Glorious Victorious Darcys 01.5 - His Broken Angel (2 page)

Skytown, Somewhere over Northern Ireland

Black.

Black as coal.

Black as ink.

Black as death.

Lily Gentry had never been fond of the absence of color. She preferred pastels or bold, vibrant hues like purple, gold, or cobalt blue. Black was depressing. Black was evil. Black was … catatonic.

For the past few days, Lily had been drowning in an ominous pit of despair, clawing her way through pitch tar blackness. When she’d first opened her eyes and heard the physician, Patch, say she’d been unconscious all day, she thought she’d awakened in the dead of night. But then someone spoke to her, the man named Jasper, and he’d assured her it was midday. Cold and windy, but sunny.

Can’t you feel the sunshine through the window?
he’d asked.

She could feel it warming her skin. But she couldn’t see the light or the window or the man. She’d tempered the panic and waited for her vision to clear. Only it didn’t. Her ribs and legs hurt something fierce and her forehead stung like the devil. But nothing compared to the blow to her heart when she realized she was blind.

Blind
.

How could she sketch if she couldn’t see? How could she paint? Art was her passion. Her universe. How could she exist in a world with no color? No light?

Jasper, who claimed to be in charge, told her to be patient.

The physician mentioned a possible contusion to the brain.
When the swelling goes down, maybe …

In her heart there was no maybe. No hope, only fear. What if she never saw again?

A knock on the door jarred her out of her morbid thoughts but not her sullen mood.

“Mind if I come in?” a man asked.

Jasper
. She knew his voice now. Unlike Patch, who had a British accent, Jasper was American and had a Western twang, much like her brother’s, and he spoke sort of slow as if he was measuring every word. P.J. sounded British, and she was a bit of a chatter box. Snoop barely spoke at all but his accent was heavy … Irish? Scottish?

Jasper. Patch. P.J. Snoop. No one in this skytown seemed to have a last name. At least none of the four who’d visited her room.

“I’ll take your silence as an invitation,” Jasper said.

Lily heard the door creak open, heard the soft thud when it shut. Boot heels knocked on the floor. A puncheon floor, she guessed. She smelled tobacco and gunpowder as Jasper approached. He smelled like the rebel he was.

“You really asleep, Miss Gentry, or are you ignoring me?”

Good manners dictated a response and she’d never been keen on lying. Partially because it was wrong, partially because her cheeks always burned with a fib. “I’m awake.”

“Couldn’t tell for sure with your eyes shut.”

“Open or closed, makes no never mind,” she said in a tight, scratchy voice. “View’s the same.”

“Mmm. Not much of a fighter, are you, Miss Gentry?”

“I’m not a fighter at all. Not like you.” Jasper was the leader of an elite faction of the Freak Fighters. Midway between America and Great Britain, they’d attacked the
Britannia
—the exclusive airship she’d arranged passage on. She knew this because she’d overheard Jasper arguing with his second-in-command, the man called Snoop, and then because Jasper had told her himself. For an outlaw, the man was pretty liberal with the truth.

“Here’s the thing,” Jasper said in a calm but firm tone. “I need to move on in a day or two.”

“Because you’re on the lam.”

“That’s right,” he said with a smile in his voice. “Can’t take you with me and I can’t, in good conscience, leave you behind.”

“Forgive me if I wrestle with the concept of
you
having a moral dilemma,” Lily said. “Don’t suppose a man who viciously attacked a diplomatic convoy has many of those.”

“Might want to devote some of that vigor to your recovery, Miss Gentry.”

Lily held silent. One of her legs was broken and the other was badly bruised. She had a few fractured ribs and a deep gash on her forehead. All sustained, she’d been told, when she’d taken a bad fall. Maybe that’s what had caused her blindness too.
The fall
. She didn’t remember careening down the stair tower. She didn’t remember much of anything after the zeppelin shook with the first explosion. No doubt her flesh and bones would heal with time, but she would still be blind. She would still be plagued with intense anxiety and a panic swirling inside of her.

