Chapter 2
Some days, Yasmeen didn’t know what to do with him. Archimedes truly was the most incredible man—and, she suspected, a far better husband than she was a wife. He displayed affection so easily, so unexpectedly; Yasmeen had no idea how to do the same. She wasn’t even certain how he managed it. How could a man so openly state his possession of a woman without also claiming ownership? Yet he did. How could he create a singing, dancing spectacle of himself, and still quietly soothe her heart? Yet he did.
She knew exactly what he’d done on that dock. He would never reveal his reasons or take credit for it—just as he never said a word when she woke from nightmares of shattering doors and ravenous zombies, and simply held her quietly, without questions, without asking her to acknowledge her terror by speaking of it. This had been the same. He’d known how she’d felt when they’d tethered Lady Nergüi on this spot, but he would never ask her to admit to her grief. He simply tried to make it better.
Yasmeen wished she could do the same for him. Of course, that would mean finding something that grieved her husband—not so easy when he was so determinedly good-humored, and he confronted every obstacle with an exuberant whoop.
By the lady, how she loved that about him. And she had no wish to pain him, simply so that she could soothe it. Better to leave such emotional manipulations to those who’d enjoy expending their efforts on them.
She would expend her efforts on enjoying her husband and commanding her lady. Aware that he was climbing the rope after her, however, and with her lips still warm from their kiss, Yasmeen was sorry that command had to take precedence at that moment.
On deck, she spotted the new quartermaster waiting by the gangway. Adèle Vashon was observing the crew, her gaze moving from aviator to aviator, as if judging their performance—as if judging whether it was a crew worthy of the time she’d be putting into it. The woman didn’t have to straighten when the second mate announced the captain on deck; her shoulders were already back, her spine ramrod straight—and when Vashon faced her, Yasmeen saw that same considering look directed her way, as if deciding whether she would be a worthy captain.
Yasmeen’s throat tightened as grief suddenly slipped up, took hold. Goddammit. She could never prepare for this. She only had to hear a laugh, to catch a movement at the corner of her eye, and for an instant she would see her old crew before losing them all over again—and Adèle Vashon’s assessing, critical gaze reminded her so much of Rousseau, the Frenchman who’d been her right hand for a decade. Hell, but she missed him. And if Vashon was even half the quartermaster that Rousseau had been, Yasmeen would be satisfied with her.
With a scrape of his boots against the hull, Archimedes came up over the gunwale. She caught his eyes, lifted her brows, and stroked the handles of her new daggers.
His grin promised retribution. Yasmeen looked forward to it. Later.
“Mademoiselle Vashon—with me, please.”
The quartermaster joined her at the ladder leading to the second deck. The woman was taller than Yasmeen; not many women were, and it would be to Vashon’s advantage with the crew, helping to command their respect—at least initially. The first quartermaster Yasmeen hired for Lady Nergüi had been tall, too. No matter how much he’d demanded respect, however, he’d never been able to command it.
Yasmeen was glad to be rid of him. Despite impeccable references, he hadn’t known how to handle a crew; she hoped that a woman whose family name was synonymous with excellent aviation would. Having met two of Vashon’s mutinous cousins, however, Yasmeen wouldn’t count on the name alone.
At least this Vashon had the good sense not to comment on the unusual décor in Yasmeen’s cabin. In their cabin. Archimedes loved the low dining table and lounging pillows as much as Yasmeen did, and so they’d kept that part of their living quarters the same as Yasmeen’s previous cabin. The shelves of books were new, however, and all his—as were the two additional crates of books waiting to be unpacked, and the oversized wardrobe. The desk allowed them to work facing each other, and had been clearly set up as a shared space, with two inkwells and chairs for them both.
Now Yasmeen slid his chair out and gestured for Vashon to sit. As she took the opposite side, with her back to the shelves, Archimedes entered the cabin.
Yasmeen wasn’t surprised. He’d taken an interest in every aspect of her—their—airship, and though he’d pretend to be occupied by another task, she knew he’d be listening to every word, coming to his own conclusions about their new quartermaster.
