Page 1 of Kiss of Steele (The Royal Occult Bureau #9)

ONE

SOMEWHERE IN THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1887

FEELING SICK ON a boat—pardon, ship—is an utterly undignified affair.

I’d been casting up my accounts from the moment my unfortunate journey on the Steam Ship Florentia had started. When I’d left Southampton a few days ago, I could have never imagined that going on a cruise could be so painful. I’d been confused and suspicious about the trip but also thrilled and curious. How wrong I’d been.

And people went on a cruise to take a holiday?

We’d been cruising all the way down to France, and now the ship was sailing through... I didn’t have the foggiest idea where. All around me was an endless blue expanse that moved, lifted, and lowered, lifted and lowered. Oh, Lord.

A new wave of nausea caught me. Gripping the handrail, I leant over the side of the deck and emptied my stomach into the endlessly grey view of the Atlantic Ocean. Just watching the water shifting, the sunlight glinting off the waves, and the white foam bubbling made me feel sick all over again.

Thank goodness that corner of the deck was empty. The SS Florentia was a monstrous ship, like a village floating on the sea. The passengers—those who weren’t afflicted by seasickness and headaches and didn’t wish to die—enjoyed the many forms of entertainment on board, from violin concerts to dance performances and card games. The last thing I wanted was to have a witness to my rather unladylike state. One couldn’t feel sick with abandon in front of an audience.

My dark-blonde hair flapped wildly over my cheeks, adding a new layer of discomfort, but I was too weak to gather the long tendrils into a decent chignon. My dress was a mess of wrinkles and stains of dubious origin. Blazes, I’d even lost a button of my shirt somewhere. I could almost hear my mother’s horrified comments.

Monia! Compose yourself .

Yes, my name was Monia, short for Sanctimonia. No, not in the sanctimonious, holier-than-thou sense, but in the ‘symbol of purity’ sense. Purity my foot. I didn’t feel pure at all in my current state.

Another sea wave crushed against the hull with a deafening thud. At least it sounded deafening to my poor ears. The deck shifted up and down, and I gripped the handrail harder. Or tried to. Energy had been leaching out of me for the past few days. My legs trembled as I fought to stay upright. But fighting required too much effort. Sod it. I was going to collapse on the deck and stay there. Dignity be darned. Maybe Poseidon would have mercy on me and sweep me away. If I was lucky, I was going to pass out.

I had barely time to release the handrail and let gravity do the rest before a thick, strong arm coiled around my waist and supported me.

“Careful, missus,” a deep, slightly raucous voice said close to my ear.

Oh, no. Not him . Not now. Not my chaperone!

Groaning inwardly, I gazed up and wished I hadn’t. There he was.

Mr Rennie Steele was staring at me with both pity and concern. I wasn’t the type of woman to swoon over a gentleman. Most of the time. No sir. But he had a rough, wild type of beauty I admired but didn’t make me faint. He had very broad shoulders, lots of muscles, and a harsh jaw. Overwhelmingly strong. His large green eyes were pretty. Intense and charming when they wanted to be. Every time he gazed at me, a little shiver of fear made me quiver. Mr Steele frightened me. I had no problem admitting it.

Slender men with the long and elegant fingers of a pianist were less alarming to me. Rennie’s hands were calloused with tiny scars marring the knuckles, and so strong they could snap someone’s neck. He looked like one of those bare-knuckle pugilists who thrived in London’s underworld. His nose had definitely been broken at least once, judging by its crooked shape.

“I’m fine,” I croaked out, wishing to feel sick alone. Self-pity worked much better when I was alone.

“No, you aren’t. You don’t look fine.” His Cockney accent was so thick I could scrub the deck with it.

Why had my parents chosen him as my chaperone instead of an old lady? In fact, why had they sent me here? It wasn’t the first time I’d asked myself those questions. My parents and Rennie had been of no help in answering them.

Ten days ago, I’d convinced my parents to let me go to a magnificent ball at one of my friends’ houses. Music, champagne, handsome gentlemen, and solid, firm ground underneath my feet. Heaven. My parents had yielded to my request, and I’d hugged them both, happy.

You might find a good suitor. Someone you like, Mother had said.

And I’d found someone! A handsome, sophisticated prince from Rochenstein, a small principality in Central Europe. His name was Sandrosarkbach, and he was perfect. His long midnight hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and willowy body of a dancer had mesmerised me. Admittedly, his name wasn’t easy to pronounce. I didn’t think I could say it out loud without stammering. The ‘Sandro’ part was easy, but the last one sounded like my grandfather when he had a coughing fit after he snuffed tobacco. Anyway, Sandro had seemed to be mesmerised by me as well, which had surprised me. I wasn’t a wallflower, but I wasn’t the type of lady who attracted men’s attention, either.