“Breathe.”

“What?” Chest tight, Lily opened her eyes.

Nothing to focus on. Nothing to see. Her lungs seized. She couldn’t— A hand gripped her shoulder.

She flinched from the hard pressure.

“Sorry.” Jasper eased away his hand. “It’s just … I’ve seen this before, the anxiety. Don’t forget to breathe.”

The man who’d attacked. The rebel. The outlaw. “Don’t trust you.”

“Don’t blame you.”

Even though she couldn’t see Jasper, she averted her gaze. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to rally. I want you to live.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to piss off your brother.”

She frowned. “You know Tuck?”

“Know enough not to piss him off. Also …”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Boot heels scuffed across the puncheon floor, and the pungent scent of tobacco faded.

Jasper was leaving.

“I sent for help for you, Miss Gentry, and it cost me mightily.”

Was she supposed to care?

“Stop thinking the worst. Stop wallowing in self-pity. Grow up. Wake up. It’s a cruel world, Miss Gentry. A twisted world. Shape it or erase it, but don’t damned forsake it.”

“You know nothing of my world,” she choked out.

“And you know nothing of mine.”

The door closed and Lily felt even worse than before. She hadn’t thought that possible. How dare that rebel lecture her? How dare he diminish her wretched plight? Jasper spoke as though she were a spineless, spoiled brat. She’d saved her pennies for months, working on the sly and sketching caricatures in Central Park. She’d worked extra hours in the art shop for Mr. Rueben. She’d thwarted her legal guardians and conspired with a young British diplomat in order to gain access to an elite transcontinental airship. Lily had led a sheltered life. She’d never been on her own, yet at eighteen years old, she’d set off alone, flying from New York City to London, hoping to reunite with her older brother, a good man wrongly accused of a horrible crime.

Such bold and subversive action had not come easily to Lily, but she’d grown weary of hearing her distant cousins—her guardians since her beloved aunt’s death—speaking ill of Tuck. She also suspected they’d been manipulating her correspondence with her brother as well as pocketing funds he’d sent specifically for her.

As for Tuck … She appreciated his efforts to protect her from his perilous circumstances, but she was no longer willing to live her life in a suffocating cocoon. She’d imagined herself joining his renegade crew on the
Maverick
, learning some task to make her useful to the men who’d rescued Tuck from the gallows and whisked him across the ocean to safety. She’d thought about sketching and painting the adventures of the Sky Cowboy and his loyal crew. She’d looked forward to seeing Tuck’s horse, Peg, in action. She’d never seen a flying horse. She’d never seen foreign lands.

Now those wonders would forever remain a mystery to Lily. She would never be a viable member of the
Maverick
’s crew. Instead of being useful, she’d be a hindrance.

Lily swallowed hard, managing the pain in her legs, chest, and head, but not the one in her heart. The thought crossed her mind that she would be more useful to everyone dead. But she didn’t want to be dead. She was glad she wasn’t dead. Truly.

She stared into the darkness, gripped her sheet.

It’s not that she wanted to die. She just didn’t know how to live in the dark.

Doc clung to the two-person dirigible, dubbed the
Bullet
, fearing for his life as they shot through the sky.

P.J. Darcy was loco. That, or a genius.

She listed port then starboard time and again, rattling his brains, circumventing Air Law Enforcement and a wicked winter storm.

At least those were the threats she’d cited upon takeoff. Hell if he knew for sure.

She had blindfolded him the moment he’d strapped himself into the front seat of the open-air dig.

His inability to focus on any one thing compromised his equilibrium. And
he
was a seasoned flyer used to daredevil stunts and breakneck speeds. The
Maverick
was the fastest airship in Europe. Tucker Gentry was a fiercely skilled and daring aviator. StarMan, the
Maverick
’s navigator and copilot, was nearly as fearless when it came to outmaneuvering sky pirates or ALE. But, dash it all, the
Maverick
was a massive dirigible whereas the
Bullet
was smaller than a dinghy.

