He thought about that newspaper article. About the unexpected and horrific death of her father, a man she obviously revered. He suspected Lord Ashford's death haunted her dreams and motivated her reckless actions. He understood, but couldn't say he approved of her derring-do att.i.tude. "Living like there's no tomorrow. Risky business, Flygirl."

"My business," she insisted.

"Do what you please and everyone else be d.a.m.ned?"

"I didn't say that."

"Your brothers don't know about your Italian excursion, do they?"

She didn't answer.

"What about your ma? Did you sneak off in the middle of the night? Leave her a note? Bet she's riddled with worry."

"The only thing she's riddled with is misery regarding our dire straits. She knows not my destination, but knows my goal. I have her blessing."

"You don't sound happy about it."

"I'm delirious," she snapped, then shifted to glare down at him. "Shouldn't you join your men? Won't they be waiting?"

"They know what to do."

"But if Dunkirk-"

"If they need me they'll call." She thought to end this discussion, but he'd only just begun. "I've got business here. With you. But first we need to change the linens and wash up."

She blinked, caught off guard by the change of subject, then flushed as she realized his meaning. "Oh, I..." She peeked under the coverlet. "Blast."

Tuck smoothed Amelia's tousled hair from her face and noted the intensity of her embarra.s.sment. "Stay here." He swung out of bed, at ease with his naked state, although he felt her stunned gaze burning into his backside as he crossed the cabin.

"Your tattoo," she said in blatant awe. "It's magnificent."

And here he'd thought she'd been impressed by his naked body. "Compliments of an artist I met in an Irish skytown seven months back." Once in a blue moon Tuck got news from home, and it always knocked him on his a.s.s, causing depression and fury. He often numbed the pain with booze and smoke, only that night someone slipped him an opium-laced cheroot and he'd ended up getting tattooed by a Freak, a brilliant artist shunned by the mainstream because of his mongrel race. Now Tuck was branded with a work of art that spanned his entire back and shoulders. Not that he minded much, since the body art honored Peg.

"Did it hurt?" Amelia asked.

"Didn't feel a thing." Nor did he remember much of the event. He was lucky he hadn't ended up tattooed with a Mod slogan-Make love, not war-or some d.a.m.ned neon-colored flower-power symbol. Grimacing, he pushed aside the part.i.tion that hid the cast-iron-and-porcelain tub and a gleaming seven-foot tank. He tripped a spigot and steaming water flowed. "Eli and I devised a compact electric water heater," he said, distracting her with a newfangled invention. "d.a.m.ned convenient."

"I've heard of such a thing," Amelia said, knees clutched to her chest, eyes wide. "You do much with electricity on this airship."

"Electricity, steam, gas. We've been experimenting with solar power as well. Diversity's key, given the astronomical cost of gasoline."

"So you do have an understanding of science and mechanics."

He raised a brow at her accusatory tone.

"Earlier today, you said you were unsure as to how the blasterbeefs function, precisely. I do believe you misled me, Mr. Gentry."

"As for misleading you, Miss Darcy," he said while testing the temperature of the water, "those blasterbeefs are one of a kind. I intend to keep it that way."

"You think I'd steal your technology?"

"I don't know what you're capable of."

"I suppose I've given you little reason to trust me."

"No reason at all." He gestured to the tub. "Climb in before it cools."

She looked longingly at the steaming water. "Doc advised me not to get these st.i.tches wet."

"What st.i.tches?"

She reached beneath the coverlet, unwound her bandage, then a heartbeat later gasped. "They're gone. The st.i.tches disappeared!"

"You said you felt fully healed. I a.s.sumed the st.i.tches dissolved. They usually do. Doc uses special thread."

"Amazing."

He strode to an armoire he'd brought all the way from Wyoming territory, and rifled a shelf in search of fresh linens. "Water's getting cold."

"Will you be leaving the room?"

"No." Back turned, he heard her make a dash for it, heard the gentle sloshing of water as she eased into the deep, high-backed tub he'd purchased in Paris. Heard her blissful sigh, and smiled. "Find the soap?"

