Heart of Iron (London Steampunk #2)

Heart of Iron (London Steampunk #2) Page 11

He leaned closer, let his voice whisper over her ear. “Then they won’t see me. But I’ll be there.”

It might have been his imagination, but he thought, for a moment, that she shivered.

The strains of a waltz floated from the ballroom as Barrons climbed the stairs. He’d hoped to catch a chance to talk to Will before he left, but the man had vanished.

Glancing down one of the hallways as he crossed it, he saw the sweep of aubergine skirts and the beguiling hint of coppery hair vanishing into a room.

He stopped in his tracks.

Interesting.

The waltz beckoned. Laughter loomed. But somehow his feet turned down the corridor.

Slipping silently through the door, Leo found himself in a shadowed parlor. Moonlight streamed through the windows, highlighting the Duchess of Casavian’s gleaming hair. She peered through a connecting doorway, her head cocked as if listening.

“Looking for something?”

The words tore a gasp from her lips. She spun, eyes glittering coldly.

“Or is it someone?” He leaned against the closed door and crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s none of your business, Barrons.” She glided sinuously toward him, the creamy flesh of her décolletage displayed invitingly. A ploy, of course, meant to draw men’s eyes, make them forget to watch her hands.

He’d never been that foolish. The woman was dangerous and Leo knew it. She’d like nothing better than to see him and the Duke of Caine dead, their House nothing but a memory. Still…the view was tempting.

“Get out of my way,” she commanded. Another step brought her closer, her full skirts sweeping against his ankles. As if she thought he’d obey.

“Why would I?” Leo took a step closer. Her skirts brushed his thighs, and her chin tilted up. “It’s a beautiful night and you’re a beautiful woman.” He held a hand out, gesturing to the room with a mocking smile. “And we’re all alone.”

A quick movement. He caught her wrist, moonlight flashing off the bejeweled hilt of a dagger. Their eyes met. There was no sign of her discomposure. Nothing but the quirk of her brow.

An ice princess.

Suddenly he wanted to melt her cool mask.

Spinning her back against the door, he forced her wrist—and the dagger—high. Her other hand moved in a chopping motion but he caught that too. Slammed it back against the hard wood.

Pinned.

Aramina’s breath caught. “Don’t think this makes me any less dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured. The scent of her perfume curled through his nose. Spicy cinnamon. Alluring. Almost enough to make his grip soften, his body lean into hers.

Almost.

“A knee to the balls?” he asked.

She smiled. There was no warmth in it. “A knife would be preferable.”

Leo winced. “You’re merciless, my dear.”

“I can be.” Aramina’s gaze lowered. Examined his mouth.

Leo froze. The softening of her expression drew him in, a moth to the flame. The woman was his enemy, her House and his at blood feud with each other. And yet he couldn’t deny that she fascinated him.

“I can be merciless too,” he whispered, his face lowering to hers. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She wet her lips. Turned her face away. Leo’s breath stirred the curls at her ear. His heart pounded as his lips brushed against her jaw. The sweet kick of her carotid proved she wasn’t as immune to him as she pretended. He slid his lips over it, felt the pulse through her veins. Heat flared, his cock grinding against her. Somehow his hands were on her hips.

“You should look to your House,” she whispered.

He traced the curve of her throat with his tongue, teeth grazing the vein. God, how he wanted her blood. “What do you mean by that?”

A soft laugh. Aramina’s face turned to his, her lips brushing his cheek as she whispered in his ear. “Where’s your ward, Barrons?”

Something sharp dug into his groin. The knife.

He hissed. “What have you done with her?”

“Me? Nothing.” Aramina lifted on her toes, her breasts brushing against his chest. “That,” she said, “was almost too easy.”

The blade forced him away from her. Aramina opened the door, glancing casually over her shoulder. The dagger had vanished. “I was actually trying to do the girl a good deed. I like her.” A swift smile. “And she has her uses.” Slipping through the door, she threw over her shoulder, “You’ll find her in the powder room.”

Lena strode down the hallway, checking room after room. The skin on her arms and neck prickled, knowing that Will watched. She couldn’t see him anywhere, yet his presence gave her the kind of confidence she’d not felt in a long time.

Easing the door to Lord Harker’s study closed, she froze. What was that? A soft cry in the dark? Taking a quiet step toward the library, she kept her head cocked.

There it came again. “No. Please.”

Adele. In the library.

Anger burned through her, white-hot. She slammed open the door. A single candle flickered, highlighting the daybed by the cold fireplace. Adele was wilted over it like a fading flower, blood dripping down the smooth column of her throat. Her bodice was soaked, the bright scarlet vivid against the white silk.

A man looked up, his lips painted red and the black of his eyes reflecting the candlelight. Benjamin Cavendish, the eldest son of Baron Rackham, and one of the younger pack.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, an insolent smile on his face. “Ah, the main course arrives.”

“Get off her.”

“I was done anyway.” His gaze slid over her sinuously. “It’s Miss Todd, isn’t it?”

Adele whimpered, her hands on her throat. Her frightened eyes met Lena’s. “Run.”

Lena’s fists clenched. The bastard thought he had her cornered. Will’s silent presence gave her strength she hadn’t realized she’d had. She snatched a poker from the fire set and faced him. “You get away from her now.”

“A feisty one. It’s much more fun when they put up a struggle.” He laughed.

Lena hefted the poker as he took a stealthy step toward her. “You’re a coward. Stalking young ladies at balls… It’s all you’re good for. You’re not a man; you’re just a little bully who’s grown up.”

