Before the Fire Page 17

  Alex cleared his throat, drawing an end to their public display of affection. “I came here this morning looking for my uncle,” he gritted out as he scanned the warrior garbed trio, “only to find him dressed thusly, flipping his person this way and that, attacking a lady of considerable station no less.” He scolded the viscount with his eyes, an arrogant brow arched. “What have you to say for yourself, uncle?”

  “Come now, my boy,” Chester chided, “you’re too tense.” He flexed his shoulders, rotating the muscles by winding his arms in a circular motion. “And I attacked Kane because she told me to.”

  “I see,” Alex grumbled in his most lecturing tone. “And if Lady Blackmore told you to jump into the Thames would you do that as well?”

  Lady Julia rolled her eyes. She shook her finger at the marquess. “If my Chester wins this night, I shall become your aunt. As your aunt, I forbid you to speak to your uncle thusly.” She opened her fan and began airing herself. “There’s nothing wrong at all with learning to protect one’s person.”

  “Besides,” Kane added, “it’s good exercise. Keeps you fit and healthy.”

  Alex glowered at her. “Fine. I now see that all of you, save George and myself, have taken a liking toward learning this barbaric sport!”

  George shifted uncomfortably on his feet, lowering his gaze to the ground. Alex’s eyes widened. He knew at once what the lecher had been about. “Et Tu Brute?” he asked grimly.

  “Well,” George admitted, “I knew you wouldn’t consider it a gentlemanly endeavor, so I said nothing.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Alex grumbled.

  “Alex,” Kane stated softly, “why are you so upset?”

  “Truly nephew,” Chester scolded, “you take this too far.”

  “He probably thinks it unseemly to learn something useful from a lady,” the dowager countess fumed.

  “That is untrue, madam! I demand an apology!”

  “What will you do?” Lady Julia ridiculed him. “Challenge me?” She aired herself daintily with her lace fan. “I’d win were it weaponless, I daresay.”

  “I know,” Alex admitted forlornly, “and it’s difficult to swallow that.”

  Contrite, Lady Julia placed a worried hand on his arm. She would not, however, back down. “All will be well, Alex, if you let go of your terrible Asherby pride.” She released his arm and fanned her face again. “At first I thought you objected because sparring is unladylike, but now I realize you object because it is a skill two ladies and an older gentleman have learned whereas you have not.” She smiled. “Let it go and learn, my dear.”

  Alex nodded. “I don’t wish to appear unmanly to…” His face flushed.

  “Melea?” George asked.

  “Yes.”

  Kane came forward and patted the marquess on the arm. “Where I come from the greatest teachers of the deadly body arts are women. There is no shame, whatever your people have led you to believe, in learning from one.”

  Alex nodded. “Forgive me my insolence, my lady.” He took a deep breath, expelled it, and regarded the earl. “Was it terribly difficult to admit your interest and ask your wife to show you the deadly body arts?”

  “Of course,” George laughed. “Terribly.” He shrugged. “But I practice day and night, anytime I’ve a minute to spare.” He looked at his wife and winked. “I daresay I’ve a surprise or two for her when next we spar, for she shan’t be winning any longer.”

  Kane rolled her eyes, her hands flying indignantly to her hips. “Oh really?”

  George eyed her up and down. “Yesss,” he hissed.

  “Prove it.”

  “I’ve not the garb.”

  Kane motioned toward the valise that Lady Julia was even now picking up. “Extras. Change and prove it.”

  George bowed gracefully to her, then disappeared behind some shrubbery.

  Kane swung her gaze over to the marquess. “And you, change and prepare to learn. Actually I’ll inject you first and then you may change.”

  Alex lifted a brow. “Inject me?”

  The mention of the injectable set Chester off into a sputtering fit. “Fascinating future invention, you’ll scarce believe it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Can’t say as I know.” Chester tapped a finger to his skull. “But it makes you learn fast, my boy.”

