Read Online Scarlet Devices by Delphine Dryden - Free Book Online Page B

responses had bothered him, made him inclined to argue and fret, because he was normally easygoing, steady and reliable, and liked being so; he didn’t know what to do with all those unpredictable sensations and the prickles of guilt that so often accompanied them.
    She’d also been barely nineteen, his employer’s cousin, a shrill harpy obviously headed for a future as a domineering virago and determined to drive him mad with her insistence on playing with dangerous equipment every time his back was turned. Wholly out of the running for anything resembling romantic consideration. And yet . . . Eliza was a shrew, but a lissome one, and debating her got his blood roiling. So of course his heart pounded whenever she hove into view.
    Or so he’d reasoned back then. Now, with the perspective of a few more years and a bit more experience, he knew enough to be concerned that he still jumped like a green schoolboy when he caught a whiff of her perfume or spotted her across a room. He was mooning over the girl, and it just wouldn’t do. Wouldn’t do at all. She was not a woman over whom he could allow himself to moon.
    â€œBest of luck, Mr. Pence,” a smooth voice intoned at his shoulder as he finally made his way through the door. Squinting against the sudden sunlight, Matthew turned and caught a glare of gold on a lapel, a hazy impression of dark hair beneath a tall hat and a face that was too long and too smug to sit comfortably on anyone.
    â€œLord Orm,” Matthew replied with a nod, never slowing his pace. The prickling sensation of wrongness struck him again, and he recalled the unease he’d felt the previous day at spotting Orm with one of the drivers. That driver was still in the race—his sponsor had been the one to come up with a last-minute replacement—but Orm still felt like an ill portent there behind Matthew, watching him as he approached his car to take his post position. Matthew resisted the urge to turn and see if the man really was following him with his gaze.
    The red carpet ended abruptly at the line of cars, two abreast, all stoked up and pointed west. Mechanics swarmed each vehicle, bristling with spanners and polishing cloths, a few with metallurgic lenses leaning close to boiler casings to assure themselves their precious steamers showed no signs of metal fatigue from previous adventures.
    The morning was crisp, a late spring chill nipping at Matthew’s face. But the cloud of heat from the double row of boilers surrounded him like a thick fog when he stepped between the cars and walked up the line. He passed Barnabas Smith-Grenville on the way and noted he looked slightly green around the gills. Nerves, probably. His shocking blue car had held up well to the previous night’s vigorous scrubbing. Waving, Matthew continued past his friend’s vehicle and toward his own. He had drawn a good position, third back on the right. He would be able to study the cars ahead to spot any adverse road conditions early, but still be ahead of the bulk of the field.
    And ahead of Eliza Hardison’s car by two ranks. At least he wouldn’t be distracted by the sight of her in front of him.
    This time he looked behind him to see if he was being watched, and he wasn’t disappointed. Eliza’s eyes met his for a long moment over the intervening vehicles before she gave him a solemn nod and turned away to consult with one of her mechanics—Brearley, the one who’d been so instrumental in stopping yesterday’s fire. Eliza was in good hands, then, but he thought she looked pale. Tense. Not quite as bad as Barnabas. Matthew knew he probably looked the same.
    And he probably hadn’t helped Eliza’s mood any, he realized, with his stubborn insistence on lecturing her. He’d known she was determined. He’d known she had the right, as any woman past the age of majority did these days, to choose her own course of action.
    His task now