Her Sky Cowboy (22 page)

He covered her hand with his own. “On this, I do.”

Amelia’s heart danced; her soul settled. If only for a moment. If only on this matter. As Tucker maneuvered the dig toward an aeropark near the Seine, she was overcome with a sense of calm and resolve. “I know where I want to go,” she said as the wheels touched down. “The library.”

The Bibliothèque Nationale. The most important library in France—according to their hired driver—and one of the oldest libraries in the world. As much as he enjoyed reading, Tuck had never visited this majestic literary monstrosity. When in Paris he indulged in the marvels of Montmartre, exploring decadence, not cerebral stimulation.

Given Amelia’s unpredictability, he shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d chosen a library over a famous monument or museum. He hadn’t expected a request to tour the fashion district, but he had anticipated a visit to the Musée des Arts et Métiers, home to a unique collection of inventions. He would’ve understood a request having to do with any aeronautic or technology-based establishment. But the Bibliothèque Nationale?

“I’m specifically looking for books pertaining to Leonardo da Vinci and his studies whilst in Tuscany,” Amelia whispered as they entered the grand foyer. “Sketches, maps, journals.”

“This have to do with Peg?”

“Only as a coincidental connection. You shared a secret. Now I shall do the same.”

Hell’s fire.
Da Vinci? Tuscany? Italy. Did this have to do with the invention of historical significance? He’d hoped that by his relating the story behind Peg, Amelia would confide in him regarding her guilt about her pa. He hadn’t expected this. This was the damned mother lode. Did this mean that Amelia trusted him?
Implicitly?
Knowing he
meant to benefit from her secret treasure and being twice as intrigued knowing it might be related to da Vinci, Tuck wrestled with guilt. He interlaced his fingers with hers, giving a supportive squeeze as she gawked at their impressive yet overwhelming surroundings. At the very least, he could help to ease the anxiety he sensed simmering below her surface.

“What collection do you suppose we should locate? Arts? Science and technology? Crikey,” she said as they moved into a vast room containing floor-to-ceiling shelves. “Where to begin?”

Where indeed? And this was just one room. Centuries old, this multilevel library contained thousands upon thousands of periodicals, books, maps, sketches, and documents. Multiple and extensive collections. The burgeoning stacks were tight as a tick. “We need a librarian.”

Amelia pointed to a woman standing behind a desk.

Dressed in a conservative gown, she wore gloves and a set of complicated spectacles with several magnifying loupes similar to the lenses attached to Tuck’s Fantasy Factory goggles, only he suspected hers actually functioned. Her nose was buried in a massive tome. As if sensing she was being watched, the studious woman looked up, traded one loupe for another, and frowned across the marble floor at the extravagantly colorful Peckinposhes.

“I say, I don’t think she likes the look of us.” Amelia hurriedly fastened her crimson coat, duly hiding Cherry’s provocative bodice. “Probably thinks we’re pesky foreigners or obnoxious show people.”

“Obvious assumption. Have you forgotten your pink hair?” Adopting a friendly expression, Tuck approached the librarian, quickly winning her over with quiet charm and his exceptional language skills. Minutes later, after escorting them to a table in the cavernous and impressive reading room, Mademoiselle Galibru rolled a brass cart over. She explained that four pertinent books were loaded into the
biblio-capsule and demonstrated the mechanism that would allow them to review one book at a time.

“She said this should get us started,” Tuck translated for Amelia. “If we want to examine original documents, we’ll have to make an appointment.”

Amelia nodded and smiled at the woman, who all but scowled at her bouncing pink curls.

Tuck winked at Mademoiselle Galibru. “
Merci
,” he said, causing her cheeks to flush and inciting a hasty retreat.

As soon as the flustered librarian turned her back, Amelia shed her coat and pushed the button that initiated the release of the first book. A mechanical arm delivered the thick journal from capsule to table. Tuck studied the mechanism while Amelia ran a reverent hand over the cover of a reproduction of da Vinci’s “Codex Leicester.” “I do hope at least one of these books is written in English; otherwise you’ll have to translate.”

“Speaking and reading a foreign language,” Tuck said. “Two different animals. We could be in trouble. And if you expect me to crack any documents written in da Vinci’s own hand, we could be here all night.”