  At Alex’s furrowed brow, Kane proceeded to explain how the injectable worked. She warned him the transfer of the data chips would give him a little head rush as the information rushed through his gray matter and into what she called his brain’s synapses.

  “And so you see,” she finished by saying, “in less than thirty seconds you will understand each and every move of the deadly body arts. But you must practice them for the knowledge to click in and make sense.”

  He nodded, captivated and eager. “Please, milady, let us begin.”

  Kane complied, reaching into her travelling kit to pull out a tiny needle-like capsule that the data chips were stored in. She looked up at him and grinned. “I knew you’d come around, so I have one already prepared for you.” She held the capsule to his temple, then at his nod, pushed the trigger-like mechanism attached to it.

  Alex felt the slightest pinch, a little nausea, and very lightheaded. Regaining his composure a few seconds later he stood there, still as a statue, and allowed the knowledge of the ancient warriors to assail him.

  He knew how to hit, how to kick, how to defend and attack. He knew how to counteract a head-on ambush and a from-behind assault. He knew it all. It lived and breathed through his body as if he’d possessed the knowledge all of his life. It was powerful. So very beautiful and powerful.

  “Do you feel it?” Kane asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you ready to change your clothes?”

  “Yes.”

  Lady Julia threw a catsuit at him. “Then do so.”

  * * * * *

  George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and the heir apparent to the Duke of Browning, was what the ancients would have called a “butthead”, Kane thought grimly. Even now the barbarian was circling her, waiting for just the right moment to strike. And ohhh had the wicked warlock been practicing.

  I’m off to White’s, he would say.

  Or I’ve ledgers to see to, he would proclaim.

  It was sorely obvious—literally—what he had really been doing.

  Kane heard but didn’t listen as the marquess and viscount cheered George on. She heard but didn’t pay attention as the dowager countess yelled at her to “bring the scamp down”. All her attention was riveted on her husband. That lying son of a three-eyed swamp dweller that even now was closing in on her. She threw her head back and wailed her war cry, charging at him like a madwoman.

  The earl deflected his wife’s assault, then knocked her to her knees with a jack knife punch. She quickly rolled to the side, but this day her husband was quicker. Her eyes wide with disbelief, she screamed in anger as he pinned her to the ground, straddled her hips, and winked down at her. She wanted to rip every last eyelash of his out that they might never dare to wink at her again.

  Alex and Chester let their fists loose into the air, cheering with elation—and much relief—that it was actually possible for a male student to best his female teacher. It gave Alex hope that he might truly withstand Melea.

  Lady Julia scowled, thinking she’d later lecture Kane that they needed more time each day set aside for practicing their art.

  “Don’t worry, my love,” George whispered down to his raging wife, “I’ll make it up to you later.” He licked her ear discreetly that no one else might see, then climbed off of her and helped her to her feet. She swatted the dirt off of her buttocks then looked at Alex and grunted. “Are you ready?”

  He grinned unabashedly. “Yes.”

  She grunted again.

  “How much time do I have before Melea arrives?” he asked.

  “Two weeks.”

  He
shook his head. “I thought she was to arrive days ago?”

  “She was. There was a rebellion in the Kalgo Wormhole that she had to stomp out before joining us.”

  Alex had no notion what this wormhole business entailed and didn’t think his sensibilities could withstand learning anything else of the future this day. “Ah,” he said, as if he understood her meaning well and good, “she had matters to attend to.”

  Kane nodded then shot her gaze toward her husband and scowled. “As do I.”

  George lifted a curious brow. “Oh?”

  “Yes!” she screeched, as irate as ever. “From now on I will practice my arts every day!”

  Chapter 24

  The long awaited nuptials of the Dowager Countess of Blackmore and Viscount Blake were spoken the following day. Neither the bride nor the groom wished for a big to-do, since they’d both been subjected to that very thing for their first weddings. The Blackmore-Blake ceremony was eloquent and classy, taking place at the marquess’s London townhouse with only a small contingent of friends and family there to bear witness. As it turned out, Chester had already obtained a special license and whipped it out immediately after besting George at dice.

