It occurred to him that he'd never been inclined to spend the rest of his days with one woman because he'd never met a woman who would accept and nurture his love of flying, his addiction to adventure, and his preoccupation with technology. With Amelia he could live full-out and guilt-free. Then there was the matter of the affection and possessiveness building steam by the day. He'd been her first. He d.a.m.n well wanted to be her only.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"Like what?"

"Like you want to...you know. Kiss me."

"I do want to kiss you. I want to make love to you, show you the stars. I want to explore the skies with you, grow old with you."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What...what madness is this?"

"The kind that involves forever. A life as man and wife. I just have to figure out how to make that happen."

She opened her mouth, closed it. Clenched her fists, frowned. "Was that your idea of a proposal?"

"No, it was not. Just letting you know my intention."

"How awful! Has the thin air addled your mind? I insist you retract that sentiment at once."

"Can't do it, darlin'." Before now he'd considered only the negative aspects of an official union. He'd operated under the a.s.sumption that Amelia would be better off without him. Somewhere along the way he'd changed his mind. He just hadn't known it until the words had tumbled out of their own accord. His plan had altered. Clear his name, free his men, reunite with his sister, and marry Amelia Darcy.

Eyes narrowed, the h.e.l.lion who'd la.s.soed his heart marched up and punched his chest.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Most women would've smiled or swooned at the prospect of hitching their wagon to his post. He knew she had a dim view of marriage, but d.a.m.n.

"You lied to me."

"How so?"

"You said you couldn't offer forever."

"You're right. I lied. I can. After I clear a few obstacles."

"This is absurd! You barely know me. Why would you...Is it because you feel guilty for being my first? Or...or because you're worried about my brothers hunting you down? No, no, that wouldn't be it. You handled the James brothers. I'm certain you think you could handle the Darcy twins." She resumed her pacing, chewing the thumb of her glove, deep in thought.

Tuck couldn't decide whether he was amused or insulted. She admired him, desired him, maybe even loved him. Why the h.e.l.l wouldn't she want to marry him? "I can alleviate your family's financial woes. Provide for your mother. For you. As soon as I clear my name-"

"Is this about the ornithopter?" She stopped in front of him and glared. "About the Triple R fortune? Am I merely a ticket to freedom? You promised you wouldn't steal the invention from me, but if we were married, it would be yours by law."

Tuck's mood turned dark. He was definitely insulted. "Now you're being ridiculous."

"Am I? Tell me you don't want da Vinci's ornithopter."

He couldn't. That artifact would afford him the return of everything he'd lost, but it wasn't the reason he wanted to marry her. "Let me explain."

She swung out and clipped his jaw.

Tuck cursed, resisting the urge to grab her when she marched away in a huff. He was p.i.s.sed. Not because she'd hit him, but because she'd just insinuated that he cared more about his freedom than about her. Not true. He wanted both. She'd also implied that she cared more about glory than about him, when she could d.a.m.n well have both. If she wanted. Tuck had never considered himself insecure, but his thoughts took a powerfully ugly turn.

Had Amelia manipulated him, the way she'd intended to manipulate Dunkirk? Was he nothing more than a convenient courier? Someone to help her crack the mystery of the secret chamber and to transport her and the ornithopter to London? Part of him didn't believe her capable of such coldhearted calculation. Then again, she'd misled him more than once, and she hadn't been entirely forthright about the information relayed to her father by Briscoe Darcy. Had Briscoe shared his secret via a journal? A letter? Word of mouth? What was the full story? Amelia kept harping on that ornithopter. Did the ornithopter even exist, or was that her coded misnomer for time machine? Or maybe the ornithopter was in fact a da Vinci prototype of a time machine. The man had been a genius. He'd explored fantastical theories. Why not time travel? Tuck's mind whirled with scenarios, and the more he thought about Amelia's caginess, the greater his fury.

The last time he'd misjudged a woman, he'd ended up being accused of theft and murder.

Tuck spied Peg near the stern, looking up at the sky, pawing at the deck. His stallion wanted the h.e.l.l out of here and so did he. He checked in with StarMan before setting off to fetch the horse's wings. "Taking Peg for a flight."

