Page 7 of Kiss of Steele (The Royal Occult Bureau #9)

SEVEN

A WARM BLANKET was wrapped around me when I woke up. The ice cubes were gone, but the bed sheets were dry, and I wasn’t burning with fever.

Slowly, I sat up and suppressed a gasp, clenching the blanket tightly. Rennie was asleep on the floor in front of the door, curled up on his side. As the weight of what I’d done sank in, my cheeks flamed with shame. I’d laughed and giggled while Rennie had been trying to help me. I’d asked him to touch me. I’d insisted on it. He must have thought I’d behaved like an idiot.

My chemise had been swapped for a crisp white shirt that, judging by the clean, soapy scent, belonged to him. My skin was still raw, and the starched fabric chafed my nipples. Hades, even sober, the thought of Rennie touching me sent a thrill of excitement down my neck. The green potion wasn’t the reason I wanted him to touch me. Was I betraying Sandro?

“Monia.” He was on his feet in a heartbeat. Hades, I hadn’t seen him moving. “How do you feel? Let me touch your forehead.” Before I could answer, he put his big, rough hand on my forehead. The contact caused my temperature to rise again. “Thank God, you’re all right.” He sagged onto the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I was so worried.”

I opened my mouth to say... I wasn’t sure what. “What happened? Why did you have to cover me in ice?”

“Your temperature was rising due to the green serum. Unless a doctor gives you the correct dose for your body, it can poison you. It’s more dangerous when injected into the body, but drinking it in large doses isn’t safe. You developed a high fever that frightened me to death. Please don’t do it again.” He closed his hand around mine and rubbed my knuckles with his thumb. “And don’t steal anything from my room.”

His thumb was distracting and soothing. My breath came out quicker. I liked it when he caressed me. The sensation was different compared to Sandro’s touch, wilder and more shocking, but pleasant, nevertheless. He could be gentle with his hands when he wanted to be.

I lowered my gaze, avoiding his intense scrutiny. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted some green potion, but you weren’t in your cabin and...”

“And curiosity won.”

I nodded, sighing as he kept stroking my knuckles.

“You could’ve died.” The reproach in his voice was hard to miss. It thickened the air between us.

“You could have told me about the contract.” It was unfair of me to bring it up, but why hadn’t he told me about the contract?

“So is it my fault now?” He stopped rubbing my knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m not saying that. No, wait. I’m saying that. I’m joking.” I threw my free hand up. “Fine. I’m sorry. For everything. All my fault. Even for... you know.”

“What?” He tilted his head.

“You know.” I waved around.

“I don’t understand. You have to be more clear.”

I sighed, but he kept stroking my knuckles, soothing my nerves. “For having been inappropriate with you.”

“You needn’t worry.” He flashed a cheeky grin. “You were adorable.”

“And naked.” I arched my eyebrows.

“No, you had your chemise on.”

A scoff escaped me. “It’s curious. When the back of my dress had a few buttons unfastened, you said I was naked. When I was wearing only my wet chemise in your bed, you said I was dressed.”

He shrugged. “Curious.”

“Did you remove my chemise?” I asked, inching closer to him.

“It was soaked. But I had my eyes closed. Most of the time. I barely saw anything and?—”

I hit him with the pillow, and he barked a rich, deep laugh. “You rascal.”

Laughing, he brought my hand up and kissed it. I stilled. When he laughed, he was completely different. His eyes brightened, his tense muscles relaxed, and he radiated charm. I laughed too until my belly was shaking.

He kissed my hand again, a quick brush of his lips against my skin. “What did you do in Tunis?”

Oops. I slid my hand out of his. “Can’t a girl take a walk?”

“Not if the girl is Sanctimonia Fitzwilliam and I’m in charge of her protection under the punishment of being flogged. As you know.” He gave me a pointed look.

Guilt roared back to life. He’d be tortured if something happened to me. “I admit I’ve been selfish. I don’t like the idea of you having to suffer because of me. Had I known, I wouldn’t have left you behind.”

“Yes, you would have.” He smirked, flashing his straight teeth. “You don’t have to take care of me. It’s the other way around.” The kindness in his voice melted a frozen spot in my chest that I didn’t know was that cold.

“I’ll tell you what I did in Tunis if you tell me what the Royal Occult Bureau is,” I whispered. “Is it the department where my father works?”

After a long pause, he opened his mouth, but the knock on the door shut him up.

