His Clockwork Canary by Beth Ciotta

my father was a failure and featherbrain
     when he was indeed quite brilliant, just unfocused.
His
mind wandered as well. On to the next great idea before perfecting the last. Clearly
     such folly must frustrate or disgust you; otherwise why would you sneer at a good
     man’s efforts?”
    She had not sneered. Dawson had sneered, revising her initial words in order to sell
     more newspapers. Yet, defending herself was not an option. She could not afford to
     expose herself by expressing regret over that article. She could not afford any intimacy
     whatsoever. She braced her spine and sniffed. “I do what I must to survive,” she said
     in a tight voice. “For instance, I am here, with you, on this suspect expedition because
     I was given no choice. Clearly you find my company offensive. Trust me, the feeling
     is mutual.”
    He blinked.
    Willie buttoned her coat. “My time here is ruined.” Staying in character, she regarded
     Simon with irritation whilst adjusting her scarves in anticipation of the cold. “You,
     sir, are a selfish . . . knob. You squandered the power of the Darcy name, focusing
     on your own glory, much like your cousin. I cannot believe I have been saddled with
     touting the adventure of a Flatliner.” With that, she stood and left the cathedral.
     It was not the confrontation she craved, but it was one of importance. The Simon Darcy
     she had known and loved had evolved into a self-absorbed man. She’d kept tabs on him
     over the years. How could she not? He was a Darcy and, by virtue of his heritage,
     influential in global matters . . . or at least he
could
be. On numerous occasions she’d convinced herself that her obsessive interest in Simon
     was social and political, and not of the amorous nature. She did not appreciate the
     rekindling of her old affections. She did not welcome the physical attraction or the
     feminine quirks he inspired.
    She had spent far too long this morning lingering in a bath. Trying to scrub the ever-present
     ink from her fingers, soaping the grime and scents of the city and the pressroom from
     her person. She’d fussed with her hair in an effort to soften the boyish style. All
     because, for the first time in years, she’d longed to be
pretty
. She’d realized her folly whilst almost forgetting to bind her breasts. She’d been
     set to sabotage her male cover in order to look more appealing, more feminine.
    For
Simon
.
    Fortunately, the insanity had quickly passed and she’d gone out of her way to alter
     her appearance more than ever. In doing so, she had applied too much of the tanning
     agent. Now her face had an orange tint and the creases of her fingers and palms were
     stained. Hence she’d brushed her hair forward and kept her hands busy, balled, or
     gloved. Never had the ruse been so exhausting. Although who was she fooling? Certainly
     not Simon. At the very least he knew she was a woman.
    Just then he appeared at her side and she realized she’d faltered at a lamppost. As
     if she didn’t know which way to turn or where to go. Indeed, she’d been lost in her
     thoughts.
    “Here.” He offered her a pair of gloves. An exquisite set of dark blue wool gloves
     that looked as if they had never been worn.
    “Is this where you slap me and challenge me to a duel for attacking your integrity?”
     she asked with a raised brow.
    “Don’t be absurd. Last night I noticed that your gloves are quite worn, and I happened
     to have an extra pair. Actually, Fletcher packed three spare pair in addition to far
     too many other clothes. I do believe he equates Scotland with the North Pole.”
    “You employ domestics?” she asked, still staring at the gloves. Given his more-than-comfortable
     lodgings, she should not have been surprised that his income allowed him the luxury.
     Still, it only accentuated the social and financial gap between them.
    “One. Fletcher acts in the capacity of valet and cook, although I do not think of
     him as a domestic so