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The Wild Adventure of Jasper Renn
Kady Cross
After surviving a triumph-turned-tragedy in New York City, Jasper is determined to secure a happier future with his gifted band of friends. So when the group’s mechanical genius Emily is abducted, he’ll plunge into England’s darkest places to rescue her….But his old flame Wildcat is turning London town upside down to find her missing sister, and Jasper finds the attraction between himself and the fierce beauty as tempting and dangerous as ever. Their trail leads deep into the city’s most unusual circus. Soon, Jasper will find his loyalties— and future—tested more than he could ever imagine….And don’t miss Jasper’s continuing exploits in The Girl with the Iron Touch by Kady Cross available now
In this companion novella to The Girl with the Iron Touch, American cowboy Jasper Renn finds himself in a situation his lightning-fast skills cannot rescue him from...
After surviving a triumph-turned-tragedy in New York City, Jasper is determined to secure a happier future with his gifted band of friends. So when the group’s mechanical genius Emily is abducted, he’ll plunge into England’s darkest places to rescue her....
But his old flame Wildcat is turning London town upside down to find her missing sister, and Jasper finds the attraction between himself and the fierce beauty as tempting and dangerous as ever. Their trail leads deep into the city’s most unusual circus. Soon, Jasper will find his loyalties—and future—tested more than he could ever imagine....
And don’t miss Jasper’s continuing exploits in The Girl with the Iron Touch by Kady Cross, available now from Mira Ink.
The Wild Adventure
of Jasper Renn
Kady Cross
www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)
Contents
Chapter One (#ude4abd91-02e3-5c61-8a32-dc5bf0f86e6c)
Chapter Two (#u11392f21-e4a2-5fb0-b00b-87ab1c0e7c30)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Wildcat McGuire thought of herself as something of a city girl, but as the dirigible she was on drifted toward the Hyde Park landing bay, Cat realized that Manhattan, where she’d grown up, was just an island. When New York was founded by the Dutch in 1624, London was already almost sixteen centuries old.
London was the biggest city she’d ever seen—sprawling out for miles. And the buildings! New York had its share of awe-inspiring buildings—towering ones—but London had so many! Some of them looked downright ancient.
The smells and sounds of the city rose to greet her as she stood on the deck, leather coat wrapped around her to keep the chill of the wind from seeping into her bones. Some of the smells and sounds were pleasant, others were not. That was something London and New York had in common—perfumed opulence piled on top of slums and stench.
But the most important thing about London at the moment was that her sister was here. Somewhere. And so was Jasper Renn, the gorgeous cad who had walked out on her twice. She might still have tender feelings for him—which made her hate him all the more—but she would never trust him with her heart ever again. With her life, yes, but not with anything that mattered.
Closer and closer to the ground the airship drifted. Its timbers creaked in the wind, sails flapping. A bell sounded, signaling their approach to port. Cat had her pack at her feet, ready to jump ship as soon as possible. Sparrow had a week’s lead on her, and she didn’t want to lose even more time. She just wanted to find her sister and take her someplace safe. Five Points was no longer that place, since it had been bought up and was about to be destroyed. She would find a new home for them, of that she had no doubt.
It was going on twilight, with the threat of rain, but that didn’t stop spectators from gathering in Hyde Park to watch the dirigibles land. Tarnation, she was going to be forced to depart in that slow-moving line just like everyone else. Jumping over the side would only draw notice. Usually she could be as patient as the moon, but not today. Not since she realized her sister had run away.
As she set foot on British soil, Cat cast a wary glance around. Either London was an exceptional city or this was the “good” part of it. She had read that Hyde Park was in the hoity part of town, and now she could see for herself. This large expanse of greenery was just as fancy, or fancier, than Central Park. The richies must despise having such a bustling center of travel so close to their mansions. Still, air travel was expensive, and those of the lower classes couldn’t afford it.
Cat was one of the few exceptions to that rule. She wasn’t poor anymore, but she’d been born into that dismal world, she and her sister. After Abe Lincoln abolished slavery, her grandparents had gathered up the children they still had and headed north. Her mother had been fairly young at the time, but she had scars from a whip on her back all the same. Her father had been born on a farm in Ireland, only to come to New York and live in the slums, where the air stank of poverty and ignorance.
But Seamus McGuire had been a fighter, and he made good money fighting. Her mother, Bess, knew how to sew, and she’d made beautiful clothes. It was enough to elevate them from Five Points—but not much. When her father was killed during a fight when she was twelve, Cat had known she’d need to take care of her mother and sister. She’d used her unusual talents and physical differences to steal, fight, run...whatever was needed. It wasn’t long before she had her own gang.
