The Seduction of Phaeton Black (17 page)

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Authors: Jillian Stone

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“Release him, Qadesh.”

The goddess paid her no mind and moved up Phaeton’s body, headed for his neck.

America tried shouting. “Get up—wake up, Phaeton!”

He remained in a deep trance. Lost, floating somewhere far away. Her stomach churned, the way it had when her father had whispered his last good-bye.

America grabbed the poker. She would use the baton as a
torche de charme.
She lunged forward. “Take no more. You will kill him.”

The rod quivered in her hands. “
Protégez mon aimé contre un ennemi qui volerait son coeur et âme.
” Spoken in the French language, the ancient enchantment would protect a loved one from an enemy who tried to steal his or her soul. She thrust the poker into the goddess, who screamed in rage and retreated. The Nile goddess let go of Phaeton to examine a curl of smoke and the barest singe to gossamer robes.

Disappointed, America frowned.

Her female foe peered out from under black bangs. “You use children’s magic on Qadesh?”

“A warning.” America bluffed, meeting her glare. “I’ll not ask again. Leave him alone.”

Tossed into the air, her body sailed across the room. America’s head hit the wall and a great number of stars flashed before her eyes. Her knees buckled and she slid down the wall onto the floor. Something like a groan emanated from her mouth as the scene in front of her blurred.

“If you drain him, Qadesh, Phaeton cannot help you find your husband.” Dr. Exeter’s voice.

America was lifted up and carried to a nearby chair. Hammers went to work inside her skull. She squinted and managed to bring the doctor into focus. Mia dropped back to stand close beside her.

“Three to one, powerful energy, Qadesh.” Exeter picked up the dropped poker. A pale blue light emanated from the tip. Qadesh eyed the iron suspiciously.

A beam of pale blue light crackled out of the end of the poker. The goddess retreated on all fours. Like a strange sort of human crab, she crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling. Exeter released a bolt of lightning, which left the rod and instantly dissolved the goddess into a flurry of pale crystals. A flash of white light whooshed by the window as the apparition whirled past, traveling in the direction of the river.

Exeter held up the poker. A few sparks sputtered from the tip. “Handy.”

America coughed. “
Le baton des secrets.
”

“We might exchange a few enchantments among friends, Miss Jones.”

The doctor sat beside Phaeton and peeled back one eyelid at a time. He placed two fingers along Phaeton’s throat. “I will need my transfusion kit.” He turned to his ward. “You know the bag?” She nodded, eyes large and round. “Quickly, Mia.”

America raised her head. “Will he live?”

Exeter examined the lower belly. “She gorged from his groin. He was aroused. She was able to ingest a great deal of blood rapidly.” He leaned over the body and placed a hand to each side of Phaeton’s head.

“May I ...” America bit her lip. She pushed herself up off the petite chaise. “Does it hurt very much to give blood?”

Exeter frowned. “The danger is not that it hurts, Miss Jones, but that you will become squeamish and swoon.”

America stuck her chin out. “I don’t faint, Doctor Exeter.”

He studied her. “Come, then. Lay beside Mr. Black and roll up your sleeve.”

Mia arrived with his kit. The doctor unwrapped a folded cloth which covered a number of metal utensils and a length of tubing. He retrieved a small container of clear liquid and poured it over his hands. America recognized the sharp, pungent odor of rubbing alcohol. Mia held a white cloth underneath to catch the excess drippings as Exeter poured the disinfectant over a small, sharp-looking knife.

America grabbed his arm. “You must please explain everything to me. Only then will I not be afraid.”

“Very well. I am going to cut your arm and insert a hollow needle into your vein. I will then attach a syringe to the end of the needle and a thin rubber tube will transfer your blood into a similar apparatus implanted into Mr. Black.”

He held up the knife. “Try to think of something pleasant, Miss Jones.”

Chapter Seventeen

“W
AKE UP
, M
R
. B
LACK
.”

The sharp burn of ammonia caused a deep, involuntary inhalation of breath. Phaeton clawed his way to the surface of consciousness. He blinked, then blinked again. His vision remained hazy, obscured by a flutter of pale shadows—his eyelashes. A second waft of smelling salts lifted his head off the pillow. Racked by a spasm of coughs, he jerked upright.

His body thrashed violently from side to side. Sluggish, deep voices spoke to one another. “Get hold of his upper arm, throw your weight into it.” Phaeton tried to twist out of the painful viselike grip that held him down. There was unbearable pressure on both shoulders. He exhaled, took another deep breath, and broke free of the noxious, cruel grip of the underworld.

He collapsed onto a mattress and pillows. An indistinct shape sat beside the bed, which stubbornly refused to resolve itself.

“Hold my hand.” His own husky parched words sounded distant, foreign. Someone’s fingertips pressed lightly on the inside of his wrist.

“Fond as I have grown of you, Mr. Black, I believe Miss Jones is the one you want.”

He opened his eyes wide with a start.