"Yes, thank you."

She soaked and washed in thoughtful silence as he made quick work of the bed.

The silence was short-lived. "I'm dying to know about your flying horse."

"I'm sure you are."

"Where on earth did you find a Pegasus?"

"I didn't. Peg's a Friesian stallion. Had him since he was a colt. Bought him off of a European breeder who relocated to California."

"But he has wings."

"Detachable wings."

"But how-"

"It's complicated."

"One of a kind?" she groused. "Another trade secret?"

"A combination of technology and heart." Linens changed, he moved to the tub. The sight of Amelia soaking neck-deep in sudsy water, her golden hair slicked back from her flawless face, stirred his l.u.s.t quicker than Wanda Mae's practiced touch. Sporting a rock-hard erection, he squeezed her shoulder. "Scoot up."

She scrunched over and concentrated on her fingernails-perpetually stained with grease, which he found oddly charming. "Why?"

"So as not to waste hot water. Only so much in the tank."

"I'll get out."

"Don't bother." He moved in behind her, forcing her to make room. "Relax, darlin'. We shared a bed; we can share a bath."

She sat rigid, nestled between his legs.

Ignoring the discomfort of his throbbing arousal, Tuck took the soap from her clenched hand and lathered her tense shoulders. "Tomorrow we drop our cargo near Paris. Maverick's in need of fine-tuning. Figure my crew can use a respite, given that we haven't been at port in a while. Day or two; then we'll move on to Italy."

She glanced over her bare, glistening shoulder. "You said you'd take me to Paris but no farther."

"Changed my mind."

"Because you want my treasure?"

"Won't deny I'm curious about it." Tuck wrestled with his annoying conscience and lost. What the h.e.l.l? He'd take the honest high road and lay his cards on the table. "Because of my legal quandary I'm in need of a bargaining chip. For the time bein' I'm focused on building my bankroll. Figure we can work out a deal."

Amelia chewed her lower lip, causing his blood to stir. "I'll think about it."

"You do that." He knew better then to press just now. Sensed she'd shut down. She'd gone through more in one day than most women did in a lifetime. He'd do better to take it slow, catch her off guard, but d.a.m.n, Tuck wanted her to put a name to that treasure. An invention of historical significance, somewhere in Italy. What the h.e.l.l could it be? As suggested by Doc, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with her kin's time machine-which posed a bit of a moral dilemma. Tuck had no interest in trading now for the future, and tampering with the past could well worsen the present. The way he saw it there was no adventure as grand as living in the moment. Unfortunately, there were plenty of folk who'd jump at a chance to dip their toes into another dimension, consequences be d.a.m.ned. Reintroducing a working time machine into society-even into the hands of the British government-struck Tuck as dangerous. Still, a percentage of that monumental prize money would go a long way toward financing his personal goals of reuniting with his sister and properly compensating his men for saving his neck.

"What is it?" Amelia asked. "What's wrong?"

Tuck blinked out of his gloom.

"You drifted away."

"Doin' some thinkin' of my own, is all." He rinsed her long, thick tresses, then pulled her back against him, kneading her shoulders, her arms. "How do you feel?"

"Exhausted."

"Sore?"

"Not in the way I think you mean," she said softly. "But my entire body aches. It's been a tense and most active day."

As irritated as he was with the situation, as much as he didn't trust Amelia Darcy, he sure as h.e.l.l liked the feel of her. h.e.l.l, he liked her. He thought about the way she'd whacked the blasterbeefs, clearing the stator coils, and almost laughed.

Feeling the tension ease from her limbs, he continued to ma.s.sage her muscles-shoulders, arms, thighs. She sighed and he took advantage, skimming his fingers between her legs, over her womanly folds.

"What are you-"

"Shh." He nipped and suckled her earlobe, pleasured her with his fingers-stroking, rubbing. She moaned, her legs parting wider. "That's it, honey." His other palm slid up and over her taut stomach, teased the underside of her full breast, then closed over the firm mound. He ached to suck her buds but rolled them between his fingers instead. Plucking, pinching.