If any other man had done the same, Yasmeen would have been irritated by how far he’d overstepped. Not with Archimedes, however. He had no desire to run her ship, only to know everything about it—just as she often read the research that preceded his salvaging runs. She wanted to better know what he loved, to understand it. Luckily, his work was just as fascinating as the man, and she enjoyed it almost as much as he did. He’d become equally invested in her ship.
He tossed his bulging canvas pack onto the low table. “If you don’t mind, Captain, I’ll lounge here and sort my correspondence.”
“Very well, Mr. Fox.”
In truth, Yasmeen was happy to have him there. He sank onto the pillows centered in the pool of afternoon light that spilled in through the two large portholes, directly in her line of sight—and an appealing sight it was. Summer had streaked his brown hair with gold, and as the months passed without a cut, he’d tamed the ragged length with a leather tie at his nape. After a lazy morning, he’d skipped a shave, leaving his jaw roughly shadowed. Now, making himself comfortable, he loosened the linen around his neck. What an incredibly appealing combination that was—the orange silk of his waistcoat, the white shirt, the tanned skin at his throat. She loved to bury her face in that spot, to feel the lean muscles underneath that outrageous clothing.
It was strange how many people underestimated him, who only saw the color he wore and not the strength beneath it. That had been another failing of the last quartermaster, who’d acted as if Archimedes didn’t exist—who’d treated him like a pretty boy with an empty head.
Her husband was anything but.
She met Vashon’s eyes again, aware that the other woman hadn’t looked away from her face during the exchange with Archimedes. Had she noted that Archimedes hadn’t actually asked for Yasmeen’s permission to remain? No, he was simply making certain that the new quartermaster saw his respect for Yasmeen’s position.
Judging by the hint of uncertainty in the woman’s expression, however, Yasmeen would soon have to clarify Archimedes’ position aboard this ship. But first, she needed to clarify exactly what Vashon’s would be.
She leaned back in her chair and pinned Vashon with a sharp stare. “Before I make your appointment official, mademoiselle, I have questions regarding your record and recommendations.”
“Of course, Captain.”
“Your references from your family are quite favorable, as are those from your former commanders. Normally, that alone would recommend you to any captain.”
Yasmeen paused, creating a silence that seemed significant—but Vashon didn’t rush to fill it. She didn’t try to second-guess Yasmeen, but waited to discover what the problem was before addressing it.
Good.
“With your qualifications, you ought to be seeking command of a Vashon ship. Why aren’t you?”
“In my family, Captain, there are two options: to serve the king in the navy or to serve aboard the Vashon fleet. I’m loyal to my king and I’m loyal to my family, but I wanted a broader experience than that.”
“All well and good,” Yasmeen said. “Except that you’ve already gained plenty of experience aboard different merchant carriers—and all without lowering yourself to a quartermaster’s position aboard my airship.”
Vashon’s gaze held steady. “I was given to understand, Captain, that unlike a merchant or navy vessel, the quartermaster’s position aboard a mercenary airship is to act as second in command, and that I’d be your first in the deck department. That isn’t lower than any position I’ve held previously.”
“It’s true you’ll be my first, but the rest is utter shit. Whether captain or cabin boy, the only thing lower than a mercenary is a pirate—and you won’t be expecting any invitations to your family gatherings while you’re aboard my lady.” Yasmeen rocked forward, eyes narrowed. “Don’t feed me a cock’s tale, mademoiselle. What the hell is someone of your background doing aboard my ship?”
Vashon’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. Rattled, but only a little. “Two months ago, I took passage aboard Ceres. My cousins Peter and Paul are still co-captaining her.”
The twins hadn’t destroyed each other? Incredible. Yasmeen had doubted that they’d ever stop squabbling over possession of Ceres long enough to properly command her. She’d liked them well enough—who couldn’t appreciate such good-natured mischievousness and charm?—but that didn’t mean they were fit for a captain’s position.
