended not to hear his questions until they were stopped safely down the road and he could climb back in.

“You didn’t ask anything that could help further?” Will said with a bit of accusation. He sat opposite her, his knees caging her legs in. “You’ve been drinking liquor in his office, in the middle of the day. Probably being lively and charming.”

Angelika put her palm in front of her mouth, exhaled, and sniffed. “Just a couple of brandies, and only moderately charming. I’m glad you did as you were told and stayed here.”

“I didn’t. I saw some gravestones down the side of the eastern wing.”

He explained how he had run across and examined all of the graves that looked fresh, before evading an approaching groundskeeper and hiding in the small chapel until the footsteps faded. “They were all privates, low-level soldiers. None of their names made me feel anything. But being on those grounds gave me a strong echo of memory. It washed over me until I was dizzy.”

Clara Hoggett’s husband must be buried in the village, or indeed there may be an empty casket under his gravestone. “You are an officer, my love, I am sure.”

She nearly said: And I think I know your wife’s name. She’d opened her mouth to say it. But the fear that he would jolt back into himself, regain his memory, and ask for a lift to town was too much. She decided to keep him to herself a few minutes longer. By the end of this carriage ride, she would release him. In a voice designed to intoxicate, she cooed, “You’re too refined and elegant to be a lowly private.”

This did not flatter him. “Not as refined as your perfect Commander Keatings. He is planning to call on you.”

Angelika’s insides thrilled at the flat jealousy in his eyes. “You heard that, then.”

“I heard it all. I heard how enchanted he was.” He reached out and drew the curtains on one window, then the other. It gave Angelika a dip in her stomach, like the carriage was gliding downhill. “He thinks you are very beautiful.”

“We can’t know that.”

“Anyone could see that you are.”

“I’m not sure about that—”

“Your smart green eyes are always watching, calculating, changing. They turn dark, like green glass, when you look at my mouth. You fill that dress sinfully, and your lips are my favorite pink.”

She felt hot. “Thank you.”

“But no matter how beautiful you look today, I still prefer you in men’s trousers. I know your true self, in a way he never will.” He sat back, laid an arm along the back of his seat, and nodded in the direction they had left. “I know what that man wants.”

Her heart leapt. “I prefer you.”

“Then come and show me.” He smirked at her shocked expression. “You have been unraveled since that kiss in the morgue the other night. I am boiling mad with jealousy right now, so come over here.” He slapped his own thigh.

“I’m annoyed, too,” she said as she moved to his side of the carriage, lifted her skirts, and slid a knee across his legs. “You walked out abruptly, leaving me wallowing in your cold bathtub.”

“I was the one who needed to soak in ice water.” The carriage rattled, causing each to clutch the other. Fingertips sank into flesh, and Angelika leaned forward. He put his cool hand on her face. She drew one breath, and then she was being kissed.

Her only thought was: I chose him so well.

He must have had residual lightning in his veins, because she was feeling it now, sparking at every press of his lips and the unexpected touch of his teeth. His forearm banded around her, grasping handfuls of her waist, testing and releasing her body.

He put his tongue in her mouth, his hand in her hair, and Angelika Frankenstein had never felt so alive.

He tasted fresh, and his lips prompted sensations into other parts of her body. It was of scientific interest, but also something alchemic that she did not want to understand. This was why humans courted and chased, primped and flirted. This was why there were groaning, shifting shapes in the alley beside the tavern and why humanity continued to produce new generations. She’d had one small glimpse with him before, but now, the experiment was complete. Kissing was absolutely, completely magical.

Together they made a sound: part groan, all lust.

Will lifted his mouth from hers, his thumb sliding down to her throbbing pulse. “I can say this with certainty: I have not had a kiss like that before. Is this acceptable to you, Miss Frankenstein?”

She pulled him back to her.