“Steele?” Detective Norton spoke from the other side. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but it’s urgent. I need to talk to you.”

“I’m coming,” Rennie shouted towards the door. “Quick, hide,” he whispered to me, straightening.

“What—” Right. There was no need to ruin my reputation by being discovered half-naked in my cousin’s cabin. Wrapped in the blanket, I tiptoed towards a corner where Norton wouldn’t see me.

After I hid in the dark spot, Rennie opened the door. “What happened?” he asked, his voice a little breathy.

“It’s Mrs Francis, the woman who was attacked by the phantom Scot. She’s disappeared. The members of the crew are sure she returned on board yesterday.” Norton paused, his breathing coming out in raspy sounds. “She was seen by many witnesses in the dining hall. Her husband confirmed she was on board, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to take a drink of water, she wasn’t in the room. He didn’t worry about her immediately, thinking she must’ve got up for some reason. But this morning, she wasn’t in the cabin, and no one has seen her.”

“Dammit.” Rennie scrubbed a hand on his unshaven chin.

I suppressed a gasp. I hadn’t taken Mrs Francis seriously when she’d described the attack from the hunky Scotsman. And now she was missing.

“I know it’s not your job,” Norton said, “but would you mind giving me a hand? I’m doing everything alone here, and it’s become a bit overwhelming. I don’t usually need any help. Nothing has ever happened on board until now.”

“Of course. I’ll help you search the ship. Give me five minutes,” Rennie said.

Norton must have nodded because his footsteps echoed from the corridor.

“I want to help,” I said after Rennie shut the door.

He pointed at a chair. “Your clothes are over there. They should be dry.” There was a moment of heated silence between us. Likely, he was thinking of when he’d taken those clothes off me. He cleared his throat and rubbed his chest, drawing attention to a triangle of golden skin visible between the lapels of his shirt. “I’ll leave you alone, so you can change. Then we’ll search the ship together if you feel strong enough.”

“Thank you. I’m all right.” Not that he hadn’t seen the whole of me already.

He opened the door and paused. “Our conversation isn’t over.”

“No, it’s not.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I’d changed clothes twice. The dress I’d been wearing yesterday stank of dust, sweat, and green potion. So I slid it on to walk to my room and then changed into a fresh morning dress. Rennie followed my every move, leaving me alone only when I had to undress. I didn’t protest. He was risking his life for me, and I’d nearly died yesterday. When I was ready, I left the cabin and walked next to him in the passageway. His harsh expression softened when he gazed at me and the dark-blue dress hugging my body and giving the illusion I had hips.

“What did you do in Tunis?” he asked without preamble.

I exhaled and reminded myself of his contract. “I met Sandro.”

“What?” He skidded to an abrupt halt.

I winced. “Edward told me Sandro was in Tunis, and I met him. We had a chat and nothing happened.”

“Aside from you nearly dying.”

“That was my doing. Sandro didn’t hurt me.”

“What did he tell you?” He had the tone of a copper.

I shrugged. “Not much. He said a band of anarchists wanted him dead, and that was why he had to leave.”

He shook his head. “Don’t meet him again.”

“Why?” I was growing tired of asking it.

“Because he’s dangerous. I don’t know what he meant with the cock-and-bull story he spun, but he’s a menace. Stay away from him.” He blew out a sharp breath. “I can’t believe it. How did he find you?”

“He never hurt me, and I don’t think he was lying.” I wanted to sound offended, but his fear doused my anger and planted doubts in my mind. “I don’t understand why my parents and you are so convinced he’s a scoundrel.”

“Please.” He put his hands on my shoulders and stared at me. Pain etched his features. “Please trust me.”

“But you give me no reason to doubt Sandro.”

“Please,” he said again, swallowing. “I need you to trust me. Don’t run away again.”

What could I do? I didn’t want him to get hurt because of me, even though I didn’t understand why he didn’t tell me anything. I nodded. “I promise.”

His shoulders dipped as he pulled me into his arms. “Thank you.”

I sagged against him, resting my head on his chest. Being hugged felt terribly good.

He caressed the top of my head, muttering, “Thank you.” When he released me, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

I brushed a speck of dust from my sleeve. “Great.”

“Yes.” He straightened his jacket.

“You’re welcome.”

“Good. You’re welcome too.”

I cleared my throat. “Where do we start?” I asked, tugging at my bodice and hoping it would make my breasts look bigger.