Without warning, she nosed the winged vessel up.

Doc’s stomach lurched as the petrol-fueled dig arced and looped then shot through an icy mist. He thought they leveled off, but he couldn’t be certain. His head was spinning.

By the time the gutsy female docked the
Bullet
, Doc was woozy and disoriented. He couldn’t decide if the knuckle-white flight from London to somewhere north had been the shortest or longest trip of all his born days. Flying blind was an adventure Doc hoped not to repeat anytime soon.

Focusing inward, he settled his queasy stomach and calmed his throbbing brain. “Were you really dodging ALE, Miss Darcy?” he asked in a tight voice. “Or was that your sick way of disorienting me so I wouldn’t know the location of your hideout?”

“Yes.” She chuckled then rapped him on the shoulder. “You can lose the blindfold. We’re here.”

“Wherever here is.” Doc unknotted the coarse fabric and readjusted his shaded goggles.

They’d docked to a ramshackle clipper, one of three airships in a one-horse skytown. A dense cloud bank shielded the ground below. They could be anywhere.

He swiped off the borrowed aviator cap and retrieved his derby from beneath the compact seat. Smoothing the dented crown then tugging it on, he scowled at his annoying
escort
.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said. “I don’t trust anyone. We’re in deep shite this time.”

“As opposed to the other times Jasper broke the law?” Doc disembarked on shaky legs, his boots hitting a planked gangway that led to the floating clipper.

His brother’s rebellious ways had branded him an outlaw years before. The fact that he was now the leader of an aggressive faction of the Freak Fighters only escalated his “wanted” status. No wonder he’d taken refuge in a skytown. These floating pleasure meccas operated above the law and appealed to anyone wanting to indulge in illegal or dubious pastimes—outlawed rock music, hallucinogenic drugs, gambling, drinking, extreme fantasies, and free love. Nowhere was the influence of the Peace Rebels, who’d time traveled from 1969 back to 1857, more evident than in a skytown. Transient and tolerant, skytowns welcomed one and all, even Mods and Freaks.

Glancing at the main mast, Doc noted the iconic PR flag with its circle and two-legged stick. If he couldn’t smooth things over with Tuck, maybe he’d apply for a position on one of these rigs. It would beat the Sam Hill out of trying to practice medicine among conventional society where Freaks’ rights—including what professions they could pursue—were restricted.

“This is different,” P.J. said, as she finished mooring the
Bullet
.

For the first time since Doc had met the direct aviatrix, she didn’t look cocky. Nope. She looked a little worried, which was disconcerting. “That botched mission you mentioned. Did it involve Prime Minister Madstone?”

“You’ll have to ask your brother.”

“Where is Jasper?”

“Around.”

Anticipation and dread assaulted Doc in double-barreled shot.
Don’t lecture
, he told himself, preparing to see his brother.
Reason, but don’t lecture
. Jasper had never been one to take advice, especially from his big brother.

Rolling the tension from his shoulders, Doc nabbed his medical bag. He was anxious to get on with his life. He eyed P.J. as she stepped away from her dig. “Where’s Miss Gentry?”

“Follow me.” His graceless escort stalked over the swinging gangway then across the ship’s deck, red braids whipping in the frigid winds. “The faster you fix that girl, the better. For her. For us. Every day we linger …”

P.J. trailed off, acknowledging a man loaded for bear to their left then another just ahead. Part of the elite Fighter squad, no doubt. They nodded at the leather-clad aviatrix then scowled at Doc. If they meant to intimidate him they’d have to do better than that. He’d been working alongside Tuck and his formidable crew long enough to hold his own among lethal gunslingers.

“Have you met her before?” P.J. asked as she descended to a lower deck.