“I’ve known them all my life, Captain—and for as long as I’ve known them, they’ve been a disappointment to the family. Undisciplined, careless, impulsive. But although they were still utter rapscallions, I couldn’t mistake the change in them—a change for the better. They told me it was because, in the weeks they served under you, they’d finally seen what a good captain should be.” She paused, her mouth twisting briefly. “I’ll confess that I was angry, at first. It was an insult to our family, to each Vashon who’d ever borne a captain’s responsibility. I soon realized, however, that every Vashon was expected to bear that. But even though we also expected it of Peter and Paul, they wouldn’t live up to those expectations—they didn’t, they couldn’t. Yet you inspired it in them. I want to know what did it. You are a mercenary, but there’s obviously more to you than your reputation—and obviously some truth to the Lady Lynx story.”
By the lady. Yasmeen hadn’t expected any of that. She glanced at Archimedes, saw his grin. No doubt he was enjoying her discomfort.
And she needed to read that damn story. What sort of captain did it suggest she was? “Why would you assume any of that ridiculousness is true?”
“Even though the twins’ names and descriptions were changed, and though they told me that none of the events were quite the same, the two brothers in the story were unmistakably Peter and Paul. Their characters were captured perfectly.”
Even though Zenobia had never met the twins, and had to rely on Yasmeen’s and Archimedes’ descriptions of them. How much of that was luck?
And how much of Yasmeen had Zenobia captured? Whatever the level of accuracy, hopefully Lady Lynx’s personality had been determined before Yasmeen’s heart had softened. There was no need to have that sort of reputation spread around.
Yasmeen shook her head, suddenly realizing that the very existence of Lady Lynx forced her to consider something she never had before. “Do you hope that this position will secure a bit of fame for you, as well?”
It was almost unthinkable. Work aboard a mercenary ship was often dangerous and always difficult—there had to be easier ways to earn a mention in a newssheet or an adventure story. But it was impossible to guess what drove someone seeking such things.
“No, ma’am. In fact, it was the one thing that threatened to put me off. I’m rather terrified of discovering what Archimedes Fox sees when he describes a dull arrow like me.”
Yasmeen had to admire her balls. She’d confessed to terror without revealing a bit of it in her demeanor, yet Yasmeen didn’t doubt its truth. She suspected that Vashon admitted to the fear only to prove—to her new captain or to herself—that she could overcome it. “You’re quite safe. My husband doesn’t write those stories.”
And he only faintly resembled the Archimedes Fox that Vashon probably thought she knew. Even Yasmeen had long been fascinated by the fictional version of her husband—yet that adventurer was nothing compared to the reality of the man.
“I thought he did, ma’am. But if you say otherwise, then I’m obviously mistaken.”
Despite Vashon’s words, she clearly didn’t believe it. Behind her, Archimedes heaved a dramatic sigh and shook his head.
Amused, Yasmeen leaned back again. She still had a few more questions—though she already knew the answer to this one. “Your last assignment aboard a merchant vessel ended six months ago. What have you done since then?”
“I spent time aboard my mother’s airship.”
That was the truth, but not all of it. “Smuggling rebels into Castile, as I’ve heard it. Do you make a habit of bucking authority?”
“Not my captain’s authority, ma’am.”
She hadn’t even hesitated. Perhaps she ought to. Yasmeen pressed, “Even if that captain once took jobs that helped the Liberé during their war with your king? You’ve already stated your loyalty to him.”
“As I recall, you also took jobs that helped the French. I understand that a mercenary ship is loyal to no one, Captain, except for when it serves your interests.”
“And what if my interests conflict with yours? If I ordered you to board a Vashon ship, would you comply?”
Yasmeen was pleased to see the quartermaster take more time considering that. After a moment, Vashon replied, “In all honesty, ma’am, I don’t know. If I can’t fulfill my duty, however, I won’t take a coward’s way out of it and work against you behind your back. I’ll tell you if I’ve turned.”
“Good. I’d kill you for going against me, but only toss you off my ship for refusing an order.” When the other woman nodded, acknowledging those consequences, Yasmeen continued. “Is there any order you categorically refuse to carry out? If so, you’d best tell me now.”
“I won’t kill a child, ma’am, or murder an innocent. But I wouldn’t be here if I thought you’d ask me to do either.”
Fair enough. Yasmeen would have thrown Vashon off Lady Nergüi immediately if the quartermaster had been willing to do either. “Are you infected?”
For the first time, Vashon seemed taken aback. She hesitated. Deciding whether to lie?