Dr. Exeter. Phaeton attempted a grin of relief, but it hurt to smile. Excruciating soreness permeated every fiber of his body. He had seen what a steam-powered threshing machine could do to a man who fell into endless rows of scissorlike tines. If one could survive something like that, Phaeton supposed, they would feel something like he did at the moment. Vaguely, he was aware of fleshy parts in private places that were chafed and raw.

He decided against any sort of physical movement. Without too much difficulty, he rotated his gaze. Shapes were still faint, shadowy. “My eyes—are they moving together?”

“Well ...” Another indistinct figure spoke, and he recognized America’s voice. “Oh yes, now they are. Much better, Mr. Black.” A gentle hand squeezed his. He knew it was hers.

The doctor swabbed a soothing cool solution into his eyes and wiped off the excess. Phaeton blinked many times before she came into focus. Those lovely golden green eyes crinkled at the ends, and a corkscrew of untamable curls fell down the side of her neck. He thought her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “Hello, my dove.”

“You require copious amounts of rest, Mr. Black. You nearly left us.”

Phaeton answered Exeter, but his gaze never left Miss Jones. “So, I have not yet crossed the River Styx.”

“Is that where you have been? Well, you are safely back among the living.” The doctor turned Phaeton’s head to one side and palpitated a wound on his throat. “Perhaps, when you are feeling stronger, you will give us a full report.” The strong hands lifted the back of his head. “Drink and sleep peacefully. We will exchange notes later in the day.”

Phaeton gulped cool water mixed with the bitter taste of a sedative. Laudanum. Another squeeze to his hand, and he slipped away into the merciful arms of Morpheus.

The worried brow on his drowsy face caused America to smile. Phaeton untied his drawers. “I’m afraid to look. How is the man Thomas?”

Gently, she brushed hair off his forehead. “The duke suffers battle fatigue, my lord, but he will soon recover.”

His liquid brown eyes remained dulled by opiates, but that lazy curve at the ends of his mouth made her heart skip a beat. “And how do you know, my tantalizing dark dove?”

Phaeton was back. And it made her deliriously happy. She concocted her own version of a devilish grin. “Because I will make sure of it.”

His eyes cleared enough for a rare bit of tenderness to shine through. “I wish I could have been there to see you duel with the treacherous little man-eater.”

Her grin turned lopsided. “You missed a brief clash. Qadesh made short work of me. It was Doctor Exeter who managed to frighten her off.”

“Your blood flows in my veins.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Through my heart.”

She lowered her eyes, folding his blanket down. “The doctor says we are a match. Not all transfusions go as well as this one.”

His hands swept around her waist, and he pulled her close. He surveyed her through half-closed eyes, a look that made her shiver all over. His gaze flickered over every feature of her face. “Then it would be prudent, indeed sensible, to keep you near, to replenish my body in any number of ways.” The surprising strength in his arms caused an extra tingle of joy.

She reached for a glass of sedative. Phaeton groaned. “No more.”

America sighed. “Oh dear, unless you nap for an hour or two longer, I’m afraid I will not be able to remove of all your clothes to give you a sponge bath.”

He pressed back into bed pillows and stared. Easy enough to read the lusty imaginings swirling through that randy mind of his. She pressed her lips together and feigned determination. “Doctor Exeter had ordered one more dose of sedative.”

“You are a witch and a tease, Miss Jones.” But he took the medicine.

Phaeton stood at the helm of a great ship, the salt air whipping through his hair as the sun burned a swath of warmth across his cheeks. Miss Jones stood beside him wearing an Admiral Nelson hat and a frothy white dress. Suddenly, they were fired upon by nearby vessels flying the Jolly Roger. Cutlass swinging buccaneers sailed across the sea on ropes and dropped onto the deck. Phaeton and America drew swords.

He found himself face to face with Yanky Willem. The schooner lurched to one side, and the filthy pirate nearly had him over the side rails. As the pirate leader drew close, his black-toothed grin drooled blood. “This day will be yer last, Yanky.” Phaeton withdrew his sword from Willem’s body and booted him into the drink. America stood at the helm, smiling at him over a pile of dead men.

A spray of salt water soothed his sun-kissed skin and Phaeton awoke with a sudden jolt.

A damp washcloth bathed his face and neck. Pale shadows in the room signaled late afternoon. Miss Jones dipped the cloth back into a basin of water and wrung it out. The tinkle of drops created a sudden powerful urge to urinate. Raw, recently scabbed wounds on his cock burned as the shaft enlarged. His eyes watered.

“I’m in desperate need of a chamber pot, Miss Jones.”

She eyed the pitched tent under the bedcovers and brought a porcelain receptacle out from under the bed.

She helped him sit up and maneuver himself to the edge of the bed. A bit lightheaded, he positioned the bowl between his knees. Nothing. He looked up from the business at hand. “Are you going to stand there and watch?”

Hands on her hips, America snorted. “Priggish all of a sudden, Mr. Black?”

He glared.

