Of Silk and Steam (21 page)

Honoria’s smile lost none of its warmth. “She’s so little. I’m afraid to pick her up.”

“You shouldn’t anyway, not in your condition,” Mrs. Parsons admonished. “You’re not to move for weeks yet.”

Weeks…
That buzzing sensation lit beneath his skin, demanding that he scratch it.

“Emma,” he murmured. With her tiny eyelashes shut tight over her eyes, the baby yawned.

“Would you care to hold her?” Honoria asked.

“Mrs. Rachinger,” Mrs. Parsons murmured in disapproval. “It’s hardly the done thing… He shouldn’t even be in here. The birthing chambers are no place for a man.”

“He’s my brother,” Honoria shot back. She tried to shift and then gasped.

“Easy,” he warned, “don’t tax yourself.” As she settled, he couldn’t help noticing the ring of perspiration at her temples. She wasn’t going to be able to move anytime soon, no matter what Blade had said. He’d never been so fucking uncertain in his life. This was not the way he’d been raised. The Duke of Caine had seen fit to carve him into a weapon, to be ruthless if need be, but none of his childhood lessons had ever covered what to do when other people were involved. People that he cared about.

How the hell was he going to get her out of here if something went wrong? And the baby? His gaze drifted to that downy head again.

“Here,” Mrs. Parsons said with a huff of indignation. “I told you not to move.”

The midwife eased the bundle into his hands, and Leo felt a ring of cold around the back of his neck as he found himself completely in charge of his niece. More blankets than baby at this stage.

“How do I hold her?” He gingerly tried to cup his hand beneath her head. Emmaline’s little lip trembled, and her entire face screwed up as if she were going to cry. His stomach dropped. “I don’t think I’m—”

“Like this,” Mrs. Parsons said and repositioned the baby in his arms.

Beneath the blankets he could just make out the shape and weight of her, all tiny broomstick arms and legs, and a wobbling head. She smelled like Esme’s lavender soap.

Emma yawned again, a task that looked like it exhausted her. Blinking sleepily she rested against his chest, her dark eyelashes lowering against her pink cheeks. Her tiny fingers curled around one of his, and in that moment, he fell completely and irrevocably in love with her.

A breathless, painful moment.

If something went wrong, he would get her out. Both her and Honoria, no matter what he had to do.
I
promise
, he thought, feeling those fingers circle his. Pride and arrogance gave way to crystal clarity. He was useless here, waiting for word from the wall, but Blade was correct. He would kill half the Echelon to keep his niece and sister safe, even if he died himself in the process.

“She has her father’s sense of timing,” he murmured, forcing the thoughts aside.

“As long as she doesn’t inherit his taste in fashion, we should be all right,” his sister replied.

They shared a smile, and he wondered, for the first time, what it would be like to hold his own daughter in his arms. To guess at her future, what she would be like…

He’d never been so enamored of a woman that he’d ever considered marrying one or fathering children with her. Only…the duchess, and he wasn’t quite certain what his interest in her signified, or if he could trust her. The thought washed the smile from his lips. Speaking of… She was rather significantly absent at the moment.

“The duchess?” he asked.

“One moment we’re speaking of babies, and the next you’re asking about the duchess. My, my,” Honoria teased wearily. “I wonder what I should read into that?”

“We’re in the middle of a war, Honor. And I’m not entirely certain I trust her—”

Emmaline made a sound in her sleep and he froze, looking helplessly at Mrs. Parsons. She slid her arms beneath his niece and returned her to Honoria’s side on the bed.

“The duchess went with Mrs. Doolan,” Mrs. Parsons announced. “And I think it quite enough time to have had your visit, sir. Your sister needs her rest.”

“With Esme?” There’d been no sign of the duchess in the courtyard.

“Have you heard from Lena?” Honoria asked sleepily.

A quick glance at Mrs. Parsons. Even he knew better than to upset Honoria in this condition. “No. Not yet.” He didn’t mention the fires burning in that section of the city, nor his certainty that Will wouldn’t rest at home if he knew his former master was being attacked by the prince consort. “I’m certain they’ll be along as soon as they can.”

“Perhaps they shouldn’t come.”

“Will won’t let anything happen to her.” Mrs. Parsons had presented Leo with the perfect opportunity to take his leave—and he was growing increasingly curious about the duchess’s whereabouts.
If
I
were
her
and
the
opportunity
presented
itself, I’d run.

“Time for you to rest, Honor. I’ll check in on you from time to time.”

She caught his fingers. “Let me know if anything happens, or if Lena arrives. I feel so helpless lying here.”

