Hot and Steamy (19 page)

Perry rolled off of Byron, rubbing his stinging face. “I am sorry for knocking you down, ma'am.”

“Elizabeth,” Elizabeth reminded in a scornful tone. “And I'm a miss.”

Perry executed a clumsy bow, clearly not accustomed to such gestures. “I didn't mean to make you fall, Elizabeth. I just wanted Ragamuffin . . .”

“Byron.”

“. . . and you seemed determined to keep him from me.”

The full significance of the situation came to Elizabeth in that moment. She picked up her muff from the ground, never taking her eyes from Perry and Byron. “So what do we do now? It's not like we can hire counsel and set the matter before a jury.”

That being self-evident, Perry bobbed his head cautiously.

“And I'm not going to agree to duel.”

Perry snorted. “That didn't stop you from assaulting me.”

“Nor you me.” Elizabeth brushed dirt from her coat and nightgown with broad strokes.

Byron looked from one to the other, tail waving with enough force to sweep aside a semicircle of leaves at his back.

Perry scratched his chin and the fine wisps of beard growing there. “I suppose we let the dog decide.” He glanced toward the village. “You go that way.” He gestured toward the forest. “I'll go this. We'll call him and see who he chooses to follow.”

Elizabeth liked the general idea, but not the execution. “Oh, no. Not in the woods. It's too easy for you to grab him and run.” She turned her body toward the village and pointed her arms to make a V. “You go there. I go here. That way, we know it's us, not the location, that's drawing him. And I know exactly where you are at all times.”

Perry laughed, the sound at once maddening and endearing. Elizabeth wondered how one noise could cause such contradictory feelings. “Agreed. Both of us remain still and call him. He has to come close enough for one of us to touch him before we determine the winner.”

Still concerned about a trick, Elizabeth insisted on absolute fairness. “To hug him, not just touch. Your arms are longer.” She added carefully. “And we have to call him from a sitting position. I'll make marks where each of us will sit, and your buttocks have to stay in one place the entire time.”

Perry looked mock scandalized. “So you intend to stare at my buttocks?”

Elizabeth's cheeks went hot. “No, I . . .” she stammered. “I mean, I . . .” She glared at him. “You know, I could just forget the whole thing. Byron is my dog, and you have no claim—”

Perry groaned. “Not again.” He gave Elizabeth a searching look. “I'm bigger than you. I could just beat you to a pulp and take my dog.”

Elizabeth gasped in horror. In the excitement of finding Byron, she had not considered such a possibility.

“It's not like you could call the police and have me arrested, not without getting Rags killed as well.”

Elizabeth glared. “So that's what it comes down to? Brute force?” She drew herself up to her full height and sucked in a deep breath. She had never fought in her life, and she had no idea how she would fare. She knew only that she would not give up Byron without a contest of some sort. She never would have selected violence; but, she might not have a choice.

Perry shook his head forcefully. “Elizabeth, I'm willing to stand by Ragamuffin's . . .”

Elizabeth's scowl deepened.

“. . . Byron's decision. I'm just letting you know that I'm acting in the fairest way I can think of to settle a thorny problem. It's not like I could just get another dog to replace him.”

“Nor could I,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“You could afford a mech, I'd wager.”

Elizabeth stiffened, seeing a possible way out of the predicament. “I can buy you a mech. And you can let me have Byron.”

“Only if he chooses you. Otherwise, I'll have Ra–Byron, and I won't need a mech.”

Elizabeth stared at Perry, her anger forgotten. Abruptly, she realized she had found a kindred soul, one who actually saw the value of a living creature over a steam-powered hunk of animal-shaped metal. When she tried to put the concept into words, however, they came out wrong, “You . . . love Byron. Don't you?”

Perry gave her a look of withering disdain, the kind she thought only the upper class had perfected. “No.” His tone dripped sarcasm. “I just have a yearning for life in a prison cell.” He sighed deeply. “How could anyone not love a real dog? The soft warmth, the unqualified love, the unmitigated faithful desire to do nothing but please.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, remembering the sweet bundle of puppy she had smuggled aboard the
Neptune
. Everything remained vivid to her mind's eye. “The tickle of fur against your lips, the sweet aroma of his puppy breath, the gnawing of milk teeth.”

Perry laughed. “Most people would see those as the negative aspects: odor, shedding, biting.”

Elizabeth grinned at the memory and huffed out a sentimental, “Yes.”

Perry rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Very well. Shall we get started?”

Elizabeth saw no reason to wait. She marked out two open spots that looked equidistant from Byron's current resting place. The dog lay with his head on his paws, his big brown eyes tracing her every move, his brows rising and falling as he took in everything. Returning to Perry, Elizabeth pointed. “They look even to me; but, to keep things fair, you can choose your place first.”

“All right.” Perry accepted one of the positions and seated himself on the mark.

Elizabeth did the same. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Immediately, they both started calling. Byron lay in place staring from one to the other in apparent confusion. Always unusually sedate, especially for a puppy, he seemed in no hurry. Eventually, he rose to all fours again and yawned. Only then, Elizabeth realized how massive he had become. He had a regal head, with passive eyes and ears that hung like thick scraps of velvet. His long fur had a gentle wave that brought out streaks of bluish moonlight. His massive paws now fit his bulk, and his plumed tail split the air, waving back and forth gaily. He lumbered toward Perry.

Desperate, Elizabeth called louder, putting as much emotion as possible into her tone. “Byron, puppy. Byron, my sweet. I've got treats.” She wished she had brought a scrap of venison from her dinner plate but had not thought of it. Byron loved her; she had not expected to have to bribe the dog to return home with her.

Byron stopped and looked toward Elizabeth. He took a step in her direction.