Their next kiss was gentle. His lips were barely on hers now. He was wordlessly repeating that question: Is this acceptable to you? She licked his lip, then his tongue, and his grumble vibrated through her body to the soles of her feet. “This is all I want to do from this point onward,” she said when he let her take a breath. “You will spend your life kissing me.”

“I feel inclined to say yes,” he replied, pressing ravenous kisses on her neck. “If Victor doesn’t hasten home, I will lie between your legs all night.”

“And I will love it,” she gasped, fisting her hand in his hair. She was no longer unkissed, and she was desperate to have everything. “I’ve studied the theory components of intercourse very closely. I have an ancient Indian book with so many drawings. I sometimes think I’m perverted, the things I want to try.”

“I want to. I ache for you.” His entire body shivered. “But . . .”

She caught him, right before he blinked out of the haze.

“It is just a game we play,” she said, and licked into his mouth until he groaned. “A little make-believe, to pass the time on this dull journey home. We can make up any nonsense thing. It is your turn.”

“When we live at Larkspur,” Will said, and her toes curled in her shoes, “I will have you all the time. In every room, outside, daylight, midnight, I will see your body.” He smiled at her frantic nod. “Your turn. Tell me all the times you’ve thought of kissing me.”

“After breakfast and you’d taken my empty plate for me, or stoked the fire for Mary. It’s your thoughtfulness and care that makes me sweat.”

Now she had to break off, because the kiss was dominating everything. Breath, thought, existence.

But she tried. “If a shadow slid across your face just right, or I saw your tongue on your water glass—” She was heaving breaths now, her hips moving and encouraging. “It is your turn. Tell me when you’ve touched yourself, thinking of me.”

He whispered in her ear, and she strained for every word. “I touch myself when I think of you naked in your bed. When I think about the life we could have, and the ways we would know each other. Closer and tighter than any two people ever were, and the loyalty I know you would have for me. Till death. Beyond death.”

The carriage hit a bump, and their anatomy aligned in a new way, through their layers of clothing. Every dip, rock, or pothole was creating sparks. And this was a very, very poorly maintained stretch of road.

“I really feel you,” Angelika confessed, and he bit his lip. “I really”—bump—“feel you.”

“We should stop,” Will said, but it was too late for her.

It was the idea of that perfect life that tipped her over the edge into a pleasure she’d never experienced, because it was shared with him. It was almost unendurable, endless tightening and releasing of every muscle in her body. And over her own heartbeat, Will said in her ear:

“You would never love another man. You would live and breathe for me. You would take me into your body every hour. I know you, Angelika,” he impressed on her as she slumped forward, limp on his shoulder. “And I cannot wait for you to know me.” He put his hands on her waist and moved her back to her seat. He was flushed and disheveled.

She stared at him, too stunned to be embarrassed. “Imagine what a really rough cobblestone lane in London could do to me.”

“I would dearly love to find out.”

“If we let the horses walk, we could make the trip to Larkspur take twice as long.”

Realization dropped into his eyes like a screen. “Oh, Angelika. When I said—”

“Of course, it is just a pleasant story we tell each other in the moment.”

They rode in silence for several miles. It was obvious that passion was clearing from his head, and he now deeply regretted what had come to pass. Several times, he tried to start a sentence, and all of them gave her a feeling of dread.

Angelika drew back the curtain. “We are nearly home.”

When she picked up the bottle of Scotch, it caught Will’s attention.

“The hamper you are making, for the bereaved wife of the dead officer . . . How are you going to deliver it to her?”

“I know the street she lives on, and her name.”

The shadows cut across the carriage now, turning it chilly. The truth should have been something he would have had to crowbar out of her, but he held her strings like a puppeteer so effortlessly.

He didn’t even have to open his mouth to ask.

“Clara,” she said, and the carriage stopped in front of Blackthorne Manor. She didn’t wait to be handed down, but jumped out without a backward glance, like she had done all her life.

“I think you have a wife named Clara. Does that spark perfect memories for you?” She hardly knew why she asked, because she ran inside before she could hear his answer.