Flavia's Flying Corset

Chapter One

Flavia Winters settled her skirts, adjusted her corset more comfortably and walked out of reality into a dream late one Thursday afternoon.

Of course it could also be a nightmare—but that was yet to be decided. Her intention to visit the isolated lair of Dr. Harland Gennaro didn’t exactly provide an accurate measurement of whether the experience would be good or bad.

The surroundings, however, were definitely leaning toward the good side. She’d seen nobody up to this point and that was fine with her. The aerial tramway ride over the turbulent waters of the north Devon bay was quite delightful even though the cables swung slightly in the increasing wind. A part of her mind wondered how he’d managed to produce cables so thin and yet so strong, capable of supporting the iron and glass bubble with its luxurious seating as it ferried guests from the small cliff-top station house over to Roman Rock.

The other part of her mind simply relished the magnificence of the mansion resting atop the stark foundations, surrounded by the swirls of seagulls and the twinkling diamonds of spume shattering against the immovable and ageless little island.

There was enough sunlight left to dance from the myriad of tiny mullioned windows in the turrets, to reflect itself cheerfully from the roof of the conservatory and to cast a warm glow over the entire building. From this perspective, thought Flavia as she traveled in comfort toward her destination, Roman Rock could have been a fairytale palace emerging from the briny deep.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, since Flavia had grown up with the ocean and the rooftops of Roman Rock clearly visible from her windows. She could remember sitting curled up in the embrasure of her bedroom, wrapped in a blanket, wondering if spells were being cast beneath flickering candles. If Merlin was stirring a cauldron, summoned to work with Professor Adalfieri Gennaro, renowned scientist and father of Harland Gennaro. If Harland himself was helping—he was six years older than Flavia so it was a possibility.

How she’d envied him the chance to work alongside his father. She had been itching to work alongside hers, but it had taken a few years to convince him she was adept enough to touch anything, let alone create some experiments of her own.

It had been just after her sixteenth birthday—

No. This was today and she had a purpose for being here in Harlan’s home. An important purpose. She would not be distracted by thoughts of what had transpired on that fateful birthday of hers. That was in the past and this was the present.

The funicular carriage disgorged her at the massive riveted portal just as it swung open in welcome. She heard the tidy click and clang of the little tram tucking itself away in its external closet to await further duties as needed.

Walking inside, she was confronted by a magnificent wall of glass, and answered its inescapable lure, standing in front of it to watch the ocean tumble over itself.

And also noticing for the first time a dark line on the northwest horizon that, coupled with the deep and angry hues of the sunset, boded ill for mariners. She couldn’t recall talk of a storm on the way and it irked her that she’d paid so little attention.

She was spending far too much time thinking of Harland Gennaro and not enough on the matters of import to her current situation.

He must know she was here, in his magnificent great room. The door had closed quietly behind her leaving her in awe—as always—of the incredible view. It had never changed, not since she’d first visited Roman Rock with her father and been entranced by it.

She sighed, realizing her history was more entwined with this mansion and the Gennaro family than she’d have liked. Two scientists, living within close proximity of each other—well, continual discourse and visits were to be expected.

Professor Gennaro had been focusing on a different area of experimentation than her father, but Dr. Howard had enjoyed the companionship, found their conversations stimulating and unhesitatingly brought young Flavia along with him from time to time.

Roman Rock was, to her, a magical place. It probably always would be, especially because the wizard who currently owned it held her most deep and troubling secret.

On her sixteenth birthday—she’d kissed him. And her world had changed forever.



He stood silently in the shadows of the hallway, watching her as she gazed from the window over the ocean. She hadn’t changed all that much in the last ten years. Her fiery hair was arranged in a ladylike twist, but some of those wayward curls had freed themselves to caress her porcelain skin. They flamed in the rays of the sunset, shining and stirring him to restlessness.

As did the rest of her. Womanly curves now filled out the top of her black damask corset and the lace blouse beneath it. The grey jacket nipped inward, delineating the neat waist and flowing out from there over her sober grey skirts. Frilled lace cuffs hid her hands and made them seem even more delicate.

She was in half-mourning, he supposed, for her father. Pity. She needed colors as brilliant as possible, exquisite plumage for a rare and fascinating creature. Her face was half-hidden by the black veil of her modest hat, but her lips were the same. Full and shining, decadently sensual, designed to put immoral ideas into a man’s mind.

The worst thing was that he knew precisely how they felt against his own lips. He could remember how she tasted and the delicious hesitancy she’d overcome when those lips had parted to admit his tongue into her virgin mouth.

He still found it arousing—some nights painfully so. He’d awaken, angry at her for haunting him like this. Even angrier when he’d learned she’d wed another.

He’d hated Frederick Winters, whoever he was, for taking what Harland had intuitively felt belonged to him. And hated himself at his lack of sympathy when the man was killed in a dreadful dirigible crash a scant twelvemonth after the marriage. His first thought was ignoble and callous. Now she’s free.

Even then, he’d not pursued her. He’d not even spoken directly with her for ten years, but their stolen kisses could have happened yesterday for all he’d remembered of them. There had been plenty of other women in his life, plenty of other kisses, other naked limbs, other warm and feminine places granting him temporary surcease.

But something inside him knew they were all just casual interludes. None touched him beneath the surface or left anything but a vaguely pleasant memory in his mind. None lingered on his tongue or drifted into his dreams.