He peeled his gaze off me. “Mrs Francis’s cabin. I want to talk to her husband.”

“Do you think the mysterious Scotsman is the culprit?”

A pained expression scrunched up his face. “I don’t know. Nothing makes sense on this bloody ship. Two attackers disappear into thin air while there are two thousand people on board. No one saw anything. None of the Scots on board fit the description Mrs Francis gave us. The attacker might not have been a Scot at all, but how many six-foot-six tall, red-haired men with broad shoulders and thick legs, and wearing a kilt can be on a bloody ship?”

“You’re right. I, for one, would have noticed such a strapping man.” I chuckled, but he didn’t join me.

The glare he shot at me could have broken a porthole. “That’s a good point.” It didn’t sound like he meant it.

“Maybe Mrs Francis lied about the Scot,” I said. “Maybe she made him up because she wanted attention? Make her husband jealous?”

“That’s another good point.” He worked his jaw.

I knocked on Mr Francis’s door. “Mr Francis? It’s Miss Monia Fitzwilliam and Mr Rennie Steele here. Detective Norton sent us to help find your wife.”

The door was flung open. A distressed and dishevelled Mr Francis greeted me. His dark hair stuck out in every direction, and his eyes were red-rimmed. “Do you have any news about Mildred?”

“I’m afraid not. But Rennie and I are here to help.” I gave him an encouraging smile. “Can you tell us what happened?”

He repeated what Norton had told Rennie, that Mrs Francis had gone to bed last night, but in the morning, she wasn’t in her cabin.

“Did she tell you anything about her attacker?” Rennie asked in his copper tone, as if he were used to interrogating people. Because he is . The thought came unbidden from some corner of my mind.

The Royal Occult Bureau. Coppers. Military order. A sharp ache slashed through my head, and whatever thought I was chasing in my mind was gone. Still, for a split second, I grasped something about the Royal Occult Bureau. I’d heard about it before. I focused. No, nothing. Another pang shot through my head, and the thought was lost. As if on cue, the scar on my wrist flared up, and I scratched it.

Rennie put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?”

I nodded, tugging at my sleeve.

Mr Francis produced a handkerchief from his pocket and patted his sweaty face. “We had a furious row about her Scottish attacker. She seemed...” He glanced around and opened the door wider. “Would you mind coming in?”

We slid into the wide cabin—it was twice as big as mine with an impressive king-size bed—and he shut the door.

“What were you saying?” I said gently when he tormented his handkerchief, pulling it between his hands.

“Well, she didn’t seem distressed at all. A man had attacked her, and she was swooning over him, saying how handsome he’d looked, how strapping he’d been, and how he’d spoken with bold words that she’d loved. I scolded her and told her that wasn’t the behaviour of a woman in distress. She became angry and said I didn’t understand her. These were the last words we exchanged.” His voice cracked. “And now she’s probably with him.”

I grimaced. Poor chap. He might be right.

“Do you think she knew where to find the Scot?” Rennie asked, unfazed by the man’s distress.

Mr Francis lifted a shoulder. “Where else could she be if not with him?” He shook his head. “She felt sick a few weeks ago before we left Southampton. The doctor said her heart was having problems, but she dismissed the diagnosis, saying it was simply her nerves if she didn’t feel well and that she wanted to take the cruise all the same. But I don’t think she felt sick. Someone would have found her by now. No, she’s with him, somewhere on the ship.” His dark eyes hardened.

“Well, that’s an interesting theory,” I said, strolling around. A lurid Gothic novel lay on the night table. The Laird’s Captive , the title read. A hunky, red-haired Scot in a kilt filled the cover. His thick locks of hair fell over his piercing blue eyes. Interesting.

Rennie’s gaze followed mine, and he frowned. “Thank you for your time, Mr Francis. We’ll take a look around and tell you if we find your wife.”

“And the Scot. Don’t forget the devilishly handsome Scot,” he said with enough fire to boil water. “Find him, and you’ll find her. Foolish woman.”

“We won’t forget about him.” I smiled and opened the door.

We left poor Mr Francis and headed towards Norton’s office.

“Do you think she found him? The Scot?” I asked, stepping closer to Rennie.

“Or he found her.”

“Did you see the novel?”

He scratched his unshaven chin, and a fleeting thought about how the stubble would feel on my skin crossed my mind. “Yes, and I don’t like it.”

