A Conspiracy of Alchemists: Book One in the Chronicles of Light and Shadow by Liesel Schwarz Page B
Authors: Liesel Schwarz
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canals are close by though.”
“If you like that kind of thing,” Elle said. She had no intention of paying his stupid motor compliments.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he said to Patrice, “Shall we, old man?”
Patrice took a last puff of his little black cigar and flicked the glowing ember into the night. He eased the accelerator lever forward and the steam car slid onto motion. They were going to Oxford.
The car prattled and huffed as it sped along the dark country lanes. Elle watched Marsh surreptitiously from her corner of the backseat. His eyes were closed as he rested his head against the leather. Lord Greychester. She was sure she’d heard that name before.
“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” he drawled after a few minutes.
Elle bit her lip. He’d caught her. Again. To hide her embarrassment, she pulled the travel rug on her lap around her and closed her eyes, quietly grateful that her glowing cheeks would not be that obvious in the dark.
He chuckled softly.
He would need watching. She would have to keep her eye on him every step of the way, she thought as the rocking of the car lulled her into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Marsh watched Elle sleep, wrapped up in a mohair travel rug. Vivienne Chance’s daughter. He only made the connection once they were in the air. And with her surname as plain as it was before him.
She was a difficult woman, monstrously stubborn, with a tongue as sharp to match. But he had to admit there was something about her.
He studied the fine curve of her nose. She was very pretty. He bristled at the thought. He’d learned his lessons on the subject of beautiful women well enough. And bitter lessons they were; bitter enough for him to know better.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to drive away the tiredness that was threatening to swallow him whole. The loss of the box was a blow to their cause. He should never have allowed Patrice to deviate from their plan. And now he had to deal with the added complication of this woman.
Elle shifted position and nestled her head against the leather of the seat in search of a more comfortable spot. A few strands of her hair had worked their way out of the low knot at the base of her neck. They were draped across her cheek as she slept, gently moving in the breeze that the motor stirred up. Marsh resisted the urge to lift them out of the way.
Careful not to wake her, he placed his bare fingers against her temple and focused his energies on her. As a general rule, he had serious moral objections to using his abilities on people. It was not the way of the Brotherhood, but he needed to make sure this was really Vivienne’s daughter. And this was the quickest way. He felt the tiny facial muscles under her skin relax beneath his fingertips. Then he closed his own eyes and allowed himself to drift away as he synchronized his mind with the velvety luxury of her sleep patterns.
He felt a sudden shift. He drew back in surprise and stared at his fingers. They were tingling. He reached out and touched her temple again. A jolt of energy crackled under his fingertips. She was pushing him away. In her sleep.
Marsh blinked in the dark. Was it even possible? After all these years? He sat back in his seat and stared out before him; his mind reeling with the implications of what he had discovered. Forget the Ministry. They were a bunch of impotent bureaucrats. He needed to speak to the Council about this. But first he needed more proof. And extracting it was going to be a delicate task, if today was anything to go by.
He rubbed his eyes again. This mess was becoming more complicated by the minute.
When they reached the outskirts of the town of Windsor, they stopped to refill the water tanks.
“She all right?” Patrice asked. He had a smoldering cigar clasped between his lips as he helped Marsh haul the hoses and the hand pump out from the hatch behind the boot.
“Fine. She’s asleep. It’s been a long
“If you like that kind of thing,” Elle said. She had no intention of paying his stupid motor compliments.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he said to Patrice, “Shall we, old man?”
Patrice took a last puff of his little black cigar and flicked the glowing ember into the night. He eased the accelerator lever forward and the steam car slid onto motion. They were going to Oxford.
The car prattled and huffed as it sped along the dark country lanes. Elle watched Marsh surreptitiously from her corner of the backseat. His eyes were closed as he rested his head against the leather. Lord Greychester. She was sure she’d heard that name before.
“It’s not polite to stare, you know,” he drawled after a few minutes.
Elle bit her lip. He’d caught her. Again. To hide her embarrassment, she pulled the travel rug on her lap around her and closed her eyes, quietly grateful that her glowing cheeks would not be that obvious in the dark.
He chuckled softly.
He would need watching. She would have to keep her eye on him every step of the way, she thought as the rocking of the car lulled her into an exhausted sleep.
CHAPTER 7
Marsh watched Elle sleep, wrapped up in a mohair travel rug. Vivienne Chance’s daughter. He only made the connection once they were in the air. And with her surname as plain as it was before him.
She was a difficult woman, monstrously stubborn, with a tongue as sharp to match. But he had to admit there was something about her.
He studied the fine curve of her nose. She was very pretty. He bristled at the thought. He’d learned his lessons on the subject of beautiful women well enough. And bitter lessons they were; bitter enough for him to know better.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to drive away the tiredness that was threatening to swallow him whole. The loss of the box was a blow to their cause. He should never have allowed Patrice to deviate from their plan. And now he had to deal with the added complication of this woman.
Elle shifted position and nestled her head against the leather of the seat in search of a more comfortable spot. A few strands of her hair had worked their way out of the low knot at the base of her neck. They were draped across her cheek as she slept, gently moving in the breeze that the motor stirred up. Marsh resisted the urge to lift them out of the way.
Careful not to wake her, he placed his bare fingers against her temple and focused his energies on her. As a general rule, he had serious moral objections to using his abilities on people. It was not the way of the Brotherhood, but he needed to make sure this was really Vivienne’s daughter. And this was the quickest way. He felt the tiny facial muscles under her skin relax beneath his fingertips. Then he closed his own eyes and allowed himself to drift away as he synchronized his mind with the velvety luxury of her sleep patterns.
He felt a sudden shift. He drew back in surprise and stared at his fingers. They were tingling. He reached out and touched her temple again. A jolt of energy crackled under his fingertips. She was pushing him away. In her sleep.
Marsh blinked in the dark. Was it even possible? After all these years? He sat back in his seat and stared out before him; his mind reeling with the implications of what he had discovered. Forget the Ministry. They were a bunch of impotent bureaucrats. He needed to speak to the Council about this. But first he needed more proof. And extracting it was going to be a delicate task, if today was anything to go by.
He rubbed his eyes again. This mess was becoming more complicated by the minute.
When they reached the outskirts of the town of Windsor, they stopped to refill the water tanks.
“She all right?” Patrice asked. He had a smoldering cigar clasped between his lips as he helped Marsh haul the hoses and the hand pump out from the hatch behind the boot.
“Fine. She’s asleep. It’s been a long
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