First Chapter Excerpt From Heather Massey’s A Tale of Two Thieves (A Villainous Affair #1)
Coming April 30, 2021, to online ebook venues: A Villainous Affair, a sensational steampunk romance saga about villains and heroes, rich and poor, science and justice, and the breathtaking power of love.
Isn’t the cover gorgeous? We have illustrator Elizabeth Peiró to thank for her stunning cover art in this series.
A Villainous Affair spans four exciting volumes.
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The tale begins with an unlikely pair of thieves who cross paths on one fateful day in a poverty-stricken metropolis….
Once upon a time in Victorian London, lowborn thief Ruby Darling rescues Nathan Harlow, a gentleman fugitive inventor on the run from his murderous uncle. Nathan must prevent his groundbreaking aether device from falling into the wrong hands, while Ruby craves wide-scale social reform to help the country’s destitute people. To ensure mutual success, they strike a deal—her protection in exchange for his technical wizardry to achieve her goal of conquering England.
But Ruby has one condition—their partnership will end as soon as they overthrow the Crown. With millions of lives at stake, she can’t let friendship or romance derail her mission. Nathan agrees even though he's already hopelessly in love with her. A new identity will help shield him from the authorities, so he proposes a fake marriage. Impressed by his sensible idea, she agrees.
Ruby is dirt poor, so first they need to amass a fortune and build a criminal empire. Meanwhile, the League of Vigilance—a citizen anti-crime force led by the intrepid, poleaxe-wielding Eleanor Marson—is on the hunt to capture Nathan and return him to his uncle's evil clutches.
The stage is set for a thrilling adventure as Ruby and Nathan Darling embark on a fantastical journey to gain unrivaled power in the underworld and beyond. Yet navigating their unconventional relationship proves just as challenging as their wildly ambitious mission, with many treacherous waters ahead of them.
And now, please enjoy the first chapter from book one, A Tale of Two Thieves:
Nathan ran for his life, only seconds ahead of the attack dog snapping at his heels.
Trees and bushes whipped by him in a blur as he raced away from the Hall of Science. Dense black smoke rose from the grand building, and fire licked at several of the windows. Shouts indicated the guards chasing him were closing in fast. He glanced over his shoulder. Five, though it seemed more like a hundred.
His satchel bounced wildly at his side. Time was of the essence lest his latest invention fall into the wrong hands. If luck delivered him to the front gate in a timely manner, he could lose his pursuers among the city streets.
The dog’s jaw clamped onto his left ankle. Searing pain exploded in his foot as he slammed onto the ground.
Dust billowed everywhere while he attempted to wrench free of his growling nemesis. He kicked out with his other foot. Landed a solid blow on the dog’s snout, to no avail. Panic tightened his chest and clouded his vision. Those fangs would sink into his throat next if he failed to escape. He lashed out again, this time hitting its eye. With a yelp, the dog released him. Nathan scrambled to his feet and took flight before it could recover.
Hot, white agony flared from his wound, but it was nothing compared to what the guards would do if they caught him. He shot forward, grunting through the pain while furiously pumping his arms.
Ahead of him loomed the wrought iron gates of the main entrance. The high fence surrounding the grounds had been seeded with spring-loaded spikes and other deadly security measures, so scaling it would be impossible. Not that he was any good at climbing. The gates currently lay open but would not remain so for long.
With a gulp of breath, he increased his speed.
A crowd of affluently dressed white people milled about the entrance, gaping at the smoke. Behind him, a cacophony of barks and guards shouting warnings. His choice of path was clear.
“Make room!” he bellowed, plunging straight into the crowd. A few people moved aside, but he clipped the shoulders of several others.
“Oy!” One of the male onlookers grabbed his arm. “I say, where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Nathan yanked his arm free. “None of your damn business!”
He cut left and sprinted down the street, hoping to put as many miles as possible between himself and his pursuers.
The afternoon sun baked his hatless head as he dodged pedestrians and carriages. There hadn’t been time to don suitable attire. Laboratory explosions, especially ones preceded by threat of death, tended to dictate one’s priorities—namely, survival. However, so long as he had his precious invention, nothing else mattered.