We’d danced and talked for hours. And he’d understood me so well. He’d stolen my heart, paying me a lot of compliments, telling me about the challenges of being a prince, and letting me talk about everything I liked. When he’d asked me to take a stroll in the garden, I’d accepted his invitation. We’d sat on a marble bench under the moonlight, our fingertips brushing against each other, heads leaning closer, and hearts pounding. He’d been about to kiss me. But it’d been the moment when things had started to go horribly wrong.

Mother had spotted me and let out a scream that could have rivalled the police’s siren. Sandro had fled like a wanted pirate, and I couldn’t blame him. Mother had suffered a complete breakdown. Hysteria had taken her. She’d screamed that her heart was breaking and I was killing her, I was an irresponsible, reckless woman, and I had no idea what trouble I’d put myself in.

Hadn’t I been doing what she’d asked me? Finding a husband? And a prince at that! But no. She’d cried and despaired, accusing me of being a silly woman and crying for help. Then Father and she had ordered me to pack my belongings and take a cruise to tour the Mediterranean Sea with Rennie as my chaperone. Odd. At first, I hadn’t understood how a cruise in the company of a man, who wasn’t one of my relatives, could be a punishment for my so-called lascivious behaviour. But now I did. I so did.

The cruise was sheer torture. The company dreadful. The worst punishment ever.

“Let me go,” I said, stepping back from Rennie’s embrace.

His jaw clenched, causing a tendon in his neck to stand out. “All right. Just don’t fall into the sea. I don’t want to dive into the water to rescue you.”

No missus or Miss Fitzwilliam. “I have no intention—” A new fit of retching cut me off. I leant over the handrail and did what I’d been doing every cursed day for the past week. Practice didn’t make it any easier.

“Here. Let me help.” Rennie brushed my hair from my face and held it away from my heated cheeks. How he could drop every ‘h’ in his speech was a mystery.

“Don’t look at me,” I said, coughing and spitting.

A raucous laugh rumbled out of him as he held me up and put a comforting hand on my forehead. “Why not? You’re pretty.”

Somehow, those ill-timed words stopped the nausea. I turned towards him, ready to face the sea again if another wave of sickness took me over. I was about to tell him his comment was inappropriate, especially since we were alone, but what I said was, “Do you think I’m pretty?” Because I wasn’t sure I was, what with my matted hair, green skin, and the stink of seasickness.

I wouldn’t consider myself stunning, but I knew how to enhance my good traits. With the right dress, hairstyle, and a bit of make-up, I could make an impression. The fact Sandro had been so stunned by me proved it, and surely, even our witty conversation had charmed him. But with Rennie, I hadn’t worn anything flattering, taken care of my hair properly, or talked much to him. The latter not for lack of trying. He simply replied with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to my questions and never started a conversation.

Also, on those rare occasions when we talked, I always asked him about my parents’ strange behaviour, and he became silent, refusing to discuss the subject. But wasn’t a cruise in the company of a pugilist more damaging to my reputation than a kiss from a prince?

He rummaged through the pocket of his grey suit and produced a large handkerchief with a tartan motif. “Yes, I do think you’re pretty,” he said, wiping my mouth.

“What are you doing?” Embarrassment was about to kill me. I snatched the handkerchief and hid my face behind it. “I can clean up myself, thank you. I’m not a child.”

“Never thought you were, missus.” He searched his pocket again and took out a glass vial. “You should try this.”

I peered up at the glass vial containing a green liquid. “What is it?” I asked, tilting my head up to stare at his face.

He glanced around before answering. “Something for the sickness. You’ll feel better in a moment, but you must take only one drop.”

“What’s in it?” There was no label on the vial, and I knew better than to trust a stranger offering me a supposedly miraculous potion. What if he wanted to drug me? Although, I’d been so out of sorts lately that, if he’d wanted to take advantage of me, he would have had a dozen occasions.

He scrubbed his unshaven chin. “I don’t know. Herbal things. Nothing poisonous. I take it regularly.”

“Do you suffer from seasickness too?”

“No.”

“Then why do you take it?”

He lifted a shoulder. “As a tonic. To become stronger.” For a split second, a smile played on his lips, as if he were enjoying a private joke. “Trust me. It works for seasickness too. It’s a cure-all.”

As my stomach roiled with nausea again, I admitted defeat and took the vial. But he didn’t release it.

“Only one small sip.” His eyebrows arched, giving him a menacing look. As if he needed it.

