Lady Doctor Wyre (3 page)

“What about this other man?”

He surprised her by not pushing for more specific details of her past. He was a lawman. Surely he knew that if she’d gone to the trouble of faking her death, then she must be a wanted criminal. If Americus had not rebelled, then it would be his solemn duty to drag her in for a quick DNA scan, and once her identity popped up on the Londonium grid, the galaxy would empty to chase her down no matter the cost and drag her back to Queen Majel.

She pushed up on his chest and searched his face with narrowed gaze. “Why aren’t you determined to uphold your duty, Sheriff?”

He laughed, trying to make a joke of it, but his eyes were entirely too serious. “As if I’d ever turn my most beloved in to Britannia.”

Perhaps that’s why he’d proposed. As her husband, his duty would be to her, not the law. But he knew nothing of her past. He couldn’t have known that she was so desperately wanted on Britannia until she’d told him.
If he knew the truth, he’d scoop me up in his arms and run for the nearest shuttle to the deepest, darkest corner of space he could find.

“Tell me about your other man,” he repeated, carefully polite but firm. “I have a right to know.”

“He helped me escape Britannia undetected.”

Gil made a low sound of grudging acknowledgement. “Then I suppose I must thank him for his assistance.”

She snorted at the thought. “In the flight, he was seriously injured when our ship was attacked. It was all I could do to land his small craft in the wilderness here on Americus. The hull had taken so much damage that life support failed and the guidance system shorted out. I had no idea where we were, and I thought he would die in my cause. I couldn’t bear another burden on my conscience, so I saved him.”

“How?”

Such a simple question. It made her breath hitch in her throat and ice trickled down her spine. Her stomach quivered at dread of his reaction. “I…I healed him.” In a rush to avoid his questions, she went on. “Later, I learned the attack had nothing to do with me. Bounty hunters had word that Lord Regret was on board and…”

Gil shot up out of her bed and had the antique pistol in his hand before she even sat up. “
Lord Sigmund Regret
? That’s the man you choose over me?”

Lord Regret, gunslinger assassin famed across the universe—although gunslinger wasn’t entirely correct for he would use any weapon at his disposal. He would even kill according to detailed specifications in his contract if the patron was determined to exact revenge in a particularly memorable manner.

Stories abounded of his outrageous killings. He could drop a man without the victim even knowing he’d taken an injury. Sometimes the target would arrive at home only to fall down dead at her doorstep without ever once realizing she’d left behind a trail of blood. But one thing he’d never used was technology like hers, until she’d used her latest experiments to save his life.

Of course Regret wasn’t his real name, and she had absolutely no desire to learn the truth of his heritage, for she feared it was just as dreadfully respectable and as morally repulsive as hers.

Gil paced back and forth in the tiny expanse between her bed and the outer hull. “Good God, Charlotte, that man is wanted on every planet in the galaxy. The price on his head would buy this entire Queen-forsaken planet! Hell, we could buy an entire luxury cruiser and simply live in space for the rest of our lives if we turned him in.”

It shamed her to admit that she’d thought of it more than once in that first dreadful year of exile. Regret had helped her, of course, but he was also a very dangerous man. They had a business relationship that had ultimately led to a more personal exchange, but she’d never be foolish enough to think that he cared for her.

To complicate matters, her supposed miraculous existence despite her very public “death” had become a galaxy legend. Lady Doctor Wyre sightings were gossiped about and reported from York to Parisii and beyond. In fact, she was sure he’d been offered a contract on her head at least once or twice in the years since they’d crashed on Americus. He alone of everyone who’d known Lady Doctor Wyre now knew that she was not only still alive but also exactly where she hid.

The first rule of assassination: assassinate the assassin.
Especially when he knows your most dreadful secrets.

At first, she’d waited in dread for the day he’d come to her door with that wide, easy smile and genteel manners that had earned him the nickname of Lord while he shot her dead, strangled her, poisoned her food, or a thousand gruesome ways he could end her life and take her head to Britannia.

Surely the only thing that had possibly stayed his hand this entire time was that the Queen wanted her
alive
so they could pry every last secret from her brain. If Queen Majel ever wanted her dead, then she was terribly afraid that he’d be unable to refuse the exorbitant price.