“Ragamuffin!” Perry glared at Elizabeth. “That's not fair!”

Abruptly light exploded through the clearing from several powered lanterns. Blinded, Elizabeth covered her eyes. An amplified man's voice issued from the village side, “What's going on here? Don't anybody move.”

Perry shouted something Elizabeth did not recognize. She heard the sound of feet crashing through dried leaves. Then figures whizzed by her. She looked out just in time to see Perry lunging toward the forest and two policemen hurling themselves on top of him. The three men rolled together in a tangled heap of flailing limbs.

Elizabeth clutched her muff to her mouth, searching wildly for Byron. She saw only the black tip of a hairy tail disappearing between the trees. Two other policemen gave chase, smashing through the undergrowth, ungainly as moose.

“That was a contraband animal,” the amplified voice informed them. Elizabeth tried to study the speaker, but the brightness of the lanterns hurt her eyes. “To whom does it belong?”

A moment before, they had been fighting over that very privilege. Now, Elizabeth fell silent, uncertain what to say. It was no use arguing that they had seen a well-crafted, furry mech-dog. She knew they would not believe her.

Pinned beneath the two policemen, Perry stopped struggling.

Elizabeth opened her mouth, not wholly sure what would emerge, but Perry spoke first.

“It's mine, sir. My dog. His barking awakened the young lady. She came out to investigate. I was afraid to get caught and led her here.” The two men hefted him to his feet, clinging to each arm.

The amplified voice waited until Perry had finished. “Escort Elizabeth home,” it instructed.

One more policeman emerged from the gloom. Careful not to look anywhere improper, he stepped to Elizabeth's side. “Come, young lady. Let's go.”

Numbly, Elizabeth followed, uncertain what to think or feel. She wrapped her hands in the muff, her head low. She could not help wondering why Perry had confessed. They would never let him keep Byron. If they captured the dog, they would kill him; and they would imprison the man in either case. Perry had everything to lose and nothing to gain. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder as she meekly followed the policeman. Arms held by two men, Perry remained wholly attentive to her, watching her trudge off into the darkness. No sound came from the woods, where Byron had crashed through and the two men had chased him.

He did it for me
, Elizabeth realized, startled by the gesture.
He barely knows me. Why would he sacrifice his freedom for me?
Elizabeth knew sneaking out of her room at night was risky. She expected a scolding, a loss of privileges, perhaps a paddling. The idea that someone would catch her with Byron had never occurred to her.
Would they have thrown me in prison?
Elizabeth suspected they would have. And, now, Perry would go in her stead.

Despite the coldness of the night air seeping into her bones, despite the terrible danger to Byron, Elizabeth could not help feeling honored by Perry's decision. No man had ever done anything so gallant for her, and she wondered why he would do so now. Street people were not known for their manners or gentility, yet Perry had valiantly taken the full blame for something he could just as easily have shared or pinned fully on Elizabeth. If the guards had pressed, Elizabeth would have admitted to sneaking Byron across the ocean.
And to his death.
Elizabeth shivered, and not from the cold. She could not bear the thought of the sweet, gentle dog losing his life for no good reason other than her desire for his company.

I love you, Byron. Please stay hidden.
Elizabeth hoped her thoughts could somehow waft to the animal, where he floundered through the brush or lay in quiet repose. No merciful god could allow harm to come to one so faithful and innocent. Yet Elizabeth could not take solace from that thought. Every dog she had ever met demonstrated the same sweet-tempered loyalty, and bad things happened to far too many.
Farewell, Byron. May you live long and only joyful events befall you.
Tears stung Elizabeth's eyes.

Elizabeth's escort stopped directly in front of the mansion and kept his voice a bare hiss of sound. “No sense awakening the household. Can you sneak back in?”

Elizabeth managed a smile. “Thank you,” she whispered gratefully. She had expected him to knock, to alert her parents to her misdeeds. Instead, he had given her the opportunity to avoid punishment altogether. It was a gesture of kindness she did not deserve any more than Perry's confession. “Thank you,” she repeated.

The policeman gave her a silent bow. “I'll wait until you're safely inside, missy.”

The idea of creeping around the house, then furtively returning to the forest occurred to Elizabeth, but it was clear folly. Grounded and watched, she could help neither Byron nor Perry. Instead, she climbed the same trellis that had allowed her escape and slipped back into her empty bedroom without alerting parents or servants. Shedding her coat, she fell into bed, tears pouring from her eyes. She refused to picture Byron's body lifeless, but her mind conjured images of Perry paraded to the prison, locked in a dank cell for a crime she had committed.
Why did he do that? Why, why why?
No answers came. Elizabeth knew she would have to ask them of Perry himself.

Elizabeth thought she would never sleep again, but the excitement of the day eventually won out over anxiety, and she fell into a dream-plagued sleep.

The May's Landing prison consisted of a stone building beside the butcher shop filled with half a dozen small cells. The three in front contained a short, nervous man who kept clenching and unclenching his hands together; Warren, the fat town drunk; and a burly stranger walking a treadwheel with a weary, fanatical step. Elizabeth's gaze traced the series of pipes and whoosh of water that benefited from his work. It would prove easy enough to power the system with steam, yet whoever designed it clearly intended it as a punishment for prisoners. No work, no water. They probably had to do just as much to earn their food as well.

Directed to the back, Elizabeth walked cautiously around the brick and iron cells. The odors of feces, urine, and vomit nearly overwhelmed her; and she found herself breathing only through her mouth. The other two cells on that side lay empty. Perry sat on the floor of the third, his head bowed. Apparently hearing Elizabeth's approach, he looked up. Then, recognizing her, he straggled to his feet.