An Elusive Dragon: A Regency Gaslamp Fantasy by E. B. Wheeler

Author:E. B. Wheeler [Wheeler, E. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rowan Ridge Press
Published: 2021-11-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The group was not in a festive mood when they returned to Westing Park. Everyone said curt goodnights and headed for their rooms.

Eliza sunk into bed, tired but sure she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Lord Randolph Blanchfield was a beast. A beast dressed in gentleman’s clothing, but a beast nonetheless. She didn’t want to even pretend to be interested in him. Would she find anyone better? Hackett perhaps? He was more empty-headed, but not as brutish. Not a lord, but of a good enough family that he could work for her scheme. He might not even realize he was rumored to be courting her as long as he could talk about his horses.

Eliza drifted into dreams of being back in the West Indies in a great golden birdcage where she could see the ocean but never get near it, and her father fed her birdseed from a silver cup.

Amethyst pounced on Eliza’s chest, waking her. Eliza sat up with a gasp, looking around her dark room in confusion.

“Amethyst!” she scolded.

Danger. The whisper of a thought drifted around her like smoke.

Then she heard the noise. A faint tinkling, like a fall of breaking glass. She scrambled for her dressing gown and raced to look out her window, but of course she could not see directly below her. She ran to the door and threw it open, ready to raise the alarm.

She was not the only one awake, though. A door slammed down the hall, and Westing and Phoebe dashed from their room, encased in an orb of light.

Two rooms down from Eliza, Parry’s door opened, and he stepped into the corridor. He stopped and stared at Eliza, and she was suddenly very aware of her undress. And his, wearing only his trousers with his night shirt half tucked in. He had fastened on his false leg, but not the patch over his eye. Eliza had never seen him without it, and she tried not to stare at the cloudy white of his blinded eye. Instead, she found herself studying the broad set of his shoulders and the thick muscles visible through his shirt sleeves. Her face warmed. Not better.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice its usual commanding tone, which made her forget his eye and—mostly—those well-muscled arms.

“Amethyst woke me. I thought I heard a window break.”

His expression hardened, and he stepped forward, walking between her and whatever danger lurked downstairs. He held up a pistol. Those broad shoulders seemed as sure as a sea wall breaking apart any threats. It was easy to forget that this man who was so often at her side was also a proficient and deadly fighter.

Max strolled down the corridor, impeccably dressed as if he had been up for hours. Or had never gone to sleep.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

Captain Parry grinned. “You ought to be—downstairs, where there’s some sort of break in. I’m just making sure my ward is safe.”

The words stung Eliza. His ward? Was that what she was? She was certainly no child, even if he thought she was.

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