Guest post: Moonlight & Mechanicals by Cindy Spencer Pape

You have to be taught

As a parent, I try to get these messages through to my kids.  As a writer, I try to make my work reflect a variety of people and situations. Though most (yep—most, not all) of my stories are about monogamous heterosexual couples, their worlds are filled with folks of all shapes, colors, and persuasions. This is true even in my steampunk. Despite the fact that homosexuality was illegal in England in the 1850s, that doesn’t mean gay people didn’t exist. Therefore, there are some in the Gaslight Chronicles, loved and protected by their families or not. There are people of different races and religions, and yes, I’ve gotten flak because the women don’t always act like proper Victorian ladies should. Oh well, that’s the PUNK in steampunk.

People are people. In any group, you have the good, the bad, the clever and the ignorant.  I find it very odd that in a paranormal romance, where nobody thinks twice about whether a vampire and a werewolf can find love, they have to argue about the melanin content of someone’s skin, or what entity their parents prayed to.  Fortunately, my publishers don’t, and I think most of my readers are savvy enough to get past it as well. So I’ll continue on my merry way, coming up with new and different characters as I go.  And in real life, I’ll continue to encourage my kids (now young adults) to look at people as people, instead of seeing just the labels.

After all, you’ve got to be carefully taught.

GIVEAWAY: One random commenter on this post will win a free download of Moonlight & Mechanicals.

“Any
questions?” Winifred Carter Hadrian looked around the room full of the august
gentlemen—and very few ladies—of the Royal Society, and straightened her spine.
She’d just finished presenting her paper on the beneficial properties of wind
and electric power over coal. The members of the Royal Society remained
unimpressed. Whether mustachioed, mutton-chopped or rice-powdered, nearly every
face regarded her with a unified disapproving frown.

“What does a young lady
like you know about steam engines?” She couldn’t identify the voice—it came
from a shadowy corner of the room. Snickers and rude noises erupted in its wake
from throughout the so-called genteel membership. The acoustics in the room
were impressive. Not only could the audience hear her, but she could hear them
more clearly than she’d have liked. The front row, made up of Wink’s family and
friends, swiveled and glared at the crowd. Most of the hecklers shut up.

Wink remained polite. “Are there any further questions?” Not a
single hand was raised.

“The problem, missy, is that our economy is built on coal. Reducing
its use costs jobs.” She couldn’t see the owner of that particularly
patronizing tone either, but it obviously met the approval of the audience,
because another round of boos and jeers broke out. At least they weren’t
throwing anything. Yet. That wasn’t unheard of.

“I’m aware of the monetary value of coal to the empire,” she said.
“If you’d read my paper, you’d see I propose to train displaced miners—”

“Go back to your needlework, girl. It’s where you belong.”

Wink’s adoptive father, Sir Merrick Hadrian, Baron Northland, rose
and whirled on that voice, fists raised. So did his wife, Caroline, though she
lifted her parasol. Merrick’s aunt, Dorothy, simply gave the man a death glare.

“Better yet, on her back. She wouldn’t be too hideous in the dark.”
The speaker didn’t shout that remark, but a coincidental lull in the other
noise made it stand out like the smell of dead fish. In the back row, Lord
Eustace Irons, son of a marquess and a coal heiress, laughed at his own
so-called joke. Wink wasn’t surprised. He also had a tendency to grope during
waltzes. When he saw that he’d been heard, his pasty skin paled even further
and he mumbled an apology as he looked wide-eyed at an angry Lord Northland.

Meanwhile Sir Thomas Devere, Wink’s foster brother, and his closest
friend, Sir Connor MacKay, began to bolt from their seats toward Lord Eustace.
Another man, one whose presence had caused Wink’s heart to flutter, caught the
two younger men by their coat collars and hauled them back into their seats.
“Remember, I’d have to arrest you both for assault. Let’s just get the hell out
of here.” Inspector Liam McCullough shot Wink an imperious glance as if commanding
her to leave the stage.

She seethed at being told what to do, but he was right. Retreat was
in order. She gave him a nearly imperceptible nod and then smiled at the
audience with exquisite politeness. “Thank you, my lords, ladies and gentlemen,
for your time. My thesis is, of course, on file at Lovelace College, Oxford, if
you care to refer to it at a future date.” With that, she gave a hint of a
curtsey and stepped away from the podium, her spine straight and her starched
crinoline petticoat rustling.

