Kisses Like a Devil Read online

  “Now we consider those created by French genius.” The grand duke made their representative a little bow, which was returned with a flourish.

  “The greatest cannons in the world,” the Frenchman agreed smugly and accepted a fizzing glass of champagne. “As you will all soon agree, even if you only see one of our guns.”

  “Oh, I assure you we have a complete battery,” the old arms merchant purred, deadly as a hissing snake. “Gentlemen, in the scenario Count Sazonov chose, two attacking forces must break through a strongly defended position, marked by those two clumps of oak trees.”

  “Where?” queried the German sharply, shading his eyes from the sun.

  “Below my headquarters, just above the lake.” Grand Duke Rudolph was definitely enjoying himself.

  Brian pulled out his binoculars and found the very healthy groves, filled with massive tree trunks and great branches which could block out the sky. Then he started looking for the cannons aimed at it.

  Nothing. At least nobody standing around big lumps of metal, although he did find four interesting notches etched into a pasture a few miles away.

  “Are you ready to begin, gentlemen? Very well.” The grand duke fired a signal pistol, sending a puff of red smoke soaring into the brilliant sky.

  An instant later, hundreds of men charged forward across the open valley floor from the headquarters, heading toward the first oak grove—and closely followed by a team of eight horses towing a heavy gun. With it came three other well-trained teams, all towing similar heavy guns.

  All of the infantrymen were shooting rapidly at the man-shaped targets below the trees. They were moving across open ground, with nothing to hide them from snipers hidden in the trees or in the tall grass or along riverbanks. Smoke drifted into the air but offered little camouflage compared to the massive clouds from black powder.

  “Get down, you fools, get down,” Brian found himself muttering. Mother of God, how many men had been killed at Las Guasimas in the first few seconds without ever seeing the Spaniards?

  The teams wheeled into position and came to a stop, placing their guns pointing at the oaks. Five men sprang down from each team’s horses and went to work, heaving and shoving until the unwieldy steel rested precisely on each notch.

  Gareth had his stopwatch out beside Brian.

  A moment later, the first round appeared from its portable storehouse and disappeared into the breech.

  Boom! Boom! BOOM! BOOM!!!

  The artillery battery simultaneously fired its guns, shaking the ground beneath Brian’s feet. Tree branches shattered and slowly fell to the ground. The acrid scent of cordite drifted through the air, mixed with a vagrant sweetness.

  Well done! Damn, if he’d only had one of those in that hellish Cuban jungle!

  The infantrymen continued to charge, their bullets slowly cutting apart the silhouettes before them.

  The guns fired again a few seconds later, far faster than anything Brian had seen before. His fingers tightened, urging the soldiers forward against their inanimate opponents.

  The bullets blurred into an explosively drilling sound, like an immense factory, punctuated by the deeper boom of the cannons. It beat through the ground, drumming against his feet and rattling the wineglasses.

  Eventually the infantrymen shouted and punched through the targets’ blasted remains, the cannons falling silent in their wake. They trotted into the shattered grove and carefully wended their way through the knee-deep chaos of collapsed branches and shredded leaves.

  Brian was cheering, too. He snatched up a magnum of champagne to help toast the French observer, who was clasping his hands over his head in a victory salute.

  The delighted warriors returned, every man waving a shredded bough over his head as a token of victory. The gunners ran forward to meet them and they embraced in the sunlight, their weapons’ smoke disappearing like a bad dream.

  Even the German attaché shook the Frenchman’s hand.

  Meredith straightened her jacket, tugging the sturdy wool down past her hips. Tonight he’d hold her close and they’d laugh together about this challenge.

  There was barely a breeze, although dark clouds were starting to build over the peaks.

  Grand Duke Rudolph said something under his breath to Zorndorf, which made the brute flush and stop watching Meredith.

  Gareth checked his stopwatch. “Six shots per minute.”

  “Too damn fast.”

  “For my government’s peace of mind, yes, especially when it’s sending twelve pounds of high explosive at you.”

