Of Silk and Steam (10 page)

“Damn you,” she whispered, her decision made.

She didn’t look as she cast the entire file into the flames. She couldn’t. There went her vengeance, the final door closing on her past and leaving her with an uncertain future.

Instead she grabbed her cloak and made her way upstairs to change into something a little more comfortable for the night, something that nobody would ever recognize her in.

There was work to be done.

Sir Gideon Scott knew that something was bothering her. Head of the Humans First political party, he held a great deal of respect among his peers, though many of the Echelon’s blue bloods sneered at his politics. Once the son of a minor house, he’d carved out a name for himself with those same politics. The prince consort tolerated him because Scott worked as a pacifist between the strident human classes and the Echelon. Not for him the cry of war on the lips of nearly every humanist.

Not in public, at least.

Sir Gideon poured a generous finger of whiskey into a glass and waved a dash of blood over the top of it for her. His study was wallpapered in burgundy and cream, the scent of cheroots lingering with beeswax and rich leather. A man’s room, and one that frequently saw use as a base for the aspiring politicians who made up the party.

Taking the glass, Mina paced to the window and glanced out. “The prince consort’s going to raise the blood taxes,” she said finally. The draining factories which were used to collect and store the blood gathered in the taxes had all been struck hard by the humanists more than six months ago. Not those humanists under her orders, but others within the group who’d taken matters into their own hands. One of her direst frustrations was her lack of control. She could direct matters, pull strings, provide financial backing, but at heart, each man and woman associated with the cause had their own free will.

But was that not the very heart of the cause? To gain the human classes their freedom and revolutionize the Echelon?

Yes, but burning the draining factories had created a cycle of events she had been hoping to avoid. The loss of the facilities and blood storage created a vacuum that needed to be filled. The blood taxes would rise, and ultimately, the humans would suffer. If they dared raise their voices now, the prince consort would simply unleash the Trojan cavalry.

As a girl, she’d struggled with the weight of her humanity and the future mapped out for her: either a thrall or consort contract to a powerful lord, then a life of luxury under his protection. Hardly devastating, but for her it might as well have been a prison. She knew she’d have slowly wilted over the years in such a role, her eager mind shuttered and stunted by the lack of something more. Without a doubt, she knew she’d have ended up bitter. Most likely sinking her frustrations into the pursuit of fashion, spending countless pounds her patron provided for her and truly desiring none of it.

When her father infected her with his blood on his deathbed, she’d been willing, even eager, to accept. One of the lucky humans; so many others didn’t have that choice, and she understood why it rankled.

Alexa had been a kindred soul, dreaming of something else in life, begging for her moment to appear—that moment when fate separated her from destiny. Her enthusiasm had been contagious, and Mina threw herself headlong into the cause. Why should she be the only young girl able to sidestep her fate? Why could a human not choose her destiny?

And it wasn’t as if she owed the Echelon anything. Indeed, she often thought of them as a faceless kind of enemy, mocking and ridiculing her when she’d first made her appearance as a blue blood.

Sir Gideon sighed. “How much?”

“They’re talking double—”

“
Double?
The taxes are already high, damn it! Half the people in the poorer sections of the city can’t afford to offer more blood. They’re malnourished and impoverished, living in conditions I wouldn’t even condemn a rat to. This is the type of tax hike that could kill.”

“There’s a rumor that he’s considering dropping the minimum mandatory age,” she added, sipping her smoky liquor. It burned, giving her at least the sensation of warmth. “Perhaps to children as young as twelve.”

Sir Gideon paled. “No. The Echelon’s blood supplies cannot be so dire as that. I won’t believe it.”

“Of course they’re not that dire, but the humanists who burned the factories were never caught—only Mercury, their leader.” Or the man who had sacrificed himself as Mercury. “This is retribution. A means to punish the populace for hiding their humanist brethren among them. A sign that such an outrage will not be tolerated again.”