As she left the stage, she looked back at Lord Eustace and felt his
oily grin skimming over her curves—or lack thereof. Next to him stood another
man, one Wink had never seen before. His leer wasn’t as overtly slimy, but
somehow, his intense and calculating stare made the back of her neck itch. Out
of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom mutter a quick spell under his breath.
Eustace seemed to hit a slick patch on the floor and went flying, landing on
his arse on the marble. His friend tripped over him and fell as well.

Both Tom and Connor had moved to the door, so neither Eustace nor
his oily friend saw a thing. Wink turned her head and hid a grin. It was fun to
have sorcerers in the family. The Knights of the Round Table were all trained
in simple spells.

Wink couldn’t wait to get home to Hadrian House and change out of her
ridiculous full hoopskirts, back into her comfortable coveralls. Ignoring the
crowd and the continued catcalls, she slipped out the side door, whisked open
by Connor and Tom as she approached.

Out in the hallway, she breathed deeply and smiled up at her
rescuers. “Thank you, lads. That was not my finest hour.”

Tom gave her shoulder a gentle punch. “They’ll come ’round, ducks,”
he whispered in the street cant they’d used, growing up together in the back
alleys of Wapping.

“I think you were splendid.” Connor took her hand and bowed over it.
He never failed to treat her as if she was a real lady, though his family was
one of just a few who knew her true origins. Before Wink’s adoption at age
fifteen by Merrick and Caroline, she’d been a daughter of impoverished gentry
until she was nine, then nothing more than a street rat. Thanks to their
protection and support, she’d been re-educated as a lady, her history hidden.
Not a single soul in that audience of stuffed shirts had any clue about Wink’s
real history, or ever would. They simply saw a young woman of moderate looks,
hazel eyes that changed from green to brown depending on her clothing and
unfashionable copper-colored hair. Mostly people noticed a female who’d broken
tradition to study at Oxford and then dared lecture them on the way they
managed technology. It didn’t matter that she was the Honorable Miss, now that
her father was Lord Northland, rather than the girl who had fixed laundry
machines for a room and fought vampyres in the streets. She was female,
twenty-four in two weeks and a trained engineer. That was more than enough to
make her suspect among “serious” scientists.

Connor offered his arm. “Tom is right. They’ll come around. You’ll
see.”

“Thank you, Connor,” Wink said. He was a dear friend, tall and
broad-shouldered with dark auburn hair and lovely pale blue eyes. Like Tom, he
looked utterly proper in his charcoal and dove-gray morning suit, with a
striped ascot at his neck. In fact, the two men could almost pass for brothers.
Tom’s sandy hair had darkened to a rich golden brown now that he was grown and
his freckles had faded. His blue eyes were a darker shade than Connor’s, a deep
azure that bordered on indigo. Furthermore, both of them, like Merrick, and
Connor’s father Sir Fergus, were Knights of the Round Table, and therefore
among the most dangerous men in Britain. Connor’s bluff manner and cheerful
smile provided effective camouflage, making him seem harmless as a toy bear. He
leaned down and swept her into an enthusiastic hug.

“You were brilliant, darling.” Caroline joined the embrace, hugging
Wink from behind. “They’re a bunch of nodcocks, but we knew that.”

“Thanks, Mum.” She blinked back a tear. Despite having been adopted
so late in life, she’d taught herself to think of them as her parents, partly
to avoid confusion for the younger children, and partly because they deserved
it. Merrick and Caroline had saved Wink’s life, risking their own. They’d taken
in a pack of street rats and claimed them, with the nominal explanation to
others that the children were the orphans of childhood friends. The motley
collection of Hadrians might not be blood, but they were very much family.

“Let’s get home, shall we?” Tom picked up his top hat while Connor
handed Wink her gauze shawl. “There’s ice cream and chocolate cake. That always
cheers you up.”

“Well then, of course I’ll be fine.” Wink glanced at Caroline. “Is
it all right if I ride home in the runabout with the boys?”

Caroline—Mum’s—green eyes were misty with concern, but she smiled.
“Why wouldn’t it be? We’ll see you at the house. But no stops. Remember it’s
your party.”

