top

This feature coming shortly

top

The sound was soft, but Mara awoke with a start. She lifted her head from her folded arms and saw that the door into her flat was wide open. A man stood in the doorway, and he was watching her. Paralyzed, she stared back at him, seeing a face of such flawless masculine beauty, she wondered if she were dreaming. The gaslight reflected off his hair, tawny, tousled hair that needed cutting. He stood with one shoulder against the jamb, arms folded across his chest, utterly still. No, this was no dream. In her dark dreams, there would be no such man.

His eyes, the color of sea and sky, looked into her, seemed to perceive and understand everything about her in an instant. He tilted his head slightly to one side and frowned. "Why are you sad?

At the unexpected question, she jumped up from the table, pushing back her chair. She felt the knot of her hair coming loose and her hatpin slipping. Her bonnet slid to one side and she wished she'd remembered to remove it earlier when she'd come home, but she'd been so tired.

She attempted to straighten the mess as she backed away from the stranger in the doorway, but her efforts only made things worse. An ostrich plume fell awkwardly over one eye and tickled her cheek. "Who are you?"

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said. "Saw your door open. I don't think it shuts properly." He smiled, and in that instant, everything in the world shifted, somehow fell into place and became right. She sucked in her breath, startled by the magic a handsome man could make with a smile. Perhaps he was a dream after all.

He nodded toward the table between them. "Shouldn't leave your money lying about like that. This isn't the nicest neighborhood, I'm sorry to say."

Her gaze moved from him to the cash on the table. She stared down at the money and reality returned. She pushed the feather out of her face. "Thank you for the warning."

She swept the precious coins into her little tin bank and gave him a nod of dismissal that bounced the feather back over her eye. She hoped he would take the hint and leave.

He didnt. Instead, he came into the room and circled the table. She stepped back, retreating until her shoulder blades hit the mantel of the fireplace. She glanced down, but the poker was just out of reach. He came closer, and alarm bells began ringing in her head. He was tall, and strong, and very strange. "Who . . . what are you doing?"

"Your feather is broken." He reached out and gripped the plume that dangled over her eye, then pushed it back out of her line of vision. "I don't know much about the latest fashions for ladies," he added in a confidential tone, lowering his head until his perfect face was only inches from hers, "but I don't believe broken feathers are in vogue for bonnets this year."

He moved his hand, brushing a wisp of her hair away from her face with the tips of his fingers, a light touch that made breathing difficult. She remained still, too terrified to move as he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear.

He took a few steps back, and she began to breath again. He surveyed his handiwork for a moment, then nodded. "Much better. Now I can see your face. No hair and ostrich tails to get in the way. Have you ever wondered how the ostriches must feel? Do they know their tail feathers are decorating the bonnets of women all over London?"

"Who are you?" Mara asked, ashamed when her haughty demand came out as a helpless squeak.

"I've scared you." His voice held both surprise and regret. "Terribly sorry. Didn't mean to. Allow me to introduce myself. Nathaniel Chase, brilliant inventor and rude terrifier of young ladies." He bowed, and the unruly strands of his golden hair caught the light.

"How do you do," she murmured.

"Fine, thank you." He straightened, shaking back his hair. "Fair play, ma'am."

She frowned. "Sorry?"

"I've given you my name. What's yours?"

"Mara." She licked her dry lips. "Mara--"

"That explains it then." He nodded. "I see."

"What?"

"Mara means bitter. But I thought perhaps your name might be Mariana."

"I beg your pardon?" Trying to follow his meaning was making her dizzy.

"I am aweary, aweary," he quoted.

She stared at him, wondering if he were a bit touched in the head.

"Don't you know your Tennyson?"

"Oh, poetry."

He laughed, a sound that was warm and rich and deep, filling her tiny room. "You say that as if it's your daily dose of cod liver oil." With another bow, he said, "It's been a pleasure Mara Mariana, but I must be off. Opportunities await, and I have work to do." He turned away and looked around. "I had a reason for coming down here," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair and tousling it further. "What was it?" He paused, then snapped his fingers. "Ah! I remember."

He pointed to the open doorway and the wooden crate she had tripped over in the dark hallway when she'd come home. "My gears."

Mara watched him walk out to the hall and lift the box of heavy metal disks. He gave her a nod of farewell.

"Better get that lock fixed," he advised, then disappeared, carrying his box of gears and whistling an aimless melody.

She wondered if perhaps he was a little mad.

END OF CHAPTER ONE. LIKE IT? ORDER IT!

top