Yasmeen couldn’t blame her. In the New World, most people feared the Horde’s nanoagents. Though the tiny machines strengthened anyone infected by them, the Horde had also used radio signals broadcast from enormous towers to control occupied populations. The signals dampened emotions such as fear, love, and hate—anything that might provide a motivation to rebel—while increasing obedience, pliancy. The nanoagents and radio towers created the perfect workforce.
The perfect hell, for many. Now so many New Worlders feared the nanoagents that no infected person was allowed past their port gates, and they were convinced that the infected became zombies after their deaths. The infected themselves were often treated like lepers, as if the nanoagents spread with a touch rather than a transfusion of blood.
If the woman was infected, that might serve as another reason for her joining Yasmeen’s crew. Though the Vashon family likely had enough money and pull to bribe port officials and let her enter the New World countries, Yasmeen doubted that the quartermaster wanted to rely on that.
“If you are infected,” Yasmeen said, “you will be in good company. I am. My husband is. Many of the crew are—several have been augmented with mechanical prosthetics and tools.”
“Yes. I saw that as I came aboard.”
“Then perhaps you fear being infected by one of us?”
“No. It is simply a more intimate question than I was prepared to answer, Captain.”
Ah. Of course a New Worlder would think so. “There’s nothing personal in my interest,” Yasmeen said dryly. “I simply want to be prepared. Lady Nergüi flies routes that other airships do not—including routes that will take us over Horde-occupied territories. If my quartermaster suddenly begins responding like an automaton, I’ll have a better idea of why it might have happened.”
“Well, then.” She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“What strain?”
“Ma’am?”
“English, Moroccan, Egyptian? Some other tower? Obviously, if you have a Moroccan or English strain, you are in the clear, because those towers are gone. But others are still active, so if you are infected by bugs from Egypt or the territories in southern Africa, I will know to fly clear of their towers.”
“English, I believe.” She blinked. “I didn’t realize they were different, ma’am.”
Unsurprising. Of the New Worlders who had infected themselves, most could trace the nanoagents back to the Horde occupation in England—and most didn’t know that the towers operated at different frequencies.
“Just be glad that the zombie strain is different,” Yasmeen said, and leaned forward to brace her elbows on the desk, satisfied with the interview. The woman hadn’t squirmed much, which pleased her. Yasmeen needed someone who could stand up to fierce scrutiny without flinching—and in the air, Yasmeen would be much harder on the woman than this.
“All right,” she said. “After you sign your contract and stow your trunk, you’ll find the first mate, Mr. Longcock, on the deck.”
Vashon grew very still. “Mr. Longcock?”
Yasmeen smiled. “Many people on this ship have chosen their own names, and for their own reasons. I don’t question that—or whether it’s an accurate name.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It emerged on a choked laugh.
“Accurate or not, however, you won’t be required to identify him by that description. He’s the big one.”
“The big one?” The quartermaster’s mouth rounded as she realized who Yasmeen meant. Of course she’d seen him on deck. George Longcock was impossible to overlook. “The one with…”
“Guns grafted to his arms and chest, yes.”
“A lot of guns, ma’am, if I can be so bold.”
“There are more that you can’t see.” Yasmeen held in her laugh when the other woman’s face registered disbelief. She had to admit, her first sight of the man had struck her speechless, as well—though a part of her understood exactly what he’d done, why he’d done it. A factory builder in Horde-occupied England, he’d already been modified with steel arms. After the revolution, he’d added weapons to protect himself. Then, after leaving England for the high seas, he’d added more…and hadn’t stopped.
After the occupations, some people turned to the opium dens. Longcock had grafted weapons to his body. Yasmeen thought both reactions were exactly the same, in their own way.
“I’ve asked him to walk with you through my lady,” Yasmeen continued. “In the weeks since we’ve left Lusitania, Longcock has acted as Lady Nergüi’s quartermaster—and he was quartermaster aboard The Flying Spear until a month ago. You’d do well to listen to him. He has rough edges, but he knows what he’s about.”
Vashon nodded, then asked, “The Flying Spear? A pirate ship, ma’am?”