“Lily? No, but Tuck talks about her sometimes. I know she’s young, I know she’s shy, and I know he did his best to ensure she was raised in tender surroundings.”

“Yes, well, perhaps Lily Gentry would have benefitted from less mollycoddling.”

“You don’t like her.”

“I don’t have time for her.” P.J. paused outside a door. “We’re sitting ducks in this skytown, Doc.
We
being your brother and me and a crew of three others. Whether you believe in our cause or not—”

“I believe in the cause, Miss Darcy. What I can’t support is senseless violence.”

A huge grin split her freckled face. “We should be in accord then. Be assured all of our actions are considered most intensively.”

She opened the splintered door of a cabin, freeing a wave of trapped heat that fogged their goggles.

P.J. pushed her protective eye gear to her forehead.

Doc cleared his shaded lenses with a swipe of his sleeve.

He spied a crude coal-burning steam generator—the source of the stifling heat—then beyond that, primitive furnishings including a bed piled high with blankets. The body beneath the blankets shifted and a face, eyes squeezed closed, lifted from the pillow.

Doc got his first gander at Lily Gentry.

His brain froze as though zapped by a stun gun.

High cheekbones, pert nose, thick lashes, full lips. Her long, straight hair reminded him of corn silk. A lighter shade of gold and feather fine. How could someone so lovely look so tragic?

His heart jerked.
An angel on earth
.

“Leave us,” he said to P.J.

“But—”

He gently nudged the aviatrix aside, moved into the oppressive room, and shut the door with a groaning thud.

“Who is it?” came a panicked voice.

Forcing his senses sober, Doc focused on the injured woman. He was a professional, for God’s sake. “Name’s Doc Blue, Miss Gentry. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

Or at least I used to be
.

“Tuck?” She bolted upright then fell back against her pillows with a pained groaned.

“I’m alone,” Doc said, moving bedside. “Tuck’s unaware of your circumstance.”

“Thank God.” Eyes still squeezed shut, chest heaving, she palmed her bandaged forehead. “I … I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“He won’t.” Every fiber of Doc’s body ached to take this frightened woman into his arms. To comfort. To cherish.

Smitten at first sight
.

The affliction rocked his already shaky world. Being physically and emotionally attracted to Lily Gentry was all kinds of wrong.

Battling a barrage of emotions, Doc eyed his fragile patient.
Trembling hands. Pale complexion. Dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Jasper sent for me because I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve when it comes to doctoring. I’ll have you up and around in no time.”

“Up and around and walking into walls?” Tears beaded at the corners of her closed lids. “Go away.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Don’t want your help.”

“Don’t rightly care.” Doc had treated some cantankerous souls in his time, but none had rattled his composure like this wisp of a girl. Did she truly expect him to abandon her in a skytown? Among outlaws? Did she honestly believe he’d allow her to suffer prolonged misery when he could hasten her recovery? “I’m beholden to your brother for years of kindness, Miss Gentry. He’d want me to tend to your good health, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You can’t right my world.”

“I can try.” Doc set aside his medical bag, swept off his derby, and studied Lily’s ashen face as he unbuttoned his wool duster.

She opened her eyes and his breath stalled.

Blue as a cloudless sky
.

She looked in his direction. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

Her haunted gaze wreaked havoc on his soul. He dug deep and rose above. “Tuck owned a ranch in Wyoming,” he said while shrugging out of his coat. “Prized possession? Peg.”

“The flying horse,” she said, sounding miserable.

“That’s right.” He dipped into his bag for a stethoscope and an ophthalmoscope and, starting with her heart and eyes, commenced with a preliminary checkup. “Your parents,” he went on in hopes of distracting her. “They were taken wrongly from this world and Tuck vowed to watch over you. At the same time, as a U.S. Air Marshal, he didn’t want you exposed to his dangerous lifestyle. So he made sure you were sequestered with relatives, most recently your cousinsin New York City. You’re an artist.”