“Well, that proves it. She made the Scot up, or her imagination played a trick on her.”

He clicked his tongue. “I hope it’s something as simple as that.”

“I mean, who doesn’t want to be kissed by a Scot like that on the cover?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say Rennie’s expression was tightening with jealousy.

After Norton joined us, we knocked on every door on the third level with the help of a few members of the staff. Even other passengers volunteered to search for Mrs Francis when the news about her disappearance spread. Everyone was up and about, looking for the missing woman, but Mrs Francis seemed to have truly vanished. While Norton and Rennie were searching the cabins on the left side of the passageway, I headed towards the other side.

I lost sight of Rennie after I rounded a corner and found myself in front of the theatre. Every day, three different plays were staged. I hadn’t seen any, but since I was here, I wanted to take a look. Besides, Mrs Francis might be there, with or without her Scot. The set of double doors opened with a soft swish when I pushed them. The theatre was empty. Only a few lights were on, casting a yellow glow on the red-velvet seats.

“Mrs Francis?” Likely, the staff had already searched the theatre, but it wouldn’t hurt to search it again. “It’s me, Monia.”

I strolled down the shallow stairs towards the stage. It was smaller than the stage of the Royal Theatre in Oxford, but the details of the carved decorations were exquisite.

“Mrs Fr—” I stopped as my foot touched something soft.

Heart in my throat and half-expecting to see Mrs Francis’s pale hand sticking out from underneath a seat, I crouched. No. No cold hand or other body parts. It was a blob of a sticky silver substance that glittered in the light from the sconces. I touched it with a finger. It was warm and semi-solid like jelly. Perhaps it was something the actors used for their make-up, but I’d never seen anything like it. The blob was thick and sticky. I had to rub my finger on a handkerchief to clean it off. I had barely time to exit the theatre before Rennie was on me like a bloodhound.

“Where have you been?” he asked, searching my face. “Did you feel sick again?” He cupped my cheek, cutting off what I was about to say. “Did someone hurt you?”

I put my hand on his. “Calm yourself. I simply had a look at the theatre.”

His shoulders sagged. “I thought you’d left me again.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me close to his body. Twice in a row. I couldn’t say I didn’t like it. I relaxed in his embrace. It was familiar, but exciting at the same time. As if realising he was touching me, he released me and stepped back.

I shifted my weight. “Any news?”

The tension in his shoulders dissolved as his stance slackened. “No news. I thought Mrs Francis might’ve felt sick and remained stuck somewhere, but that’s not the case. The only explanation for her absence is that she fell overboard. Norton is going to declare an incident as the official reason for her disappearance. Unfortunately, in cases like this, there isn’t much else that can be done. If she fell into the sea, recovering her body would be impossible.”

“Oh, no.” A cold sensation filled my stomach at the thought of poor Mrs Francis falling into the sea. I pressed the stained handkerchief against my chest. “I hope that isn’t what happened to her.”

Rennie’s gaze returned sharp. “What’s that?”

“What?” I glanced around.

“That stain.” He took my handkerchief, brushing my fingers in the process. A riot of emotions was displayed on his face as he examined the stain. He paled, then his facial muscles hardened. “What’s that?” he repeated.

“Something sticky and silver stained my finger, and I removed it with my?—”

“Where did you find it?”

“In the theatre.”

“Show me.” It was an order. But the urgency in his words didn’t make me argue.

We strode into the theatre. I led him towards the point in front of the orchestra pit where I’d found the blob.

“It’s here—” There was nothing on that spot. It was clean and pristine. I crouched and felt around. “I don’t understand. It was here. I swear it. A large blob of silver material.”

Rennie crouched next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “I believe you.” He searched the floor and looked underneath the row of seats.

His thorough inspection lasted nearly twenty minutes. And then it dawned on me. He had done that before. Investigating. It was what he did for a living. He was a copper of some sort. No, he was an investigator of strange events, of occult events.

Another headache struck me. I rubbed my temples, wondering if my little escapade of yesterday had done more damage than I’d thought.

“Do you feel sick?” Rennie was next to me in a flash.

“Just a headache.” If I’d told him I was bleeding to death, he would have looked less worried.

“Headache?” He passed a hand over his face.

“Did you discover anything useful?” I asked to distract him.

“Yes.” He handed me the handkerchief. “And I have some bad news for you.”