That, he certainly understood. Leo squeezed her fingers. Honoria had never been the type of woman to wring her hands and wait at home for the menfolk to arrive. She was the first to push up her sleeves and take control of a situation. “I’ll send word immediately. You should take some inspiration from your daughter and get some sleep.”

Instantly her attention turned to the new object of her fascination. Leo excused himself and eased the door shut on the room.

One glimpse out the window at the end of the hallway showed the bustle of women in the courtyard below. There was, however, no sign of a certain devious duchess.

His heart skipped a beat. The yard was a sort of organized chaos. The perfect opportunity to escape, if one had a mind to. He jerked open the door to her room and found only a weighted silence. For a second, he gave in to the fierce urge inside him, tossing the bedding aside and raking it over. She’d taken nothing from here. Devil take her. The thought didn’t still the fierce anger pumping hard through the veins in his temples. Where the hell was she? Leo took a shuddering breath to cool his temper.

In the distance, the sharp crack of rifle fire kept Blade and the rest of his men pinned down at the wall. If she were out in that, she’d be a fool.

The duchess was no fool. He closed the last door quietly, thinking hard. He could search the Warren from top to bottom, but it was pointless. He knew, in the cold burning pit in his chest, that she was gone. Knew too that she was far too rational to try and escape via Morioch. They’d never been allies. No, she’d go elsewhere. Find a quiet, out-of-the-way place to slip back into the safety of the city.

And for a moment he thought about letting her go. This irrational fascination of his was beginning to be noticed, if Honoria’s words were any measure. He should let Mina go and deal with his own problems, his own family. What might have become a cat-and-mouse game between them over the years was no longer a game he could play. Not with the rookery under siege and his family under threat. He had other concerns…

No.
The world instantly turned to shadows as the hunger within him surged to the fore with brutal force. Leo swallowed hard, grinding his teeth until color flooded back into the world.
Stop
telling
yourself lies…

There was no way he could let her go.

Bells tolled in the distance, ringing out the midnight peal. As if on cue, a sudden belching cough of flame roared in the distance, followed by screams and brutish yelling.

Morioch was making a full-scale attack on the wall.

Just in time to divert attention away from the interior of the Warren. Mina crouched low in an alley. The farther one went from the heart of the rookeries, the dirtier and more cramped and crowded the streets grew. Fish bones littered the dirt underfoot, along with a healthy stew of scent, ripe and unidentifiable.

“Time to move,” someone whispered in the stillness of the night.

“Meet you in the middle,” another man agreed and laughed.

Mina looked directly across the street at the grimy window there, catching a hint of reflection. Two men, dressed in dark clothes. One of them peeled away, and as he went, a pair of tinny steps echoed him. Two clockwork soldiers then.

Tracing the first man’s steps in the window, she waited, her heart hammering through her veins. This sort of work was unknown to her. For years she’d flitted across rooftops and into the depths of the enclaves and Undertown, forming her alliances, pushing the humanist movement into action, and meeting with the men and women who ran her and the queen’s secret business empire. Danger wasn’t unexpected but not like this…stalking a man with lethal intent. If a blue blood could sweat, she had a feeling her palms would be wet around the hilt of the knife by now.

It was the perfect time to make her escape, but leaving wasn’t an option. She hadn’t brought that baby into the world only to see its life threatened now, and there were helpless women and children everywhere.

Besides, if Morioch crushed Whitechapel, the prince consort would be one step closer to winning the war.

She hadn’t thought about it in terms like that before. What if she was making a mistake in running back to the queen? Here were allies, strong allies, if she could find a way to control them and harness them to the queen’s cause.

No time to think of that now
. Later.
She was very good at compartmentalizing her problems, and right now, the bomber who’d stepped in front of her was the more immediate concern.

Wielding one of the radio-control frequency boxes, he stuck to the shadows as much as he could. Mina slipped along behind him.

Somewhere near the wall a screaming whistle sounded and an explosion lit the night. One of Blade’s modified cannons, no doubt. A perfect time to make her move, while the bomber was distracted.

Grabbing him from behind, she jerked her knee into the back of his and brought the knife to his throat. “Don’t move.”

The man stiffened. He was her height, but leaner and smelling faintly of chemicals. Leather padding filled out his jerkin, along with what felt like metal inserts.

“Aiming for the Warren, are we?”

“Bugger you.”

Not the confirmation she’d hoped for, but where else would they be attacking? “How big a blast radius are the clockworks designed to achieve?” she demanded, pressing the knife hard against his skin to make her point.

“Want to find out?” he snapped, holding up the control box.

