Read Online The Aviator by Morgan Karpiel - Free Book Online Page A

are. Stay—”
    The polished doors splintered in front of her, broken in a blast of gunshots. Screaming erupted from the hallway, cries for mercy and cracks of pistol fire, the fierce shouting of foreigners.
    Gilda stumbled back, smelling blood thick in the air.
    The brass knobs jolted again.
    Nathan’s voice rang in her heart. Go. Run!
    Turning, she headed for the balcony.
    The door broke open behind her.
    She sprinted over broken glass, bunching her skirt as she leapt over the fractured railing and dropped through a cloud of ash. She hit the lawn, dress boots first, and staggered through soft flowerbeds, her skirt ripping on the border of rose branches.
    Destruction reigned in the glaring firelight, the waterfront now a hellish nightmare of roaring flames and shouting voices. The shrill cry of a horse sounded at the edge of the lawn.
    Another pistol exploded from the balcony.
    She looked up to see a man leaping over the railing to follow her. Clenching her teeth, she bolted across the grass in panic.
    Her pursuer was on top of her in seconds, pushing her to the ground. She kicked him, screaming, but he grabbed onto her neck, sliding a curved blade from his belt. She heard the hiss of his language, a promise of ruthlessness, then a sharp pistol retort.
    The man fell back, his body slumping to one side.
    Gilda blinked, feeling blood wet on her cheek, on her neck. She wiped it off with trembling fingers, crying softly.
    “Are you hurt?” the Duke of Sutton appeared on a horse behind her. “Not yours, is it?”
    She startled as a great volley of pistol fire unloaded in the mansion, crackling shots followed by screaming.
    “Steady,” he said, stepping down from the saddle. “That would be our team, clearing them out and securing the mansion.”
    “I—” She found her voice through gasping breaths, trembling, but strong enough. “I appreciate your timing, your grace.”
    “Are you hurt?”
    “Hurt?”
    “More shaken, perhaps.” He came close, still balancing the pistol in one hand. His gaze moved quickly over her neck, her dress. “Heard your screaming. Lovely sound, given what trouble I’ve had finding you.”
    “There was a man behind the doors. I…”
    He grimaced, taking her hand and drawing her into a warm embrace against the soft plum velvet of his jacket, holding her until the crippling panic eased. “There, there, now, we are still breathing, are we not?”
    “Or we have gone to God together.”
    “Not I, dear girl. Clouds and choirs are someone else’s real estate.” He pulled back, his gaze warm, smudges of blood on his collar and sleeves.
    “The Sultans?”
    “They had a good plan. We lost five, perhaps six, dirigibles to explosive devices, but I think we’ve saved the other three that were moored, as well as the five that were approaching. We were able to signal them with the lighthouse at the last minute to keep them away.”
    “But—you knew? All of this?”
    “Precious little. We caught one of them with the information we had, and he produced a confession, but with only moments to spare, too little time to thwart them all. The station has been damaged, surely, but not as much as they intended. Having found you still breathing, I dare to say it might have gone far worse for us.”
    “Explosives?”
    “Hidden in the airframes.”
    She stared at him, fighting the cold return of fear. “Hidden in the moored airships. Only these here.”
    “Not only those. They had agents on two of the dirigibles that departed. We have to assume, at this point, that they are lost.”
    “Nathan?”
    He hesitated. “I’m afraid so.”
    She stared at him, not comprehending it. “He couldn’t.”
    The Duke said nothing, but his silence was the loudest thing she had ever heard. Gilda looked past him, focusing on the burning docks, chaos and murder too staggering to grasp. Her eyes stung.
    “I can’t accept that,” she whispered.
    “My dear,” the Duke said softly. “You are the strongest person I