“I’ll take it to Humans First,” he declared. “With this warning, we can be prepared to argue against it, perhaps rally some—”

“No!” Rallying a gathering to protest had never worked in the past, and she didn’t want those crushed and lifeless bodies on her own conscience. That had been one of her many mistakes in the past, and she’d never forgive herself for it. Stealth and secrecy were the best means to bring the prince consort down. Everything depended on the secret army of automatons the humanists were building beneath London. “I’m only warning you so that you may know what to expect. I intend to vote against it in Council, but it will depend on the others.”

“Is there anything that I
can
do?” he asked bitterly.

“Yes, there is. I need you to begin selling off some of our investments—” She began outlining the ones she intended to see auctioned for the cause. The sooner they could flood the mechs and humanists with money, the sooner the Cyclops could be built.

Sir Gideon sighed as she took her leave. “Thank you for the warning, then. I’ll do my best to prepare the poorer classes of the city.”

Mina kissed him on the cheek. Scott was one of the few she trusted, and he’d earned her friendship over the years. “Send word when you’ve restructured my assets.”

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the carriage window as Mina made her way to her nine o’clock appointment. Leading this double life often left her tired, and she napped as the carriage swayed.

Galloway’s Aeronautics had purchased an old abandoned factory at Southwark. A series of enormous sheds that faced the Thames, with roofs that could be opened by an elaborate system of pulleys, they housed dozens of dirigibles in various stages of completion.

This was the way of the future. She could see it so clearly in her mind’s eye. An investment in Galloway’s ventures was high-risk, but Mina was certain it would pay a rich reward for her ventures.

Plus, the part of her that was always her queen’s coldly noted that an attack from the air would be the last thing the prince consort expected. He’d had artillery towers mounted throughout London, thanks to his ever-increasing fear of France’s air fleet, but Mina knew their locations. There was a clear path to the Ivory Tower, if she sought to use it. All she needed was for Galloway to build enough dirigibles to use when her humanists decided to strike.

Not that Galloway was aware of that.

Joining the group of investors for Galloway’s latest demonstration, she listened with half an ear as Galloway proceeded to explain his latest innovation—a pleasure cruiser like that he’d designed for Lord Matheson. Mina glanced sideways, stillness slinking through her muscles. A glimpse of darkness caught her eye, a man slipping through the crowd at her back, weaving his way among the men as he moved toward her. Her gut knotted up tight and Mina resolutely turned her attention to Galloway, though she heard not a word of what he was saying. She was too busy straining to listen to what Barrons was doing.

There was a wall of heat and steel at her back, creating the faintest of predatory stirrings that made her breath catch and her nipples harden. Her grip shifted on her parasol. “What are you doing here?”

“Hoping that you’d be here,” Barrons murmured, and one hand splayed over the small of her back. “You spoke of Galloway the other night and I’d heard of this demonstration. It seemed a good chance to see you again.”

“Enjoy the view then,” she snapped, feeling somewhat breathless.

“I am.” Those fingers rippled over her spine in the faintest of caresses. “But I’m more interested in what you think about the future of aeronautics.”

Mina twirled her parasol, the point grinding into the stone floor. She should never have given him an inch the other night, should have kept herself cold and walled off.

As
if
you
had
a
choice.

Her cheeks heated as she thought about the taste of his mouth, nipples tightening at the flush of remembrance.
His
fingers
becoming
a
fist
in
her
hair…

Barrons’s hand curled over her hip, his breath whispering along the back of her neck as if he could sense her sudden flare of desire.

“Gentlemen…and lady.” Mr. Galloway tilted his head toward her. “If you would step this way, please. I wish to show you my latest design…the
Gilded
Falcon
.”

A hand curled around her arm. “Stay. I want to see more of the
Lionheart
.”

The others set off after Galloway, a flock of black-coated businessmen. Some were of the Echelon and some were human investors, economics creating equality for the first time in years. Mina stared longingly after them. “What do you want?”

“You’re in danger,” he murmured. “We all are.”