“Last year, when the humanists set off a bomb in the Ivory Tower, the damage was approximately forty feet wide, and that clockwork bomb was ten times the size of yours. Right now, we’re standing far enough away that even if you do detonate it, the impact might knock us off our feet but we’re not in immediate danger.” And she’d heal, not that he needed to know that. “Besides, the detonation would alert men. How long do you think it would take for them to realize you and your friend are here?” A nasty little smile. “So go ahead. Detonate it.”

“I don’t think ’e needs to,” someone said from behind. The sound of a trigger being thumbed back echoed loudly in the night. “Don’t move, princess. I’ve got a bead right between your shoulder blades.”

Mina froze. She hadn’t heard a sound. The breeze cut around her body, bringing with it the scent of leather, herring pie, and explosives.

She tilted her head to the side, catching sight of the man standing several feet behind her. His voice sounded somewhat familiar. Mina’s mind raced.

“You’re one of Blade’s men,” she said, recognizing him from when Blade had dragged her down off the Trojan horse. He’d been at Blade’s side. She rarely forgot faces.

“Damn it, Henley,” the man in her arms gurgled. “Kill her.”

All along there
had
been a spy in the rookery. One of Balfour’s Falcons, she had to presume, which meant he was far more dangerous than he seemed.

“Step away from Dougal and put the knife on the ground. I know what you are. Any sudden moves and I’ll pull this trigger, then all the king’s ’orses won’t be able to put you back together again.”

“Firebolt bullets, I presume?”

“Oh, no. Somethin’ of our own. Trust me when I says you won’t like it.”

The moment she stepped away from his companion, she was dead. The same way Goethe had been. Mina’s eyes narrowed on the marching clockwork soldier ambling toward the Warren. She had to stop it before it murdered dozens of women and children.

“Change of plans,” she said and whipped Dougal around, between her and Henley.

Too late. The Falcon had pulled the trigger as she began to move. Dougal jerked and screamed, and Mina… Something sparked through Dougal’s body and lifted her off her feet. She hit the cobbles, her head smacking down hard, unable to breathe for a second, her lungs catching and clenching on nothing. Mina blinked, her heart thundering in her chest. What the hell—?

It felt like she’d been hit at the elbow with a metal pipe. When her lungs finally opened up, the stink of burning hair and flesh nearly made her gag.

She heard the Falcon curse under his breath as the little clockwork soldier ground to a ticking halt.

Move
, she screamed at herself. Her body didn’t want to. Her heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest, and
dear
God
, what was wrong with her hand? Where was the knife? She lifted her head just enough to blink away the blinding flash in her eyes. Her right hand—the one that had held the knife—was blistered and burned.

She finally found the source of the stink. Dougal’s body jerked on the ground, a small tripod-shaped anchor attached to his chest. A thin metal line ran back toward the strangely shaped pistol Henley had in his hand. He stared down at where Dougal’s heels drummed on the cobbles, and when he looked up…

Somehow Mina forced her body to roll, clutching her aching hand to her chest as she found her feet. The world swayed as she staggered upright, stumbling against a building. Henley tossed aside the smoldering pistol in his hand and drew a knife.

“So the duchess is not entirely defenseless.” A nasty little smile twisted his mouth. “You’ll pay for that. I’ll cut it out of your ’ide.”

Where was her own knife? Where—

There.
Moonlight gleamed off the blade. Mina scrambled for her knife and Henley lashed out at her with his, a diamond-sharp flash of pain raking across her ribs. Her fingers didn’t want to work properly, but somehow she closed them around the hilt and spun.

A little tickling burn danced in her fingers and the slash at her side as the craving virus started to heal her. Not soon enough, though. Henley danced forward and grabbed her wrist as she slashed at him. All she could see was his own knife driving toward her face. She gave a twist, but it would be too late and—

Something slammed into the pair of them, driving her into the nearest house.

Back hitting the wall, she landed on her backside, agony jerking through her burned palm. Grunts filled the air—the sound of flesh hitting flesh. A shape materialized, hard and lean, moving like liquid shadow as he slammed Henley back against the wall, one hand tightening around the man’s neck and the other forcing the man’s own knife into his throat.

Henley jerked, but Barrons held him pinned, waiting as he kicked his heels against the wall, blood dripping from his shoes onto the dirty street. Finally the kicking stopped. Barrons snarled and discarded Henley’s body like an old rag, turning on her. Fury made him look even larger.

He was breathing hard, eyes blazing with black fire. Mina made herself very small. Barrons was always cool and in control, but at the moment his craving was in full ascendancy. Blue bloods all had their own inner darkness, but she’d never seen his hold sway like this.

Dangerous
, her instincts whispered.

And so she didn’t move.

“Are you injured?” His voice sounded cold and distant.