  It was, of course, the talk of the ton, how Viscount Blake had acquired the right to wed his ladylove. The ladies of the ton thought the situation to be highly romantic. Kane, however, thought it amusing. She also thought it sweet, on her husband’s behalf that is, because she knew in her heart that he had thrown that last roll of the dice actually hoping for defeat. He wanted his mother’s happiness. Now she had it.

  Kane was saddened, grievously so, by Lady Julia’s departure from the Blackmore townhouse. She was so used to having her mother-in-law in tow that it was hard for her to let her go. Not that the two women wouldn’t see a lot of each other. They already had a shopping expedition set up for the following day. Still, it wasn’t easy on the Countess of Blackmore at all. Indeed, it was like losing her very best friend.

  The following two weeks went by amazingly fast. Between shopping with Lady Julia, sparring with the marquess and viscount—and avoiding sparring with one insufferably arrogant earl—Kane was fatigued. She found herself, more times than not, napping in the afternoon.

  She was also starting to worry that she was coming down with some sort of dreaded primitive disease. In the twenty-fifth century, she had been inoculated against every virus and bacterium known throughout the galaxies, yet she could no longer deny that she was feeling positively awful as of late.

  It was the nausea and lack of being in sync with the moon change that worried her the most. Were it not for the fact that she knew the last brain download she subjected herself to four years ago was clean, she’d start to worry that she was showing symptoms of BV-5. The mega-virus was infamous for starting out with small symptoms, then going into hiding until it was ready to bring death to its host. A shiver crept down Kane’s spine at the very thought of it.

  After dinner on the moon rising before Melea was to arrive, she, George, and Alex took in a show at London’s premier theatre. Since this particular show had turned out to be a tad boring, and since the marquess had stepped out of their box to procure some drinks, Kane decided this was the perfect time to discuss her worries with her husband. After all, if she was going to be departing beloved earth for a life in the hereafter unknown, he had a right to know about it.

  “George?”

  “Hm?”

  “We need to talk.”

  The earl put down his quizzing glass and eyed his wife with worry. Her voice was strange. “What is it, sweetheart?” He grabbed her hand and stroked her palm soothingly. “Sweetheart?”

  Kane’s wide blue eyes closed briefly in pained regret. She thought of how much she loved George, how much he loved her, and knew there wasn’t a hereafter glorious enough to match what she felt right on earth. “I think I’m dying,” she whispered.

  George’s hand stilled, along with his heart. And then his pulse picked up rapidly. His wife wasn’t the type given to dramatics. “What?” he choked out.

  Kane nodded morosely. “I’m sorry George, but I believe I’ve contracted some sort of deadly disease.”

  The curtain to their box opened just as Kane spat out those ominous words. Alex rushed inside and handed the countess a glass of lemonade. “Disease?” he asked, visibly upset. He turned to George. “What’s this of disease, Blackmore?”

  “I’ve no notion,” George admitted. Willing his heartbeat back to an acceptable level of agitation, he regarded his wife as he lifted the glass of lemonade to her lips and ordered her to drink from it. “Kane, please tell me what you’ve contracted. Mayhap a physician can cure you, my love.”

  Kane swallowed down a goodly portion of the drink, then turned beseeching eyes toward her husband and good friend. “I don’t know what I have,” she quietly admitted on the verge of tears, “but I’m certain I must be dying.”

  “How can you be certain?” Alex asked.

  “Because it is impossible for me to get sick. In my time, I took an injection that made most illnesses unable to penetrate my system. And yet, here I am, sick every day these past three weeks.” She reached up and jerked at her husband’s cravat, practically strangling him in the process, then daintily dabbed at her eyes with it.

  “Kane,” George croaked out, trying to breathe as he loosed his wife’s harsh hold on his necktie, “why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  An ironic statement coming from a woman bent on strangling him, he thought. He made no comment, however. He couldn’t if he wanted to. His heart was palpitating too rapidly again.