“Fine. Fine.” I was ready to try anything at that point.

A faint scent of mint wafted from the vial when I pulled out the stopper. Before another fit of retching started, I swallowed a small sip. The flavours of bay leaves and pepper tickled my taste buds and stung my tongue. The green liquid left a refreshing trail down my throat to my stomach. I held my breath, waiting for the sick feeling to strike again. But nothing came. No, something did come. Sweet relief. The constant ache that had tormented my belly was gone. The headache vanished. The sour taste in my mouth disappeared. I could even breathe more deeply. My mind cleared.

“Good Lord. This potion is wonderful.” I studied the magical vial in the sunlight. “Why didn’t you offer it to me earlier?”

“I did.” Scowling, he took the vial from my hand. The rough pad of his thumb brushed my skin, reminding me—by contrast—of Sandro’s soft, delicate fingers.

Then Rennie’s words sank in. “You offered it to me?”

“More than once. You never replied. In fact, you told me to leave you alone, which I did.”

Oh, well. It could be true. I’d been so sick that, if he’d asked me something, I doubted I’d heard him. I tugged at my crumpled shirt.

“I apologise for my behaviour. Thank you for your assistance.” I tried to regain some dignity, ignoring the fact that my hair was wild and untied and my gown was a nightmare of wrinkled green velvet.

He gave a bow of the head. “You’re welcome.”

I cleared my throat. “May I keep the vial?”

“No.” He slid it into his pocket.

“Why? I’m not going to drink it in one sip.”

“When you need it, you’ll tell me.” His eyes narrowed to slits.

“But—”

He offered me his arm. “I guess you’ll want to return to your cabin before dinner.”

“Dinner?” At the mention of a meal, I stiffened, worried the nausea might surge again. But my stomach remained quiet. No lurching. No odd noises from my belly. No funny taste in my mouth. “I think I should keep my stomach empty for the moment.”

A breeze ruffled his rich chestnut-coloured curly hair, giving him an even wilder look. “You’re wrong. You haven’t eaten much in the past few days. You need your energy, and trust me, it’s better to have food in your stomach when you have nausea. At least you’ll have something to puke up if your stomach roils again.”

My word, his informal tone would make Mother angry. Again, I wondered why she’d chosen Rennie as my chaperone. Officially, to protect my reputation, he was my cousin, but anyone who saw us together would understand we weren’t remotely related.

“I’m not sure I should eat,” I said, wringing my hands.

“I insist.” He stepped closer, all tall and male, still waiting for me to take his arm.

A hint of fear washed down my spine as his sheer size dwarfed me. I was alone with him. I had no means to communicate with my family unless we docked at a port. He could do whatever he wanted to me.

“I’m not going to kill you and then dump you into the sea, you know?” he said, a wicked smile worthy of a pirate stretching his lips. “I’m here to assist you.”

“I was thinking nothing of the sort.” I put my hand in the crook of his arm.

“Yes, you were.”

As we walked towards the stairs that led below deck and to the cabins, I remained silent. I wasn’t used to conversing with gentlemen who were so direct and explicit. I didn’t know what to say. No gentleman I knew would be so frank about having guessed my thoughts. Yes, he’d been right, but wasn’t pointing out the truth rude? Oh, dear. I rubbed my forehead. I was making no sense.

Now that I wasn’t casting up my accounts, I could appreciate the polished wood and golden leaves decorating the walls of the SS Florentia . It was a luxurious ship with restaurants, shops, and even a gymnasium. Almost ridiculous. But I’d only seen my cabin and the deck so far.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, pointing at a porthole that opened to a view of the dipping red sun. Orange ignited the waves, turning them into fire-breathing dragons.

I angled towards him. Somehow, I hadn’t pictured him as the type of man who would appreciate a sunset.

His eyebrows rose again, disappearing under his thick curls. “What? Can’t I like the sunset?”

Drat. What had I said about Sandro understanding me well? It seemed Rennie understood me too well. “Actually... Oh, all right.” I waved a hand. “I’m guilty as charged. I was thinking that. I guess I should apologise again.”

He grinned, his crooked nose twisting further. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“You’re welcome. From now on, I’m going to tell you exactly what I think about you.” I meant it as a joke, but he nodded solemnly.

“Great. I’m curious. What do you think of me?” There wasn’t an ounce of humour in the question.

Why had I told him I was going to be honest? I wiped my face again with his handkerchief to buy some time. “I don’t know you.”

“But you know me enough to make assumptions.”

“Don’t take that personally. I make assumptions about everyone, even about myself and I’m usually wrong. For example, before leaving for this cruise, I assumed I would be well enough to enjoy the cruise.”

