Of silk and steam, p.3
Of Silk and Steam, page 3
Barrons suddenly swore, and Mina looked down sharply to see that the Falcon—far from being unconscious—had grabbed his shirt collar and was striking up with a knife. Barrons turned it, gritting his teeth and using his weight to slam it down into the man’s chest. The Falcon’s breath exhaled…then his hand fell to the ground.
Their eyes met. “He recognized you anyway,” Barrons murmured. “Best this way.”
She nodded slowly.
Light gleamed on a knife in the distance, and Goethe’s body jerked as the assassins started cutting out his heart. Bile rose in her throat. Could she have done anything? It had taken seconds; there was no way she could have crossed the space in that time, and her pistol’s range was limited, but perhaps…
No, there was nothing she could have done. Useless. Just like she’d been when her father was poisoned.
“Found the tattoo. He’s a Falcon. There will be more nearby.” Barrons slipped a knife from the man’s coat and flung it away. The gaslight nearby shattered, plunging them into complete darkness.
“What are you doing? They’ll hear that.”
“Do you honestly believe they’re not aware of us? You were watched from the moment you left that rotunda. They simply don’t consider you a threat at the moment, but I’ll hazard a guess that they’ll have men watching the gates. It’s how they work. They’ll take you when you try to leave.”
“How do we get out, then? I can hardly climb the walls in this.” A twitch of her skirts. She shot a look down the dark lane, her heart leaping into her throat. “They’ve vanished. The body too.”
Barrons looked at her. “Do you trust me?”
“No.” His father would have cut her down without thinking, but Barrons was an enigma. If he were a different man, she would have enjoyed his attentions, but a part of her couldn’t help wondering if his pursuit of her was just a way to get closer, to slip the knife in when she least expected it…
Could she trust that he meant her no harm?
His hand tightened around hers, dark heat sweeping through his irises. He focused on her so intently that she could almost feel it on her skin. “Then let us call a temporary truce for tonight. I shall help you escape. In return…”
“Yes?”
His voice roughened. “I want a kiss.”
A kiss. Tension slid sinuously along her limbs, each muscle clenching. Those motives she could certainly understand. It didn’t mean she had to like them.
Wariness spread through her as he lifted his hand and slowly, carefully brushed the back of his fingers against her lips. She didn’t flinch. Instead she tipped her chin up and glared him down. “Help me escape and I shall grant you such a liberty.” What harm could a single kiss do? “Until then”—she took a step back, her skirts swishing around her ankles—“I’ll thank you to keep your hands to yourself.”
His hand dropped but the ghostly sensation of that touch lingered, reminding her that it had been a long time since she’d been touched in any way intimately, and never like this. Never…soft. Full of gentleness, as if the very sensation of her skin beneath his was a pleasure in itself, not merely a step to greater satisfaction.
He was far more dangerous than she’d ever suspected, and she’d known, since the first moment she’d met him, that he was dangerous indeed. He was the only man who had ever managed to make her feel something.
“Agreed.” Barrons tilted his head in a nod.
“However, there’s something I must do first.”
“Oh?”
“I need that note.” Her heart hammered a little faster. Not because of Barrons. Of course not. If the prince consort got his hands on that note and decoded it, Goethe wouldn’t be the only one who died. She had given in to her queen and delivered the note although she knew how foolish it was. This was as much her fault as the queen’s. All along she’d known how dangerous it was to let one’s emotions hold sway. From now on, let cold, hard reason be her guide.
“A suicide mission,” Barrons said flatly.
“The nail in my coffin if I don’t get it back.”
For a moment she thought he’d refuse. Then his black eyes narrowed, his voice turning soft and smoky. “That is going to cost you considerably more than a kiss.”
A part of her was almost tempted to pay his price… But she hadn’t clawed her way up through the Echelon and held on to her duchy by giving in to her desires. “And the price?”
For a moment she thought his silence was the answer. It let her conjure up all manner of demands. Let her imagine them in explicit, nipple-hardening detail.
“I want to see your breasts,” he said finally.
“I thought you wanted me in your bed.”
“I do. But you will come of your own accord—”
Mina let out a rough laugh. “Never,” she whispered defiantly. “Now come. We’re wasting time.”
He caught her upper arm. “I’ll have your word first. Let’s just say I trust you as much as you trust me.”
“But you trust my word?”
“Once given.”
Damn him. “If you help me retrieve the note, I’ll allow you your intimacies for ten minutes. You will not touch me. Nor will you allow others to see me in such a state.”
“Slight amendment. I believe there should be some touching allowed. Agreed?”
She needed him and he knew it. Though a part of her was tempted to slap the smile off his face. “Agreed,” she replied through clenched teeth.
* * *
Mina played a most excellent damsel in distress.
Sobbing into her hands, she ran through the gardens, crashing directly into a hard chest. Hands came up to steady her.
“What have we here?”
She looked up into the face of a Falcon. There was no mistaking the hard edge in his eyes or the complete lack of empathy there. “Please, sir,” she stammered. “It’s so awful! I saw a man die!”
