"Won't argue that." Restless, he moved to the threshold. "It's late and I've got a four-hour watch in front of me. If you need anything-"

"I won't."

"I'll ask Doc to bring you some food and to check your bandages. Make sure you didn't foul up those st.i.tches. Make yourself at home." He gestured toward his s.p.a.cious lodgings. "Good view from those windows. Plenty of reading material. Scientific periodicals and the like."

She blew out a breath and sagged to the bed as if she'd spent her last ounce of energy. "You're a complex and somewhat infuriating man, but you do have your moments."

"That your way of saying thank-you?"

"No, it is not." She managed an exhausted smile that tugged at his heart. "Fly safe, Mr. Gentry."

"Sleep well, Miss Darcy."

CHAPTER 7.

Amelia roused herself through a bleary fog, heart heavy, mind dis...o...b..bulated. Perhaps she would skip today altogether, whatever day this was. Exhausted, she turned her face into her pillow, wishing away the void. Wishing Papa home. She'd slept fitfully, tortured by dreams of the man who'd filled her life with affection and wonder. The same visions that had plagued her since the demise of Apollo 02.

At first the dreams were pleasant pieces of memories-happy memories; then they'd melded into something she hadn't even experienced. His last hours, as she imagined them. His last minute. His last breath. The explosion. So horrific she couldn't breathe. Only last night, when she'd choked on cogs, gears, and fragmented metal, he'd reached down from heaven to ease her anxiety. Last night she'd felt less alone.

Not that she was alone now, as evidenced by the smell of...bay rum?

Tucker Gentry.

Amelia burst through the last wisps of nocturnal fog, acutely aware of her surroundings and circ.u.mstance. His airship. His cabin. His bed. She half expected to find him stretched out alongside her. The air vibrated with the man's charismatic presence.

Upon keen inspection of the dimly lit quarters, she noted she was, in actuality, quite alone. Odd that her heart sank. A respectable woman would be relieved. In spite of her unconventional approach to life, Amelia was indeed chaste. She'd experienced a brief infatuation a time or three in her twenty years, and had even allowed Phineas Bourdain, a military acquaintance of Jules's, to steal a kiss. But the infatuations, like Phin's kiss, had fizzled. More curious about aeronautics than lovemaking, she'd never been tempted to explore more scandalous pleasures.

Until last night.

Peering over the bow of the Maverick, seeing the vast English Channel glittering below them, she couldn't imagine anything more exhilarating. Then she'd turned and caught Tucker staring at her. Those intoxicating eyes simmering with...curiosity? Desire? Whereas she'd easily a.s.sessed Lord Bingham's moral character and lecherous intent, the Sky Cowboy was an enigma. Near as perplexing was her reaction to the man and the moment. The more he tried to frighten her away, the greater her attraction.

She had no illusions. Tucker Gentry was a dangerous man. Not because of his ability or willingness to kill in extreme circ.u.mstances, but because of the sensations he evoked with a mere brush of his hand, a sensuous look, an inappropriate statement. She'd experienced all three and she'd nearly expired from the heady rush. Heat had singed her cheeks and radiated between her legs. She'd ached in the most curious manner, yearning for things she couldn't precisely describe. It was the first time she'd felt the full force of her sheltered upbringing, making her bitter and defensive. Then, when he'd a.s.sured her he had no intention of seducing her, she'd been perplexed and more than a little disappointed. She'd been so certain he fancied her, or at least her curvaceous figure, as most men did. After half a day in his company and an evening of skimming his personal library, she was fast learning Tucker Gentry was not like any man she'd ever known. She wanted to know him better...and she didn't.

A knock on the door dashed her musings. Pulse racing, Amelia smoothed her hair from her face and clutched the coverlet to her chest. "Yes?"

"It's Doc Blue, Miss Darcy."

"Oh." She cursed her disappointed tone and forced a smile even though he couldn't see it. "One moment, please." She pushed out of bed, ignoring stiff muscles and the twinge in her thigh. Cinching her dressing gown tight, she clasped the bedpost for support, then invited him inside.

The door swung open and, with only a brief nod of greeting, the young doctor strode across the room carrying a breakfast tray. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," she lied. She'd spoken to no one of the nightmares and had no intention of doing so. In the light of day she managed to lock away the images, the grief and guilt, and as a result kept her wits and heart, if not whole, then at least functioning.

Doc cut her a glance that said he didn't believe her, which meant she must look a fright. Instead of arguing, he gestured to the array of food he'd placed on the table. "An a.s.sortment of cakes, breads, jams, and fresh fruit. Plus a pot of hot tea, a hearty blend from East India. Sound good?"