He barreled forward, grateful for even the smallest advantage his long legs gave him. He cut across private lawns and leaped over low bushes in a residential area of stucco mansions populated by aristocrats and industrialists. Gardeners pulling weeds and cutting grass glanced up in surprise as he sailed past them.
A painful stitch grew in his side. Nathan had never run like this before. In fact, he could not remember the last time he’d run at all.
The attack dogs barked up a storm, sounding perilously close. Ignoring the stares of curious passersby, he streaked across Fitzroy Square as though the Devil himself was in pursuit.
Pound, pound, pound.
He headed east, intending to leave Fitzrovia and escape to literally anywhere else in London. The more he ran, the more the landscape around him changed. Homes gave way to businesses, shops, and clubs. Huffing steamcoaches spewed exhaust from their vents as they rumbled through the streets. Everyone around him went about their usual business, blissfully unaware of the life and death situation in their midst.
His foot ached as if someone had injected it with nails. In the shadow of an alley, he paused to lean against a building for respite. Fought to control his noisy exhalations lest those blasted dogs hear him. If they could scent the blood dripping from his shoe, he was doomed.
He ran his grimy hand over his sweaty face. How had his life arrived at this tragic moment? His uncle’s recent betrayal had been shocking in its ferocity. If his parents had known about Christopher Harlow’s ultimate intention, they would never have allowed Nathan to be his apprentice in the first place. Then again, as the founder of the National Council of Science and Automation, his uncle headed England’s premier group of scientists. Who would have thought Christopher possessed such a nefarious motive?
Bitterness filled Nathan’s heart. In the space of an hour, he had gone from a lifetime of research, experiments, and inventing to being the target of attempted murder.
Now he was a fugitive as well. Of paramount importance was finding a safe place to hide. Hailing a cab would leave a trail of potential witnesses, so no luck there. His parents’ home was also out of the question since it would be one of the first places his uncle’s guards would search. As one of the most powerful men in Britain, Christopher wielded enormous influence. Nathan couldn’t count on anyone he knew for protection—and certainly not the police.
He strained his ears. No sound of dogs. He may have lost his pursuers, but best to keep moving.
He pushed off from the wall. Hobbling quickly, he blended into the street crowd, or tried to. Because of his uncommon tallness, he rose a head or more above everyone else. He hunched down, not caring if he looked absurd.
A mechanical horse, a technological wonder only affordable to the wealthy, puffed steam from its nostrils as it pulled an ornate gold and white carriage. The closed curtains concealed its passengers. In other parts of the thoroughfare, flesh and blood equines dragged wagons filled to the brim with crates, sacks, and trunks.
Citizens bustled here, there, and everywhere. He didn’t recognize the area, but it had the markings of a business district. A storefront bearing the name “James Harbud - Clockmaker” displayed an intriguing array of clocks. Several doors down, he passed a toolmaker’s shop. Then an egg merchant’s domain. In fact, he encountered a cornucopia of trades, from cabinetmakers to corn chandlers to bricklayers. All well and good for a day of running errands, but this was no ordinary day.
He wouldn’t know ordinary again until he was safe from his murderous uncle.
As he crossed the street, a vast shadow covered the area, accompanied by a whug-whug-whug sound. A steam-powered airship appeared, a Giffard model whose bright blue envelope topped a silver-colored gondola. The freight ship was emblazoned with the name Silver Wing. It puttered through the air at the speed of molasses.
With his latest invention, he could build an airship more powerful than anything in existence. His device could also tip the balance of power on a global scale, which was doubtless why Christopher had been so determined to steal it.
Nathan banged hard into something solid. The next thing he knew, half a dozen boxes littered the ground near his feet. He snapped his attention back to his surroundings.
The owner of the boxes glared. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Begging your pardon.” He extended a helping hand, but the brown-skinned man shoved him away.
“Don’t need any more help from you, bean pole, so bugger off!”
Though the insult smarted, he was glad of the chance to resume his escape. After giving the satchel strap a quick tug, he continued down the street. His weakened foot forced him to proceed with a limp. How much blood loss could he sustain before succumbing to his injury?
Furtive glances from passers-by swept over his disheveled state. Dusty and sweat-soaked, he was the very definition of slovenly. Grass and dirt stains covered his trousers, which were now torn in several places. His shoe was a bloody mess. He probably stank as much as the dung covered streets.
