The Iron Duke (24 page)

He intended to strong-arm the Admiralty? And he probably could, she realized. The navy’s story hinged on the Iron Duke not contradicting them, giving him the perfect opportunity to reclaim his ship.

And yet he’d had given up that opportunity if she’d wanted recognition.

A queer little ache formed in her chest. Not knowing how to respond, she moved out from under that dark gaze, turning to board the steamcoach. As she stepped up, Scarsdale leaned forward from his bench and took Mina’s hand, guiding her to the rear-facing seat across from him.

“My apologies for not giving up the prime spot, inspector. If I sit backward, I’ll puke.”

Judging by the empty bottle next to him, it would be a good amount of liquor that came up. Trahaearn climbed in. He looked to the space next to his friend before prudently choosing the seat beside Mina.

“Leicester Square, Fitzhop!” Scarsdale called through the carriage door, then glanced at Mina. “Number Eight?”

Mina’s brows rose. “Yes.” When he finished giving the direction to the driver, she said, “You’re well-informed, Lord Scarsdale.”

“It gives me a purpose, now that the captain has no other use for me.” He looked from Mina to Trahaearn, then to Mina again. “So are you coming with us to find the
Terror
, then?”

To see Andrew safe with her own eyes? Yearning speared through her, but Mina shook her head. “It’s impossible. And even if it was not, I know nothing of the Ivory Market or locating a ship on the high seas. I wouldn’t be of any help to you.”

“Of help, no. But it would prove wildly entertaining.”

Perhaps, but her family couldn’t live on entertainment. And although Hale might give Mina temporary leave to pursue her brother, a salary wouldn’t accompany it.

But if money had been no object, she’d have gone. Quietly, Mina said, “I imagine it would be.”

Scarsdale frowned at her, then down at his bottle. With a pained expression, he closed his eyes. Aware that the duke watched her again, Mina looked out the window. They’d begun to drive faster, traffic lightening past Anglesey Square. Soon they’d have her home, and each street they crossed wound her stomach into sick knots.

How to tell them? She’d imparted terrible news to so many mothers and fathers. Never before had it been to her own.

“I don’t know anything about parents,” Trahaearn said abruptly. “But if this will be worse than facing Dorchester, do you want me to tell them with you?”

Mina didn’t know who his offer startled more—Scarsdale or her. As she looked round, she saw the other man’s widened eyes and an expression that bordered on dismay. And although she fully intended to refuse Trahaearn, realization stopped her.

His presence wouldn’t make Mina’s task easier. Nothing could. But if Trahaearn confirmed that he was pursuing the
Terror
, her parents might find it easier to believe that Andrew would be returning home.

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

Trahaearn nodded. Her throat tight, Mina faced the window again. The coach made its way up Dorset Street now. Two hundred years ago, the residences here had been fashionable. Now many of the town houses had been divided into cheap tenements, or stripped and abandoned to the street urchins and the slinking glint of steel and reddened eyes—

A ratcatcher.

Smoking hells.
Mina leapt for the carriage door. “Stop! Driver, stop!”

Fitzhop must have, but Mina didn’t wait—she jumped out and began running. She heard the squeal of brakes behind her, the heavy pounding of boots that had to be the Iron Duke’s. But the shrieks and screams ahead drew her on, through the gaping window of an abandoned town house. Rotted floorboards threatened to crack beneath her as she landed in a crouch. The screams came from deeper inside the house. Mina shouted as she ran past the sagging stairs, praying that the noise would frighten the ratcatcher off, but it never did.

Fifty years before, when a plague had nearly wiped out the Horde, they’d modified common alley cats into large, vicious ratcatchers. After the plague ended, the hound-sized cats were supposed to die off. Now, Mina didn’t know what terrified people more—that the ratcatchers would attack anyone with little provocation, or that they’d been able to breed. Unlike the first generation, the teeth and claws hadn’t been implanted; the ratcatchers had been born with them. Somehow, the cats’ nanoagents replaced bone with steel, and armored plates protected their lithe, quick forms.