“
Was
an artist,” Lily snapped, turning away. “I’m blind now. Didn’t Jasper tell you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Her bitter pigheadedness concerned and irritated Doc at the same time. Like P.J., he had no time for resistance. Ruled by compassion, he ached to ease her pain posthaste. Prodded by guilt, the sooner he delivered Lily safe and well to Tuck, the sooner his friend’s peace of mind—the sooner Doc’s shot at redemption.

“I’m a might sketchy on the details, Miss Gentry. Why don’t you bring me up to speed? Let’s start with your injuries.”

She fretted the edges of the blankets. Her breath quickened at an uneven rate. “Patch, another physician, already tended to my wounds. As for my blindness …”

Doc sensed her agitation and a simmering panic. His mother had been prone to anxiety attacks so he knew the signs well. Desperate to move forward, not back, Doc set aside his ophthalmoscope and palmed Lily’s bandaged forehead, a gentle gesture infused with calm … and supernatural tonic. “Let’s take this slow.” When she nodded, he continued. “You know anything about me, from Jasper or your brother?”

“Tuck mentioned you in some of his letters. Said you’re a gifted healer.”

“And Jasper?”

“Just that he’d sent for someone who could help me.”

Whereas Jasper had rebelled after their parents’ deaths, Doc had retreated from the threat of further chaos. He was a healer, not a fighter. He’d studied books on anatomy and physiology, trained with an Oriental physician. Accelerated healing came naturally, but he’d been adamant about learning the hows and whys of traditional and alternative medicine. According to law, as a Freak, Doc was barred from practicing professionally, so he’d spent the last few years pretending he was a Vic. Plenty of Freaks lived a lie in order to lead a normal life. Tuck had promised to keep Doc’s secret. Seemed the marshal had been true to his word even where his sister was concerned. Which made Doc’s betrayal all the more wretched.

“I need you to trust me, Lily.” The plea almost stuck in his throat. If she knew how he’d endangered her brother’s life …

She surprised him by shoving aside layers of blankets. “One busted leg, one bruised. Fractured ribs, the gash on my forehead. Go on then,” she taunted halfheartedly. “Work your magic.”

He’d already infused her injured head with a good dose of HE,
Healing Energy
. Ignoring her petulance, Doc rolled up his sleeves and considered her mind-set. He thought about his blindfolded ride from hell. The short while he’d been in the dark had been unsettling. Lily Gentry had been blind for three days. He imagined a lifetime of darkness and felt a whisper of the panic no doubt raging through this young woman—an
artist
—someone whose passion was deeply influenced and inspired by images. If she couldn’t see …

Focus on your strengths, then address the blindness
.

Summoning patience, Doc examined Lily’s petite and battered body. Even though she was dressed in a cap-sleeved chemise and baggy bloomers rolled up to her thighs, he was very much aware of her feminine curves. Curves that appealed to Doc in a wholly unprofessional way. The inappropriate appreciation ebbed as he noted Patch’s handiwork—brass splint, clean bandages. “I know you hurt, but Patch did a fine job.”

“So there’s nothing you can do,” she rasped. “Sorry Jasper wasted your time.”

“I can do plenty,” Doc said, laying hands on her injured legs.

“You can’t cure my blindness.”

“Maybe I can’t. Maybe I can.” HE flowed from his being into Lily. Doc knew without a doubt she’d be up and walking by tomorrow. His prognosis regarding her blindness was less confident, but he aimed on giving the miraculous cure his all. Although his efforts wouldn’t mean spit if she wallowed in despondency.

“You know what makes Peg able to fly?” he asked.

“Tuck built him special wings.”

“That’s just part of it, the mechanics.” Doc bolstered his spine as he infused Lily with intensified HE. Doubling his efforts for faster results drained his own energy something awful. “Peg flies due to heart and will, Miss Gentry. A passionate determination to accomplish the seemingly impossible.”

“Are you saying you want me to believe in the impossible?”

“I am.”