Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(35)

“Then you could go back,” I suggested.

“To our mothers’ shocked disapproval? I think not. And you can’t get rid of me that easily, Miss Fitt.” He lengthened his stride, a new glimmer in his eyes. “Whatever mischief you’re up to, I’ll be there for it. Besides, someone must ensure that you behave like a lady.”

I skittered to a stop. “Like a lady? Which is how exactly?” My voice was shrill. He had picked a poor moment to antagonize me.

“Biddable.”

“Biddable? Biddable!” Somehow my pitch was even screechier than before. I kicked my bottom high and dipped my chest low—a perfect display of the Grecian pose. “If it’s a camel you wish to have, sir, then you are on the wrong continent!”

I straightened, pleased by his astonished expression. Then I swiveled on my heel and resumed my race to the Centennial Exhibition.

I must have set a personal speed record, for it felt as if only minutes of half jogging and half walking had passed before Clarence and I reached the Exhibition. It was likely a personal sweat record as well, for my hair was painted to my face and my gloves were soaked straight through.

We entered Machinery Hall through the east entrance. Willis wasn’t too far behind, and when we paused at the locomotive display, the footman paused nearby.

“What’s in here?” Clarence moaned with no attempt to hide his annoyance.

“I want to see the fountains. I thought it might be pleasant on such a hot day.”

“It is devilishly hot in here.” He waved a hand at his face. “Let’s get an ice cream soda, shall we?”

“Oh yes! There’s a place that way.” I pointed toward the Corliss engine. “I... I need to use the necessary. Perhaps I can meet you in the Hydraulic Annex?”

Clarence’s lips quirked up slightly. “Yes, all right. Use the water closet and then meet me in the annex.” He bowed slightly, then stepped backward and moved into the crowd.

I waited until he was out of sight before I pivoted right toward the Spirit-Hunters’ lab. I had only made it two steps when a shiny blond head caught my eye. Crouched behind the nearest steam engine, exactly as I had hidden the day before, was Daniel Sheridan. I reached his side in less than a second.

“Why are you hiding?” I demanded.

He rose and craned his neck, his eyes darting around the exhibit. “I’m not hiding.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I was... I was heading back to the lab, and I dropped something.” He tried to move past me, but I sidestepped and cut him off.

“What did you drop?”

“Nothing. Stand aside, Empress.”

“So you were hiding.”

He set his jaw, and I noticed his face was freshly shaved. It made his skin look soft.

“I’ve places to be,” he growled. “So if you don’t step outta my way, I will move your imperial figure myself.”

I had no doubt he would, so I skittered aside. He stalked past, but I chased close behind—we were headed to the same place, after all.

He lengthened his stride. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I picked up my pace too.

“Follow me.”

“But I’m going where you’re going, Mr. Sheridan.”

“What?” He twisted around, his hands snaking out, and he grabbed my wrists—not hard, yet tightly enough that I had no alternative but to go where he led. He slung me into a narrow space between two locomotives and released his grip.

He blocked my exit, and his shoulders were hunched practically to his ears. His usually tanned face was bloodless and white.

My pulse quickened. I inched back, trapped between the gleaming machines. I inhaled a proper lungful of air—I would scream if I had to—but then he spoke.

“Does he know where you’re going?”

My scream died. “Huh? Who?”

“Wilc—” He broke off and swallowed. “Your beau. The man you came in with.”

I narrowed my eyes. Why did Daniel care about that? “No. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I was going to the water closet. Why are you asking—”

“That’s it?” Daniel interrupted, his shoulders dropping an inch. “That was all you said?”

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t know about me? About the Spirit-Hunters?”

“No—not from me, at least. He does know about the Spirit-Hunters, though. Everyone does. You’re in the newspapers.”

He ran a hand through his hair and eyed me warily. “If it’s just the papers, then it’s fine.”

My heart slowed, and intense curiosity supplanted my fright. “Why do you care if Mr. Wilcox knows about you?”

“That’s none of your affair, but don’t you ever mention my name to him.” He dipped his chin and looked at me from the tops of his eyes. “Got it?”

“No.” I was wretchedly tired of men declaring what I could and could not do. “I don’t ‘got it,’ Mr. Sheridan. You can’t act like this and not explain yourself. So... so unless you answer my questions properly, I’ll make a special point to tell Mr. Wilcox exactly—”