Her moans grew louder as he continued to stroke her to o.r.g.a.s.m. She tensed and trembled, and he urged her to let go. She bucked with a climax, and swear to G.o.d, he nearly lost control-simply from the intense pleasure of watching Amelia come apart under his touch.

She let out a shaky breath. "Are there no limits to your talents?"

He smiled close to her ear. "Just part of what you hurried me through before."

"Then I regret my lack of patience."

He considered the woman in his arms, wondering whether she'd be so bold as to allow another man to broaden her s.e.xual horizons. The notion rankled. At the same time he had no right to judge or censor. "Just so we're straight on this, Amelia, I can't offer marriage."

"I wouldn't accept if you did. I have no desire to be shackled to any man."

"But you want to know the pleasures of a man's touch."

"I wish I hadn't rushed you."

Tuck pondered the next few days, tried to sort through his jumbled feelings regarding this complicated and infinitely fascinating woman. For once he couldn't think ahead with any clear direction. He decided to fall back on Amelia's current mind-set: living in the here and now. One day at a time. No missed opportunities. If any man broadened her s.e.xual horizons, he wanted it to be him.

He finessed Amelia so that she was facing him, ignored the stutter of his pulse as he looked into those hypnotic eyes-eyes that viewed the world with never-ending wonder. "You want to explore? Learn the extensive pleasures of lovemaking? I'll show you the stars and introduce you to a few planets, but there'll be no promises or ties beyond your being true to me as long as we're keepin' company. That agreeable?"

She furrowed her brow. "Seems a little one-sided."

"How so?"

"If I am to be faithful, then you should be true to me as well. For as long as we're keeping company."

Her candor and sa.s.s never failed to amaze. He quirked a brow. "Think I can handle that."

Teeth chattering from the cooled water, she offered her pruney fingers. "Shall we shake on it, Mr. Gentry?"

He grasped her hand and pulled her up with him, lifting her from the tub and wrapping her in a towel. Carrying her to his bed, he winked down at the brazen minx. "I can think of better ways to seal the deal, Miss Darcy."

CHAPTER 13.

Amelia stirred but clung to the last vestiges of sleep, her hazy mind and achy body a.s.sessing and acknowledging her scandalous behavior the night before. She felt no regret, only wonder. What did that make her exactly? Emanc.i.p.ated? Progressive? A rebel? A hussy?

Face buried in her pillow, she calmed her rising anxiety and dug deep. According to gossip, her brothers had bedded many a companion, and yet their reputations as honorable men remained intact. Granted, she was a woman, and the social and moral rules of conduct were vastly different, not that they made sense to Amelia. Why should she be judged harshly purely because of her gender? At heart she was the same person as before, just...more worldly. Although she aspired to a great many things, mostly having to do with flying, lovemaking had never been on her must-do-or-die list.

It was now.

No denying the realization, the relentless yearning. Now that she'd sampled the arousing delights of Tucker Gentry, she longed for more. More kisses. More caresses. More shockingly intimate stimulation.

Dazed with desire, she'd allowed Tucker to touch her in the most brazen and illicit ways. By the time he'd entered her the second time, she'd been shameless, begging for more, begging for release. They'd peaked at the same time, falling into sated, silent exhaustion.

She didn't remember falling asleep. But she remembered him holding her close, the mutual pounding of their hearts, the possessive feel of his hand upon her hip, of her palm upon his shoulder. Then suddenly she was dreaming. Fragments of her life, good and bad. Papa cheering her first flight. Pulling her from the wreckage. Offering courage whilst the doctor st.i.tched the gash in her leg. She'd dreamed about the day Papa had presented her with the modified version of Leo. About the story he'd told her time and again, rehashing the day he'd attended the exhibition at the Crystal Palace. The day he'd seen his cousin Briscoe disappear in a rainbow of light via his time machine.

And the one time he'd mentioned the secret letter.