“We’ll be home before you are,” Tom assured his foster mother.
Because of his own baronetcy, he was the only one of their crew who hadn’t been
legally adopted by the Hadrians, but he was just as much a brother to Wink as
any of the others. He took one of her arms and Connor took the other as they
escorted her out to Tom’s runabout.

Wink was relatively tall for a woman, at five foot six in her heeled
boots, but she was still dwarfed by her escorts, both of whom were well over
six feet. The boys handed her into Tom’s steam-powered motor car, partially
designed and mostly built by Wink herself. It burned paraffin oil, which gave
off far less soot and smoke than the conventional coal. The roof folded down
into the boot, but no one in their right mind would keep the top down in the
city—the air quality truly was that awful. Ducking to protect her fashionable
little hat, she slid into the back seat. She only whacked herself in the face
with her skirt hoops once—practically a record.

Her sister Nell slid gracefully into the seat beside her, not
mussing her skirt once. Then she leaned over to give Wink a hug. “Sorry, love.
I’ll help you kill any of them if you like.” Her big black eyes, courtesy of
the Indian sailor who’d been her natural father, were bright with love and
anger.

“Thank you, but no.” Wink squeezed her sister’s hand. “Just teach me
that trick you did with your hoops, and we’ll call it square.”

 Something bumped her knee and
Wink sighed. Waiting on the floor of the runabout, as always, was her eternal
companion, George. Though the clockwork mastiff was made of bronze and copper,
gears and wires, to Wink, he was as real as either of the young men in front of
them. Absently, she patted George, gaining comfort just from touching him.

They moved out into the dim haze of traffic. Coal smoke clogged the
air of London until almost every building façade was black. Blight stunted the
trees and even in Green Park and Kew Gardens, there was precious little green
to be found. Hawkers still cried their wares from street corners, but now they
kept scarves over their faces, or air masks if they could afford them. Every
day, Londoners too poor to employ air filters in their homes died of black lung,
and other respiratory illnesses as if they were coal miners. Couldn’t the
blighters in the Royal Society see the urgency of the problem or the elegance
of the solution? Electrical power was the stuff of the future. Wink would stake
her favorite wrench on it.

Was their disinterest based upon not caring about the poor, or the
other living things in the city? Or was it simply because the paper had been
presented by a woman? Her gender had made great strides since Ada, Lady
Lovelace, had turned the world on end by writing the code to operate Lord
Babbage’s miraculous analytical engines, but most men still looked upon
professional females as suspect and considered them lacking in intellect
compared to their male counterparts.

“At any rate, you’ve done what you can for today, planting some
seeds if nothing else.” Tom shouted over the hiss and roar of the engine and
other traffic. “Tomorrow, you can get back to working on what you’re actually
being paid for.”

Wink managed a grin. “You’re just saying that because you want me to
install an analytical engine terminal in your office.” Despite society’s horror
that a well-heeled lady would actually hold a paid position, Wink was employed
as a technical consultant to the Order, and her current task was improving the
system the Knights used to keep track of vampyres, magick wielders and other
potential threats to the Empire. When she was done, all the desks in the
building would be connected to one another and the enormous computing machine
in the basement, forming a virtual network of information. Some day, she hoped
to connect the Knights’ home machines as well—at least those in the Greater
London area, possibly using the newly installed telephonic speaking wires that
had begun to lace city streets as well as the countryside.

At least the Order took her seriously. While they’d yet to admit a
female Knight, the oldest and most hidebound institution in Britain now
accepted female employees. It’s a start.
The refrain was a familiar one in the Hadrian household. Move on from here. This afternoon, she had work to accomplish.
Tonight she had to attend the Duchess of Trowbridge’s ball, which meant even
larger hoops and a tighter corset.

She stroked George’s shiny brass head and briefly wished she could
return to Northumberland tonight with her parents. Her youngest siblings,
Merrick’s and Caroline’s natural children, hadn’t come down from the country
for her talk. She missed them. By morning she could be reading stories to her
little sisters, Sylvia and Rose, who were seven and three, holding Vivienne,
the newest baby, or playing soldiers with five-year-old Will. After that, she
could hole up in the workshop her father had built her, tinkering with her
latest designs. Either way, she could hide from the embarrassment of today’s
debacle.