No matter. He would rather be alive and dirty than dead and clean.
Weariness sapped at his every limb. He had to locate shelter before he collapsed from exhaustion in the middle of a busy road. Unfortunately, nothing looked familiar. Though London was a mecca of culture and science full of diverse peoples, businesses, and architectural achievements, it was also sprawling, loud, and filthy. Given the demands of his work, he rarely traveled through the city. Even then, he had done so in the cocoon of his uncle’s steamcoach. He would often bring something to read or tinker with instead of engaging in practical habits such as memorizing the city’s layout.
He consulted his pocket watch. Blast! Sunset was mere hours away. In addition to a sanctuary, he needed a change of clothes, a thorough wash, medical attention, and food. So much to do and so little time.
A chill ran through him. Wandering the streets all night was a terrifying prospect, and that wasn’t even counting footpads and the other dangers that lurked among the city’s endless maze of buildings and dark alleys. Even if he had a weapon with which to defend himself, he lacked the skill to use it. He quickened his pace.
Travelling by foot was a pure slog. The billowing dust had reduced his mouth to a patch of scorched earth. At the Hall of Science, staff made drinks to order any hour of the night or day. He’d give anything for a chilled glass of extra-sweet lemonade. Alas, now he was utterly dependent on the kindness of strangers, and most likely none of them had cold drinks to spare.
At the next corner, he propped his hand against a wooden wall. Beads of perspiration dripped down his face. His damp shirt stuck uncomfortably against his skin. This was an unpleasant sweating, far beyond a productive day in the laboratory. He grimaced, not convinced he had the endurance for much more of this chase. He pressed his other hand against his heaving chest. Or the lung capacity.
And where in blazes could he hide? He didn’t even have enough coin for a tavern room. How exactly did one go about soliciting asylum in a city full of strangers? He envisioned a series of doors slamming in his face to the tune of a death knell.
A fresh round of barks filled the air. He turned. The guards and their dogs were barreling straight toward him. Confound them!
He sprinted away, only to trip on a jagged cobblestone. His injured foot gave out and he fell. Pain ricocheted through his knees. For a moment, all he could do was groan in protest.
Yet being torn apart by vicious dogs would hurt a thousand times more. Gritting his teeth, he surged to his feet and kept running. He wove through the pedestrians, ignoring their protests as he elbowed them aside one after another.
“Nathaniel Harlow!” a woman’s voice rang out. “Stop where you are!”
Not bloody likely.
He had to lose his pursuers once and for all—or die a violent death.
The next quarter mile whipped by in a blur as he ran. He took a convoluted route to thwart the guards and their dogs. The stitch in his side pierced him with scalpel-like precision, but he gained a decent lead. He careened around the next corner and then plunged into a dank alley.
Beggars reached out to him with grubby hands. “Please, sir? Please?”
He pressed his satchel closer against his body and hurried onward. Further along, a gaunt-faced Black woman in a tattered shawl held a bundled blanket in her arms. A scrawny cat with unnaturally large eyes lay swaddled within it.
He kept running. Was freedom finally within reach?
The alley’s end appeared. The light grew brighter, indicating another street. Thank Copernicus.
Pushing through his pain, he burst from the alley and turned sharply right, only to slam into a figure heading in the opposite direction. The person arrowed into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
“Bloody hell!” she exclaimed.
They crashed to the ground. His head smacked against a cobblestone. Agony blazed through his skull with the fiery wrath of a thousand suns.
As the worst of it receded, he became aware of the young woman sprawled atop him. Thank goodness he’d broken her fall. Save for their heavy panting, neither of them moved for a few moments. Quite unintentionally, his face was pressed against her neck. Her warm, soft neck.
With a grunt, she anchored her hands against his chest and raised herself up.
Dazed though he was, his breath stuck in his throat upon catching sight of her stunning emerald eyes. Her flushed cheeks added a lively spark to her pale face—and lit his curiosity on fire.
Then his heart sank. What rotten luck. He was a fugitive with an imperative need to escape, which meant this would be the last time he’d ever see her.
Want to know more? Read A Villainous Affair: A Primer. Need a heads-up about specific story elements? Read the Content Warnings.
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