"Sounds lovely. Thank you." Last night he'd brought her a delicious dinner, not that she'd had an appet.i.te, but she'd eaten so as not to offend. After sampling the stew, she'd understood why StarMan had raved about his cooking, and why Tucker had declared him a man of many talents. "I feel bad that you're serving me in this manner. Is there a common dining area?"

"Marshal insists you take your meals here. How's that leg?"

"Mending."

Doc grinned while pouring her tea.

"What?"

"Told Axel you were tough. Now I get to tell him again."

"Mr. O'Donnell is a cantankerous man."

"Socially inept, but essentially a good man. So the marshal keeps telling me."

"I sense you don't care for the ship's engineer."

"Don't care for his uneducated views and suspicious nature. Other than that..."

"He's a good man," Amelia said, repeating Tucker's opinion of Axel. Doc seemed unconvinced. Amelia had her own reservations about the surly engineer, but another knock averted her attention. Her face burned red when she spied Birdman Chang on the threshold, partly because he'd held her firm when the pain had been at its worst, but mostly because he'd knocked her unconscious with a finger tap. Something called acupressure, according to Doc. "As an apology for a.s.saulting my person," Amelia blurted, midthought, "you can teach me how to do the same. Render someone unconscious, that is."

He raised a dark brow. "I can?"

"I insist."

"For what purpose?"

"Defensive purposes."

"Seems reasonable," Doc said.

"A fair exchange," Amelia said.

"Perhaps." Chang pulled a shiny gadget from his coat pocket: a bra.s.s k.n.o.b attached to a four-inch rod. "Eli made this for you. Would've given it to you himself, but he's dealing with a mechanical problem."

She stared. It looked like a gavel or maybe a hammer of sorts. "What is it?"

"A walking stick. He saw the marshal carrying you on deck last night. Thought you could use some help. You'll mend in no time under Doc's care, but until then..."

She flushed. "I appreciate the gesture, but..." She shook her head. "Surely you can see it's far too short-"

Chang pressed a rivet at the base of the k.n.o.b. Snick, snick, snick. Joints popped and clicked into place at astonishing speed. Amelia stared as the four-inch rod expanded to a full-fledged walking cane.

"Works on the same principle as our retractable masts," Chang said.

"I...Goodness. That was thoughtful. Please thank-"

"Of course." He handed over the impressive gadget, then left.

Amelia pressed the rivet. Snick, snick, snick. Six sections retracted to one. "Amazing."

"Eli's a machinist by trade. I swan, that man can craft a working mechanism out of two bolts and a sc.r.a.p of metal."

She swallowed hard, remembering how Papa had constructed Loco-Bug and Bess out of available sc.r.a.ps. Indeed, most of his inventions were two parts materials, one part imagination. Suddenly Amelia wanted nothing more than to indulge in a lengthy conversation with Eli Boone.

"Ingenious, really," Amelia said whilst admiring his work. "A pocket cane."

"And a handy weapon." Doc mimicked conking someone using the heavy k.n.o.b, then followed through with a stabbing motion.

She depressed the rivet, felt the power of the sections snapping into place, and then noted the tip of the cane-perhaps not pointy enough to pierce skin, but surely a good jab would do some damage. She smiled. "Indeed."

"Allow me to check your wound before you dress for the day."

Her smile faded. She'd had quite enough of men viewing her bare legs and brief bloomers. "I a.s.sure you I am fine."

"Have a degree in medicine, do you?"

She'd not meant to insult the man. She would be a shrew to do so, considering his bountiful kindness. "Remarkable that you have a license to practice at such a young age," she said whilst pulling aside the folds of her dressing gown. "You look no more than my twenty summers."

He stooped to inspect his work. "I'm twenty-one."

"Still-"

"A child prodigy."

"Indeed?" She felt him unwinding the tight bandage, felt him covering her wound with his palm as he had last night, and felt the same comforting warmth and vibrations radiating through the affected area. She wanted to ask about the odd sensation and also about the tattoos on the backs of his hands-so intriguing-but his actions were hurried this morning, his manner brusque in comparison to the day before.

Within seconds, he'd replaced the bandage and distanced himself. "Looks good, but don't overtax yourself today, Miss Darcy. If you must leave the room, please rely on Eli's cane."

She thought about the way Tucker had ordered her to stay below and out of sight and felt an overwhelming urge to defy him posthaste. "Is Mr. Boone topside?"

"I believe so, but-"

"Not to bother you further, but I'd like to bathe." She glanced at the screened panel that shielded a claw-footed slipper tub. "Do you suppose-"

"Best not to get those st.i.tches wet, but I can provide a basin of hot water and soap."