“Did you now?” His voice roughened, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “That’s a pity—”
Barrons hit him from behind. A slim stiletto to the base of his neck, directly severing a pair of vertebrae. The Falcon went down with a strangled gurgle, his eyes bulging. It was a silent death. No kicking or fighting. Somehow more efficient than anything she’d ever seen before.
Removing his blade, Barrons tucked it back up his sleeve, bending to rifle the man’s pockets. This was the second one they’d killed. His hands patted the fellow’s waistcoat, then paused, coming up with the waxed note. “Is this—” He saw her expression and smiled grimly. “I’ll assume that’s a yes.”
Mina stepped forward, shedding her submissive persona. Her heart thumped into her throat. “Give it to me.”
He yanked it out of reach and stood. “Let’s not be hasty. You promised me a kiss.”
“Now is not the time.” She spared a look around. There was movement nearby.
“No, it’s not. And until that time”—the note vanished into the inner pocket of his coat—“I’ll keep an eye on it.”
“Barrons!”
“Not here.” He grabbed her wrist, dragging her behind a hedge. “I count three men,” he whispered in her ear. “And I’m not quite good enough to handle three. Run, Mina. And don’t argue. I’ll draw them away.”
She hadn’t gotten where she was by foolishness. Mina grabbed her skirts and bolted into the darkness, her slippered feet light on the graveled path. Few had been able to catch her as a girl, and she was no less fleet of foot now.
A stranger materialized out of nowhere. Mina ducked beneath his arm, but some last snatch of his hand caught in her skirts and she found herself ensnared. Arms locked around her chest, and her feet were lifted off the ground. She wasted no time. She cracked her head backward, feeling the impact of his nose at the base of her skull. The man screamed, his arms loosening, and Mina struck with an elbow to the throat, followed by the chop of her hand for good measure as he dropped her. Her pistol sprang into her hand, and she shoved it in his face just as Barrons swung a kick into the back of the bastard’s knee.
The Falcon caught Barrons’s leg as they went down and Mina cursed, jerking her pistol up as both of the men rolled.
“He was mine,” she snapped.
“My apologies.” Barrons grunted as a kick struck him in the thigh.
The Falcon spun, blood streaming from his nose as he whipped Mina’s feet out from beneath her with an ankle. She hit the ground, hearing several scuffling blows, a grunt, and then…silence. Mina rolled to her feet. Barrons was there, bleeding a little, from the scent of it. Their eyes met and Mina felt the rush of hunger as her mouth dampened.
“Thought you had it in hand,” he said with a bland expression.
That roused her ire as she choked back the heat of the hunger, leaving little more than a ragged burn in her throat. No other man ever got beneath her skin like this one. “I thought you were creating a diversion.”
“I tried. They’re not interested in me. It’s your perfume,” he said, stepping closer and offering her a hand. “They’re tracking the scent.”
Some cheap concoction she’d worn to complete her disguise. She could barely smell it anymore, but she knew others would be able to. A blue blood’s senses were too superior, but she’d never expected to be on the run for her life tonight. “You believe the rumors, then? That the prince consort is infecting his Falcons with the craving virus?” A highly illegal act.
“Obviously. I have an idea of how to counteract the scent, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
She didn’t trust the sudden gleam in his eyes, but she was hardly a fool. “Do your worst.”
Barrons smiled.
Half a minute later, she was shivering from the cold, her mouth opening in shock as water rose over her breasts to her chin. It filled her petticoats, sinking her farther and causing a sudden surge of panic to rise. Clamping her teeth together, Mina dug her fingers into the brickwork under the bridge and drove her whole body beneath the water of the canal.
The bridge above her blocked out even the moon, plunging her into darkness. Slowly she let herself float up, breaking the surface inch by silent inch as she listened.
Barrons had disappeared over the bridge with her dress, leading the perfumed scent away. She could still feel the echo of his fingers on her body as he’d tugged her out of it.
A stealthy footstep landed on the bridge above her. Mina stopped breathing. Could she trust him? Leaving her here would be an excellent distraction if he wanted to escape.
Another slow, almost listening step.
“This way,” a man murmured. “I can smell her.”
The rumors were correct, then. The prince consort had supernaturally strong assassins at his beck and call.
The footsteps died and Mina ducked back under the water, leaving only her face clear of its icy depths.
Something sleek splashed nearby.
She had her knife in hand before she could think. Barrons surfaced in front of her, his dark blond hair wet and dripping, raked back from his forehead. Rivulets of water ran down his skin, hovering in the dip above his darkly smiling mouth.
“You’re taking far too much enjoyment from this.” Her lips quivered with the cold.
He flashed her another smile, his teeth gleaming in the night.
“Want to have more fun?” she asked.
He swam closer, pressing up against her as his arms trapped her against the wall. She could feel every hard inch of his body locked against hers, leaving her frightfully aware of just how little she wore.
“What kind of fun?”
She wasn’t going to be tempted. Not even for a moment. “Lord Matheson arrived in a pleasure dirigible. A grand entrance to awe the masses.” Her tone told him what she thought of that. “It’s currently moored by the eastern gates, along with two attendants. I could distract them while you cut the tethers. It’s the easiest way out of here without going through the gates and risking further interaction with Falcons. No matter what reinforcements they’ve sent for, they would never be able to capture us.”