Unfortunately, she had work to do here in London. She’d chosen to
take a paid position, and now she had to cope with it. Bother. Sometimes being an adult wasn’t all it was cracked up to
be.

Inspector Liam
McCullough stood in his superior’s office at Scotland Yard, frowning. “With all
due respect, Superintendent, I don’t believe I’m the right officer for that
particular task.” It had already been a long, annoying day, and he had work to
catch up on after taking time off for Wink’s speech. He still regretted not
being able to shove Eustace’s teeth down his throat.

“Knew you’d say that.” Superintendent Jack Dugan, the man in charge
of a small, select unit within the Yard, stroked his bushy mutton-chop whiskers
and exchanged glances with the Duke of Trowbridge, another fifty-something
gentleman with iron-gray hair and a tidy Van Dyke beard. “You owe me a bottle
of French brandy, your grace.”

“Hmmph. Not yet.” The duke’s eyes twinkled at Liam even while his
face remained impassive. As head of the Order of the Round Table, the duke had
the power, both political and magickal, to back up his aura of command. “We
need you, lad. Buck up and do your duty and all of that.”

“But—” At nearly thirty-one, Liam didn’t often think of himself as
anyone’s lad. However, considering the duke had a son who was a good friend of
Liam’s, and a bit older, Liam supposed Trowbridge was allowed the term. Liam
looked from one determined face to the other, and let his tense shoulders
relax. He was outmatched. “Of course I’ll be at her grace’s party tonight.
Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” So much for a nice quiet night in his own
home, with a cigar and a good book. “I still don’t believe I’m the right man
for the rest of it, though.”

“You’re the son of an earl, my boy. That gives you entry into places
none of my other officers can go.” Dugan gave Liam a stern glance. “I know you
don’t like to tread on your family connections, but right now, we need them.”

“Forgive me, sir, but what information is it you think I can provide
that his grace and company cannot?” Yes, Liam was the barely-acknowledged
younger son of an earl, but an Irish one, and a werewolf—hardly the cream of
London society. Many of the Knights of the Roundtable, on the other hand, such
as his grace, moved in the upper circles with the public in utter ignorance of
their magickal activities.

“Disaffected younger sons seem to be the primary target of a new
organization that has come to our attention.” Dugan’s mutton-chops drooped and
the bags beneath his eyes had luggage of their own. Something out of the
ordinary weighed on his mind. The superintendent had taken Liam under his wing
when Liam had first joined up, teaching him the job and about life. Hell, Jack
Dugan had been more father to Liam than his own ever was, and it was nearly
painful to see him look so fatigued. “The Order doesn’t have any of those in
London at the moment, so you’re it. We want you to mingle as much as you can,
see if you can get yourself drawn into whatever plot is afoot. So far, all
we’ve heard is that they plan to make some kind of statement at an upcoming
royal event.”

“And when is Her Majesty’s next scheduled appearance?” Liam hoped
they were talking about the Queen. If they had to account for all her cousins
and offspring, it was liable to be a circus and a half. Liam didn’t even know
how many people the term royal family
encompassed. All the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of George III? More?
The logistics of keeping track of all of them boggled the mind.

“The Royal Ascot races,” Trowbridge said with a look of mild
disappointment, as if Liam should have already known.

“Of course.” Everyone in England knew about Ascot. The races were
only a week or so away, and the royal family always made a big showing. Liam
rather hated horse racing, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the schedule.
“Would you like me to confer with the palace guard about security measures for
the royal enclosure?”

“That wouldn’t hurt.” Dugan nodded briefly. “We also expect you to
be a guest in the enclosure for the
duration of the event. Here are some of the others who will be present.” He
handed Liam a sheet of paper. Several of the names were familiar—the duke, of
course, and his wife and mother, the current and dowager duchesses.
Trowbridge’s son and daughter-in-law, Lord and Lady Lake. Kendall Lake was also
a Knight, so that was good. Sir Tom Devere and Sir Connor MacKay were also both
members of the Order, though Liam hadn’t known they were interested in racing.
It appeared the royal party would be well protected, even without Liam. Hell,
even Winifred Hadrian and her mechanical dog were forces to be reckoned with.
Liam had seen the young woman wield a sword and she was bloody damn good.

Then Liam noted another pair of names and his eyebrows lifted. “Lord
and Lady Bell? I didn’t know my father and stepmother were even in England at
present. Why are they attending the races?”

