Clockwork Captive Read Online Free PDF Page B

Teagarden’s just before eight. When the proprietress brought him to Celeste’s room, hopefully no more than ten minutes after he’d set the magnet, her clockwork medallion should have stopped and they could leave out the trapdoor to the roof as soon as everyone was busy in the rooms around them. Since, according to Jonathan, the magnet ought to keep its strong assisted charge for four hours or more, they had plenty of time if anything went wrong.
    He wondered if any of the other whores would notice. When the chimes didn’t go off that would be a clue. Hopefully Mrs. Teagarden and her guards wouldn’t be near any of the women at the time. While he wished he could help everyone, Celeste was his focus.
    He ate the steaming hot fish and potatoes slowly, savoring each bite, wondering if this was his last night of solitude. Would Celeste want to stay with him in his rooms? Then again, did she have anywhere else to go? If she’d had friends, surely they could have rescued her from her father’s scheme before it happened. After three years of imprisonment, she’d have lost contact with anyone who might know her.
    He felt his cock hardening in his trousers as his brain unfailingly detailed all the many things they could do together late at night in privacy. How could he help her to forget except by erasing those memories of her customers with the love they made together? But did she have the kind of affection a woman had for a man with him, or did she simply remember their childhood days fondly? Only time would tell.
    He stared at the wall, wondering if she was on the other side, getting ready for the night. Of course, her room was much closer to the front of the house. If he’d been able to get the room on the other side of the wall from hers, he might have been able to make the magnet work from here, but then he also risked someone being able to get to it easily and disconnect it. The roof was safer.
    He wiped his hands on the edge of the sheet of newsprint his meal had come in when he was finished and wished he’d bought more. A full belly might make climbing more difficult, though. A church bell rang a couple of blocks over, alerting him that it was seven o’clock in the evening.
    “Might as well get started,” he said aloud, flattening the newsprint and unrolling his bundle. He set the jar and the magnet on the paper, then put the cloak to one side while he reviewed his task.
    Ten minutes later he crept down the hall, hearing sounds behind doors as families settled in for the evening. He pulled the rope hanging from the trapdoor at the end of the hall and reached for the steps, lowering them as quietly as possible. After one last glance to ensure no one was watching, he went up the steps and pulled them in behind him so the trapdoor closed.
    Now he was in a dark attic, holding his newsprint-wrapped bundle tightly against his chest. The window he wanted faced the back of the house. Walking carefully through the darkness, he found the window, located the latch by touch, and opened it. Rain hit his face immediately.
    He sighed. No one said rescuing childhood friends from brothels came easily. He tucked his equipment into his shirt, so that it rested securely against his belt and abdomen, then climbed onto the window sill, leaned out of the space and grasped the edge of the roof. Just above his head, he could easily lever himself up to the slates once he turned to face the house, though they were slippery.
    A moment later he found himself splayed over the vee in the roof on the edge of his stomach so he didn’t damage the Bunsen cell. He put his hand on the crown of his bowler hat and pushed it tightly on his head, hoping the rain would run off it onto the roof and not him. Then, clutching his shirt, he slid boot heels first, down the shallow slope to the gutter marking the part where Mrs. Teagarden’s establishment began.
    When he reached it, he chuckled. If not for the rain this would be a fun lark. On hands and