“Quite a few pirate ships have come upon us lately, and many of them have experienced crews. I offer better pay, however, so some of those pirates now serve aboard my lady.”
“If he was a quartermaster aboard The Flying Spear, why isn’t he yours?”
She was already trying to figure out whether Longcock’s demotion would pose a problem, Yasmeen realized. He wouldn’t—Longcock preferred the first mate’s position—but Yasmeen would let Vashon determine that for herself. “He can’t read and write. I need you to do both at times. You are my right hand with the aviators.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She took a deep breath. “And which hand is Mr. Fox?”
Archimedes looked up from a letter, brows arched in surprise. Yasmeen smiled. Though the question was impertinent, she was pleased Vashon had asked. It was best to lay out the rules now.
“As far as you are concerned, he is me,” Yasmeen said. “If he ever makes a request, you will consider it an order.”
“Yes, ma’am.” After a brief hesitation, she asked, “And if his order conflicts with yours?”
“Tell him so. If he still insists that you carry out his order, then do as he says.”
Both stared at her—Vashon in some confusion, Archimedes in absolute shock.
Yasmeen pretended that neither of them was gaping at her like a fish that had been coshed over the head. Though she had never imagined making such a decision, the past few months had made it a simple one. She knew Archimedes would never undermine or question her authority on this ship unless absolutely necessary—and to him, that necessity would be saving her life. If Archimedes Fox, Fearless Adventurer thought any situation was that dire, it was worth pausing and reconsidering.
And she didn’t want to lose him, either.
Yasmeen continued, “Then come and let me know that he’s countermanded my orders, of course—if he does not beat you to it. But if he feels it necessary to overturn my orders without first consulting me, I know he’d have a damned compelling reason. That’s worth listening to.”
Slowly, Archimedes sat up, holding her gaze. By the sweet heavens, he was a beautiful man. The shock had fled, leaving an expression of incredible intensity that all but shouted the depth of his love. Yasmeen’s throat constricted. Why had she never said this so clearly before? She thought he’d known. Perhaps he had—but had just never thought she’d say it.
Beautiful, incredible man.
And if he kept staring at her like that, she would soon throw herself into his arms. Shaken by the strength of her reaction, Yasmeen forced herself to look away from him. Vashon had managed to close her mouth, but clearly had no idea how to respond.
Yasmeen cleared her throat and helped her out. “It probably won’t happen, you realize. He won’t even make any requests. In the unlikely event that he does, however, these are my instructions.”
The quartermaster released a long breath. “Yes, ma’am.”
“All right.” Yasmeen slid a sheaf of papers across the desk. “This is your contract. Your duties are listed; if you have any questions, I suggest that you ask the steward for clarification before you sign it. After you have signed it, he’ll add you to the payroll. Your wages and share are noted on the second page.”
Vashon’s eyes rounded. “That’s incredibly generous, ma’am.”
Only if she lasted long enough to collect it. “Don’t be fooled by the number, mademoiselle. My last quartermaster thought that amount of money made him a man of leisure—but I will work every single denier out of you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then welcome aboard Lady Nergüi, mademoiselle. You’re dismissed.”
The moment Vashon made her exit, Yasmeen’s gaze returned to Archimedes. He rose from the pillows, so lean and strong.
The roughness of his voice was a caress up her spine. “Why?”
“Why do I state what has become obvious to all of the crew? I am still captain, but this ship is your lady, too. I trust you to care for her, for us, if the need arises. I trust that you will do it, even if by undermining me you risk my anger—I trust that you will do it, even if it’s at the expense of your own heart.” Yasmeen stood and came around the desk, her pulse racing. She wasn’t adept at these sorts of declarations, not like he was. Still, she was glad to make it. “But I would never ask you to risk your heart. I want you to know that if you ever do need to override me, you can without fear that I’ll resent you for it. Because I have no fear that you would ever do it without great reason.”
He crossed the cabin, caught her face between his hands. His emerald gaze searched her features, as if seeking any doubts. “You don’t fear at all?”
“No.” Not that he would take her ship. She only feared losing him.
His focus dropped to her lips. “Kiss me, then,” he said.