“You mean because he tended to pen his notes backward?”

“Or upside down.”

“Some say it is because he was left-handed and it was simply easier for him to write and read right to left.”

“Nothin’ simple or easy about Leonardo da Vinci, darlin’.” Between that art theft case and his obsession for helping Peg fly, he’d read a powerful amount of material on the Renaissance genius.

“I already possess significant information,” she whispered, then looked over each shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “It just occurred to me that I might find additional details or clues within this library’s expansive and historical collection. Papa’s resources were…limited,” she said while carefully skimming and turning pages. “Also,
I wanted to show you what we are looking for. Ah.” She smiled. “Here.”

“An ornithopter.” A flying machine that soared by flapping its wings—like a bird or bat or some manner of insect. Da Vinci had sketched several versions, and Tuck had studied as many reproductions as he could clap his eyes on. He glanced at Amelia, who was staring hard at the detailed drawings. “So you have knowledge of what? The whereabouts of a lost design? Buried blueprints?”

“A working model. One constructed by da Vinci himself.”

The notion glanced off his brain. “Impossible.”

“This from a man who owns a flying horse.”

Suddenly conscious of the other patrons hunkered over books at nearby tables, Tuck maneuvered his chair closer to Amelia and lowered his voice to barely audible. “Da Vinci studied birds and the theory of flight for almost twenty years. Sketched detailed designs of various ornithopters. Even constructed a few, but none of them flew.”

“‘The great bird will take its first flight on the back of Monte Ceceri…’” she recited in a reverent tone.

“From his ‘Codex on the Flight of Birds.’” A collection of eighteen folios. Da Vinci’s detailed examination on the mechanics of flight, air resistance, and the effects of wind on wings. “I’m familiar with the codex and the legend associated with various versions of that quote, Amelia. Supposedly one of da Vinci’s associates test-flew one of his designs, launching from Mount Ceceri. Even if that were true, legend claims the associate suffered a ruinous fall. That ornithopter was faulty, not to mention destroyed.”

“There is a prototype. I know not its dimensions nor its precise design,” she said, indicating various versions. “I simply know it exists and where it is hidden, although I’m not altogether certain how to get to it.”

Crazy as a loon
, Tuck could hear Axel saying.
Like her pa
. “Not that I consider myself an expert on all things da
Vinci, but how is it I never heard or read about this working prototype?”

She looked at him as if he were daft. “Because it’s been hidden for centuries in a secret extension of the workshop.”

He refrained from smacking his head on the table. “If it’s a secret, how do you know about it?”

Gaze riveted on a drawing, she tucked bright pink curls behind her ears and chewed her red-stained lower lip. At long last she blew out a breath and cast him a glance. “You were right. Briscoe Darcy did indeed pass on a bit of information to my father.”

Tuck stared. His heart hammered against his ribs. She knew something about the Time Voyager, and the Time Voyager had known something about Leonardo da Vinci. A secret. An invention of almighty historical significance. How? What? Why? A dozen questions bombarded his reeling mind, as did one soul-wrenching notion.

If it did indeed exist, he could buy back his life with that ornithopter. As a rabid collector of precious art and rare antiquities, surely Judge Titan would agree to anything in order to possess a functioning, one-of-a-kind da Vinci ornithopter. It was perhaps the one thing that could replace the priceless collection of miniature paintings Titan had accused Tuck of stealing.
Christ almighty.
Potentially, Amelia had the power to solve all of Tuck’s problems. Although that would entail sacrificing her own goals and compromising the financial future of her own family. How the hell could he ask or expect her to do that?

Unless he could think of a compromise.

Poleaxed, Tuck dragged his hands through his hair, trying to corral his thoughts.

Amelia must have read something in his eyes, because she eased away and opened a second book.

He kept his tone casual. “You gonna enlighten me with details, Flygirl?”

“I’m contemplating the wisdom in that. For now.”

Wary.
Smart
. “Fair enough.” He sure as hell didn’t want to push and scare her off. “How can I help?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I realize now that I cannot do this alone. I’m sure we can come to some sort of business arrangement, but I don’t want to waste time sorting that out now. I’m going to trust that I can trust you.”