An explosion of rotted boards sounded behind her, as if a bull had rammed into the side of the house. Mina didn’t dare look back. Through the gutted kitchen wall she could see them, the two writhing bodies on the floor, one screaming child trying to protect his face and belly, the other hissing and growling. Five urchins scrambled around them, attacking the ratcatcher with anything at hand—pipes, broken planks, their fists.

Her opium darts did little good against the ratcatcher’s armored body, and she had no shot with her gun. Mina gripped her dagger and jumped in. Pain burst through her arm as one of the urchins aimed for the ratcatcher and pummeled Mina with a pipe instead. She tried to get a grip on the hissing thing, to tear him away from the boy. A big one, its shoulders came to her knees and easily outweighed her. Warm metal slipped through her hands. She couldn’t find flesh with her dagger. She kicked its flanks, its legs. The damn thing wouldn’t let go of the boy and turn on her.

Another great crash warned her even before Trahaearn shouted, “Move aside!”

Mina grabbed the two urchins beside her and yanked them away. Trahaearn’s boot slammed into the ratcatcher’s armored side. Yelping, it flew across the room and crashed into the wall—unharmed. It scrambled to its feet, hissing and fixing its eyes on the Iron Duke.

Trahaearn started for it. “Take the boy, inspector.”

She’d already scooped up the bleeding boy, his screams quieting into sobs against her neck. She recognized him—Trowel. Not more than twelve years old, he’d been leading this little group of wick-peddlers for half of his life. His forearms had been shredded, and deep tears along his back and shoulders bled faster than his bugs could heal. Holding him against her chest, she ran through the house.

Scarsdale was climbing through the window, Fitzhop just behind him. They both paused when they saw Mina. She sprinted toward them, and almost fell into the gaping hole in the floor that hadn’t been there moments before. Recovering, she shoved the boy into Scarsdale’s arms.

“To my father!” she panted. “Take him to my father, and hurry!”

Scarsdale nodded. And for a drunk, he could run astonishingly fast. Mina watched through the window just long enough to drag in a breath. The sounds of the urchins cheering, of cursing and hissing told her that the ratcatcher hadn’t fled yet.

Then a loud shriek and thud was followed by sudden silence, and she came into the kitchen to see young faces with jaws hanging open. Near the wall, Trahaearn lifted his foot from the remains of the ratcatcher’s head.

Mina stared. He’d stomped on the ratcatcher’s steel skull and
flattened
it. Her head seemed to spin, bringing her flashes of an uncrowded lift at full capacity, of a rackety tilting steamcoach, of the unexpected hole in rotting floorboards . . . and iron where there should have been bone. She suddenly suspected that all of him had iron in place of bone.

Swallowing to moisten a throat gone dry, she met his eyes. “How much, exactly, do you weigh?”

“More than enough.” His grin caught at something in her chest and turned it about. “But don’t worry that I’ll crush you.”

Oh.
Well, she hadn’t been—No.

Shaking her head, Mina looked to the oldest of the wick-peddlers. Molly, she remembered. With feet wrapped in rags and the rest of her dressed in whatever could be patched or stolen, Molly looked younger than she probably was. All of these children did.

“A friend took Trowel to my father’s. You know where that is?” When they nodded, she said, “His physician’s parlor is in the rear of our house. Go in through the mews. I’ll see if Cook has something leftover while you wait.”

And with the promise of food, they’d be less likely to steal her family’s chickens. She watched them hurry off before facing the duke—who stood closer than she’d thought, glowering down at her.

Instinctively, she stepped back. “What is it?”

“Don’t
ever
do that again.”

And
this
was why she preferred driving home with Newberry. She probably gave him an apoplexy every time she leapt from the cart, but he never challenged her.

“Don’t do what? Save a child’s life?”

Anger sharpened the angles of his face. “You send me in. I’ll do it.”

“You refused to ransom eight boys. Why would I believe you’d risk your skin for a child?”

His jaw clenched. No, he couldn’t argue that . . . but Mina had to admit it wasn’t fair. Unlike Trowel, those boys would’ve been safe if the Iron Duke hadn’t paid their ransom. And as soon as it had become clear that the navy’s presence endangered them, he hadn’t said a word against rescuing them from the Dame—even if their rescue came out of his pocket. She sighed.

