The St. Valentine’s Gala

The glass-domed conservatory of the Aetherium Hall was a masterpiece of romantic architecture. Thousands of rose-tinted aether-lamps hung from the wrought-iron rafters, casting a warm, blushing glow over the elite of high society. The St. Valentine’s Inventors' Gala was in full swing, the air filled with the gentle melodies of a steam-powered string quartet.

The grand doors opened, and a hush fell over the room.

Lord Gideon Vane had finally attended a social function.

He looked magnificent in a sharply tailored, midnight-blue tailcoat with silver accents. He walked with a slight, elegant cane—a temporary necessity as his side finished healing—but his posture was perfectly straight, and his gray eyes held a warmth that the city's gossips had never seen before.

But it was the woman on his arm that truly silenced the crowd.

Dr. Livia Graves wore a gown of deep, rich crimson silk that cascaded around her like liquid fire. The hem of the dress was scandalously, deliberately slit high on her right side, proudly displaying her newly forged prosthetic leg. Gideon had spent the last three weeks building it for her himself. It was a masterpiece of polished rose-gold and intricate brass filigree, a work of art rather than a piece of machinery.

She walked with a smooth, confident grace, her arm looped securely through Gideon's. She didn't feel like a grease-stained mechanic anymore. She felt like a queen.

"They're staring," Livia whispered, leaning close to Gideon’s ear.

"Let them," Gideon murmured back, a fiercely proud smile on his lips. "They are looking at the woman who holds my heart. They should be in awe."

He led her onto the center of the polished marble dance floor. The quartet shifted seamlessly into a sweeping, romantic waltz. Gideon dropped his cane, wrapping his arm firmly around Livia’s waist, and pulled her flush against him.

They moved together flawlessly. There was no hesitation, no distance. They were two broken pieces that had been perfectly, seamlessly welded together.

As Gideon spun her, Livia caught sight of the long, lavishly decorated buffet table at the edge of the conservatory. A collective gasp rose from a group of Countesses.

Peeking out from beneath the silk tablecloth were six glowing blue lights. Spark and his siblings, who Gideon had absolutely insisted on smuggling into the Gala via a velvet-lined crate, had escaped. Spark currently had a whole roasted pheasant in his clockwork jaws and was joyfully dragging it under a table, hotly pursued by a frantic footman.

Livia threw her head back and laughed, a bright, joyous sound that rang out over the music.

Gideon chuckled, spinning her back into his arms and pulling her close. "I suppose I should go wrangle our children before they cause an international incident."

"Let the footmen handle it," Livia smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking deep into his eyes. "Right now, My Lord, I believe you owe me a dance."

Gideon smiled, leaning down to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss beneath the rose-tinted lights. "For the rest of my life, Livia. For the rest of my life."