 “Who knows?” The duke
shrugged. “I believe the earl and countess are expected to arrive just a day or
so before the event,” Trowbridge said. “They’re staying at Windsor Castle as
guests of the Queen. I know relations between you are strained, but is your
joint presence in the enclosure liable to cause a scene?”

Liam shook his head. “I suspect the earl will be quite content to
pretend I don’t exist. He’s become something of an expert at that over the last
decade or so.” Ever since Liam had defied his father, left the pack and come to
London to join the police. Liam had spent years suppressing his hurt over his
father’s rejection, so he was certain none showed in his demeanor as he
shrugged. “My stepmother is unlikely to so much as recognize my face.”

“Good, then there shan’t be a problem.” Dugan didn’t bother with
pointless expressions of sympathy. Liam liked that about the man. You always
knew where you stood with Dugan—he was fair and honest to a fault.

“No, sir, Superintendent. Your Grace.” Liam knew when he was licked.
He didn’t have it in him to let his mentor down. “I’ll listen to what I can at
the ball tonight, and meet with the Yeomen of the Guard tomorrow.”

Dugan nodded. “Good. Now get out of here.” Without another word he
turned back to the stack of reports on his scarred wooden desk.

Liam and the duke left the tiny office together. “Kendall and Amy
will be happy to see you tonight,” the duke offered. “I’ll warn them ahead of
time that you’ll be working.”

“Thank you.” That meant the other Knights would know as well. They’d
watch Liam’s back and he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally offending
them if he was distracted. Good. Now if he could just get out of dancing, his
evening wouldn’t be a waste after all. There was no chance of that though, not
with the Hadrian and Lake ladies present. Bugger.

Thinking of the Hadrian ladies, or one in particular, anyway, made
Liam’s fangs ache. When those buffoons had insulted Wink this afternoon,
something deep in the center of his being had longed to shift so he could leap
over the seats and rip out someone’s throat. While his human side knew that was
a little extreme for an insult, filthy though it had been, his instincts had
been to protect and defend her at all costs, which wasn’t at all appropriate
behavior for a single man toward an unmarried woman.

Yes, he liked her and respected her brilliance. Of course he found
her attractive—he was a red-blooded male, after all. But that’s all it could
ever be. Wink deserved to be happy and to have a man who treated her like the
treasure she was. It was simply too damned bad that couldn’t be him.

As he walked through the building, he saw two young constables
struggling with an iron safe, about waist height, that they were apparently
trying to drag into the evidence room. “Problem, boys?”

“Thing weighs more than the bloody Tower of London,” one said.

The other cursed, then looked up at Liam. “Oh—pardon, Inspector.”

“No worries.” He grinned and just for fun, leaned over and plucked
the safe up off the floor, lifting it easily. Sometimes, it was good to be a
werewolf. “So where do you need it to go?”

The two youngsters paled and pointed. Liam carried the safe through
into the evidence room and nodded at the clerk. “Afternoon, Frank.”

The retired officer nodded back. “Afternoon, Inspector. Over in that
corner if you don’t mind.”

Liam deposited the item in the space requested and left with a wink
at the two young men. “That’s how a real copper does it.” He kept his grin to
himself until he left the room.

“I told you to watch out for Inspector McCullough,” one of the
youngsters whispered.

“Cor, you weren’t half kidding,” said the other. “Wonder what he
eats for breakfast?”

“Idiots like you two,” Frank said. “Now get back to work.”

Wink made her
curtsies to the duke and duchesses and was warmly embraced by Amelie,
Marchioness Lake, at the end of the receiving line.

Wink smiled back at her friend, a photographer who’d married into
the Order a few years earlier. Shorter than Wink, a little plump, and with her
brown hair gleaming and a look of radiant happiness on her pretty face, the
marchioness epitomized domestic bliss.

“Amy, you look marvelous. How’s the baby?”

“Ned is doing fine,” Amy said. “Stop by tomorrow afternoon and
visit, if you have the chance. The grandmothers might even let the two of you
get close to him.” She turned to hug Nell, who was right behind Wink in the
line.

Nell laughed. “We’ve plenty of experience in not damaging infants. I suspect we’ll past muster.”