“You’re planning to steal Matheson’s airship?”
“You object?” She pressed a hand against his chest, trying to maintain some sense of distance between them.
“Hell no. I most thoroughly approve.”
“Excellent.” She glanced sideways, shivering a little as she mentally placed their whereabouts. Perhaps a quarter mile to the dirigible, if the moon and skyline were any indication.
“The question remains: can you fly an airship?”
Mina looked up. His gaze had dipped, reminding her that she wore little more than a gold lace corset and a silk chemise. Sinking a little more beneath the water, she glared at him. “I own stock in Galloway’s Aeronautics. Mr. Galloway provided us with an extensive demonstration of his workshop and models, and I’ve been reading Master Renoir’s Guide to the Skies.”
England might be somewhat behind when it came to air technology, preferring to sink its funds into the infamous steam-powered steel dreadnoughts that lined its coast and patrolled its oceans, but Mina preferred not to be provincial. France’s skies were dotted with airships; it was only a matter of time before the staunchly humanist French came north, flying neatly over the dreadnoughts and evading England’s best defenses. Even the prince consort had begun to see sense, hiring Galloway’s to construct the first fleet of air militia. The perfect time to invest, in her opinion.
“So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?”
“I know every cog, bolt, and alignment on the latest engines,” she replied haughtily, then added a faint smile. “Perfect bedtime reading.”
An eyebrow arched. “So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?” he repeated.
“Trust me, Barrons,” she practically purred. “I don’t invest in anything I don’t know the ins and outs of. Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Right next to my desire to live,” he shot back.
Mina ducked under his arm, swimming away from him with a taunting splash in the face. “Come, grandmother. Let me show you how to steal an airship.”
* * *
Stealing an airship was the sort of idea that left a burning tingle in the blood. Something he’d have done as a lad for a dare, before he’d grown out of such mischief. That the very cool, rational Duchess of Casavian had come up with the idea was a thought that Leo couldn’t stop considering as they stared at the airship from the dark silence of a garden folly.
Another sign that the duchess was not at all what she seemed.
“What sort of distraction do you think would be best?” she asked. Since their truce, she’d grown easier with the idea of working with him. It was surprising how well they’d managed.
He cast a quick glance back at the two uniformed guards standing at the mooring ropes, joined for the moment by the first pilot. One guard lit a cheroot as Leo watched, shaking out the match.
“They’re bored, and most importantly, they’re men.” His hands slid over her shoulders, earning him a wary glance. He teased the clasp of her cloak open. She was shivering wet underneath it, and he was glad he’d left it under a hedge for her. “Why not use the few weapons we have?”
With that, he dragged the cloak off, letting it fall to the folly floor. The duchess wrapped her arms across her chest, her lips trembling.
“Look at you,” he whispered, kneeling at her feet. “All wet and cold, with some miscreant having stolen your dress—and dare I say it, your virtue?” Taking hold of her petticoats, he tore them up her thigh, earning a hissed intake of breath. “Trust me. We don’t need an extensive diversion.”
Mina’s lip curled. “One would argue that you’re saying men are base fools, to be led by their instincts.”
“Have you only just worked that out?”
“I’m going to kill you for this.”
“Go.” He gave her a gentle shove in the back. “And I would advise you to let your arms drop. You’re hiding your best assets.”
Giving him a truly evil glare, she dropped her arms, revealing how tightly her stays and chemise clung to her full, rounded breasts as well as the tight puckering of her nipples. “You’ll pay for this, Barrons. I promise you that revenge will be excruciating.”
He didn’t look. There would be time enough for that later. “I shall await your endeavors with great anticipation.”
Oh, how those eyes burned him. Leo muffled a laugh as the duchess turned on her heel and strode out of the folly. Hardly the damsel in distress.
She changed, however, when the men caught sight of her, the guard choking on his cheroot.
“Sir, oh sir!” the duchess called. She looked utterly miserable, bedraggled, and glorious, the flickering gas lamps playing over her gently rounded curves. “Could you please help me?”
Dangerous minx. Leo eased into the shadows, moving around toward the airship. How easily she slipped into the role, as if she’d been fooling people her entire life.
Grabbing hold of one of the mooring ropes, he climbed hand over hand, up toward the deck that lined the edges of the gondola, the muscles in his shoulders burning. Listening for a moment, he stole over the edge and crouched low. The engines were silent, the enormous inflated envelope above keeping the dirigible floating nearly twenty feet off the ground.
What a bloody travesty. The decks were obviously designed for its owner to “take in the air,” with a foredeck covered in a daybed and mounded pillows. For the view, no doubt. A floating pleasure palace. Matheson was a modern-day Louis XIV. Leo strode toward the engine room. Its structure reminded him somewhat of the Valkyrie, which he’d sailed aboard on his way to Saint Petersburg and back. Only minutely. Captain Alexi Dansk would have sneered at such extravagances, and no amount of frippery would have survived the icy winds as they’d crossed the Baltic Sea.