“It won’t matter, anyway. There will be no reason for us to ride together again.” She glanced toward the ratcatcher before looking up at Trahaearn. “I sent Scarsdale on. We have a bit of a walk.”

“No.” He started for her. “What I have is
you
. Alone.”

Oh, no. Her heart thumping, Mina scrambled back and hit a wall. He kept coming.

“Your Grace, don’t—”

His big hands caught her hips—and her guns. Too slow, Mina reached for her weapons and grabbed his fingers instead.

Blast.
Damn
and blast.
Wary, she looked up at him.

His gaze settled on her mouth. “Have you been kissed before, inspector?”

“Why?” If he wanted virgin lips, she’d claim to have serviced an army.

“If it’s your first, I’ll do it differently.”

“You won’t do it at all.”

“Yes, I will.”

He leaned forward. His left knee pressed into the wall beside her thigh. He braced his right hand beside her shoulder, caging her in between his broad chest and iron limbs.

His hand beside her shoulder . . .
Mina’s flew to her weapon, found the holster empty. He blocked her grab to his cods by shoving against her, his solid body pushing hers up against the wall. Mina ground her teeth, fingers digging into the heavy muscles of his shoulders. His warmth seemed to burn through her clothing, her armor, forming a layer of fire over her skin and a tight ball of heat in her lower belly.

He cupped her jaw in his left hand, tilting her face to his. Mina stilled. His callused thumb brushed over her bottom lip, and he seemed pleased when her breath shuddered over his skin.

“So you’ll try a cigarillo, but won’t try a taste of me?” His dark gaze searched her face. “Aren’t you curious, inspector? A kiss—and only a kiss.”

Only a kiss . . . from someone who wanted
her
. Longing slipped through her, tugging at hopes best kept buried. Yes, Mina wanted to know. But she couldn’t afford it.

“No,” she said.

He smiled. “Liar.”

“You’ll take everything from me. You’ll ruin me.” Frustration boiled up. She tried to twist free, and couldn’t budge him. Anger made her voice hard, loud. “You’ve
seen
how it is! Jade whore, spit on her, don’t let her hire your steamcoach. And you’ll make it
worse
—”

“No one would
dare
touch you!” Eyebrows snapping together, he put his face to hers. Between clenched teeth, he repeated fiercely, “No one!”

Mina closed her eyes. He couldn’t understand. And how could she explain? Anywhere he went, people only saw
him
. The Iron Duke. With Mina, they only saw the Horde.

In a voice suddenly gentle, he said against her mouth, “And I won’t just take. I’d give everything you asked of me.”

“Trahaearn—”

His lips covered hers—that hard mouth, surprisingly soft. Shock held Mina frozen. For an instant, she absorbed the feel of his kiss, his rough hand cupping her jaw, the heavy weight pressing her into the wall, his tense stomach against hers.

Sense returned. Her eyes flew open.

“Don’t.” Panic thinned her breath, made the protest weak. She tried again. “Please. Someone might see.”

His fingers tightened in her hair. “And know you’re mine.”

His mouth opened over hers. He tasted the seam of her lips, as if coaxing her open. Mina shut her eyes again, tried not to feel the heat, the gentle pressure, and the unexpected, curling pleasure.

He hadn’t understood. He thought that someone seeing them was her only objection, something to be swept away with a wave of his mighty hand—but it was
the
objection.

He lifted his head. Mina opened her mouth to protest, and he dipped low again,
so
quick—and she tasted him, a flavor that she didn’t know but that felt right, and hit her like a fist to her chest that didn’t pull back after striking but held on, squeezing.

Damn him.
Damn
him. She couldn’t have this. And it was nothing like the cigarillo, where the taste hadn’t matched the price. This taste—this
feeling
—was worth more.

But she couldn’t pay it. She didn’t dare try to pay it. If she did, both Mina and her family would pay and pay and pay.

Pain rose up, pain and fear—she could force those away. And so she did, with everything else.

As if sensing her withdrawal, Trahaearn lifted his mouth from hers. “Why—”

“Let me go,” she said hoarsely.

He stared down at her for a long second before stepping back.

Throat aching, Mina turned to go. “Are you done with that, then?”

The answer that came after her was everything she feared.

“No.”