“But how—”
“There are benefits to employing a valet whose skills go beyond the ability to starch a cravat. Tyler’s knowledge of locksand how they open is most impressive.” He selected several other chemicals and added them one at a time. “Give me a hand and wipe the empty vials clean with the cloth on the workbench.”
Benedict did as he was told, then eyed the bubbling potion. “What are you concocting?”
“Sturm und drang,” answered the earl. “Thunder and lightning.” The ancient gods were adept at hurling bolts of fire and fury at those who dared to defy the order of the universe. Perhaps Zeus, in his infinite wisdom, would give his blessing to striking down the overweening hubris of Blackstone and son.
Wrexford knew he would likely need a little divine intervention to pull off what he had in mind.
The softpop, pop, popof the boiling chemicals appeared to be having a mesmerizing effect on Benedict. He sat unmoving, unblinking, his gaze drawn deep into the swirling vortex of crystalline color. Then, with a sudden start, he looked up and read over the labels on the empty vials. “Holy hell, you’re mixing an explosive, aren’t you?”
“Evil alchemy deserves evil alchemy.” The earl crouched down and adjusted the spirit lamp’s flame. “The explosive is for defensive distractions.” He then turned and gathered several more glass jars from the work counter. “I’m also concocting a mixture of acids with which to sabotage The Behemoth. That will make it impossible for Blackstone to demonstrate that Ashton’s invention works in an actual engine.”
He uncapped one of the containers. “Alas, I’m going to destroy all your lovely work on the valves. Otherwise they could run the boiler at three-quarter speed and prove it works. But once the dastards are arrested, there’s no reason why you and Mrs. Ashton shouldn’t take rightful ownership of the prototype. After you’ve repaired the damage, and I formulate iron for your new boiler, it should function perfectly, allowing youand the widow to file for the patent and carry on your mentor’s work.”
Benedict’s face lit with a beatific glow at the mention of the invention. “Our new steam engine will change the world, and for the better.” But his smile quickly gave way to a sigh. “How unfair that Eli is not here to see it.”
“You, of all people, ought to know that life is rarely fair.” Wrexford methodically stirred the potion.
“You know about my past?” asked Benedict in a small voice.
“As we parsed through all we knew about your disappearance, Sterling was forced to tell us. He never doubted you for a moment.” The earl checked the liquid’s color. “Nor did Miss Merton.”
“I don’t deserve her,” came the hollow reply.
Ah, the follies of youth.Though given his own romantic history, Wrexford conceded he wasn’t in any position to feel smugly superior. He paused for a moment, watching the bubbling chemicals . . . and was suddenly struck by the realization that he wasn’t ready to cock up his toes just yet. For some reason, it bothered him—a great deal, in fact—that he hadn’t yet had the chance to tell Charlotte . . . how he felt about her.
Love.Had he just admitted that? Perhaps not, as the earth hadn’t erupted in fire and swallowed him into the deepest pit of hell. Still, the word didn’t feel half so frightening as he had imagined. Indeed, it seemed to have settled somewhere deep in his chest and was pulsing a very pleasant warmth throughout his whole being.
He looked up. “If you would slink away from the lady you love because you think yourself unworthy, then you likely are.”
Benedict blinked.
“For God’s sake, let her decide for herself! She seems to have a brain, and knows how to use it.”
It seemed to take several heartbeats for his words topenetrate the young man’s despair. “W-Why thank you, sir! That is very sage advice—”
“Of course, it’s all a moot point if you stick your spoon in the wall here.” On that note, Wrexford extinguished the flame. “So help me fill the vials and refasten the lids—and bloody hell, don’t spill any of the mixture on yourself. I’ll close the door as I leave, so you should be safe in here. I don’t expect that anyone will come check on our progress for at least several more hours—and if Skinny reaches the place I sent him, I expect help will be here before then.”
Assuming Raven had survived and passed word of what had happened to Charlotte, and that she, in turn, had mustered the full force of their friends. That he refused to believe otherwise was perhaps a sign of his newfound sentimental weakness. Charlotte would likely tease him unmercifully for being such a romantic.
A clash of verbal swords I would gladly welcome.
Wrexford indicated the vials. “I’m leaving the explosives with you. Stand guard at the door, and if you hear anyone take hold of the latch, let it swing open and wait until they enter the room before smashing the glass at their feet. The oak is thick enough to shield you. Give the flames a moment to subside, then run like the Devil and make your escape.”
“Like hell I will.” Benedict fixed him with a resolute scowl. “I’m coming with you. You may need help in fighting the guards.”
Wrexford heaved a sardonic sigh. “Have you any experience in fighting for your life?”
Benedict’s expression betrayed a baleful twitch.
“I didn’t think so. And as I’d rather not die because of your bumbling, I’d prefer you stay here.”
“I’m good with my fists,” began Benedict.
In no mood to waste time with further arguments,Wrexford threw a quick punch that caught the young man square on the jaw.
“So am I,” he murmured as Benedict dropped like a sack of stones to the floor. If things went awry with his own plan, it might save the fellow’s life to be found bruised and unconscious.