“Tell me,” Gil demanded. “I want to know everything.”

Charlotte climbed out of bed and slipped into a wrapper, but he made no move to cover himself. Irritated that the sight of him in all his masculine nudity seemed to loosen her tongue even more, she knelt by the bed and pulled out a small ornate chest. This conversation required
tea
.

She unlocked the chest with a key that she wore on her locket’s chain and lifted out a small bag of golden-tipped assum, her last most precious souvenir of Britannia. “For this conversation, I need something more palatable than the swill you call coffee.”

As she swept past him to the kitchen, he took the hint and pulled his linen shirt back over his head. At least his incredible body wouldn’t distract her from this tale. By the time she sat down with the pot of freshly steeped tea, her mouth was watering and her stomach grumbled with longing. Gil had righted her table and procured cups—the ugly heavy ceramics for coffee. She hadn’t bothered to purchase decent china since no one had tea to sell. She poured them each a cup, unable to suppress her sniff of disdain when he liberally dropped sugar cubes into his cup.

For long, blissful moments, she simply held the cup beneath her nose and inhaled. So good. She took a sip and her entire body trembled with ecstasy.

“I do believe I’m insulted,” Gil commented with a wry smile on his face that took away the lines of hard life here on the colony. “I don’t think you shivered that much when you came.”

She tipped her head slightly in acknowledgement, which made him chuckle. “Lord Regret—”

The smile slipped off his face and the hard-jawed determination of the lawman replaced it.

“—owes his life to me,” she continued, “and mine is owed to him for his assistance in fleeing Britannia. I shan’t turn him in after saving him.”

“I understand your attachment,” Gil said carefully, cupping his big palms around the cup but not drinking her precious treasure of tea. “However, I must insist that he be arrested and executed as quickly as possible. He’s a violent man, Charlotte. He’ll kill me, you, anyone, if the price is right.”

She nodded. “Yes, he will. But I won’t turn him in.”

“You love him so very much, then?”

She cocked her head, letting the memory of the last Solstice play through her mind. Regret had many needs, most of them savage and dark compared to what she’d just done with Gil, but love had not been part of their relationship. Or had it? Because surely a man wouldn’t trust just anyone with that secret side of himself. “I don’t know that I’d ever use the word
love
to describe my feelings for him, but I need him, and he needs me.”

Gil’s jaw tightened even more but he made no response.

“We’re connected, you see. Our lives hang in the balance together.” His eyes narrowed with consideration, and she took a moment to sip her tea, trying to think of a way to tell him somewhat of that connection without revealing her past. “I told you he was injured in the crash, and I was able to save him. I suppose you could say that I’m keeping him alive.”

“Is that why he comes every Solstice?”

“Yes and no. I always do check the connection between us to ensure he’s still strong and hale, but we’ve become friends over the years. Companions.” Gil’s face darkened and he averted his gaze, silent hurt and jealousy radiating from him. Softening her voice, she added, “You have to understand, Gil. When I came here, I was alone for the first time in my life, far from all the luxuries and powerful contemporaries with which I’d once mingled. I needed a
friend
, someone to talk to who knew enough of my past life that I felt…”

Abruptly, Gil slammed his hat on his head and stood. Throwing his coat over his arm, he stomped toward the door. “I understand, my lady. Lord Regret is your equal in a way no backwater colonist ever could be.”

Chapter Three

When a man killed for money—and was damned good at his trade—his price eventually went so high that few could afford him. Luckily for Sigmund Regret, there were plenty of millionaires as long as he was willing to traverse the universe. In his one-of-a-kind mega catamaran built to cut through space like a hot knife through butter, he lived a life of luxury purchased by the blood of others.

But no luxury in this galaxy could satisfy the abominable ache of loneliness or erase the scars of his childhood. Nothing could ease that ache…except one Lady Doctor Wyre, who literally held his heart in the palm of her dainty little hand.

