The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(27)

Mr. Glass rose. "Perhaps I should go with Willie."

"No," both Cyclops and Duke said. They both glanced at me.

"Check the time." Duke nodded at the broken clock on the mantel. The hands hadn't moved all night. "It's late. Isn't it, Cyclops?"

"Too late for someone who's been unwell," Cyclops agreed.

Mr. Glass came around the table and held his hand out to me. I took it and rose. "I have to go out anyway."

"Why?" Duke asked.

"To make sure Abercrombie doesn't pursue his foolish claim of theft. Miss Steele is innocent, and I intend to make sure nothing comes of his accusation."

I gaped at him, but he merely smiled. His thumb stroked my hand in a most intimate fashion, sending my heart into little somersaults in my chest. I decided against protesting yet again over his need to do anything about Abercrombie. It was in my best interests to let him think that I trusted him.

"May I take that clock to my rooms tonight?" I asked instead. "I'd like to try and fix it."

"Of course." He plucked it off the mantel and handed it to me. "I wound it, but it still refuses to work."

I returned to my room with the clock and pulled out the pieces of the mechanism, laying each of them carefully on the table. I fished out the toolkit from my valise and cleaned each wheel, lever, and pin with a cloth. I took my time, finding comfort in the soothing task that came so naturally to me. I'd been cleaning mechanisms for as long as I could remember. After nearly an hour, I discovered the culprit—one of the springs had snapped. The clock couldn't be fixed until a spare had been purchased.

I set the pieces aside and contemplated what to do next. With Willie and Mr. Glass out, and Cyclops most likely driving him, I decided to go about searching for proof that Mr. Glass was the outlaw mentioned in that newspaper article. If I wanted the reward, I must earn it before anyone else did. Besides, I also wanted a knife.

Candlestick in hand, I headed downstairs, not quietly or suspiciously but as though I had need of a cup of tea. I found Duke snoring loudly on the sofa in the drawing room, his boots off and his arms across his chest. I continued on to the kitchen and removed a knife from the drawer. I'd just slipped it up my sleeve when someone cleared their throat behind me.

I spun round, my gasp caught in my chest. Mr. Glass stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed. He looked as if he'd been there for some time.

"You're back," I said lamely.

"I am." His face was in shadow, but I could just make out the curve of his lips as he smiled. It was not a warm smile designed to reassure me. It was roguish and knowing, as if he was warning me that he knew what I was up to.

I swallowed hard. "Did you speak with Abercrombie?"

He pushed off from the doorframe and prowled into the kitchen. "I never said I was going to speak with him."

"Oh." I backed away as he came closer. His smile widened ever so slightly. "What about Willie?"

"She can take care of herself for one night. I wanted to come straight home."

He kept advancing, and I continued to back away from him, although my retreat was pointless. There were no exits behind me.

"Oh," I said again. My voice sounded breathy, girlish. "I was about to put on some tea," I said, more boldly. "Would you like a cup?"

"No, thank you."

I felt the warmth of the range behind me and stopped. I needed to face up to this man and show him I wasn't afraid, or he might wonder why I was afraid. "Can you point to where the teacups are located?"

"Are you sure you want tea?" His voice was a purr that I found mesmerizing. "Or did you come down here looking for something else?"

"Tea," I said, weakly. "Definitely tea."

He was very close now, his feet touching the hem of my skirt. I only came up to his shoulder. My candle may have been on the table now behind him, but I could still make out the fierce intensity in his gaze as it locked with mine. I couldn't look away. Didn't want to.

My heart hammered against my chest, drowning out all sensible thoughts, leaving me only with mad ones. Ones where I imagined myself kissing Mr. Glass and being kissed in return.

As if he'd read my thoughts, his fingers touched mine. He caressed my palm and stroked upward to the underside of my wrist. He traced my throbbing vein and tugged aside the lace cuff of the dress. His finger continued up, up, until it touched the point of the knife.

He didn't flinch, didn't reel back in surprise. He knew it had been there the entire time. He continued to watch me with those deep, dark pools.

I did not pull away, despite my brain screaming at me to run. My heart protested, too, by slamming into my ribs. I couldn't move. Dared not. Running would invite him to catch me, and what he might do to me if he did scared me as much as it thrilled me.

"Careful, Miss Steele." The thick, velvety tone held more humor than threat, yet it did nothing to settle my nerves. "It's hot in here. Don't get burned." He backed away, leaving the knife concealed up my sleeve, then turned. Clearly he wasn't concerned that I'd throw the blade into his back. "Teacups are in that cupboard there," he said, walking out. "Don't stay up too late. I want an early start in the morning."

He was gone as suddenly as he'd appeared. I had to sit down on the stool by the stove or risk falling down, my legs were so weak. My chest heaved to gasp in air, as if I'd run all the way from Oxford Street again. Finally, after a few minutes, the fog receded from my head and I was able to think again and not simply feel. But all I could think was that my reaction to him had been sheer madness. Never had I been reduced to a trembling ball of nerves over a man.