  Alex handed Kane his monogrammed kerchief, effecting George’s release. “Why do you not tell us your symptoms, Kane? Mayhap it’s not as bad as you think, hm?”

  George perked up at Alex’s words. His best friend was right. Mayhap it was a simple case of the flu or whatnot, but being from the future, his wife didn’t understand what a cold felt like. Still, both of the men were terrified she might actually have contracted some wicked disease they knew nothing of.

  Kane nodded, leaning in closer to the two men. She whispered her words, as if indulging highly classified information. “I vomit every morning while trying to brush my teeth.”

  The men nodded grimly.

  “I feel an odd sort of tenderness in my chest.” She shook her head morosely. “It hurts if you strike me when sparring, Alex. Even while wearing my armor.”

  George frowned at Alex. Alex grimaced with guilt. They both looked to her and waited for the next dreaded symptom.

  “My heart burns dreadfully when I eat anything with a little snap to it.”

  The men grunted.

  “And then there is the worst of all the symptoms.”

  The gentlemen leaned in closer, their stomachs clenched in dread.

  “I no longer keep in time with the cycle of the moon.”

  Kane burst into tears as the earl and marquess looked at each other quizzically. Neither of them had a clue as to what the woman was talking about. “Cycle of the moon?” Alex asked hesitantly.

  She nodded her head up and down, then blew her nose into the kerchief. She proceeded to hand the soiled hankie back to Alex who looked like he’d rather she kept it. He had the decency, however, to say nothing. He picked the kerchief up by the corner and dangled it away from himself.

  “What do you mean by not being in time with the moon cycle?” George asked. He feared it was some ghastly thing future peoples would die without having.

  “My body should have cleansed itself two weeks ago, yet it didn’t.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes against the horror of her fears. “I did not cleanse with the change of the moon. I suspected I was ill the first week, but when my cleansing didn’t come the week after that I knew the situation was hopeless.”

  George and Alex hadn’t the least notion what this cleansing business entailed, but it sounded ominous. “Kane,” George implored, afraid to ask the
very question he knew needed to be answered.

  “Yes?”

  “What is a cleansing?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Bleeding.”

  “Bleeding?” Alex inquired, figuring this cleansing business was even more horrific than he first thought.

  “Yes!” Kane snapped as if forced to explain herself to two imbeciles. “I didn’t have my woman’s monthly flow of cleansing blood!”

  She burst into tears.

  The gentlemen looked at each other and blushed.

  George patted his wife’s knee, visibly relaxing. He wasn’t certain how to broach the subject they needed to speak of. “My dear, how do women in your time…” His face stained crimson as he coughed into his free hand. “How do they breed, my love?”

  Kane shrugged her shoulders, thinking it an odd time to ask such a question. Here she was dying and her husband wanted to know the intricacies of twenty-fifth century breeding techniques. She answered him anyway. “The poorer classes give birth the way women of your time do.”

  Alex nodded. “And the women of your class?”

  “The same way women of my class have been doing it for centuries,” she answered with a sniffle. “We go to a lab with our permanent companion and make a baby that is hosted inside of an artificial womb, where it remains until ready to be birthed.”

  The earl and the marquess released their worried breaths simultaneously. Kane had no notion what pregnancy felt like because no woman she had ever been acquainted with would have experienced it.

  George looked to Alex pleadingly. He wasn’t certain how to tell his wife what she needed to know about her “disease”. The marquess shook his head in the negative. “She’s your bloody wife,” he muttered under his breath, his face scorching its heat.

  George cleared his throat as he reached out for his wife’s hand. He stroked her soothingly, uncertain how to begin. “Kane, my dear.”

  “Yes?”

  “You are not dying.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No.”

  She searched her husband’s face for some indication that he was lying to spare her feelings. She saw nothing, however. He looked to be telling the truth. “Then what’s wrong with me? Can I be cured?”