Gladly. He met her halfway—and oh, his mouth. So sweet. His arms slid around her waist. She clung to his shoulders, sought a deeper taste, and with the parting of his lips she began shaking from the intensity of the emotions tearing through her. How could he do this to her so easily? Often, their kisses were playful, fun. Not this one. It brought her heart up out of her chest, filled the space between them.
Yasmeen never knew what to do when he left her so vulnerable, so open. She kissed him—by the lady, how could she not when it felt as if she would die without it?—and she loved him. God, how she loved him. But she knew the only thing that saved her when she exposed her heart was Archimedes himself, and that she trusted him never to crush it.
He knew, too. When he lifted his head—not far, just enough to look into her eyes—his breathing was as rough as hers, and already he was helping her find a more comfortable tack. “You made me lose my head, Mrs. Fox. I meant to steal my daggers back.”
Smiling, she pressed another kiss to his mouth and dropped her hands to her thighs. “Look again, Mr. Fox. I didn’t take them.”
He was quick, but she was quicker. By the time his hands fell to his hips, she’d already slipped the blades into his sheaths and returned her arms around his neck. His grin matched hers.
“You gave them back?”
“I saved you the humiliation of fumbling when you attempted to steal them.”
“Truly?” His eyes narrowed. “No. You’ve revealed yourself, Captain. Now I know you love me.”
“It must be love,” she agreed. “You humiliate yourself so regularly, yet I try to spare you whenever I can.”
Laughing, he caught her waist again, dragged her against him. “And this time, I’m grateful for it. Because God knows, I would only have to touch your thighs and completely forget why I was attempting to grab a pair of knives, instead.”
He only had to touch her, too—though right now, they couldn’t follow through. With a sigh, Yasmeen laid her head against his shoulder.
Archimedes groaned. “Our daily visit with Mrs. Fortescue?”
“Yes.” Though rather than simply adjusting and verifying their direction, they would be meeting with the navigator to establish their new course when they left Port Fallow. Such consultations always took more time. “A longer visit.”
“I prefer this,” Archimedes said.
She preferred this, too. His taut muscles, his warmth, the slide of his fingers up her back…Yasmeen couldn’t stifle her soft sound of pleasure.
“You should stop,” she said.
He didn’t, and there wasn’t just simple pleasure now, but heat. His hands cupped her bottom, lifted her against him. His mouth sought the curve of her jaw, the sensitive skin at her neck.
With a moan, she let her head fall back, giving him better access. “I’ll kill you for this.”
A shudder ripped through him. “Good God, that was cruel. You know how that arouses me.”
She did. Lowering her face to his, she scraped the sharp tip of her forefinger beneath his jaw, watched the ecstasy tightening his features. Archimedes Fox relished a bit of danger—in any form.
He closed his eyes. “Don’t sneer at me,” he said. “If you do, I’ll probably come.”
The laugh burst from her, soothing the burn between them. Yasmeen kissed him, hard, and his reluctance echoed hers when he slowly let her down. She looked away from his flushed features, searching for a distraction. A few minutes remained before Fortescue arrived, but if Yasmeen didn’t find something to occupy herself, their navigator would find them writhing naked on the desk, instead.
Probably best not to look at the desk now, either.
Her gaze lit on the pile of correspondence on the table. Not just letters—packages, too. Some that might have been stacks of pages bound together. “Is the Lady Lynx story in there?”
“It is.” His long stride carried him to the table, but he picked up a small envelope rather than a manuscript. “I plan to read it to you tonight.”
She would love that. “And is there any other news?”
“Zenobia wants us to know that the origin of Lady Lynx has been found out.”
A bit late. Yasmeen automatically took the letter he held out, then read the direction in surprise. She rarely received correspondence, and none of it came to Port Fallow—she collected it from her solicitor. “This was addressed to me?”
“From Scarsdale.”
A good friend, but not usually the writing sort. She broke the seal, and her belly seemed to drop. Not a letter. An invitation.
Watching her face, Archimedes frowned. “What is it?”
“His wedding.”
“To a woman?”