"In broad daylight?"

"We'll take our chances."

"Marshal-"

"Stay the course. I'll rejoin you before nightfall." He needed to clear his head, shake off his anger. Shelve his emotions and attack the problem a.n.a.lytically.

"If a storm approaches-"

"Protect Miss Darcy at all costs." Tuck's gut kicked "There's more at stake than a fortune."

Possibly the future of mankind.

Most definitely his heart.

CHAPTER 23.

Never in a million years would she have believed it, but Amelia was desperate to get out of the air. More specifically, off of this ship. After the mind-blowing altercation with Tucker, she'd stormed below and locked herself away with Bess. She needed time alone to fume, to settle, to sort her muddled emotions. In one morning she'd gone from thinking the world of Tucker Gentry to thinking the worst.

She supposed she could deal with the fact that the man's political views shifted with the wind, depending upon who or what impressed him most genuinely at the time. Although his realistic-therefore, in her eyes, cynical-approach would most certainly grate, as he had put it, she had to respect his pa.s.sionate determination to walk his own path. Indeed his tolerance was to be commended, as was his knowledge of world affairs. He'd simply caught her off guard.

But then he'd knocked her a.r.s.e over teakettle by alluding to marriage. He'd offered up her altered dream on a platter. Had she thought his intentions sincere, she would have been over the moon. Given the circ.u.mstances, she was highly skeptical. Since their first intimate moment, he'd been adamant regarding his inability-or perhaps unwillingness-to commit to forever. Why the sudden turnaround? Why her? The man was a dime-novel hero even with his outlaw status. He could have any woman at any time, and from what she'd read he enjoyed the variety and relished his bachelor status. Beholden to no one. Free to live the life of his choosing.

Only this life, his present life, was not of his choosing. It had been forced upon him by the American judge who'd accused him of seducing and murdering his daughter.

A man can buy anything with enough money. Including freedom.

Axel O'Donnell's words rang in her ears, poisoned her thoughts. She couldn't get the notion out of her head. She fixated on things she knew, and a scenario played out based on facts and a.s.sumptions.

Tucker wanted to buy back his freedom and good name. He wanted to return to America, to his former occupation. He was one of the best-easily the most famous-air marshals of their time. How could she blame him for wanting to return to what he loved, what he excelled at? How could she judge him for wanting to mend his tattered reputation when that was exactly what she wanted to do for Papa? Yet she did condemn his intent, because it meant using her and putting their goals at odds and her heart through the wringer.

Stunned and hurt, Amelia had paced the workroom for twenty minutes, dredging up all the reasons she should despise Tucker, yet for all her fury, she commiserated with his plight and-b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l-she still l.u.s.ted after the man. She hated that she loved him, but there it was. Such a mess. Such a b.l.o.o.d.y awful, confusing debacle.

Twenty minutes alone, pacing, fuming, musing, and she still didn't know what to do. It wasn't like she could simply jump ship. She could always pinch a Pogo Pack and rocket to the ground. Then what? Trudge through the frozen tundra until she came upon a town? Hire pa.s.sage to Tuscany? How would she get the ornithopter to London? How big was it, anyway? Could she fly it to London? Talk about making an entrance.

Her mind raced and circled, leaving her dizzy and clueless. She needed to do something constructive. To seize control. Perhaps then she could think calmly and rationally. Perhaps then she'd be clear on what to do, because what she wanted to do was to spend forever with her aeronautical hero, even though he'd slipped off his proverbial pedestal. Unfortunately that would mean forsaking her father and family, and that was unthinkable.

Highly distressed, Amelia palmed her aching chest. Her heart cracked even more when she caught sight of Bess's bent cha.s.sis. She couldn't even fix the kitecycle. How could she mend the mess she'd made with Tucker?

That thought propelled her out the door and back to his cabin. He wasn't there. She procured the money she'd hidden in her valise, stuffed it in her inner pocket, then hurried topside, hoping to find the cause of her angst at the wheel. Instead she found StarMan. "Where's Mr. Gentry?"