She’d turned leadership over to Mick before leaving Manhattan. She was done with crime. She’d lost her taste for it around the time Jasper Renn had strolled back into her neighborhood.
Speaking of neighborhoods...good grief. She hadn’t been paying attention as she walked, and she now found herself on the street outside the park. The traffic was similar to New York, with many fine gentlemen and ladies passing by in gorgeous carriages—both steam driven and horse drawn. Beautiful buildings lined the streets, some of them hundreds of years old, others more modern in their appearance. It was noisy, and smelled strange, but it was very, very grand.
“Be needin’ a cab, miss?”
Cat turned her head. Beside her stood a young man with carrot-red hair and bright blue eyes. If his coloring didn’t give him away as Irish, his speech would have for certain. His expression changed when he saw her face. Saw her skin.
“Aye,” she replied, falling easily into her father’s accent. “I would.”
The boy hesitated, then grinned, all teeth and freckles. He’d been all set to distrust her because of how she looked, but her voice won him over. Prejudice was such a strange thing.
The boy let loose a shrill whistle that immediately brought a black cab hauled by an automaton horse to the curb. The “animal” was flat black with gleaming brass. Intricately carved swirls decorated the black parts, making it a true work of art. A real craftsman had made this beast.
Her ginger friend took her pack and set it inside the coach before holding the door for her. She handed him a shilling for his help.
“Where to, miss?” he asked.
“The Continental,” she replied just before he closed the door and relayed the address to the driver. It was a new hotel. Upscale, but she could afford it. It was close to Mayfair, which was what made it all the more desirable. Mayfair wasn’t just the neighborhood where Jasper lived, but where she believed her sister now resided, as well.
She saw two women with skin like hers as the carriage pulled up to her hotel. One had to be the other’s mother. She had the arm of a handsome blond man, who also had the arm of the younger girl. People looked at them, but not with the same degree of surprise or disgust as she sometimes saw in America. Slavery had been abolished here half a century before the States finally put an end to it. She wasn’t naive enough to think that everyone in London would treat her in a manner that had nothing to do with her skin, but she hoped it wouldn’t be held against her. That sort of thing made her angry, and when she was angry she had a tendency to hit people. The only person who made her feel as though they were truly equals was Jasper, damn his eyes.
Cat paid her driver, slung her pack over her shoulder and walked into the hotel. No one paid much attention to her. There were many people coming and going, of all shapes, sizes and colors, and all of them seemed far too busy to concern themselves with a tall girl whose clothes were a little wrinkled, but clean, and whose hair was pinned up under a wide-brimmed hat.
She approached the desk and gave her name. An Asian man who was shorter and thinner than her took a punch card from a slot on the wall and asked her to follow him. He led her across the marble-floored foyer with its Grecian statues, automaton shoe-shine station and young girl trying to sell leaflets on things to do while in London. He led her into the lift, closed the iron outer gate and then the inner brass cage. He inserted a punch card in the slot and then dialed the floor number on the wheel beside it. He didn’t speak, which was fine by her.
The lift stopped at the sixth floor. Her escort opened the gates and led her to a door that had the number 606 etched on a shiny brass placard. He opened the door and held it for her. As she crossed the threshold he offered her the punch card. “Your key. May I be of any other service to you, miss?”
“No,” she said. “Thank you very much.” She tipped him a shilling. He didn’t seem insulted, so she relaxed a bit.
He gave her a stiff bow. “Enjoy your stay.” And then he left her alone in the most opulent room she’d ever seen.
A huge bed sat in the middle of the back wall, draped in beautiful gold brocade that matched the drapes. The carpet was a rich cream, plush and soft beneath her feet when she kicked off her boots. All the furniture was oak and polished to a high shine. There was even a tiny water closet that she didn’t have to share with anyone else.
“Sweetness,” she whispered with a grin. She splashed water on her face, repinned her unruly hair, smoothed some of the wrinkles out of her clothes and then stepped back into her boots, put on her hat and slipped her punch card into the satchel she wore across her body.
She’d gotten the address of the house on Hertford Street from a friend of her sister’s, a foolish little thing who didn’t know why Cat was so upset. After all, Sparrow had only run away with the man she loved.
A man who was at least twice the girl’s age, a gambler and a heavy drinker. A man Sparrow hadn’t bothered to introduce to her big sister, which meant the stupid girl knew she shouldn’t run off with him. The girl had more impulsiveness than sense. From what Cat had seen, that was often the case with baby sisters, having been doted upon and spoiled by the rest of the family. There’d be no more of that. Once she found her sister and dragged her home, things were going to change.