“They do all right,” Caroline said with a fond smile from her
position ahead of Wink in the line. As she and Merrick now had four natural
children, ages three months to seven years, in addition to the five they’d
adopted or fostered, the older ones had done a fair bit of changing nappies.
“Next time we’re in town, I’ll bring Vivi over. She and Ned can play.”

With a line behind them, there was no more time for conversation.
Amy’s tall-dark-and-handsome husband, Kendall, bowed over Wink and Nell’s
hands. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

The Hadrian party, which included Tom as well as Aunt Dorothy, moved
past the line into Trowbridge House’s palatial ballroom. Men flocked to ask
Nell and Caroline to dance, backing away at Merrick’s angry scowl. Soon they all
dispersed to chat with various acquaintances, leaving Wink on her own,
struggling for breath in a ridiculous concoction of lace, hoops, steel boning
and ribbons so tight she could barely breathe. Not two steps into the
chattering throng, she found Connor at her side.

“You’re looking lovely tonight—as always.” He glanced down at the
antique pearls gracing her cleavage, which was barely there when she didn’t
wear a corset. His flushed cheeks indicated there was some advantage to wearing
the torture device.

Now if only someone else
would notice. Across the room, Wink saw another
familiar face, and her pulse sped up. Her skin heated and she bit her lower
lip, trying to hide her reaction from her companion, especially when Liam
McCullough began a leisurely saunter across the room to meet them.

She’d known Liam since the day Merrick Hadrian had found her with
the others on the streets. Liam had been there that night, a young, handsome
constable, and he’d taken Wink’s breath away from the start. Something deep inside
her had gotten one good look and said, This
is him. This is the one. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to share her
fascination, still treating her as nothing more than the child of a friend.

Taller than Wink but shorter than her father or Tom, he still had a
powerful presence. Even Connor stepped back, dipping his head in deference when
Liam approached.

Liam was too rugged and broad-shouldered to be considered
traditionally handsome, but most of the women in the room watched him as well.
His hair was neatly trimmed, the wave in his black locks ruthlessly tamed. His
face was a study in sharp chiseled planes, and thick brows hooded eyes of such
a dark brown they were nearly black as well. Stark and elegant in his black
evening suit and pristine white shirt, he shook Connor’s hand before bowing
over Wink’s. Even through her satin gloves and his kid ones, she felt the
warmth of his touch, impersonal and rote though it was.

“How’s your family?” he asked Connor. Him, Liam treated as an adult, while Wink was still a child in his
eyes. That was utterly unfair as Connor was barely a year older than her. “Are
your sisters doing well?”

Connor nodded. “Both doing grand. Geneva and Magnus are enjoying
their new baby.” His elder sister had married a highland laird just last
summer. While Wink was genuinely pleased for Geneva, she couldn’t help a tinge
of envy. What would it be like to know you had someone to stand beside you
every day of your life? To share all the good and bad, and keep each other
company through long, quiet nights?

“Congratulations to them both.” Finally Liam turned to Wink. “You’ve
recovered from this afternoon, I hope?”

“There was nothing worth recovering from.” Wink shrugged. “I’m sorry
you had to witness that disaster, but I’m not going to let it destroy me or
divert me from my work.”

“Honestly, I found it fascinating. Your ideas have a lot of merit.”
The orchestra began to strike up the opening number. Connor turned, no doubt to
ask her to dance, but before he could, Liam smiled. “Miss Hadrian? Would you do
me the honor?”

“Of course.” She closed her mouth, which had dropped at his
compliment, and smiled apologetically at Connor, ignoring his stricken
expression. Wink was going to have to do something about his
infatuation—eventually. She cared for him, but more as another brother than as
a potential husband.

At the moment, though, she relaxed and gave herself up to the superb
music and the enjoyment of being exactly where she wanted to be—waltzing in
Liam’s arms.

He was a powerful and gifted dancer, though with his supernatural
strength and grace, he could hardly have been otherwise. The pleasure she felt
was more than that though—it came from simply being near Liam, feeling his
breath on her hair, his hands warm even through gloves and layers of clothing.
This wasn’t their first dance—he was a long-time friend of her family, after
all. They’d run into one another on numerous social occasions in the six years
since her debut. Each time she waltzed with him, though, seemed as magickal as
the first. She’d been sixteen then, at her parents’ wedding, on the same day
they’d formally adopted her, Nell, Piers and Jamie. Even then, with the stink
of Wapping still clinging to her, Liam had treated her like a lady, and Wink
had fallen in love with the werewolf constable and his sad, lonely dark eyes.

