Tethered (Novella) - By Meljean Brook Page 0,3

the landing, her stern face softened by the two brown curls that framed her broad forehead. Pink tinged her cheeks and chin—not a blush, but the kiss of the brisk autumn air. She hadn’t even taken the time to remove her sturdy walking jacket, but had come directly up the three flights of stairs with a folded parasol clutched in her hand, as if sensing that danger had entered her home.

Archimedes adored her for coming to confront that danger herself. But then, he’d always had a soft spot for bold and self-reliant women. “It’s all in order, Mrs. Kohen. You have my gratitude.”

The matron harrumphed lightly, her keen gaze settling on his canvas pack. “You won’t be staying in the room?”

“I’ll be aboard Lady Nergüi,” he said. “But I’d like to continue our arrangement, if possible. I’ll pay the full year’s rate now if you hold the room for me and receive my correspondence.”

No fool, Mrs. Kohen immediately nodded. “That’s acceptable.”

Of course it was. An absent boarder who paid in advance had to be the best sort. “More acceptable than watching me stumble up the stairs every night, reeking of liquor—and not wearing a stitch?”

“Go on, you scoundrel.” Lips pursed, she pointed down the stairs with the tip of her parasol. “I’ll be happy to see the back side of you again.”

Archimedes laughed. A hint of a smile lifted her mouth. Then her brows shot up, and she patted the side of her skirts, clearly searching for something.

“I nearly forgot.” She produced a pale card from beneath her jacket. “This gentleman called on you as I was going out.”

Miles Bilson. Archimedes wasn’t surprised when he read the name. “Thank you.”

Nodding, Mrs. Kohen started down the stairs. “If you leave any valuable sketches in your room, Mr. Fox, please remember to lock up this time.”

He would, even though the lock wouldn’t stop anyone determined to get in. Thoughtfully, he glanced down at Bilson’s card. A direction had been scrawled on the back. Archimedes recognized the hotel in Port Fallow’s second ring of residences—Bilson and he had stayed there several times in their smuggling days, more than a decade before.

Unlike his sister, Archimedes felt no ill will toward the man. Given his tendency to mine every emotion to its further-most depths, if he had felt the least bit betrayed by Bilson’s abandonment, Archimedes would have hunted down his friend and taken his revenge.

There was no need for vengeance, however. He’d often thought that if anyone had been betrayed, it was Bilson. Archimedes had been the one to destroy a shipment of war machines. Archimedes had been the reason Temür Agha sent assassins after them. Bilson’s life had been threatened and a fortune lost, and it was all due to Archimedes’ impulsive action.

But Archimedes didn’t suffer any guilt for that, either—and that was another emotion he’d have wallowed in, given half a chance. Instead, he only felt a faint curiosity, wondering why the man sought him now.

Strange, that. Archimedes rarely felt anything “faintly.” Yet even with Bilson’s card in his hand, he had no real desire to visit his old friend. As far as he was concerned, his accounts with Bilson had been settled long ago. It was possible that Bilson didn’t feel the same, and Zenobia had reason to be worried—but if that was the case, there was no reason to go looking for the man.

Shaking his head, Archimedes tucked the card into his sack and locked the door behind him. If trouble was coming, it would find him soon enough. It always did.

And he always enjoyed the hell out of it.

* * *

His visit to the silversmith’s shop had been even more fruitful than Archimedes had hoped. He returned to the south dock with a light step—no, a light step wasn’t enough. This sort of success called for dancing.

Fortunately, the crowded walk was filled with partners. As he passed a tinker’s cart, Archimedes caught the eye of the attending blacksmith—difficult to do, as she was staring at his lime green breeches. Then her gaze rose to his face and he saw recognition fill her eyes when the pieces fell into place: his loud clothing, his astonishingly handsome features, his dashing grin. Yes, she knew who he was.

Archimedes Fox, Fearless Adventurer.

With great formality, he bowed—and caught the blacksmith around her aproned waist, swinging her about. Her shriek of surprise became a laugh. Her strong hands tightened on his shoulders, her feet quickly finding the step. Heads turned.

He dropped a kiss to her