Heart of Iron (26 page)

“What is it?” she asked, rattling the box.

“Open it.”

Tugging at the brown string that tied the package, she couldn’t ignore his sudden tension. He leaned against the carriage, one hand on the open door as he watched her play with the strings. She had some mind to draw the moment out, to watch his unease grow, but there was no point. Those were the type of games she’d played with him as a foolish young girl.

Tearing apart the paper, she unearthed a small red velvet box. A gold crown was embossed in the material. She knew exactly where it had come from. Most young ladies did. “Will?” she said breathlessly. “I told you I couldn’t accept personal items.”

His warm hands slid over hers, forcing the box apart. “Consider it practical then.”

One last dying ray of sunlight gleamed through a blood red ruby. She almost snapped the box closed. Almost. “I never asked you what you were doing in a jeweler’s.” She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s too beautiful. Too expensive.”

Will fetched it out, the simple gold band tumbling into his hand. Engraved filigreed thorns wrapped around the ruby, holding it in place. “See here?” He flicked one of the thorns and it sprang out, surprisingly sharp.

She reached out to test it with her finger and he snatched her hand away. “It’s a poison ring, Lena. Took me ages to find a jeweler who had one.” Leaning close, he glanced at the driver and whispered in her ear. “Full of a hemlock concoction that’ll incapacitate a blue blood for a few minutes. How long depends on how old he is, how much the cravin’ virus has overtaken him.”

He was giving her so much more than a ring. Another weapon. Another means to defend herself. Lena swallowed hard, staring at his face as he demonstrated how the ring would work.

“This must have cost a fortune.”

Will shrugged. “I don’t spend much. Never ’ave.”

“Will, I can’t.”

He eased the thorn back into its slot, then closed her fingers over it. That stubborn look she was starting to know so well crept over his face. “It ain’t open to discussion.”

“Is that how you think you’re going to stop me from arguing from now on?”

A rare smile softened his lips.

Lena sighed. “Fine. I’ll take it.” Slipping her glove off, she slid the beautiful ring over her finger. “Thank you.”

“Saves me from worryin’.”

Lena stared into the ruby’s facets. He wouldn’t worry if he didn’t care, would he? Her blood heated at the thought.
Don’t
. She clenched her fist, hiding the ring from sight.
Don’t think this is any more than it is
.

Raking a hand through his hair, he looked around. “About last night—”

The warmth drained out of her face. “No,” she snapped. “You made it quite clear what last night was about.”

“Lena, I need to explain—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She turned away, shoulders stiff and face frozen as she smoothed her skirts. “I understand that I made a fool of myself. It won’t happen again.”

“Lena, you—”

“A gentleman would keep his mouth shut now,” she reminded him, falling back on her lecture tone. Anything to hold herself together.

Will stared at her, his gaze an intimate touch she refused to meet. “Very well,” he said softly.

“I should be going. It’s growing late. And there’s that dinner I must attend.”

“You’re goin’ out?”

“Briefly. Then I’ll get back to work on Mr. Mandeville’s commission. I need to finish the interior clockwork of the transformational. I’m so very close. There’s no need for you to check on me tonight. I promise I won’t get into any trouble.”

He considered her words for a long moment. Then reached inside his pocket again. “I want you to keep this on you at all times,” he said, pulling out a whistle. It hung on a fine gold chain and he slipped it over her head, then tucked it into the bodice of her dress as though he barely noticed the shuddering intake of her breath “It makes a sound you won’t ’ear, but it’ll alert any blue bloods—or me—in the vicinity if you need help.” Stepping back, he shut the carriage door and nodded at the driver. “I’ll call on you tomorrow before the…the…”

“The balloon launch,” she reminded him. “In Hyde Park. With the Scandinavians.”

“Right.” Will grimaced. “We don’t have to go up in one of them?”

“Afraid of heights too?”

“I’m goin’ to ignore that.” He let go of the carriage and stepped back, shooting her a direct look—and a reminder. “No trouble tonight, Lena.”

“Would I get into trouble?”

“You’re a bloody magnet for it.”

Seventeen

A ruby. He’d bought her a ruby.

