Chapter 3

It did not take long for Rebecca to find out about the fire on Savile Row. Chatsworth, despite her cousin's opinion of him, kept well informed of everything that happened that could be remotely threatening. The details of the fire came to him only an hour after Rebecca reached Whitehall to tackle the mound of reports she had been tasked with. By the time she was halfway through, Sir Jonathan's plans were complete and ready to present to the senior agent he would task them with.

Entering Chatsworth's office behind his new secretary, Rebecca did not have time to take the chair. Chatsworth was on his feet with a folder in hand, ready to present it to her as she stepped into the room.

"Miss Fogg, there has been a fire at your cousin's residence. A rather suspicious fire."

"Phileas's home?"

"No, Jessica's townhouse," Chatsworth corrected. "She is not in residence, but her brother-in-law and Phileas were there. Fogg suffered some injuries, but he is expected to recover. The fire was part of an assassination attempt on Jessica. They somehow missed the fact that she was out of town. They will know that by now, and I expect they will find out where she is in short order. It is no secret Lord MacAlister invited her in Argyll. I want you to go to Scotland and see she is protected."

"How do you know all this?"

"My dear Miss Fogg, your cousin took off to Shillingworth Magna to help Phileas as though she were an active agent," Chatsworth said. "That is normal behavior with your family, but other less informed factions may not realize Foggs jump into dangerous situations as a matter of course. I have had Jessica watched ever since she came back to London, and a good thing I did. I put a watch on Phileas's house for the same reason when Agent Warrant escaped."

"Now," the spymaster said, "if you leave now, you might catch Fogg before he has the Aurora aloft. No doubt he will come to the same conclusions I have and will head to Scotland. If not, you can tell him the Aurora is required for your travel."

At the end of his dialog, Chatsworth watched with great satisfaction as Rebecca stared at him in disbelief. He dropped the file in her hands and physically turned Rebecca to the door. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

A small smile curled his lips as she scurried off. Chatsworth privately admitted there had been many missteps in the past, but he had finally gained a firm handle on his job. It had not helped me that from the beginning I had a traitor passing information off my very desk. He remembered finding that out with a shudder. His former secretary was dead now, and Sir Jonathan had cleaned house. He had become fully the master of the service. Proving it to arrogant Foggs by catching them flatfooted… Oh, that was his greatest pleasure.

Phileas was taken aback by Chatsworth's unexpected show of competence, too. "Wonders never cease," He said, eyebrows rising.

Passepartout described to Rebecca the chemical reaction Fogg had been so close to once they were in the air. "The water hitting pure sodium causing heat, releasing hydrogen gas into air in kitchen. As the hydrogen building up, it ignited great explosion in air. Explosion, breaking up brass vase; It would have killed master if he were standing."

"What caused all the small burn blisters?" Rebecca said.

"Molten sodium," Passepartout said. "On the floor, he was protected from the flying brass, but helpless against molten sodium and sodium hydroxide sparks flying about the kitchen. The smoke, powdered soda lye, floating in air, causing eye irritation. The short exposure he and Eli Parker had, causing both fuzzy vision. That will go away."

Rebecca accepted the explanation, but couldn't get over his close call. She went to his room, finding him awake. His condition broke her heart.

"You should have stayed in London," Rebecca said as she set the pillow behind his back in a better position.

Phileas's cabin bed was narrow, so she sat on a chair beside it. He had been ordered to rest until reaching Scotland, which he wasn't fighting, which proved he was in poor condition. His hands were bandaged, and his face still looked red and irritated. Rebecca had brought him another ice-filled cloth. The chill helped dull the stinging.

The minor burns on his legs she could not see, and Fogg was not about to tell her about them. Phileas was smothering under her care as it was. He did not understand it exactly. She had seen him in worse condition.

"At least this time I am not bleeding," Fogg had said, trying to calm her.

"You were nearly killed, Phileas." Rebecca shot back, losing her patience. "You could have been blinded. I have never heard of anything so vicious as this air bomb Passepartout described. And in a vase of funeral lilies, no less." She growled deep in her throat as she straightened his blankets. When she patted his lap Fogg stiffened, winced at the pain from burns she touched.

Rebecca heard his sharp intake of breath and looked up to see the pain in his face before Phileas could mask it. "What? More?"

"Rebecca!" He snapped, holding his blanket against her effort to uncover him. "I am quite all right. You need not go on so. Some of the sparks burned through my clothing," he explained tightly. "It is nothing, will heal within a week."

Rebecca held her end of the blanket tight, not quite believing him. Phileas saw the possibility of a tug of war. He set his expression to a stony, irrevocable NO!

Rebecca relented. She knew Phileas did not like being fussed over, but…

She exploded. "Damn it, Phileas! You could have been killed! This was no mission for queen and country, or in protecting me, just pure, vicious Prussian spite! When I get my hands on Warrant–"

Phileas reached out to take her fisted hands in his. She was shaking. She was so upset. They ended up in each other's arms in a tight, comforting embrace.

The next thing that happened, neither cousin expected. As Rebecca recovered control, she raised herself up. Instead of returning to her chair, she came down over him again and kissed Phileas on the mouth.

Then the room tipped.

Rebecca did not know if it had been Passepartout's piloting or Phileas's doing, but she came off her feet, landing beside him on the bed, hanging off the edge. Trapped against Phileas's large warm body and falling to the floor, she held tight as his arms wrapped around her. Rebecca only had time to take in the way Phileas's eyes darkened to a deeper shade of green before his head came closer, returning her kiss with one a hundred times sweeter and more satisfying than anything she could have hoped for.

Sometime later, Phileas helped brace Rebecca until she was back on her feet. They were both flushed, shocked and completely unrepentant. If he had not been covered with blister burns, Phileas would not have let her up, but the moment had to be let to pass. Besides, the day bed would be too narrow and he did not want to rush through what would come.

"Later," he promised.

"Yes," she said in answering promise. "Later."