She forced her mind back to the present as they whirled through the
patterns of the dance. They didn’t speak at first, both seeming caught up in
their own thoughts or the music.

Finally Liam tapped a whalebone stay at her waist with the tip of
his finger. “Why on earth do women wear such ridiculous garments? That thing
looks so tight you can hardly breathe, let alone swing a rapier if you needed
to.”

Wink didn’t know whether to laugh, be hurt by his dismissal of her
most flattering gown or preen that he remembered her weapon of choice. She
settled for saying, “I have no idea either. I was wondering the same, not half
an hour ago.”

“And yet here you are, trussed up like a Christmas goose.” He looked
down into her meager bustline and only snorted, deflating any hope Wink might
have had that he saw her as a woman.

“I blame Her Majesty. For someone so adamant about being the ruler
in her own right, she’s reluctant to extend similar autonomy to other females.”
Wink couldn’t believe she’d actually said that, out loud and in public. A quick
glance around showed that no one else was looking at them so she went on.
“These idiotic fashions are designed for the sole purpose of keeping us as
dependent as possible on the male sex. By emphasizing our so-called feminine
attributes, they inherently downplay and actively inhibit our usefulness in any
other capacity.”

Liam nodded his agreement. “I’d grumble about the wastefulness of
all this wealth on display in the ballroom when so many are starving not far
away, but you know about that better than most.”

“I do.” She spun easily through the motions of the dance, following
him as if she were an extension of his arm. “And I also know how hard the Lake
family works to help others. This ball is part of their efforts—maintaining the
social standing and power to see that good is done, by their votes in
Parliament, by the money they raise for charities, by the Order itself. That’s
the only reason I’m here. I understand the purpose. Other parties…” She
wrinkled her nose and Liam chuckled.

“I know. I’m just out of sorts because I’m here under orders. When I
return you to your faithful swain MacKay, will you tell him and your brother I
need to speak with him in the card room sometime tonight?”

“Of course.” Her heart plummeted. He was only dancing with her to
send a message to Connor? Or to make a showing before he disappeared? Catching
the attention of Liam McCullough was going to take significantly more work than
she’d anticipated.

Perhaps she should have padded her corset.

They finished the set in silence. “Thank you,” she mumbled and
curtseyed as the dance concluded.

Liam bowed, but left her without another word—or a backward glance.

She danced the next set with Connor, who persisted on making calf’s
eyes at her the entire time. Drat it, she didn’t want to hurt him, but she was
going to have to discourage him somehow. How to redirect his attentions toward
someone else without breaking his heart? Perhaps Nell would know. Wink’s
next-younger sister was much more fluent in human relations. Possibly because
Nell was a genuinely kind person—far more so than Wink, who tended not to trust
and had little tolerance for hypocrisy or stupidity. Since Nell was studying
music at the Royal Academy, she would be staying in London when the others
left. Wink could easily corner her for a heart-to-heart.

Come to think of it, she’d done little more than wave at her sister
in passing since she’d gotten to town a month ago. She’d been so caught up in
her new position and preparing for her talk that she’d taken little time to
catch up. There was no getting around it—she was a horrible excuse for a sister
or even a person. Really, Connor deserved far better than she.

Clearly that line of rationalization required a little more work.

As she danced with one acquaintance after another, she spotted Lord
Eustace watching her more than once, his expressionless, dark-haired friend by
his side. The small hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Don’t let him get to you. He was a
lecher and rude, but she wasn’t frightened. She was surrounded by friends and
could defend herself if the need arose. Still, she’d avoid being alone with the
creature and she’d warn her sister to do the same.

She sent Connor off to Liam in the card room and danced with Tom,
Kendall, Kendall’s father, the duke of Trowbridge, and a couple other gentlemen
in between. By the time the supper dance was called, Wink was dewy and
exhausted. “Let’s walk,” she said to Connor who’d returned to claim her for the
dance and the subsequent meal. The musicians struck up an energetic reel.