  “Its maximum range is actually six miles, not four,” Meredith contributed under her breath.

  How long would it take an army to march the same distance—two hours or so? Too far to just see it across a battlefield and grab it, should it become annoying. Oh hell.

  The French observer was enjoying the crowd’s acclaim, although he kept frowning at the complete artillery unit below. Washington had warned Brian they were secret guns, guarded by French police day and night, unavailable for sale even to France’s allies. What was the grand duke leading up to?

  “Gentlemen, the second half of this scenario will be conducted with the cannons emplaced inside the blockhouse,” he announced in his most blandly imperious manner.

  “What?” “Impossible!” “I must see the guns!” The observers erupted into a storm of protest, like children standing outside a candy store.

  Meredith’s mouth tightened but she remained silent.

  Who among them would enjoy that sweet treat? The blockhouse was less than a mile away but only somebody inside it would know what was going on—like Sazonov. Damn, damn, damn.

  “Today you will see what the Eisengau 155mm can do, gentlemen,” Grand Duke Rudolph purred, gleefully holding all the cards.

  “Ridiculous! Our view is completely blocked. We could only see your guns if we were on the lake,” the German observer snarled.

  “We can talk later if you wish to know more.” The aristocratic jerk studied Brian, ignoring the shrill demands to immediately see his latest offering.

  Brian tilted his head then rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together, using the traditional sign for money.

  Grand Duke Rudolph smirked and twirled his mustache.

  Oh hell, what wasn’t for sale in this blasted country?

  Meredith, Brian’s heart answered.

  “Gentlemen, earmuffs are available from the servants.”

  Meredith the unflappable was putting on a pair now?

  “Why would we need them when the guns are hidden behind stone walls?” somebody complained.

  No one from Eisengau answered him. Meredith gave a soft command, which sent Morro under the refreshment table built into the balcony, the sturdiest and quietest place nearby.

  Brian acquired a pair for himself and offered another to Gareth. Cuba had taught him to take advantage of little things—like mosquito netting—if he wanted to live, not only the big, fancy ones.

  A minute later, the grand duke fired his signal pistol again. Another wave of men roared out from behind his headquarters, charging at a new set of man-shaped targets in front of the second oak grove. They fired their rifles just as rapidly as the first group, the noise blurring into a distant staccato behind the earmuffs.

  Gareth was counting down on his stopwatch, while Meredith edged away from the blockhouse. Brian caught and held her hand and she flashed a tight smile at him.

  KERBOOM!!!

  The sound blasted Brian in the face and roared upward through his bones from the ground, like a giant fist slamming into him. Wineglasses rattled and fell over. Somebody shouted in surprise.

  Meredith staggered and Brian quickly wrapped his arms around her. Dammit, he’d learned how to cope with shockwaves in silver mines when he was a kid. He could protect her.

  Far across the valley, the top of a giant oak slowly toppled and fell. It was a damn sight bigger than anything the French 75 had managed to destroy. A muscle in Bria
n’s cheek jerked.

  KERBOOM!!! The German observer grabbed for the railing, almost knocking down the junior delegate from France. The observers clapped their hands over their ears, or grabbed something, anything, for support. Somebody was yelling in delight.

  The battery fired its second enormous volley. An ancient oak tree lost half of its side and slowly started to fall. The third volley toppled another oak tree and tore open the ground.

  KERBOOM!!! KERBOOM!!! KERBOOM!!!

  Brian’s body rattled against his bones. The acrid scent washed over him, drenching his eyes and his throat like a victory tide.

  He could have won Cuba in an hour with these. Hip, hip, hurrah!

  The infantrymen’s celebration was more emphatic this time, held at the edge of the giant crater where the oak grove had once existed. All that remained of them was kindling. The soldiers’ leader clambered down into the pit and started to hunt for a branch larger than his rifle.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, if Sazonov had guns like that, what couldn’t he conquer? Alaska would be a cakewalk.

