Herbert gave him an approving look. "Quite right. Sands is inordinately fond of his lady. My congratulations, sir. You really are as intelligent as everyone says."
"Thank you."
Marcus dropped his cloak over the lantern, plunging the room into darkness.
"Bastard," Herbert yelled. "Do not move." He shrieked in startled pain. "Damnation, you bit me, you little bitch."
An audible scuffle ensued.
Marcus slipped to the right in hopes of avoiding a bullet. He went in low and fast toward his quarry. He could see nothing. He was forced to rely on sound to guide him.
Herbert's pistol roared. The sparks from the explosion momentarily illuminated his face. His well-fed, normally pleasant countenance appeared demonic.
An instant later, Marcus slammed into him.
They both went down, rolling on the floor. The pistol fell with a crash. Marcus heard Iphiginia's footsteps as she groped her way toward the covered lantern. He sincerely hoped she would reach it before his coat caught fire.
Herbert yelled and clawed at Marcus, his rage imbuing him with surprising strength. He thrashed free for an instant. Marcus heard him stagger to his feet.
Iphiginia got the coat off the lantern at that moment. Light flooded the chamber.
Marcus came up off the floor in one move. He used the sudden gift of visibility to aim a blow at Herbert's midsection. Herbert sagged but did not go down. Instead, he reeled toward the lantern.
He kicked out savagely at the flaring lamp.
Glass shattered. Oil spilled. Flames leaped to follow the path of the fuel-.
"My God," Iphiginia shouted. "The bed."
Out of the corner of his eyes Marcus saw her grab his coat and begin to beat at the flames.
"Get out, Iphiginia," he shouted.
"If the flames reach the bed or those ceding hangings, this whole budding will become an inferno."
Marcus knew that she was right. And if the budding went UP in flames, there was no telling how much damage might be done or how many lives might be lost. There were bound to be several families sleeping in the rooms above the many shops in Lamb Lane.
Herbert seized the opportunity created by the distraction. He lurched toward the door. Marcus instinctively went after him.
He reached the door and beard his quarry's footsteps pound down the darkened hall. A second later the outer door opened. A weak shaft of light illuminated Herbert's bulky figure.
Marcus ran the length of the hall. He reached the outside landing just as Herbert started down the shadowed steps.
"You're not getting away, you little bastard." Marcus grabbed the railing with one hand and reached out to snag Herbert by the collar.
"Goddamn you, Masters." Hoyt swung out wildly to ward off Marcus's arm.
The frantic motion caused the panicked man to lose his balance. He fell against the rail, spun around, and toppled backward down the steps.
Hoyt's short, anguished scream was cut off abruptly when he hit the pavement below.
Marcus looked down at the unmoving body. There was just enough light to see that Hoyt's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. The man was dead.
"Marcus," Iphiginia called. "Help me." Marcus whirled around and raced back down the hall. He ran into the chamber and saw that Iphiginia had nearly succeeded in dousing the flames. There was a single ribbon of fire left. It was eating its way across the carpet.
"Stand back." Marcus grabbed the edge of the carpet and rolled it, swallowing most of the flames whole.
Iphiginia quickly smothered the rest with the coat. Darkness descended once more.
"Thank God. Marcus, are you all right?" "Yes. Hoyt is dead. He fell down the steps."
"Dear heaven.»
Marcus lit the wall sconce and surveyed the chamber. The fire had done surprisingly little damage. He looked at Iphiginia.
She met his eyes, his still-smoking coat clutched in her hands.
Marcus searched her soot-streaked face. "Did you get burned?"
"No."
Marcus sniffed the stench of burned wool. He suddenly remembered something. "Let me see that."
He snatched the coat from her hands and groped inside one of the pockets. His hand closed around his new, improved hydraulic reservoir pen. He winced when he felt the crumpled length of metal. It was hot. "Damn and blast."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing important. It appears I must return to my drawing table."
It was nearly dawn before Marcus opened the door of the bedchamber that adjoined his own and walked into the room. A single candle burned beside the turned-back bed.
The bed itself was empty. Iphiginia waited for him near the window. She turned when she heard him enter. She was dressed in a white, lace-trimmed nightgown of softest lawn. A ruffled nightcap was perched on her head. Her glorious smile of welcome made Marcus catch his breath.
"Iphiginia." He could not think of anything else to say.
He opened his arms and she ran into them. He scooped her up, carried her to the bed, and fell with her into the clean, sweet-smelling sheets.
He felt whole and right inside, no longer a man made of smoothly oiled wheels and gears.
"I love you, Marcus."
Marcus pulled her close and kissed her fiercely, passionately. He cradled her hip in his hand and took a taut, sweet nipple into his mouth. She was so perfect, he thought, awed. It was as though she had been made especially for him.
He had been waiting for her all these years, he realized.
"Hold me, Iphiginia. Don't ever let me go." "Never."
Marcus was not certain that he recognized the emotion that swept through him a short time later when he sheathed himself within Iphiginia's warm, tight body.
He rather thought that it might be joy.
Iphiginia awoke to find herself alone in the rumpled bed. Early morning sunlight streamed into the bedchamber and splashed across the sheets.
She closed her eyes and stretched slowly, savoring the aftereffects of Marcus's lovemaking. Memories drifted through her, warming every inch of her body. She closed her eyes and recalled the wonderful feel of her husband's strong, exciting hands on her breasts, her thighs, between her legs.
An odd ticking sound broke through her reverie. It was accompanied by the distinct rasp of gear and wheel.
Chunkachunkachunka. Iphiginia opened her eyes and saw that the door between the bedchambers was open. Marcus stood there, one shoulder propped against the jamb.
He was garbed in a black silk robe. His dark hair was still tousled from the pillow. He crossed his arms and studied her with his brilliant amber eyes.
"Good morning, Iphiginia." "Good morning. I was wondering where you had gone." Iphiginia pushed herself up against the pillows. "What on earth is that odd noise?"
Then she saw the clockwork man coming toward her across the carpet. She watched in amazement as its legs jerked back and forth, propelling it toward the bed. One arm was outstretched. The wooden hand held a silver salver.
On top of the salver was a small folded sheet of paper.
Iphiginia watched, fascinated, as the automaton reached the bed and found its path blocked. Its innards continued to grind and its legs went on churning uselessly, pushing its face into the side of the mattress.
Iphiginia reached down to pick up the note on the salver. She opened it carefully and read the message inside.
I love you
"Oh, Marcus." Iphiginia threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed.
She ignored the clockwork man and ran, barefoot, across the room to where Marcus waited in the doorway. She halted directly in front of him.
He smiled.
"Do you mean it?" she asked. "With all my heart."
Happiness inundated her in a sparkling waterfall of light. "I knew we were made for each other."
He laughed, swept her up into his arms, and carried her back to the bed. "You were right."
"As usual," Iphiginia said.