He chuckled, and the sound was so charming it made me laugh too.

“So what are your other assumptions about me?” he asked.

“Well, you’re a middle-class pugilist who doesn’t have a wife or a betrothed.”

He resumed walking along the passageway as the red light of the sunset was reflected on the walls. “No wife or betrothed?”

“You wouldn’t be here.”

“Unless it’s my work and you’re my charge.”

Ha! I wanted to giggle at how easily he gave me some information. “Did my parents pay you to be here?”

“No comment.” He clammed up.

I huffed. “I was honest. You should be too.”

“I’m not lying. I prefer not to say anything.”

“Semantics.” I didn’t insist. The nausea was gone, but fatigue was weighing me down. Talking tired me out.

We stopped in front of the door to my cabin. I slid my arm out of his. “I’ll freshen up and see you in the dining hall.”

He gave a curt nod. Something he did a lot.

“See you later.” I released a breath when I was alone in my cabin, an odd tingling dancing on my skin.

It was wonderful to wash and change into a fresh dress without groaning with nausea. I winced at my own reflection in the mirror. Pretty? Absolutely not. The sun and the salty air had turned my hair into straw and my skin into a beetroot. The seasickness had made my cheeks gaunt, dried my lips, and given me dark circles around my bloodshot eyes. It took me a good half an hour to tame my tresses into something resembling a chignon and to apply some powder to my face. The rouge wasn’t needed. My cheeks and lips were red enough. In fact, I looked almost tipsy. Washing the stink from my body took another half an hour, but afterwards, I was human again.

I chose a white and pink satin dress with small, puffed sleeves and a pink shawl, delicate but elegant. Of course, thanks to my parents’ hurry to shove me onto the cursed ship, I didn’t have a maid to help me dress.

“Bother.” My hands couldn’t reach the last buttons on the back of the gown, no matter how much I contorted and strained myself.

Never mind. I covered my back with the shawl. If I kept it around my shoulders, no one would notice the top half of my dress was unbuttoned, and if I didn’t move too much, the bodice wouldn’t slip down.

I tugged one of my long silk gloves up my hand, pausing over the scar. It was an ugly mark, all uneven edges, and it twisted viciously around my arm. A moment of distraction, an impatient horse, and I’d fallen over a stack of sharp pieces of wood that had stabbed my arm. A choking sensation constricted my throat, which was ridiculous. The incident happened years ago, and after all, nothing had occurred to me aside from the cut on my arm and a scar I could easily hide. It could have been worse. Yet every time I stared at the scar, my breath came out of me in hard pants, and a nagging sensation pricked the back of my neck. I scratched the itchy skin, wincing as I touched the rough, bumpy scar. Would Rennie still think I was pretty if he saw it?

A gasp escaped me when I opened the door. Rennie stood in the corridor—or whatever the name of a corridor on a ship was—his arms folded over his chest and brow furrowed. His forehead smoothed when he raked his gaze over me. It was so quick I wasn’t sure he’d been staring at me at all.

“Have you been waiting here for long?” I asked.

His reply was another gaze. “Are you ready?”

“Why did you wait here?” I tugged at my shawl.

He shrugged and offered me his arm again. Annoying man. “Keep an eye on you.”

“Is it possible to have a proper conversation with you?” I asked as we strolled along the corridor.

Another shrug. “What would you like to converse about?”

“Well, why are you here, for starters?”

He paused to let a couple of passengers pass. “I’m your chaperone.”

“The term ‘bodyguard’ is more appropriate,” I muttered under my breath.

“What do you mean?”

“I know nothing about you. I met you a few days ago in Southampton. Father said you work at his office, but I’m sure I’ve never seen you. Why would my parents choose you as my chaperone?”

He had the audacity to shrug again with an air of innocence. “That’s something you should ask your parents.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.” There was too much amusement in his voice for my liking.

I pressed my lips together and didn’t utter a word. Talking with him was pointless. At least I could enjoy the chandeliers and the magnificent brocade curtains in the dining hall. I hadn’t noticed how wide and lovely the room was, and I’d admit the view of the sea, shimmering with the moonlight, brought tears to my eyes. For once, emotional tears. A small orchestra played violin music in a corner, and the light from the gas lamps was reflected on the pristine white tablecloths. And the smell! Had the dining room always smelled so delicious? The scent of lemons and lilies filled my nostrils.

As Rennie silently led me to our table right next to a window, I decided that perhaps a good dose of wine would loosen his tongue. It was time to get answers and solve the mystery of my unplanned, utterly horrendous trip.