  Chapter Nine

  The road back to Schloss Belvedere, the ducal palace, was full of open carriages and chattering foreigners.

  Meredith leaned her head back against Brian’s shoulder, grateful beyond words her lover had demanded a phaeton and chosen to drive it himself. She needed his warmth, the stretch and sweep of his muscles, his scent to overcome her usual melancholy after a demonstration. Dear God, to lose all those trees at once had made her stomach churn.

  Morro drowsed at their feet, the cannonades’ racket having left him exhausted enough to accept a rare carriage ride.

  Even from its relative privacy at the back of the pack, she could hear the others’ noisy plotting to gain an audience with Grand Duke Rudolph. The river frothing beside the road couldn’t completely drown them out.

  “Just pay him in cash, you fools,” she muttered.

  “What do you mean?” Brian asked.

  She flushed slightly at being overheard but answered him honestly. “Our neighbors up ahead should know by now that all Grand Duke Rudolph cares about are power and money. They can’t give him more power within Eisengau but they can give him—”

  “Cash.”

  “Precisely.” She couldn’t help sitting up, alert and eager to talk to somebody who actually listened to her answers.

  “Is that last gun—the Eisengau 155—the one Sazonov wants?” Brian asked quietly, his fingers long and competent on the reins.

  “Yes, of course.”

  And America would want it, too. Even Brian’s powerful father might pull strings on his country’s behalf.

  They crossed another bridge across the river, the horses’ hooves striking dully instead of ringing sharply. The waters had risen so high recently they’d eliminated much of the usual airspace under the arch, cutting back any musical resonance.

  Brian’s jaw was set, turning his usually charming expression into the deadly warrior she’d glimpsed at the beer house. “How big are the shells for the 155?”

  She hesitated, glancing uneasily at the carriages ahead of them. Foreign observers had to pay well for such information on each Eisengau weapon they were interested in and Grand Duke Rudolph had mentioned none of it yet.

  But she’d promised to answer all his questions. Grand Duke Rudolph would surely be paid by everyone else to provide full details before day’s end.

  Brian promptly slowed the horses, opening up the distance between them and the others.

  “Ninety-five pounds to the French 75’s twelve pounds.” She kept her voice very low and didn’t look at the far mountains, where scudding winds hurled black clouds against the peaks.

  Brian whistled softly. “One of those could destroy a small house. Or a lot of men, if you loaded it with shrapnel.”

  “It was test fired with shrapnel at sausages. The pictures are very impressive. And disgusting.” Dear God, how she’d hated filing the test results, especially when Zorndorf was complaining about how much he’d have preferred to use live pigs.

  “I’ll bet,” Brian muttered.

  Her head whipped around and she stared at him. Warmth touched her heart and she tentatively slipped her fingers into his coat pocket.

  Clouds could build up without sending rain. Or instead deliver only a few drops that would quickly soak into the ground.

  Don’t think about that. It was easier to talk about man-made objects causing destruction.

  “It can command a very large amount of territory, too, because of its unusual ability to lift and swivel the gun barrel. Altogether more than eighty square miles per gun.”

  “Jesus.” He crossed himself. “And their maximum range is?”

  “Ten miles.” She glanced at him, gauging the impact.

  “A half day’s march for an army?” A muscle jerked in his cheek. “Hell, it almost makes every other weapon, even rifles, obsolete. It’s a goddamn super-weapon and everyone will have to own one.”

  “Starting with Sazonov and Russia’s plans for Alaska.” And Canada.

  “Yes, starting with that son of a bitch, pardon my language.”

  She forgave him easily. May she never again witness the pure hunger on Sazonov’s face when he’d held that rifle—and Brian was helpless, his own gun jammed. Brian probably hadn’t noticed because he was working too hard to extricate himself. But Meredith could still see every detail of Sazonov’s expression—the glittering eyes, the curling lip, the tightness of his fingers, the slow turn toward Brian—only to stop when the grand duke shouted a warning.

