Free Lady Doctor Wyre by Joely Sue Burkhart

tumbled about her, she stepped out from behind the screen.
    Mr. Gatlin snapped to attention like Madame President had just bellowed an order at him. Mr. Colt had been snooping through some papers on her desk. Blushing at her notice, he turned an alarming shade of puce when he noticed her dishabille.
    She marched toward him and presented her bodice like a prize. “Do make yourself useful, Mr. Colt, and tighten my corset for me.”
    He made a choked sound as though he’d swallowed his own tongue. “Ma’am, I mean, Your Grace, I can’t possibly…”
    “If you do not tighten my corset for me,” she said in a cold, measured voice, “then I cannot wear my best gown. And if I cannot wear my best gown, I shan’t go with you at all.” She gave him a tight, glittering smile. “I would regret your dismissal from the service at Madame President’s disapproval because of your failure to bring me to her soiree simply because you were too modest to assist a lady’s toilette.”
    “For heaven’s sake, man, it’s not that difficult.” Mr. Gatlin surprised her by stepping over and grabbing the laces at her waist, although his hands were trembling. He tugged firmly, while Charlotte used her hands to shape her waist and bosom to her satisfaction. “There. Will that satisfy, Your Grace?”
    She slipped the red silk gown back over her head, slimming and smoothing the dress over her hips. “Not bad, sir. Do you have a lady wife whom you assist at home?”
    Mr. Gatlin blushed and gave her a small bow. “A sister, Your Grace. She had a modest season in York and would sacrifice her first-born child to go to Londonium and be presented to the Queen.”
    “Indeed, that might be required nowadays,” she muttered beneath her breath. She took note of Mr. Colt swaying slightly and sharpened her voice. “Breathe, Marshal, before you pass out in my house and your associates are forced to drag you out by your boots.”

Chapter Seven
    Prowling his cell like a cage, Masters was practically frothing at the mouth.
    Seated on the floor as though he were a pasha, Sig chuckled. “I suppose you haven’t had many opportunities to survey this side of a cell, have you, Sheriff?”
    Masters gave each bar an experimental shake to see if he could bust out. “Where are they transporting us?”
    “The jail in York wasn’t secure enough for desperate criminals like us.” Sig laughed at the disgruntled look on the man’s face. “Why, you’ve fallen into the company of a hardened criminal. Your reputation will never be the same.”
    “You’re the famed assassin, so why the hell don’t you kill your way out of here?”
    “I will.” Sig dropped his head back against the metal hull. It hummed against his skull, but he could tell neither how fast they traveled nor the direction, but he suspected they were flying in the opposite direction they were taking Charlie. The buzzing joy he felt in his body decreased with every passing moment, confirming that fear. “When it’s time.” At the other man’s frustrated curse, he continued, “We have no idea how many marshals they assigned to us. There’s no need to go on a killing spree until I know whether I must eliminate five or five hundred. The technique is different.”
    Masters turned his head and pinned Sig in a hard glare. “Are you telling me you’d kill five hundred men? At once?”
    “If I had to get through them to her, most definitely. I’d rip them apart one by one with my bare hands.”
    The sheriff grunted and threw himself down against Sig with a disgusted sigh. “Truth be told, I would too.”
    “And that is why we have a problem.” Sig closed his eyes. “I told her she ought to marry you.”
    The man beside him twitched with surprise. “I thought you came to take her off Americus.”
    “I did.” He twisted his mouth into something he hoped was wry self-depreciation and not misery. “She won’t go.”
    “Did you ask her?”
    “Not in so many words. I didn’t have