“Capital.” Connor took her arm and led her out onto the spacious
glassed-in terrace at the rear of the mansion. “I wanted to talk with you
tonight anyway.”

A trickle of dread crept down her spine—or maybe it was just sweat.
Either way, she braced herself to hear something she wasn’t going to like.

“Winifred, you must know how much I admire you,” he began. To her
horror, he dropped to one knee in front of her, looking up at her with an
expression of fervent adoration and hope. “I find you the ideal specimen of
feminine beauty. Your hair, the color of burnished copper, your changeable
eyes, such a sweet mirror of your generous soul…”

Stop. Please. She held up a hand, but Connor simply took it and kissed it through
her glove. Now what was she supposed to do?

“Your graceful form, your exquisite face. Your kindness and care for
others—I love each and every little thing about you.”

No, no, no! Wink looked around, hoping to escape, but of course she couldn’t.
Connor was a family friend. He deserved at least a considerate, thoughtful
rejection.

Considerate and thoughtful weren’t her best attributes. She had no
idea what to say when he went on. “Winifred Hadrian, beloved, will you do me
the very great honor of becoming my wife?”

“Oh, Connor.” She bit her lip, searching for the proper words. “You
are the best of men and a dear, dear friend. But I don’t love you—not like
that. You’re Tom’s closest companion, just as Melody is mine. I think of you as
another brother, not as a husband.” Connor’s younger sister Melody had been
another of the few female engineering students at Lovelace College and was,
indeed, Wink’s closest friend outside her family.

“Perhaps if you set your mind to it, that could change.” He stayed
on one knee, clutching at her hands. “Please, my love, I adore you. I can’t
imagine my life without you.”

Wink shook her head. “I’ve tried, Connor. Honestly. I know you will
make some lucky girl a marvelous husband, but she isn’t me. You deserve someone
sweet, ladylike and even-tempered, not a woman with my temper or my shady
background.”

“This isn’t because of my uncle, is it? I’d understand, if it was.”
He clung to her hands. “It destroys me, knowing that he hurt you. I still can’t
understand how he succumbed to evil like he did.”

“No. What Gideon did is on his head and his alone. I’d never tar the
rest of your family with the same brush.” Years ago, when she was just settling
into the Hadrian household, Connor’s uncle had worked with vampyres and
kidnapped Wink, tried to use her to further a twisted plan for immortality.
“Any more than you’d condemn me for your uncle’s death. It was my father who
ended Gideon’s life, after all.”

Connor brushed that aside. “Then at least promise me you’ll think
about it. We’ll get on famously. You’ll see that if you look closely enough. We
have so much in common. Think of it, darling. Our families would be ecstatic.”

They would, without a doubt. The MacKays and Hadrians had a
friendship that transcended generations. A marital tie would only strengthen
that connection. Still, Wink shook her head. “I know they would, but it doesn’t
matter. I don’t want to give you false hope. I just can’t imagine us together
in a romantic sense.” Connor didn’t appeal to her at all on a physical level,
but she couldn’t quite come out and say that. There wasn’t anything wrong with
him. He just wasn’t—her mind veered from thinking of a specific name—the right
man for her.

“Just agree to think about it for a while—a week, perhaps. Can you
give me that much?”

Wink squeezed her eyes shut, hating to see such a proud, fine man
begging on his knees.

“A week then,” she said. The words tumbled out, though she hadn’t
meant to say them, hadn’t meant to leave him any hope. “But, Connor, please don’t get your hopes up. The
answer will still be no.”

“I have seven days to change your mind.” All smiles now, he bounded
to his feet and engulfed her in a bear hug. “Thank you, my darling. Thank you.”
With that, he pressed a kiss on her lips.

Wink’s eyes widened in shock. She’d been kissed before, but never
with such enthusiasm. Skill, too, she had to admit as she stood passive in his
arms, too stunned to react. But technical proficiency aside, the kiss did
nothing to make her melt, the way she felt when she simply looked at… Damn and
blast, she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him.

Steady now, she put her hands on Connor’s chest and shoved, none too
gently. He backed away with a mild look of horror on his classically handsome
face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen.” Wink straightened
her puffed sleeves where he’d crushed them with his hands. “Good night, Connor.
I’ll hold to my promise and think about what you said. But you need to
reconcile yourself to the fact that my answer is still going to be no.”