“Oh, very well, I’m off to the kitchen.” She turned on her heel.

“Warm buns and chocolate pudding, Miss Jones.”

At the door, she turned back. “Pudding, Mr. Black?”

He tried a pleading, starved look. “Please.”

She pivoted and nearly ran into Exeter. “Oh, hello, doctor.”

“Miss Jones.”

“I’m off to forage a meal for my patient.”

Exeter paused to let her through. “I ordered a beef and barley broth for him.”

She returned his raised brow with one of her own. “He fancies a sweet pudding.”

The doctor brightened. “Cook makes a steamed chocolate pudding with chocolate sauce, Mia’s favorite. But he must have the soup first.”

Phaeton released a torrential stream into the chamber pot.

Exeter peered into the bowl. “Clear and nearly colorless. A good sign, indeed. Quite a remarkable recovery.” The doctor pulled up a chair and took out a small journal and fountain pen.

Phaeton tucked his legs under the covers and adjusted a pillow.

“Now, Mr. Black, while it is fresh in your mind, might you relive your expedition to the other side?”

He exhaled a testy groan. “Why would I wish to do such a thing?”

Exeter opened his notebook. “Your odyssey will be recorded and stored in the library of secrets. One day your experiences will help inform another, who must undergo a similar trial.”

His eyes narrowed on the doctor. “Very well.”

Much to Phaeton’s surprise, the better part of an hour slipped by with no ill effects. As he relived his journey, a veil lifted, and a burden eased. Occasionally, Exeter would ask a rather pointed question, but for the most part he left him to his ramblings.

Phaeton sighed. “There is a painting by Goya. I believe the work is titled
Saturn Devouring His Son
. It was here on loan at the National last year.”

Exeter never looked up as he guided his pen across a ruled page. “I’m afraid I missed that one. Sounds frightful enough.”

Phaeton rested his eyes while the brass pen point scratched indelible cursive letters onto paper. “A gargoyle of immense proportions holds his son, the size of a child’s doll, in hand. His large mouth is agape, having already eaten one arm and torn off the head.” Phaeton opened his eyes and met Exeter’s stare. “I can tell you that Spaniard has crossed over.”

A tap on the door signaled the arrival of supper. Phaeton’s stomach growled. Exeter snapped the journal shut and smiled his now familiar close-lipped grin. “An appetite, very good.”

“I should hope so, doctor.” America’s eyes were bright, full of sparkle. As hungry as he was, Phaeton hardly noticed dinner as the footman set up a tray table.

She removed a folded wire from a rather cleverly concealed skirt pocket. “I have received a wire, Mr. Black, but I cannot decipher a word of it.” She passed it over.

“An encoded message.” Phaeton borrowed Exeter’s pen and tried several different letter substitutions. “Ah, yes, here we go.” In moments he had the wire decrypted.

POST OFFICE INLAND TELEGRAM
16 FEB 1889 9:00 AM
TO: MISS AMERICA JONES
ROOS HOUSE ON-THE-THAMES

STEAMSHIP OF SUSPICIOUS REGISTERY IN
PORT STOP UPON ARRIVAL LEAVE WORD
WITH PERCY AT THE BLUE ANCHOR
INSPECTOR MOORE

“Dexter has a flair for the dramatic.” Phaeton read the message a second time before handing it back to her. “You are not to go alone.”

“Which is why I mean to get you well enough for travel.” When the doctor raised a brow, America stuck Exeter with a grim stare. Those two were plotting something.

She steadied the bowl in his lap. Phaeton narrowed his gaze at the two conspirators and spooned up a wonderful beef barley broth. He opened his mouth wide as Miss Jones fed him a piece of hot buttered bun.

Exeter stood at the foot of his bed and observed. Presumably, he was concerned with whether or not Phaeton managed to keep the soup down.

America added a dollop of conserve to the next piece of bun. “Doctor says we have both made a remarkable recovery.”

“You have a hard head, Miss Jones.” Exeter’s nod swept to Phaeton. “Mr. Black proves to have a strong heart.”

As she leaned in, Phaeton inhaled the scent of her. Lilac and something else—lavender perhaps? She had fought the she-devil off him. And her blood flowed in his veins. A bolt of strange energy surged through his body at the very thought of her essence inside him.

America sat upright. “Your eyes have turned red again.”

“Mmm. May I bite your neck?” Phaeton chewed the rest of his bun and winked.

Exeter moved around the side of the bed to get a closer look. “I found no evidence of an exchange of blood. Any residual spell from Qadesh will disappear shortly.” The doctor clasped hands behind his back. “How do you feel?”

“Thickheaded.”

Their laughter caused him to set down his spoon. “What is so amusing?”

The doctor continued to snort. “You decrypted a coded message in minutes. Hardly dull-witted.”

America smiled. “Eat up, Mr. Black, so I can move on to your bath.”

Exeter checked his watch. “Time to look in on my other patient.”

“Doctor Exeter has been at your bedside or his father’s for the better part of last night and today.”