CamillasConsequences Read Free Page B

passion. We will wed upon your return. So I boarded the airship and headed to the Dark Continent a second time. However, my absence allowed Samson to pursue passions of his own, one in particular named Delphine Delamore.
    When I discovered his betrayal, I was most unforgiving. So my collection of curiosities began with Samson Thackeray, inventor of the Panoptoscope. How ironic that Samson’s own creation should become the source of his downfall.
    My glass curio cabinet stands in a shadowy corner of my bedchamber. Instead of knickknacks, figurines and baubles, I keep Panoptographs of my conquests. The third and smallest key fits in the cabinet’s lock. I turn the key and the door swings open on well-oiled hinges.
    All the men I have hunted since Samson’s betrayal are here. These are my trophies, the source of my power, a collection of pictures that documents their transgressions. Minister Gordon Kincaid, who betrayed his wife in favor of young girls. Dashiell Mortensen, the celebrated actor, who pummeled prostitutes with his fists and paid the Scotland Yard constables to look the other way. Baron Laurence McDermott, who impregnated his orphaned niece when she was fifteen years old. There are many more. Which one of them might have sent the letter?
    Or is it someone else entirely?
    What of Darmond Fitzwellington, my most uncooperative prey to date? I have not yet finished with him, so his picture is not on display. He is a shipping merchant whose fleet sails from England to the Americas and onward to India and China. He travels extensively, and when I heard rumors that he fornicated with women in several ports while his wife waited patiently for him at home, I immediately set out to prove the veracity of the information. After spending a week in my villa in Marseilles, I captured his escapades with two French can-can girls.
    Did Fitzwellington write the letter? Possibly.
    I recall his cold gaze, ruddy cheeks, his shiny, bald pate and ridiculously twirled mustache. He is the type of man who slips to the back of one’s mind, for there is nothing whatsoever memorable about him save for his arrogance and stubbornness.
    Carefully, I place the threatening letter on the top shelf next to the Panoptograph of Samson and Delphine. Each time I look at the image of their nude embrace, it fuels my desire to continue my mission to protect women from further betrayal. Regardless of the letter and how it has shaken me, I must carry on with my work. I slide my fingers along the cabinet’s glass panels, stopping at an empty space on the bottom shelf.
    Soon, Lord Aldridge, you will be here as well.
    * * * * *
    Derrenger, dressed in his felt hat, waistcoat and gray trousers, harnesses the Equine beast machine for my afternoon jaunt to London. He works quickly, whistling a cheerful tune, his movements fluid and experienced despite his youth. When I ride into the city with Derrenger, young women of every social status pause to admire his honey-colored hair and confident smile. Many of the servant girls would swoon at his feet if he asked to court them.
    The Equine is eerie, as it lacks the metal plates that cover the Canine, and the internal workings are clearly visible, including the clockwork heart and the twin miniaturized steam engines that resemble lungs.
    Devlin rushes to the beast’s head and runs his hand along the complex network of wires and metal parts. “It’s a beauty, miss!”
    “My Equine is the first to be manufactured for sale to the public. Until now, only the owner of Beast Machines Incorporated has had functioning Equines.”
    The mechanized horse’s mane and tail are fashioned from wrought iron, and its eyes are shining copper orbs. I stroke the curving line of its neck, and the head bobs up and down in response.
    Devlin stares at the massive iron hooves. “How does it compare to a real horse?” he asks my coachman.
    “Better!” Derrenger adjusts the harness across the Equine’s back. “Never gets tired. Never