Unfortunately, it was the only sort of marriage Scarsdale could have. “It’s his duty to produce an heir,” she said. “Goddammit. As long as his prick still works, he can do his duty. Why couldn’t he go on as he was and marry when he was an old man? And why the hell invite me? Perhaps he hopes that my presence will horrify the wedding party so much, the bride will flee.”
But, no. Though she wished it, Yasmeen knew that wouldn’t be why. Scarsdale had many friendly acquaintances, but few friends. She was one—and he wanted her there for that reason alone. Still, as his friend, she’d make damn certain he absolutely wanted this.
Casually, Archimedes said, “Since the navigator is coming soon, perhaps we ought to decide where we’re heading next.”
Yasmeen glanced up at him. “Not Cordoba?”
“Eventually. But I thought we might visit Zenobia first, to make certain she’s all right. Afterward, why not detour to England and visit Scarsdale?”
“Oh, you are a brilliant man. Unless I’m convinced that he truly wants this marriage, we’ll abduct him and tell his bride that I had my way with him. No gentle-bred miss would want him after that.” She narrowed her eyes at him when he laughed. “Why do you think Zenobia might not be all right?”
“She received a visit from my old partner. It upset her.”
His old partner…“Bilson?” She headed back to the desk after all, and found a note she’d tossed there earlier. “This arrived shortly after you left this afternoon. Then you distracted me with your dancing, and I forgot. It’s from Miles Bilson.”
Archimedes’ dark brows drew together as he read the note. “He’s requested a meeting. He thinks I can help him.”
No doubt Archimedes could. But Bilson had probably asked because Archimedes was the sort of man who would. “What kind of help?”
“It doesn’t say.”
And he wasn’t expressing much interest in finding out. “You don’t seem that eager to meet your friend.”
He glanced up. “I enjoy his company quite a bit. But I know him well; he always has some sort of game in play. Perhaps not this time, but I’d be a fool not to wonder if I’m part of a greater plot.”
And he wasn’t a fool. “Why was Zenobia upset by him?”
“She had tender feelings for him—I hadn’t even realized. But she’s also certain that he’s here for money, and that he felt cheated when I sank those war machines.”
Yasmeen’s protective instincts sharpened. “Do you think he felt cheated?”
He shook his head, studying the note again as if to discern Bilson’s intentions from the slant of the letters, the darkness of the ink. “I can’t say. I don’t think so. But it’s been years.”
A seed of resentment could have grown enormous in that time. “And you’re famously rich now.”
“Yes.”
“Do you feel you owe him for the botched job with the war machines?”
“No.” He glanced up from the note with a wry grin. “But if he asked, I’d probably give the money to him.”
That was the lovely thing about possessing a ridiculous fortune—they could give away small fortunes, and hardly notice the difference. “And if it’s not money that he’s after?”
Yasmeen would deal with Bilson herself, if Archimedes asked her to. She knew he wouldn’t, however, and left the decision open to him.
“I’ll go out and meet with him tonight,” he said. “Then at least I’ll know what he wants.”
“Invite him aboard for dinner, instead,” Yasmeen suggested. “And introduce your old friend to your new wife.”
She met Archimedes’ sharp look with a smile that had terrified other men. He only chuckled, shaking his head—not refusing, but considering. She watched him struggle against his hope that Bilson’s request would be nothing, and his worry that if it wasn’t, Yasmeen might be caught in between.
Just as protective of her as she was of him. Yasmeen softened her smile, stepped close. When he met her eyes, she said quietly, “Why did you dance on those docks today? Lady Corsair wasn’t yours, her crew wasn’t yours—you didn’t love them as I did. Yet you helped me today, when everything else I saw reminded me of how much it hurt to lose them. And your dealings with Bilson aren’t my business, I know—but if he’s here to take some sort of revenge on you, to hurt you…then let me stand behind you and help you in return.”
His throat worked. He lowered his head, dipping his mouth close to hers. His voice was rough as he said, “You have my heart, Mrs. Fox.”
“Good. After you stole mine, I’m in need of one.”
He smiled against her lips. “Bilson’s request will likely be nothing.”
“Does he have a brain in his head?”
“Yes.”
“Then it will be nothing,” she said, and reassured him with a kiss.
Only an idiot would believe he stood a chance in hell against this.