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  With a silent nod, Mr. Black held out his arm and escorted her down the stairs into the gas lit streets of Clockwork Corridor—toward her waiting carriage.

  Olivia huffed in disappointment. She’d hoped to prowl the cobblestones committing pertinent facts to memory while sliding in and out of shadows. A carriage was just so… trite. Dragging her feet, she began, “Do you think we could—”

  A man turned a corner and began walking in their direction.

  With a hiss, Mr. Black yanked her into his arms, pulling her against his chest as he spun her around and pressed her back to the brick wall of a nearby building, folding them into a dark shadow. His hands slid up the sides of her face to press her forehead against his. She wrapped her arms about his waist. This was more what she’d had in mind.

  “Don’t move.”

  Her breath caught at the excitement. Her heart pounded. No, not at being embraced by this man. Mr. Black was a mentor of sorts. Ever since he’d been the one to oust her from her hiding spot in Father’s study.

  At first Olivia had been resentful. She’d enjoyed listening to Father and his men discuss secrets she barely understood. Yet instead of banishing her from the room, Mr. Black had suggested that the daughter of a duke, one with such devious talents and tendencies, might have use. So had begun her work with the Queen's agents. Only Father and Mother knew of her involvement. Her sisters and brother thought her a cotton-headed debutant bent on marrying a title and never thought to look closer. Nor had the rest of ton society.

  “Who is he?” Olivia asked.

  “Hush,” Mr. Black ordered. “Embrace your role and observe.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the man approach. A brown paper-wrapped package was tucked under his arm, and he carried a metal case. Was it her imagination, or did a kind of fog escape its seam?

  After several endless minutes, when the man was long past, Mr. Black released her.

  “Was that—”

  “Yes. The gentleman at the center of your assignment.” Mr. Black all but shoved her upward and into her carriage. He climbed in behind her, took the seat opposite and yanked the curtains closed. “Ian Stanton, Lord Rathsburn. I don’t believe he recognized me. Or saw your face.”

  She’d met the earl—once—at her sister’s wedding. One of the many mad scientists from Lister University who’d attended. Though she’d spent the better part of the last two months reprogramming the kitchen staff, eavesdropping was in her nature, and she’d managed to keep abreast of society rumors. Lord Rathsburn had featured in many.

  Olivia sighed, resigned. “And he’s looking for a wife. What happened to Baron Volscini?”

  “Lord Rathsburn is not your target.” Mr. Black stared at her intensely. “Lady Avesbury expressly forbids it.”

  Forbid. She twisted her lips. Mother and her orders. Not that Olivia wanted a husband, particularly one so young and healthy. Rumor informed her that gentlemen wanted their wives at home and under their thumb. Tolerating that would be a trial, one she was only willing to endure for a brief period of time. She wished to be free to pursue her own interests, and the most expedient path toward that aim was widowhood. The sooner, the better.

  “Use your… womanly charms if you must,” Mr. Black instructed, “but only as a distraction to accomplish the mission. You are not to engage.”

  A shivery thrill ran down her back. At last she would be trusted to accomplish something important. She was to play a role, however small, in protecting Britannia’s shores. A smug smile tugged at her lips. Whatever the task, she’d show Father that she was capable of independent fieldwork.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  Mr. Black reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew a small, black case.

  Olivia pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, sir, I couldn’t possibly,” she teased.

  Rolling his eyes, he tossed the case onto her lap where it landed in a puff of silk. “You are not for me, nor I for you.”

  “And why not?” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I think we’d make a most effective team.” It would save her from waiting any number of years to embrace widowhood. She could do worse than Mr. Black. Over time, they might even develop a kind of mutual affection beyond friendship.

  “To begin with, the duchess would have me castrated.”

  Olivia gasped in mock horror. “Such words.”

  “You’ve heard worse.” He waved at the box. “Open it.”

  She did. A glass vial filled with a clear viscous fluid lay beside four flat metallic discs the size of a half-pence on a bed of blue velvet. She lifted one and flipped a small switch on its edge. A tiny light flickered on, glowing a steady green. She glanced up, eyebrows raised.

  “Acousticotransmitters. Listening devices. Powered by the energy emitted by degrading internal crystals. They have a three-mile radius and enough power to run for up to two weeks apiece. Lord Rathsburn will be traveling on the same airship as you and the duchess, en route to Rome. Your task is to enter his cabin and hide the acousticotransmitters inside his luggage.”

  “And the vial?”

  “An adhesive. Designed to glue the acousticotransmitter in place and restore the lining of his valise.”

  “What then?” In her mind, Olivia was dressed entirely in black, her golden hair tucked beneath a watchman’s cap as she slipped unseen down a dark hallway.

  “Return to your rooms.”

  “That’s all?” She frowned. “Aren’t you going to tell me what Lord Rathsburn is suspected of?”

  “Irrelevant.” The tone of his voice told her there’d be no argument.

  She snapped the case closed. “So I’m to conceal the devices and walk away.”

  “Most spy work is not exciting.”

  “No. Apparently it can also be insulting.” Olivia slumped back on the seat. “I thought I was to be trusted with an important task.”

  “It is.” Mr. Black leaned forward and tapped the case. “It may not be the thrill you seek, but following Lord Rathsburn, listening to his conversations when he meets with foreigners, is critical. Lives depend upon what we will hear once he reaches his destination.” He moved past her, pausing with a hand on the door handle. “Don’t muck it up.”

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  Also by Anne Renwick

  The Tin Rose

  The Golden Spider

  The Silver Skull

  The Iron Fin

  A Trace of Copper

  In Pursuit of Dragons

  Kraken and Canals

  To all steam train enthusiasts

  Thank you to…

  Sandra Sookoo, my wonderful editor who mercilessly ferrets out weaknesses and sets my work on a better course.

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  My husband and my two boys.

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  My mom and dad who instilled in me a love of both reading and travel.

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  Mr. Fox and his red pen.

  About the Author

  Anne Renwick writes steampunk romance, placing a new kind of biotech in the hands of mad scientists, proper young ladies and determined villains. Anne lives with her family in Maryland, but makes her online home at www.annerenwick.com.

  You can connect with Anne on Facebook at Anne Renwick. Or join her in the Facebook group: Department of Cryptobiology.

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  For email updates, sneak peaks, new releases and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter at www.annerenwick.com.

  Copyright © 2018 by Karen Pinco

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.annerenwick.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a w
ork of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Rust and Steam/ Anne Renwick. — 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-948359-13-9

  ISBN 978-1-948359-12-2

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  Cover design by Karen Pinco.

  Edited by Sandra Sookoo.