"Thank you, Doc Blue."

"Just Doc is fine."

"Then you must call me Amelia."

"Marshal wouldn't approve. Told us not to get familiar."

Hence Doc's more formal behavior. Why was Tucker so intent on isolating her? Did he worry that one of his crew would make an inappropriate advance? Or that she'd distract them from their ch.o.r.es? All in all his restrictions implied she was a hindrance. The notion rankled. Arms crossed in defiance, Amelia challenged the good doctor with a raised brow. "Do you obey all of former Air Marshal Gentry's directives? Even the ridiculous ones?"

"His boat. His rules." Adjusting his peculiar spectacles, Doc nabbed his tray and strode toward the threshold.

"I can take care of myself," she grumbled.

"Don't know if it's you he's worried about so much as us."

"What does that mean?"

"Ask the marshal," Doc said, then shut the door behind him.

Irritated beyond reason, Amelia hobbled into action. "Indeed I will."

"Told you this would happen," Axel complained as Tuck joined him at the starboard turbine. "Yesterday there was a problem with the auxiliary oil pump. Last night the masts jammed, and since we've yet to free them, we've been forced to fly under decreased speed, relying mostly on the bally. Not long after, the control valve on the port turbine clogged, and now this."

Tuck knew about the masts. He'd been at the wheel when they'd failed. Figured between Eli and Axel they'd have the problem solved in a timely manner. When they'd hit a stone wall, he'd inspected the mechanisms himself but couldn't find fault. Even now Eli was concentrating his efforts on righting the problem. These kinks in the turbine added insult to injury. He pushed back the brim of his hat and studied the steam-belching machine that not only supplied an extra burst of power to the blasterbeefs but also generated electricity for the entire ship. He saw nothing amiss. "What am I looking for?"

"Listening for."

"Specifically."

"The clanking."

"What clanking?"

"In the coils. You don't hear that?"

Sleep-deprived and distracted, Tuck realized his senses weren't as sharp as usual. Listening harder he did indeed hear an ominous clank. "Sounds like the coupling is getting ready to seize." Which would cause an even greater delay.

"Not the coupling," Axel argued. "Problem's in the stator coils. Been trying to fix it all morning but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I know what's wrong. Ain't never had so many malfunctions in such a short time." He shook a wrench at Tuck. "Dump that woman in Dieppe, or we'll never make it to Paris."

"Holster your superst.i.tions, Ax. Miss Darcy didn't bring this on. The Maverick's in need of extra maintenance, is all. We'll gussy up in Paris. Just keep her runnin' till then." If anyone could, Axel could. Tuck forced an easy smile. "Think of it as a challenge."

The man grunted, then, after a double take, cursed. "Don't let her near this turbine, Marshal. The whole thing might blow."

Tuck looked over his shoulder and cursed as well. Limping toward them with the aid of an odd-looking walking stick was the woman who'd kept him awake all night. He'd returned to his cabin at half past midnight and bedded down on the floor, but d.a.m.ned if he could sleep with Amelia tossing and turning in a fitful bout of dreams. Her pitiful moans had grown louder, tangling his heartstrings. He'd intended to rouse her, but then he'd noticed her tears and he'd frozen.

She'd plummeted out of the sky, crashed her beloved kitecycle, but hadn't cried. A d.a.m.ned hunk of metal had skewered her leg. No crying. Though tears had filled her eyes when Doc mended that wound, not one tear had fallen. So what the h.e.l.l tortured this courageous gal in her sleep? Tears had turned into choked sobs and then she'd gasped for air. On instinct he'd soothed her brow, stroked her hair, and made tender shushing sounds. Within seconds, she'd settled and drifted into a more peaceful rest. Intrigued and concerned, Tuck had watched over her till the break of dawn; then he'd left to catch some winks on deck. That hadn't panned out either. He'd ended up bringing Peg topside for a bout of exercise, then taking another crack at the jammed masts.

As Amelia approached, his senses sharpened. Her face was scrubbed pink. Her eyes, though shadowed, sparked with defiance. The long, soft curls he'd stroked were now braided and coiled in a whimsical fashion. Her delectable body was hidden beneath her duster-thank G.o.d for small favors. He noted two colorful scarves-one red, one purple-looped around her neck, and the clunky boots, and almost smiled.

But then she was toe-to-toe, in his face. The impact of her presence knocked him off balance-not a feeling he welcomed.

"Good morning, Mr. Gentry."

"Miss Darcy." He la.s.soed his emotions, battling for control. "You've met Axel."

She cast the engineer a look. "Wish I could say it was a pleasure."