Lena held her bare hand out. She couldn’t stop looking at it, watching the play of light through the polished gem. It was the size of her littlest fingernail. She’d seen bigger. A dozen times over in the Echelon, where they liked to drape their thralls in jewels to indicate the status of their masters. But for Will to have bought her something like this made it more precious than the largest diamond in the world.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the seat. What was she going to do? How could she keep her heart safely locked away when he did things like this for her? For it was becoming dangerously apparent that her feelings for him were growing.

Dabbing at the perspiration across her brow, she sighed. From the pounding in her head, she was in for a good cup of willow bark tea when she got home.

A sudden jolt threw her across the seat.

Lena snatched at the carriage strap and glanced out the window. They’d stopped. The driver was one of Leo’s men, well skilled in the use of the horseless steam-driven carriages. Though they’d barely left Whitechapel behind, the roads weren’t bad and nobody would dare attack her this close to Blade’s turf. Every man and woman in the rookery knew who the gilded hawk on the carriage belonged to. Blade had declared Leo safe passage to his realm. The cost of crossing his word was death.

“Coachman?” she called as the carriage careened to a halt. “Henry?” There was no sign of the footman riding on back as she glanced out the window. “What’s going on?”

Silence greeted her. Considering it was early evening, the streets were frightfully deserted.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, a lambent blue eye suddenly lit up. Lena shrank back into the carriage as a shadow detached itself from the rest. It rose to a height of nearly six feet, then suddenly unfolded itself further until it stood almost eight or nine feet. The eerie gaslit blue of its eye was reminiscent of a metaljacket.

But no metaljacket had ever stood so tall.

Locking the carriage door, she looked around for something—anything—with which to defend herself. Only a few forlorn cushions greeted her gaze. Will had taken the pistol back, determined to improve it for her.

The metal creature stepped out of the alley, moving in large, jerking strides. It
was
a metaljacket, the overlapping plates of its chest and abdomen gleaming with cold steel. The head was square, crowned with a demonic steel helm. A thin slit of glass in its throat was the only sign of any weakness, and behind the glass were a pair of eyes. Human eyes.

Lifting its massive fist, it swung a blow toward her. Lena shrieked and dove across the seat as glass from the window sprayed throughout the carriage. She tore the other door open and fell onto the cobbles, collapsing in a puddle of yellow skirts.

Something tugged in her hair. Reaching up, she found the fine gold chain and followed it to the whistle Will had hung around her neck. Hydraulic hoses hissed behind her and the carriage shuddered. Lena stuck the whistle in her mouth and blew.

There was no sound. Nothing but steel screeching as the carriage slowly tipped on its edge, the monstrous creature trying to turn it over.

Grabbing her skirts, she bolted out of the way. The carriage smashed onto the cobbles, exactly where she’d just been kneeling. Gasping for breath, she darted forward blindly and crashed into something solid and warm.

Hands caught her by the arms. Lena jerked back instinctively and tore free from a man’s grip. A leering face came into view. He towered over her, wearing little more than a rough worker’s jerkin and tight leather pants. A seeming arsenal of metal hung at his belt. She didn’t take the time to look. Instead she turned and bolted back the way she’d come.

Men were everywhere. Ducking under snatching hands, she ran through a gauntlet of ragged, mismatched bandits.

Sound whirred behind her. “I’ve got ’er.”

Lena screamed as something wrapped around her ankles. Pitching forward onto her face, she hit the cobbles hard. Pain tore through her lip and her lungs shrank to a quarter of their size. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. There was a great, gaping vacuum in her chest and she sucked and sucked for air but none came. Then suddenly her lungs expanded and she dragged in a huge, rasping breath.

It hurt all the way through her.

The slow step of a pair of boots sounded on the cobbles behind her as someone made their way toward her.

“We oughta hurry, Mendici.” A young boy, by the sound of him. “Can’t keep the streets clear forever.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna cry hue, Jeremy.” The giant laughed. “Not in these parts.”

Lena’s gaze fell on the whistle, lying on the ground in front of her. She snatched for it but a boot came out of nowhere and ground it beneath his heel.

The giant smiled at her. “Well, ain’t you a pretty little puss?”

