Er, please note that this is a trap, her brain countered, her heart pounding in agreement.
Another figure emerged from behind Schreib. “I wish they’d hurry up and get here,” he grumbled, huddling within a black trench coat. “I’m freezing.”
“Trust me, Cholmbaumgh, they’ll come,” Schreib said. “And then we’ll kill two birds with one stone.”
“But what if the footman couldn’t convince—”
“Trust me,” Schreib reiterated, and blew the whistle again.
“I almost feel sorry for Miss Pickering,” Cholmbaumgh said over the eldritch cry. “Nice lady. She’s not going to know what hit her.”
Beth gasped. The sound might have revealed her presence, but luckily at that moment both men chuckled in a manner she could only describe as unequivocally malevolent, and which a less educated person would call “nasty.” She urged herself to flee, but a lifetime of remaining perfectly still while watching birds had overdeveloped the habit, and she was frozen to the spot. Any second now the men would notice her, and all would be lost.
Suddenly, a hand clamped over her mouth. She had no time to panic before an arm came about her waist and she was being pulled against a strong, masculine body (or perhaps one of a lady athlete—Beth did not wish to judge). Her heels bashed against boot-clad legs and her umbrella swooped as she was hauled into the space between two carriages.
Supposing herself about to be murdered, Beth found her life flashing before her eyes. But it had not even finished going through her childhood before she was set again on her feet and turned around. The hand lifted from her mouth, to be replaced immediately with one finger. A dim strand of light from the station’s lamps showed that she’d been rescued by Devon Lockley.
He took her umbrella and closed it. The latch clicked slightly, and both Beth and he held their breath.
“Is someone there?” came Schreib’s voice. Its sharp tone seemed to echo with the smack of a fist. The sound of footsteps began to move slowly near.
Devon crouched down, pulling Beth with him, and they crawled under the wrought-iron gangway platform of one carriage. Huddled together, they barely breathed as Schreib approached.
“Hello?” the man called out. Beth watched wide-eyed as he stalked past the gap between the carriages, closely followed by Cholmbaumgh, who paused, glancing in, his expression writhing with shadows and smoky lamplight.
Beth’s life resumed flashing before her eyes—
And Cholmbaumgh shrugged, then moved away.
Devon exhaled in relief. Beth attempted to do the same, but the breath shuddered in her throat.
Devon grasped her hand in a firm grip. With his other hand, he stroked her arm. Outrageous! Rakishly scandalous! Actually quite soothing! Beth began to relax, despite being huddled closely with a scoundrel in a small, dark space.
Unchaperoned.
While danger stalked nearby.
For the second time that day.
She should pull away and hasten to the safety of a well-lit public space. But the prospect of being captured seemed more of a concern in that moment than her reputation, not to mention the fact that no one had touched her beyond her hands in years, and she was finding it more pleasant than she cared to admit. Perhaps sensing this, Devon advanced his ministrations, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her cheek.
Tingles went through Beth like a thousand tiny stars. She stared at the man, transfixed. His face was as faint as an albino owl in the darkness, his eyes some other nocturnal metaphor she could not summon from the sparkling haze that had been, merely ten seconds ago, a perfectly good brain. She wanted—
Nothing specific, actually. Just wanted, with a depth of feeling she’d experienced only once before, when a rare amphibian crow hopped across the sand in front of her. Obviously, the drama of the moment was to blame, since she had no desire whatsoever for Devon Lockley. He was an adversary in the field, an academic rival, an obnoxious villain with a gorgeous smile that came close to dissolving her kneecaps every time he turned it on her…
Beth felt herself drifting helplessly toward him…
He moved closer to her…
Toot!
They jolted apart in shock. For a moment, the world comprised nothing but shuddering heartbeats and rushed breath.
Toot! Toot!
“The ferry!” they gasped in unison. Scrambling out from beneath the platform, they emerged on the sea side of the train. Immediately, Beth spied Cholmbaumgh and Schreib—!!
—standing on the rear deck of the ferry, panting heavily from having done a mad dash, as the boat chugged out to sea. Workers were maneuvering the boarding ramp across the dock and wheeling away emptied trolleys.
“Blast and botheration and bloody hell!” Beth fumed.
Devon gave her an amused look. “Surprisingly well said, Miss Pickering. I don’t suppose you are any good at swimming?”
Beth felt her face grow white. “I’m sorry, but is that a joke? Are you joking? In this moment? Are you mad?”
“No more than any other ornithologist.”
“How can you be so calm in the face of this disaster?!”
His face creased in a bemused frown. “Disaster?”
“We are stranded on this dock,” Beth explained in the I-am-not-calling-you-an-idiot-but-that’s-because-I’m-nice tone she used when explaining to students, yet again, the basic metaphysical attributes of the plica semilunaris in prognosticating thaumaturgic passeriformes. “Although we escaped assault, that is small consolation under the circumstances. The others now have a head start in the competition. I’ve lost all my luggage apart from this one satchel, I doubt I’ve enough money on me for a new ferry ticket, and—” Her breath tripped in exhaustion. “It’s raining.”
Turning away from him, she tucked her hands under her armpits in a futile effort to warm them. A few dockworkers peered over curiously, but Beth could not summon even the basic courtesy of nodding to them. She stared out at the ferry, which was now no more than a blurred cluster of lights diminishing into the mist.
Thunk!
She jerked at the sudden sound. But it was only Devon opening her umbrella. He lifted it to shield her.