Only Flavia Howard had done that. Flavia Winters as she was now. The widowed Flavia Winters.

When he’d received her request to pay a call on him, he’d managed to suppress the shudder of lust that had darted through him. She had grown up and undoubtedly changed from that fiery and passionate teenager he’d last seen. She was a talented scientist in her own right, and he’d heard she was quite involved in women’s matters, attempting to use the advances her father had made to better the conditions of her sex.

He could respect that—being a scientist himself, devoted to using his talents for the good of mankind. Mostly. Or at least making sure that whatever new machine his fertile mind came up with wouldn’t wipe civilization off the face of the planet. Thus far, civilization continued to hum along, so in that regard he’d achieved a measure of success.

But all of that paled next to the roiling emotions seething in his brain and stimulating his body as he looked at Flavia.

One thought, and one thought only, screamed through his mind and arrowed down to the growing hardness in his groin.

Mine.

He thrust it aside and strolled into the room, his leather-soled boots making no sound on the thick carpet covering the ancient stone floor. Blazing rays filled the area with fire, signaling the dying day and igniting Flavia’s hair beneath her hat.

As if sensing his presence, she half turned toward him. “Hullo, Harland.”

“Hullo, Flavia.” He stood at her side and joined her as she gazed across the blood-red waves. “Beauty is eternal, isn’t it?”

“Possibly.” She shrugged. “It depends on your definition of the word.”

Cool tones—elegantly modulated, her voice filled his senses with heat every bit as fiery as the brilliance flaring across their bodies.

“A perfect rose. A warm night breeze. The whirr of a well-tuned engine. A sunset.” He touched her shoulder. “You.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “Ever the charming gentleman, I see. Rumor didn’t lie. You do have a most distinctive turn of phrase.” She turned fully then, letting him see the ripe up-tilted lips, the hint of a dimple in her cheek. “I’m not surprised your conquests are legion.”

He blinked, dazzled both by her smile and the light. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, Flavia…”

She moved away, putting a little distance between them. “Nothing of import.” She waved the topic aside. “I thank you for allowing me to visit.”

Very much in control of herself, thought Harland. Perhaps too much. But he’d let it go for now and follow her lead. “It is my pleasure.” He recollected himself. “And my condolences on the loss of your father. A delightful man as well as a talented scientist.”

Her expression dimmed for a moment and she dipped her head. “Thank you. He is much missed.”

“And your husband too. Sustaining two such tragedies—it must have been very difficult.”

“Yes.” She took a breath, the lace over her bosom rising in an inviting way. “He is also missed, of course.”

“But not so much?” Harland could have kicked himself the instant the words were out of his mouth. But they’d come from someplace other than his brain. Some sixth sense perhaps, deep in his heart, telling him that she mourned her father profoundly. But not the man she’d married. He spoke again. “My apologies. That was uncalled for, and I have no wish to revive sad memories.”

He gestured to a chair. “If you’d care to be seated and tell me why you’re here?”

Without a flicker of acknowledgment for his previous inappropriate comment, she arranged her skirts gracefully and sat in one of the two large chairs facing the window. He noticed the sky darkening, the onrushing line of angry clouds blotting out the dying sun.

“We are going to need some light, I think.” He strolled from one large lamp to another and turned them on, proud of the glowing light that filtered through precisely ground prisms to create a gentle illumination of rainbows. He’d worked several weeks on getting the process just right.

“How lovely.” She smiled briefly at the result. “Gas and prisms produce such a lovely spectrum. I’ve not seen any quite like these.”

He stroked the twin globes with a possessive touch. “My own design.”

“How did you manage to compensate for the heat of the flame?”

Her question caught him off-guard. He’d been so busy appreciating her as a woman he’d almost forgotten her scientific expertise. He acknowledged it now with an approving nod. “It was a problem, I will confess. But if you look closely, you’ll see a series of small vents ringing the finial. There’s a miniature fan incorporated in the design. It’s driven by the heat it serves to dissipate.”

She studied the nearest lamp with focused intensity then turned to him with an expression of delight. “How brilliant. Simple but effective.”

“Most of my designs are.”

She straightened in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “A most laudable goal. Simplicity is often overlooked by science these days.”

Harland itched to rattle that composure. It was starting to irritate him, grate against the surprising level of attraction he was experiencing. “Now. About your visit…?” He let the question hang in the air.

“My purpose is twofold.” She licked her lips.

Nervous? Perhaps. Whatever it was, that slight movement, that glimpse of her tongue and the sheen left behind on that roseate mouth—it wasn’t doing a damn thing to settle his wits. Or his arousal.

“First, I wished to personally tender my appreciation for your kindness in remembering my father upon his passing.”

Harland nodded. He’d sent a suitable expression of his sympathy. A card, a wreath and a small gift—a fan from a top Italian designer. In black, of course. “I was saddened to be unable to attend his funeral, but I was still abroad and couldn’t return in time.”

“Nonetheless, it was kind and unexpected and I’m most grateful.”

“You said your visit had a twofold purpose.”

“Yes.” She swallowed, her throat moving sensuously.

“And the second would be…” He utterly would not think about kissing her throat or how the pearly skin would feel beneath his tongue.

“I crave a favor.” Her grey eyes turned to his face, tiny sparkles of reflected rainbows through her veil.

“Name it.”

“May I see your laboratory?”