"Took Peg for a ride."

Puzzled, she indicated the sky, the bright blue, clear-as-gla.s.s sky. "Out there?"

StarMan nodded.

"In broad daylight?"

Another nod.

"But what if someone sees them?"

"He'll handle it."

"How?"

"Can't say."

Can't or won't? she wanted to ask, but didn't. What was the point?

"He'll be back before nightfall," StarMan said, as if that was supposed to ease her anxiety.

It didn't.

Nerves taut, she pushed Tucker from her mind and focused on her own agenda. "Where are we, pray tell? More precisely, where is the nearest town?"

"Nearest or most substantial?"

She thought about what she needed: a cha.s.sis and a Teletype. Surely she didn't need a thriving metropolis for such basic conveniences. Even a secondhand cha.s.sis, if in good condition, and a telegraph would do. "The nearest."

"Gressoney-La-Trinite. A village at the base of Monterosa. Few kilometers south of here."

"Outstanding. Mr. O'Donnell can take me in the air dinghy."

That whipped the navigator's head around. "You want to leave the Maverick?"

"It is crucial."

"Marshal won't like it."

"I don't give a fig."

"But-"

"Am I a prisoner?"

"No, but-"

"Very well, then. I have business in town. Don't fret. I shall return before nightfall."

StarMan frowned. "It's not safe. That is to say, you're not safe. Captain Dunkirk-"

"That is why I'm enlisting Mr. O'Donnell. He'll protect me. He may not like me, but he worships Tucker and hates Dunkirk. He's also big, mean, and handy with that Blaster thingie."

"I cannot sanction this, Miss Darcy."

"I'm not asking you to, StarMan. Where's Mr. O'Donnell?"

"Starboard blasterbeef. Good luck getting him to do you any favors. In case you haven't noticed-"

"I've noticed." The chief engineer wanted her off this ship and out of their lives, and that was exactly the approach she'd take to get her way. Five minutes later they launched for Gressoney-La-Trinite.

"Remember your promise," Axel said as he engaged the air dinghy's steam-powered balloon. "In and out. I'll purchase the velocipede. You Teletype your ma. Back on the Maverick before the marshal knows we're gone."

"Agreed." Amelia scanned the area, then consulted her astronomical compendium to orient herself.

"I know where I'm going," Axel groused after shooting her golden sundial-compa.s.s the evil eye. "Ain't nothin' worse than a backseat navigator."

She rolled her eyes, then flipped shut the antiquated compendium and stashed it in an inner pocket, close to her heart. Just one of the many "prized possessions" Papa had gifted to her over the years. A family heirloom, he'd said. For that reason, she'd resisted purchasing a newer, more complex model. Feeling nostalgic and just a bit sad, Amelia adjusted her scarves and hunkered down against the frigid wind. She tried to focus on the incredible scenery, but failed. She summoned memories of da Vinci's codex and Briscoe Darcy's message to Papa, but all thoughts led back to Tucker.

She peered through her goggles across the small transport, eyeing the burly, broad-shouldered man she'd chosen as her temporary protector. He'd donned fur-rimmed goggles and fur-lined gloves, a fleece-lined aviator cap, and a brown leather greatcoat. She'd watched as he'd slid a Remington Blaster into his shoulder holster and some sort of derringer into his ankle holster, and slapped a stun cuff on his wrist. His signature cigar was clamped between his teeth, and a fierce scowl darkened his brutish face. A menacing figure indeed. She wondered about his particular baggage. Who had persecuted this man, and why?

"You're starin'."

"Just wondering about your past."

"Well, don't."

"How long have you known Tucker?"

"A long time."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Back in America."

She suppressed a frustrated growl. "Have you always been an engineer or did you develop the skills after Tucker, um, enlisted you?"

"Don't cotton to people pokin' around my past."

G.o.d forbid she alienate the man even more. What if he abandoned her in the village? She supposed that was possible either way, except Tucker wouldn't like it. She switched tactics. "I read somewhere that you and the crew forfeited your freedom in order to rescue Tucker from the gallows."

"So?"