  She’d been so cold, she was shaking so hard she couldn’t form words.

  That loss of attention to the match was why Sazonov hadn’t won by more shots.

  The road whipped around a corner, exposing the steep slope down to the lake and the mountains beyond.

  “It’s also why the workers’ party needs the plans,” she added, seeing spirals of smoke rise from the blockhouse to join the low-hanging clouds. Inside it, men risked losing their hands—and their livelihoods—just to keep the trains running quickly to suit the grand duke’s convenience. “Every country will crawl to Eisengau. Those plans are the only lever which could make him change their lives for the better.”

  Brian pulled the horses to an abrupt stop and turned to face her. “Do you honestly think that strategy will work?” he demanded.

  “He paid a thousand marks for a mountain gun’s model and this is far more important.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as somebody who’d pay blackmail.”

  “Brian, we have to try and this is the only lever we have. I’ve gone to the foundry every week to watch these guns being made for the past three years. Do you know how many men I’ve seen burned to death?”

  “Sweet Jesus, Meredith, how could they make you go through that?” A ferocious light appeared in his eyes and he covered her hands with one of his. She leaned toward him, hopeful that somebody finally understood the horrors that drove her. Then he spoke again.

  “But every foundry has its dangers, Meredith.”

  She could have screamed. Was his family that callous?

  Her struggle to speak calmly to the one man who at least conversed with her blinded her to the lightning flashing across the valley. “Have you seen men killed simply because they were exhausted from working seven days a week, every week?”

  “No, but—”

  She’d seen that overly patient look before on people’s faces just before they walked away from Eisengau’s workers. At least he was still talking to her, however patronizingly.

  “Or worse, left crippled and begging in the streets from injuries which could have been mended if they’d been seen by a doctor.”

  “Meredith, you don’t have to solve everyone else’s problems.”

  “But I have to do everything I can.” She glared back at him, equally adamant.

  CRACK! Thunder boomed overhead, underlining their impasse. The horses reared, bugled in alarm, and bolted.


  Storm? Thunderstorm—and Brian hadn’t been watching his team? Meredith grabbed for the front rail, her heart pounding in her ears. If Brian lost control, they could overturn. Or roll down the mountainside. Or, worst of all, go into the river.

  More thunder rumbled across the skies, even closer this time. It was raining, too.

  Odd: Her knuckles were white and she was leaning against Brian, his big body warm and solid against her. They must be skidding through a downhill turn.

  BOOM! The heavens slammed open overhead, hurling sizzling green light onto the road ahead.

  Morro yelped and his claws scrabbled.

  Must save Morro. Must. Save. Morro.

  She leaned down and grabbed his collar, never leaving the comfort of Brian’s side. Morro steadied and settled, nestled between two pairs of human boots.

  Lightning cracked again, followed by thunder roaring like the ancient gods’ artillery.

  Her lungs were too tight and her pulse was racing. What had her old nanny taught her about breathing during a storm?

  Brian braced his feet against the dash and pulled back hard, forcing the horses to slow down.

  BOOM!

  The team tried to leap forward again.

  They had to get off the mountain and under cover, not just for her sake but for the horses and Morro. And Brian.

  Where were they? She pushed her hat’s feathers’ sodden wreckage out of her eyes. Narrow bridge next to beech trees, steep drop beside waterfall—for God’s sake, don’t look at that—pasture on left side.

  The thunder and lightning were almost happening together, sending the horses into a frenzy.

  She craned her neck, looking for that low stone wall. “There, Brian! At the end of the wall, turn right.”

  She sensed, more than saw him nod. Thank God he didn’t need to question her. There wasn’t time for such frivolity.

  He brought the frantic team hard around the stone wall’s edge—and under a low-hanging roof, sheltered from the storm on three sides by more stone walls. Moments later, the horses were barely fretting, soothed by the dim light and quiet in their new enclosure.

  Meredith reminded herself yet again that modern women didn’t die in mountain storms and took her face out of her hands.