That piqued her interest. Her gaze traveled toward the
Lionheart
. The enormous gray envelope floated aloft, steel cables encircling it and holding the enclosed gondola beneath it. It was one of the dirigibles created for passenger use, rather than the closely guarded plans for a warship that she’d seen in the back offices of Galloway’s, where he was building an air fleet to keep the ravaging humanists of France at bay, should they attack. It was one of the prince consort’s ever growing irrationalities and private commissions, and strangely enough, one of the few things she agreed upon with him. France was potentially dangerous.

“I wish to see inside,” she said. At least the cabin of the
Lionheart
would protect them from curious ears.

Barrons helped her climb the roll-away ladder to the cabin, his hands steadying her. Not that she needed the help, but she said nothing. Most of the Echelon didn’t know the limits of her endurance and strength, and she intended to keep it that way. Prancing across the rooftops of London, and slipping in and out of places where she didn’t want to be followed, gave a girl remarkable dexterity.

The door closed behind them and Mina ran her fingers along the flight console, resting her parasol in the corner. “I’m always in danger. More specifics, if you will.”

“It’s a theory,” Barrons said. “Why did Goethe die?”

She knew the answer to that, but she shrugged. “Who would know?”

“He opposed the suggested increase in the blood taxes as soon as the prince consort gave us the briefing note, and with the death of several of the prince consort’s pocket dukes, it’s clear that he’s losing power. Malloryn, Goethe, Lynch, and I were dismissive of the blood-tax bill. The prince consort knows he can’t push it past our blockade in Council, and if he wants to get his bills through, he’s going to have to remove some of the obstacles in his path.”

An intriguing thought. “You think he’s going after the Council?”

“All of us,” Barrons concurred with a tip of the head to her. “You don’t always vote as he wills.”

Only often enough to make the prince consort think her allegiances were sympathetic.

“I’m protected.” She had to be. Too many of her male relatives had tried to remove her over the years, threatened by the thought of a woman in power. “But thank you for the warning. I hadn’t thought of Goethe’s death in those terms.” Barrons’s body blocked her path, though she didn’t think it deliberate. “Was that everything?”

Barrons glanced through the glass, surveying the factory. Galloway’s group was farther away now, examining the semi-rigid construction of the pleasure cruiser. Tension etched itself across his broad shoulders. “Perhaps I simply wished to get you alone.”

“To warn me about dangerous plots?” Her voice held a teasing lightness to it.

Faint humor stirred in his expression, his right brow twitching. “No, Duchess. I was thinking of something far more interesting than that. Perhaps it’s the presence of the dirigible. Reminds me of the other night. Of…debts owed. And paid.”

“So you lured me here under false pretenses?” she replied, taking a step to the side when he took one toward her.

Barrons smiled, a lazy stretch of the mouth. “Would you have come if I’d told you I planned on kissing you?”

Yes.
No. Her smile froze. “I’ve decided your kisses are bad for my health.”

“Precisely.” Another step had her pressing back against the far wall.

“Besides, the other night was different. I owed you a kiss, and a Duvall always pays their debts.”

“And last night?” The overwhelming presence of his body was palpable now. A whiff of bay rum came off him, lingering in her nostrils and making her mouth water, just a little.

“Barrons,” she warned.

“Last night,” he murmured. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

Mina ducked beneath his arm, bumping into the console. “Last night, I learned some rather interesting facts.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with that information?”

“Not yet,” she declared.
Make
of
that
what
you
will.

Barrons crossed his arms over his broad chest, those implacable black eyes boring a hole through her. He grunted and looked away. “Well, you’re predictable at least. A mere mention of a kiss and you’re suddenly throwing blackmail in my face.” His eyelids grew heavy, then a sidelong glance made her breath catch. “No talk of kissing then. No games, no duchess. Just you and me. Tell me what you think of Galloway’s plans to standardize air travel for the common people of England.”

“Why are you interested in my views?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because you interest me.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a brass hook on the wall. His crisp waistcoat was dark gray with thin cream pinstripes, cut to fit his broad shoulders and narrowing to define the leanness of his hips. An eyebrow arched. “We could always discuss the weather, if you prefer. Something mundane?”