Damn
. “I’ll do what I can.”

She smiled, squeezed his hand, then focused on the book.

He coldcocked his conscience.
Get the facts, then ponder the solution, Gentry.

“Mount Ceceri is our destination. Da Vinci had a workshop in the stone quarry.” She placed her palm on the book. “We’re looking for any mention of the workshop. It’s the portal to a secret room, a vault of sorts. I know that much, but I do not know how to access that vault. There must be a code or a trigger.”

“Nothing more invigorating than solving a mystery.”

“Solving this mystery will restore honor to my father’s reputation. Solving this mystery will secure a comfortable future for my family. I must succeed, Tucker.”

Shoving aside his own selfish inclinations, he focused on Amelia’s genuine need. Hell or high water, he’d think of a solution to their mutual quandaries. “The Darcys will triumph, darlin’. Mark my words.”

Six books and several hours later, Amelia was bleary eyed and brain-fatigued. She wanted nothing more than to leave this impressive and oppressive library, even though they hadn’t discovered any hints or clues pertaining to the secret vault. She was spent, mentally and physically.

“Don’t despair,” Tucker said as he helped her from her seat. “We’re dealing with da Vinci. The clue wouldn’t be obvious. I’m guessing something will click when we’re in the workshop. A connection between something we actually see—a painting, a symbol, an object—and something we
read here or somewhere else. Something that will trigger the opening of the secret room.”

“So you believe me now?” Amelia asked whilst refastening the buttons of Cherry’s coat. “You think the ornithopter Briscoe mentioned exists?”

“I think it’s worth investigating. I hope it exists.”

Something in his tone, his manner. An urgency. She’d sensed it when she’d first mentioned the connection between the Time Voyager and the da Vinci ornithopter. It had stopped her from revealing further details. She could hear Tucker’s mind turning but couldn’t guess his thoughts. “If we find it, you won’t pinch it from me, will you?”

“I won’t steal it. You have my word.”

The promise did not temper the flutter of unease. Then again, she could attribute the attack of stomach wrens to two things: fear of failure—what if she was wrong about the ornithopter or couldn’t locate the secret room?—and the constant sensual awareness of Tucker—she had but to look into his eyes and she was sucked into a spectacular vortex of desire.

She was also suddenly and incredibly famished.

“I don’t know about you,” Tucker said whilst pulling on Digger’s bowler, “but I’ve worked up quite an appetite. What would you think of dinner, then a boat ride down the Seine, Mrs. Peckinposh? Unless you’d rather attend the theater. I saw an advertisement for—”

“Newspapers and periodicals!” Distracted, Amelia followed the arrow to another reading room. “I wonder if they stock the
Informer
.”

Tucker moved in behind her as she scanned scores of major city newspapers. “If you want to know what’s happening in London, you’d do better to consult the
Daily
or
Times
. The
Informer
leans toward sensationalism.”

“Precisely why I want to catch up on the last few days. I’m curious as to whether the Clockwork Canary has followed up with another attack on the Darcy name.
My brother Simon recently suffered a professional setback, a high-profile project damned by corruption.” She snagged an issue—
yes!
—and scanned the front page. “Oh, bother.”

“Something about Simon?”

“No, something about the race for the jubilee prize. ‘According to Mr. P. B. Waddington, spokesperson for the Jubilee Science Committee,’” she read, “‘inquiries pertaining to specifics on the contest have been rolling in. Waddington estimates at least two hundred professionals are now in pursuit of a lost or legendary invention of historical significance.’”

She glanced at Tucker, who was reading over her shoulder, and thoughts of the race derailed. Were he to lean a smidgen closer, he could suckle her earlobe, just as he had done last night, just before she’d seen sensual stars. Her inner thighs tingled at the memory of him plunging deep….

“You okay?” he asked. “Your cheeks are flushed.”

Crikey
. “I was just thinking…wondering…” She cleared her throat. “What do you suppose Mr. Waddington means by ‘professionals’?”

“Men who specialize in artifacts, maybe? Archaeologists? Professors of antiquities? Treasure hunters?”