Free His Clockwork Canary by Beth Ciotta Page A

knowledge and the technology
     that, according to the Book of Mods, steered mankind toward the brink of destruction.
     New Worlders. Liberals. Utopians. Knowledge is power.”
    “Indeed. And knowing what ‘could be,’ they choose an alternate path, using technology
     only for good. Or so they profess.” A staunch Flatliner, Bingham cared only about
     what futuristic knowledge could do for him. As far as he was concerned, this assassination
     was long overdue. The sooner Her Majesty Queen Victoria bit the dust, the sooner his
     rise to global industry kingpin. Stacking the odds in his favor, Bingham had set his
     sights on personally traveling into the future in order to garner progressive ideas
     beyond the scope of the Book of Mods or the elusive and legendary Aquarian Cosmology
     Compendium. If
any
one had a whit of information regarding time travel, logically and historically it
     would be a Darcy.
    Bingham fell back on the bed, bored with Renee, who struck him this moment as little
     more than a voluptuous encyclopedia. Of course she couldn’t understand the magnitude
     of his handiwork. Exhausting civil measures, he’d employed drastic tactics, establishing
     himself as the anonymous benefactor of the Race for Royal Rejuvenation. Unbeknownst
     to the Jubilee Science Committee, they’d aided Bingham in pushing Lord Ashford’s offspring,
     as well as multitudes of other adventurous and greedy souls, into action. True, any
     number of people could possess vital knowledge pertaining to the outlawed time machine,
     particularly an original Peace Rebel. Although most of the PRs were dead or in hiding,
     he’d employed Mod Trackers to sniff out the whereabouts of Professor Maximus Merriweather—a
     twentieth-century physicist and cosmologist and the most qualified contender. As for
     the Darcys, Bingham had eyes and ears everywhere. Including Wilhelmina Goodenough.
    He smiled as confidence and arrogance pumped through his blood, fueling a fantasy
     and the swelling of his shaft.
    Rolling on top of Renee, he pinned the automaton’s hands above her head. “You serve
     me well, number two.” He entered her swiftly, and looking into her vacant eyes wondered
     what it would be like peering into the kaleidoscope eyes of Miss Goodenough. He imagined
     and indulged most vigorously.

C HAPTER 6
    T HE F LYING S COTSMAN E N ROUTE TO E DINBURGH, S COTLAND
    It was the longest journey of his life.
    Simon had left the compartment several times. To shake off his anger. To shake off
     his lust. Although he would bet his prized drafting tools that his traveling companion
     was a woman, and though he suspected she was someone with whom he had already been
     intimate . . . he could not force his attentions. She had to make the first move,
     or at least a slip. Even an unintentional invitation would be better than no invitation
     at all.
    All this angst over a kiss. And yes, this moment, a kiss was what he craved above
     all else. A craving more intense than any sexual desire he’d experienced in the last
     several years.
    It boggled the mind. Boggled the mind and vexed his patience. Yet whilst pacing the
     connected corridors of the train, it occurred to Simon that he was not alone in his
     suffering. His companion had also excused herself, frequently escaping to the primitive
     yet functional public loo. Either she had a minuscule bladder or she too needed space
     to clear her head and cool her desires. There was no mistaking her sexual interest,
     even though she tried to hide it. If the Canary was experiencing even a modicum of
     Simon’s discomfort, he would be a happy man. A spectacularly delirious man. The solution
     to his dilemma was suddenly clear. The more miserable her mood, the happier his.
    He reentered the compartment, surprised to find her wearing dark-tinted spectacles
     and fumbling with the yo-yo she’d purchased from Thimblethumper. “A little late in
     the evening for sunshades,” he remarked whilst closing