Mina shook her head. “Not really. Barrons, I—”

“I know what you were doing. We’re not going to speak of it right at this moment. Right now, I have to get you back to the Warren.” He caught her upper arm and jerked her to her feet.

Mina staggered against him, wincing as her raw palm grazed his coat. A little animallike sound of pain came from her throat and Barrons froze.

“I thought you said you weren’t hurt.” If anything, he sounded even more furious, but his hands were gentle when he caught her chin and tilted it to the side, examining her face. All of that strength…so finely controlled. “Where?”

“He shot the other man with some sort of current-stimulating device.” Mina offered her hands for inspection. “I was holding on to the knife at the time.”

Cool fingers curled her palm up so that he could inspect the damage. “I can smell blood.” Tight, perfectly pronounced words, but they made her shiver. She could smell blood too.

Barrons had always seemed so charming, so urbane, so completely in control of himself and the darkness that stirred beneath the surface. It excited her a little to know that he owned such a dark edge. The part of her that she hid deep inside herself—her own brutal hungers—shifted and stirred through her middle, a rush of blood tingling through her veins. A heavy stillness settled between them, as if he felt it stirring too, both of them far too aware of the consequences of the hunger.

She found herself leaning closer, her eyelids growing heavy with a smoky hypnotism. Her teeth ached, throat suddenly dry with need. Barrons was so still it was almost a warning, but she could sense every muscle locking hard in his body, his focus on her narrowing until the world seemed to disappear around them. All she knew was the hunger. All she could see was the corded muscle in his throat working as he swallowed, the vein there punching against the skin. He wanted it. She wanted it.

A cool breeze cut across her bared skin, sweeping away some of the red that had brightened her vision. Good God, what was she doing?

“A mere cut,” Mina murmured, dragging her hands out of his. She felt breathless again, like she had when she first hit the ground, her gut muscles locked tight. She’d almost taken his blood. Heat flooded her cheeks. “We don’t have time for this. They’ve got some sort of clockwork device filled with explosives.” She pointed to the clockwork standing frozen in the street and the dropped control frequency box. “There was another man with another device. They’re marching on the Warren.”

Again Barrons seemed to search her eyes. “So you decided to stop them?”

For the first time in years, Mina couldn’t hold a man’s gaze. She looked away. “Consider it my charitable act for the day, but if we don’t hurry up and catch him, it will all have been for naught.”

That stirred him to action. “Which way did the other bomber go?”

“That way.” She pointed.

“Follow me.”

Grabbing the frequency controller, she took it with her, in case someone else happened to activate the device. Barrons moved mercilessly, barely giving her time to keep up with him, ducking and weaving through streets and alleys, hunting through the night. From the black gleam of his eyes, his hunger was still in ascendancy. Her own vision was still darkened. Neither of them had the street-smart instincts of one of the rookery-born, but she could scent a man now, and the sharp tang of chemical. The predator inside her would be able to track him no matter how far he ran.

“There,” she whispered, pausing beside Barrons as he peered around the corner.

The Warren loomed ahead of them, several of the whores visible through the archway that led into the yard behind it. The little mechanical man marched steadily toward it, tracing the shadows that ran along the walls here.

“Where’s the controller?” There was no sign of him in the streets.

Leo had a pistol in his hand, his gaze searching the rooftops. “Damn it. Can’t see him.”

“How well can you shoot? Could you hit the clockwork?”

Their eyes met, a sense of that long-ago camaraderie from the Venetian Gardens springing to life. “Yes.”

“We don’t have time to find the controller,” she said, eyeing the Warren. “The blast radius has to be smaller than forty feet. I can smell the nitroglycerin inside it, and from the size of the clockwork soldier’s body, it cannot hold enough of Nobel’s blasting powder to harm the Warren from here. Shoot it.”

“Are you insane?”

“We don’t have a choice,” she snapped.

Another second to hesitate, then he nodded, stepping out into the street and into a marksman’s stance.

The sound was almost instantaneous, the pistol retort echoing a second before a wall of noise exploded down the street. Light bloomed, the wall beside her shaking and leaving the soles of her boots vibrating.

Barrons was on his knees, one arm thrown over his face to shield it as a flare of orange light washed over him. He fell back onto his other hand as the force of it hit him, his hair dancing in the windblast. Bits of glass and debris tore his sleeve, filling the air with the scent of blood, and then suddenly the wind vanished, leaving the hot flicker of orange flame playing over his chiseled face as he lowered his arm.

Her ears were ringing. Mina staggered to his side, catching his arm. “Are you all right?” she yelled.

Nodding grimly, he stared at the wreckage in front of them. Blood dripped down the side of his face from a gash near his eyebrow. Mina touched it gently until he looked up, pushing her hand away.