She marched straight up the drive of the dauntingly grand mansion, up the steps to the front door, grabbed the pull-cord and gave it a sharp yank. She could hear the bell ring inside the house. A few moments later, the door opened, and a sturdy old man with a bald head and a bushy mustache gave her a narrow look.
“Deliveries and servants use the back entrance.” He shoved the door toward her.
Cat stuck her foot in—ouch!—to prevent him from shutting the heavy slab in her face. He was lucky she didn’t make him eat it. Answerin’ some swell’s door didn’t make him better than her. “I’m not deliverin’ and I’m not a servant. I’m here for Sparrow McGuire.”
The butler froze, what little color he had draining from his face. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sparrow. McGuire. Beautiful girl. Skin like mine. She came here from New York City with Lord Charles Berkley, Viscount Canton—or whatever you call him.”
“My dear girl, I’m afraid you are mistaken. There is no one here named after a bird, and no one here named—”
“Dunich, who was that at the— Oh.” Charles Berkley stopped in the middle of the hall and stared at her. He was tall and lean and handsome, for an Englishman. Unfortunately for him, he wouldn’t be the latter for long.
Cat pushed the old man out of her way. He was sturdy, but she was strong and had rage on her side. She stepped over the threshold with determination, stalking toward the viscount like a lion about to pounce.
“Where is she?” she demanded, taking off her glasses.
To his credit, Berkley didn’t even try to lie to her. He just whirled around and ran.
She often had that effect on people.
Tucking her glasses into her jacket pocket, Cat gave chase. She was a fast runner—even faster when she adjusted herself enough to run on all fours, but this made for a longer chase, which was often very enjoyable to the freak side of her nature.
Cat didn’t know why she was the way she was, though Jasper reckoned she’d “evolved,” like him and his friends. All she knew for certain was that she was different and she liked it, even though wearing dark spectacles all the time was a bit of a nuisance, but her slitted eyes made folks uncomfortable.
Berkley was lean, but he wasn’t terribly fit. Cat caught him at the top of the stairs—actually two from the top, but who was counting? The viscount tripped over his own feet and went sprawling to the dark blue carpet. Cat immediately pounced, positioning herself so that while not on him, she certainly had him caged.
She smelled him, mouth partially open. It was weird, but she could taste certain things on the air, such as fear. It had both smell and taste, and Berkley was definitely afraid, given the sour essence coming off him.
“Don’t hurt me,” he pleaded.
Cat hissed at him. She preferred hissing to growling because it better showcased her fangs. “Where’s my sister? And if you lose control of your bladder I’m going to slice off your eyebrows.” She held up one finger, topped by a wickedly curved claw, just to point a finer point—no pun intended—on the threat.
“I don’t know.” He actually whimpered. “I swear to heaven I do not know!”
“You brought her back here with you.”
“Yes, but not to my house.” She must have had some reaction to his statement because he began stammering to correct it. “I mean, I put Sparrow up in her own house, with her own servants. I gave her everything she could want, but she disappeared. I thought she robbed—er, went back to New York.”
So Sparrow was in the wind. She believed the viscount because his fear of her was genuine. Also, there was only the slightest trace of her sister’s scent left in the house.
“She doesn’t care about material things,” she informed Berkley. “And I wager she didn’t take a thing with her that you hadn’t given her outright. She loved you, you know. She thought you loved her.”
“I did. I do!”
Cat stood up. “Not enough to marry her, though.”
“Marry her?” He looked aghast as he pushed himself into a sitting position on the stairs. “I couldn’t marry her. I have to marry a woman of my station—it’s what’s expected of me.”
She stared at him. How could she have thought people were different here?
“My little sister is out there alone in a big city because you’re an arse. You’d better hope I find her safe and healthy, because if I don’t, I’ll be coming back for a little chat.”
Berkley turned even paler. God, he was practically a ghost. Cat sneered at him before hopping on the banister and riding it down to the floor. She jumped off with her usual grace and strode toward the door. The butler actually held it open for her. She mocked him with a flourish of a bow before stepping out into the evening.
Where the devil had her sister gone, and how was she ever going to find her when she was unfamiliar with the land? She was an excellent tracker, but this was going to be like trying to find a particular piece of hay in an entire stack. She knew absolutely nothing about this city or the people who lived in it. But she knew someone who did. Jasper Renn, who she’d sworn never to speak to again.
Damn.