The miserable run-down nag he’d leased from the livery stable in this equally miserable hovel of a town snorted and gave one last weak jerk on the reins, trying to go back home to its dank stable. Finally the beast surrendered to its duty with a jerky pace that jarred Sig’s teeth. With the Solstice a fortnight away, the hours of darkness seemed eternal, so the few precious hours of thin, cold sunlight would be welcomed by most. Not him. He did his best work at night, and as the sun began to peek over the horizon, he urged the horse to a shambling trot.

In the cold and dark just minutes from her home, it was easy to let fantasies fill his mind. He imagined slipping the silver and ivory-handled pistols into a chest and locking them in a dusty, forgotten place or better yet, throwing them into an Imperial bin. Removing the slim, wicked little blades he hid all over his body one by one and tossing them out into endless space. Waking up to her each morning. Watching her wide smile of pleasure when he surprised her with little gifts like tea and ribbons and the frivolous silk stockings she adored so much.

Sig had many regrets from his sordid past, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret leaving her each Solstice. Not when it meant keeping her clean of the blood on his hands or protecting her from the dozens of agents and bounty hunters constantly seeking Lord Regret. God knew she had enough danger of her own. The last thing he needed to do was drag a man into her vicinity who’d sell his own mother to the Ravens for a fraction of the coin Britannia would pay to get the great scientist back.

In the narrow alleys, darkness still cloaked the rutted, snowy path. Shadows might hide some fool thinking he’d be the one to snag Lord Regret, but he didn’t deviate from the shortest path toward her. This close, he could feel a frisson of energy zinging through his body to which he was normally oblivious. Fire ants crawled through his veins, driving him closer to his target. Absently, he slipped a hand beneath his coat, rubbing his breastbone, but he’d never been able to feel her treatment. Just the scar where his heart had been.

He’d never been able to decide if the tiny machines living inside him were responding to their Creator with joy, or simply feeding off his own spike of emotion as he neared her. Energy rose in his blood, as though lightning would begin arcing about him. He was tempted to simply spread his arms out wide and see if he could soar into space, riding the pulsing waves of energy.

She’d not only saved him, she’d managed to increase his very normal human gifts until he felt invincible.

Yet no matter how arrogant he might be, he was not stupid. A lifetime of protecting his own skin drove him to ride past her snug cabin on the edge of town. He hadn’t been followed. This time. If anyone ever noticed that he always fell off the grid around the holiday season…and decided to put a few eyes and ears at the most likely locations…the last thing he wanted to do was kill a man in her house.

She’d never forgive him if the blood splattered onto her fine silks.

Shaking his head with an amused smirk twisting his lips, he dismounted in a grove of trees. Snow blanketed their branches and the ground. A great hush hung over the town, an expectant silence in the absence of the prevalent winds, a drawn breath held without release. He listened for any sound out of the ordinary, stretching his ultra-sensitive senses for any sign of pursuit or a hidden trap.

The front door of her cabin slid open and a man stomped out. Tugging on his coat while he muttered beneath his breath, he headed downtown, casting a wary glance about him. Of course he didn’t even think to look at the grove of trees on the outskirts of town; he was too worried about gossipers seeing an unwed man leaving a lady’s house in the dead of night.

Sigmund did not fail to note the state of the man’s dishabille, nor did he miss the silver star on the lapel of the man’s rebel coat. A sharp pain in his thumb made him look down at his hand. Dumfounded, he stared at the slender blade in his palm. He didn’t remember drawing one of his throwing knives.

He jerked his gaze back up to the back of the retreating man. Such a throw would be child’s play for Lord Regret and he certainly had no compunction against killing an unaware target. Lord Regret had no scruples. He had no heart, no mercy, no regret that he couldn’t laugh off or at least drink into oblivion.

So why do you wish to murder this stranger without a single coin to show for it?
a sly voice whispered, mocking such a supposedly immoral and cold, unfeeling heart.

With a self-deprecating grimace, he slipped the knife back into its leather brace beneath his coat sleeve, tilted his bowler at a jauntier angle, and led his poor mount to the small shed that served as a stable when he arrived. Usually she’d prepared a spot for his horse with fresh hay and feed, for her locket warned her of his nearing vicinity, yet this time, the makeshift stall was bare. Another sign that she hadn’t any notion of his impending arrival.