She tried to scramble to her hands and knees. Her skirts were wrapped firmly around her ankles by a weighted rope and she got nowhere for her efforts. Behind her a heavy metal boot stepped forward, hydraulics hissing.

“Rollins,” the giant gestured. “Pick her up and let’s get movin’.”

“What’d she mean with that whistle?” A young lad with dirty cheeks came into view, his eyes darting nervously. “Weren’t no noise from it.” He looked at her. “What’d you mean with that whistle?”

Licking the blood from her split lip, she summoned a smile. She could barely see for the throbbing of her head. “You’re in trouble now.”

The metal automaton leaned down with a steely hiss, its enormous hand closing around her waist. “Got her,” called an echoing voice from within. Then it straightened and she caught a glimpse of the man encased in the metal.

“Trouble?” Mendici looked up at her as she dangled precariously. “From whom? The Devil himself?”

Several men laughed.

“We know how to deal with the bleeders,” one called.

“Stick ’em with a shiv coated in hemlock,” another called, making a stabbing motion.

“Or a screamer.”

“Set Rollins and Percy on ’em,” another called.

The laughter swelled.

A shiver of unease ran through her. Far from being the threat it was, these men looked as though they’d relish the idea, and they sounded remarkably well prepared to handle it. If Will had heard the whistle, he’d be walking directly into an ambush. How she wished she’d never blown it.

“Come on, boys.” Mendici gave her a wink. “Let’s take her to see the master.”

***

Will sat at the kitchen counter, watching Esme stir her stew. The smell of it made his mouth water. This was the one place that felt like home to him. He’d spent hours here over the years, dozing lightly in the corner whilst Esme went about her jobs.

When she’d first became Blade’s thrall he’d found her presence disconcerting. Until that moment, the warren had been strictly all-male and he’d had little to do with women since his mother sold him to Tom Sturrett.

Esme had been grieving the loss of her husband, desperate straits forcing her to accept Blade’s protection. It had been her that taught him to read and fed him good food when his body tried to outgrow him. Her that bandaged his cuts when his first forays into the rookery ended in fights—fights that he’d gone seeking.

He had little recollection of his own mother. Esme was as close as he was ever going to get.

“So,” she murmured, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot and turning to face him. “What’s going on between you and Lena?”

The question shouldn’t have shocked him. There were no secrets in the warren, with four of them owning preternatural hearing. But he couldn’t recall ever saying anything that might have given them fodder for rumor. “What d’you mean?”

Esme gave him a look. “William Carver, let’s not pretend that I’m in any way stupid. Or blind. You wouldn’t want to insult me, would you?”

“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on between her and I. And that’s the way I intend to keep it.”

With a speculative look on her face, she wiped her hands on her apron and crossed to sit beside him. “Why?” She slid a warm hand over his. “It’s clear you have feelings for her, Will.”

He scowled down at the scarred kitchen bench. “I can’t, Esme.”

“John felt the same, you know,” she whispered with a sympathetic look in her green eyes. “He was afraid to hurt me. Afraid he couldn’t control himself around me. We took our time, but it’s worked for us.”

Will rubbed the back of his neck. “Esme, it ain’t that simple.”

“Oh?”

“Rip’s got the cravin’,” he said. “Spread through blood to blood contact. The loupe’s different. Spread by blood, by a man’s seed…”

A knowing light came into her eyes.

“I can’t ever be with her,” he growled the words out. “I wouldn’t subject her to a life like this. And that’s if she survived the initial infection.”

“Oh, Will—”

The door smashed open.

Will shoved Esme behind him. Rip glowered in the doorway, his gaze following the hand that had pressed her into the corner. A dark light came into his menacing eyes and Will jerked his hands away, holding them up in the air. If it came down to it, he could take Rip and they both knew it. But right now the man wasn’t thinking. Ruled by his own personal demons, all he saw was another man touching his wife.

“Just protectin’ her, Rip.”

“What’s wrong, John?” Esme asked.

“Heard a whistle.” His gaze darted over the pair of them. “Where’s Blade? Anyone missin’?”

Cold touched the back of Will’s neck. “Where’d you hear it? How long ago?”

“Outside the wall. Near Old Castle Street. ’Bout ten minutes ago mebbe.”