Cavendish’s eyes narrowed. “You are going to regret those words.”

He made a snatch at her skirts. Lena brought the poker down with relish. Take that, you slimy little cretin. “Get your hands off me!”

The next few seconds happened too quickly for her to keep track of. One moment Cavendish was hissing at her, clutching his injured hand. The next he was slammed up against the fireplace, Will’s hand wrapped around his throat.

“Will! You’re not supposed to show yourself!”

“He put his hands on you.”

The depth of his voice sent shivers through her. Dangerous. Brutal. A voice that had no give in it, no means of reckoning with it. She had to stop him before he killed someone.

“He barely touched me. Will! Let him go.” She dropped the poker and grabbed his arm. It was useless. Her slight weight didn’t so much as shift him. “Will! If you hurt him, they’ll kill you.”

“You!” Cavendish gasped, his eyes full of malevolence. They shifted to her. “Little verwulfen slut. I’ll—”

Whatever he’d been about to say was choked off as Will’s fingers tightened.

“Look at me,” he said, the predator within him riding just under the surface. Cavendish was helpless to disobey. “You ever come near her again I’ll kill you. And it won’t be quick.” He smiled and Lena shivered. There was a wealth of viciousness in that smile. “Don’t think there’s anywhere you can hide. I can get to you, no matter how many guards you think you have. Do you understand?”

Cavendish’s fingers tore at Will’s hand. His face was rapidly turning purple, but somehow he managed to nod.

Will let him go and Cavendish staggered back, slumping against the fireplace.

“If there’s even a whisper about tonight—about Lena—I’ll come for you,” Will promised. “Now get the hell outta here before I change me mind.”

Cavendish scrambled for the door.

The ease with which Will did it… Lena felt a brief stab of jealousy. Oh, to be a man, to be strong, to be feared…

A strangled cough came from the daybed and she turned, her skirts swirling around her ankles as she ran to Adele.

“What happened?” Lena knelt, turning her friend’s face to the side to look at the damage. He’d cut her deep, using one of the elegant little blades the Echelon preferred. Some of the crueler blue bloods filed their teeth into points, but the majority used blades.

At least he’d had the presence of mind to lick the wound afterward. Whatever was in a blue blood’s saliva, it promoted swift healing.

“Here,” she murmured, tearing a strip off her petticoat. Rolling it into a pad, she tore another strip and bandaged the pad to the wound.

“Came looking for you,” Adele whispered.

“I was only going to the powder room.”

“Colchester…arrived.”

Lena’s hands stilled. Then she continued cleaning away the blood. “You still shouldn’t have come alone.”

“Saw Colchester talking to Cavendish.” Adele swallowed. “He left the room and I thought—”

“They set you up.” Damn Colchester. He’d deliberately sent one of his cronies out to ambush Adele. Her actions the other night must have drawn his ire.

“Who’s Colchester?”

Lena froze. She’d forgotten all about Will. Her skirts rustled as she turned to look at him, her mind racing. She’d seen the look on his face when he’d choked Cavendish. If she told him about the duke, then there was a chance he’d go after him.

“The Duke of Lannister,” she replied carefully. “He has some grievance against Leo.”

Adele shifted and Lena squeezed her hand in warning. Don’t say a word.

Will stared at her, his face expressionless.

Beside her, Adele cleared her throat. “Who…is this?”

“He’s Blade’s man,” she replied, turning her attention back to her wounded friend. The bandage slowed the bleeding. There was no saving the dress, however. They’d have to get her out of here without anyone seeing.

“Cavendish said he was…” Adele trailed off.

Lena had never seen her look frightened before. World-weary and cynical, yes, but not truly frightened. She looked up and then paused, realizing how it would seem to Adele. Will hovered in the shadows, but everything about him was intimidating to someone who didn’t know him. And even then…

Adele would have heard stories—blue blood stories—about verwulfen and their violent, unrestrained passions. To the Echelon, Will was dangerous and nothing more than a monster.

“Verwulfen? Yes,” she replied, helping her to sit up. She smiled at Adele and leaned closer to whisper, “Don’t be frightened by the scowl. He thinks it’s impressive. But he’s a soft-heart beneath the grim exterior.” Lena couldn’t help smiling. “Some boys were drowning a bag of kittens once and he rescued them. For months they followed him around the warren. I’m afraid it’s quite ruined his carefully cultivated reputation in my eyes. All I can see is Mother Hen and his little charges.” Her smile faded. “The only monsters here are Colchester and his little friends.”

Will’s eyes were sleepy looking. A dangerous sign. It meant he was thinking and she didn’t want that. Meeting his gaze, she tipped her chin up. “We have to get her out of here without anyone seeing. If they do, she’s ruined.”

Will shrugged out of his coat and offered it. Adele flinched but took a slow breath and let Lena drape it around her shoulders. It was deliciously warm and she breathed in, filling her nose with his scent.

Will rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and candlelight gleamed on his bronzed forearms. Not for the first time, she wondered if his skin was that same molten gold all over.

Dangerous thoughts. She looked away quickly.

“Here,” he said, trying in his own way to be polite. “I can carry you.”

Adele’s eyes widened, but she nodded and let him slip his arms around her. Will straightened, lifting Adele easily. His gaze sought Lena’s. “Where to?”

With Will at her side, negotiating the dark hallways was easy. His superior senses saved them from discovery several times over. Slipping out through the servant’s entrance and the garden, they hastened toward the Hamilton’s steam carriage.