Chapter Two
Jasper Renn was soaked in so much sweat his clothes clung to him like a second skin. He’d used his talent for moving incredibly fast to run around England—literally—and had returned to King House only seconds earlier. His body mercifully tired, he hauled himself upstairs to his room, shut the door and began undressing as he walked into the small, attached private bathing chamber.
He turned the taps in the tub until the water gushing from them was the right temperature, and then threw the lever that forced the stream to come out the shower attachment. Naked, he climbed in, letting the hot water rinse away the sweat and stink and uselessness he felt.
Miss Emily, darling of a girl, was lost. Taken. He’d just searched the entire country for a clue to her whereabouts and found nothing. Nothing. She couldn’t have dropped off the face of the earth, which just left the uncomfortable realization that he’d missed something.
But then, missing something seemed to be a talent of his, as well. He had missed that Mei, the girl he once loved with all his heart, was not who he thought she was. And he’d missed the fact that she loved someone else. In the end, he’d missed being able to save her, as well.
He didn’t blame Griffin for her death, not really. Griffin hadn’t known that his abilities would trap Mei in a wall, crushing her. Mostly Jasper blamed himself for not being able to stop her before she died. He blamed himself that she had fallen in with Reno Dalton. He blamed himself for a lot of things. He had more regrets than a man of eighteen should be carrying on his shoulders.
He couldn’t save Mei. Couldn’t find Emmy. And he couldn’t forget Cat. When he’d first gotten involved with Wildcat a couple years ago, he’d still been half in love with Mei. He’d told himself Cat was only having fun—like he was. When it came to lying to himself, he was plumb brilliant. The second time—he’d stopped by New York on his way back from San Fran a little while ago—he’d known it wasn’t just meaningless fun for either of them, but he’d still left. In fact, he couldn’t have run away fast enough. The joke was on him, though. He’d run away and thoughts of her followed him. Haunted him.
If Jasper regretted Mei, then he...well, he couldn’t think of an adequate word to describe the depth of his remorse where Cat was concerned, but it was deep. The bottomless kind. It had to be, because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was fine, of course. That girl would always come out on top. He could write to her, but what would he say? That he was sorry, but he just couldn’t get involved with another girl who lived on the wrong side of the law? It made him sound like a pansy. And New York held too many painful memories for him to ever entertain living there. Besides, if Dalton ever got out of jail, he might come looking for revenge, and London would be a lot more difficult for him to get to, especially since Griffin had connections with the local port authorities.
No, London was where his life was now. Where his friends were. Where he wanted to be, even though it was sometimes painful to look Griffin in the eye, still ashamed of involving his friends in that mess. They had traveled all the way to Manhattan—at great expense—to bring him home, and learned all about his shady past in the process. Finley had even infiltrated Dalton’s gang and risked her own life to save him.
How could he ever begin to repay that kind of debt?
Tarnation, but he was tired of thinking about this stuff. Finally feeling clean, he turned the taps and dried off with a soft towel, which he then secured around his waist. He just wanted to go to sleep and wake up someone different.
Or at least have something to wake up for. It was maudlin, but a little happiness didn’t seem too much to ask.
Barefoot, he walked into his room, rubbing his hand in his hair to make the waves dry faster. He had just taken three steps in when he froze. Jasmine. Sunshine. He knew that scent. His heart slammed against the inside wall of his chest. His mouth dried up like the Nevada desert.
“Hey, Jas.”
That voice. He closed his eyes. Was this a joke? Had he finally lost his ever-loving mind? Now he was imagining her there—smelling her, even!
But that tingle between his shoulder blades—that was real. That sensation of knowing that if someone had a knife to bury in your back you’d be dying at that very moment. Very slowly, he turned, his hand instinctively going to his hip.
“You gonna shoot me with a towel?” There was mockery in that husky tone. “Or you got something under there I should know about?”
Jasper forced his shoulders to relax. Forced himself to relax. “Cat. What the blue blazes are you doing in London?” How had he managed to sound so calm and collected? She was in his bedroom—and he remembered things they’d done in hers—sitting there with dust on her boots, as if she owned the place. She’d removed her hat, and all her hair, that glorious riot of corkscrew curls, fell over her shoulders.
She had the best hair.
Gracefully, she rose out of the chair and walked toward him. Instinctively, he placed his hands in front of his privates, because she had the look of a woman intent on damaging a man. “Why, Jasper. I came to see you, of course.”
Were that but true. His heart reacted as though it was gospel and not a honeyed lie just to torment him. “The only way you’d come to see me is if I was hanging by a noose.” He knew it was true, because he had hurt her, and Cat was one of those women you could fight with, curse and wish to the very devil, and she’d still come back. But hurt her...
