Kiss of Steel (9 page)

Still, it gave him an odd sort of pleasure to see her accept the plate and dissect the meat with the small fork. The urge to protect her was suddenly overwhelming. Honoria was not the sort of woman to welcome such attentions, and he wasn’t sure why he felt such a strong inclination. After their first meeting, he was fairly certain she’d spit in the eye of the devil himself. She needed someone to watch over her, but she’d be damned if she’d admit it.

As she took a delicate bite, her eyes softened with pleasure. “Delicious.”

A flake of pastry clung to her lips. He shifted uncomfortably as her tongue darted out and swept it away. “Aye,” he muttered. He liked seeing the visible enjoyment on her face. A simple moment of sensory delight that he was privy to.

Imagine what other delights he could show her. Imagine her reaction, as delicious and uncensored as it was now, while she closed her lips over another bite.

Her gaze flickered his way. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t ’elp meself,” he replied. “You were made to be stared at.”

A flicker of consternation crossed her face. She toyed with the fork. “As far as compliments go, it is crude but sufficient. But we shall cover that later, after we have begun the rudimentary matters.”

“I were merely statin’ the truth,” he replied. “Can’t take me eyes off you. Does it bother you?”

Another slant of those wide, almond eyes. “It’s disconcerting,” she admitted. “How should you like it if I stared so at you?”

Blade spread his arms wide. “Look all you want, luv.”

Honoria stabbed the last of the pie, delicately sweeping it off the tip of the fork with her cherry-colored lips. Her gaze settled on his with a challenging gleam. Then slowly it started wandering down his body, cataloging each inch of flesh as though she were ruthlessly looking to find fault with it. An uncomfortable feeling.

“A woman is not encouraged to…to leer at a man,” she said with a troubled look pinching her brows. She paused, seemingly quite taken with his thighs.

His cock stirred.
Thank
the
lord
for
tight
leather
, he thought, feeling her piercing gaze upon that area of his anatomy. “Ain’t you ever looked at a man, then?”

“Of course not.”

Relief swelled in his chest.

Honoria shook her head as though clearing it. “How do you distract me so easily?” She put the empty plate aside and tugged a sheet of paper out of her sheaf. “This is a sheet of the alphabet. I shall go over it with you. We might as well begin there for tonight. The basics of appropriate conversational topics seem to be escaping you entirely.”

Blade didn’t complain. As she placed the paper on a small writing table between them, she dragged her chair closer. He hauled his alongside, and as she leaned forward, her shoulder brushed against his.

She shot him a startled look. “That’s quite close enough.”

“Can’t see the paper.” He squinted slightly.

“You’re a blue blood.” As such his vision was preternaturally excellent.

Teasing her was far more enjoyable than most of the interactions he’d ever had with women. Including the naked ones. It was so easy to fluster her.

Honoria readjusted her chair, then used her cup of tea to anchor the top corner of the sheet. There were twenty-six squares across it, filled with thick, dark letters. In this state he could recognize most of them; it was only when placed in a jumble that he could not always pick out the meaning.

“This,” she said, pointing at the first letter, “is ‘A,’ as in airship.”

He liked watching her mouth form the shape of the words. The flick of her tongue as she pronounced each vowel and consonant. The wet gleam on her lips as she moistened them.

She made him repeat the sound, which he did, perfectly. By the time she’d reached ‘F,’ she was frowning at him.

“Are you paying attention?” she accused.

“Aye.”

“To the
letters
,” she said. “Not my…my mouth.”

“I know me letters,” he said. “When they’re like this.”

An eyebrow arched. “Prove it.”

“We’ve no ink,” he said, sliding his fingers over the edge of her armchair. He stroked her hand gently. “’Ow do I prove it?”

Honoria tugged at his fingers, but he turned her hand over in his and exposed the bare skin of her wrist.

“I’ve an idea,” he murmured innocently.

With his fingertip he traced the first slashing line of the “A” across her smooth skin. The touch was deliberately light. Her lips parted and she gave a helpless little shiver.

“Stop.”

“‘A.’ For arm.” He returned to the start and began the soft, lush curves of the next letter. “‘B.’” His gaze traveled down her throat to her bosom, and he leaned closer, his voice lowering hypnotically. “For…brow.” A devilish little smile.

Honoria’s eyes went out of focus as she stared at his mouth. Her breath came a little heavier and she wet her lips. “That’s quite enough.” But the words lacked force.

“‘C.’” Another suggestive curve. “For cheek.” His breath brushed against her neck as he slowly leaned closer.

Honoria trembled, like a rabbit trapped in the hunter’s hand, knowing that the soothing strokes of his touch were dangerous and yet not understanding how. He sensed the struggle within her; by rights she should pull away and slap him. With the melting softness in her body, she wanted to wait and see what else he could do. Curiosity would be her downfall. There was a passionate woman beneath the starch and tightly laced stays. But she could not be won by force, only by the sweet lure of desire.

Blade brought her hand up, lowering his mouth to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse gave an erratic jolt and she sucked in a sharp breath.

“‘D,’” he whispered, feeling the coolness of his breath stir across her skin. “For dimples. Me favorite bit.” Reaching out he started tracing the curve of the “D” across her wrist with his tongue. This close, he could smell the come-hither scent of her lush body.

“Stop,” she breathed, her lips parted and quivering. A tremor ran through her entire body.

He looked up from her wrist, his tongue swirling through the intricate points of an “E.” Their eyes met, hers wide and shocked. Blade stopped tracing the letter and suckled the tender skin into his mouth in a delicious parody of what he would do if the vein were cut open.

It was too much for her. She pushed him away with a cry and clutched her arm to her chest as she put three staggering steps between them. There was a bruise forming on her wrist in the shape of his mouth. The sight of it stirred his blood. He’d put his mark on her. Dark satisfaction flavored the thought.

Honoria stared at him through passion-glazed eyes. She looked vulnerable, and he realized that the cool mask of indifference she often wore was gone. As she rubbed hard at the mark on her wrist, her eyebrows drew together. She was not happy. He had slipped past her emphatic barriers, and she would never forget how easily he’d done it.

“You…” With a growl, she gathered her papers up and stuck them in her satchel. “You have overstepped the line. That is
not
considered polite
or
acceptable. Good night.”

“You forgot your cake,” he called as she turned to leave the room. “For your brother and sister.”

With another angry glance, she returned to fold the cake neatly into a napkin. “You have two days. I advise that you learn some restraint.”

And then she turned and stalked out, leaving him laughing behind her.

***

“Miss Pryor, a word if I could?” Mr. Macy wrung his hands as he stood in the doorway, a habit she secretly found detestable.

Honoria plastered a smile on her face and put her teacup down. She couldn’t help tugging at the sleeve of her gown, though she knew it covered the damning mark. Blade’s mark. She could feel his mouth on her skin as if he’d etched the sensation into her body. The thought made her angry—yes,
angry
—that she could not escape him.

Her notes were spread across the polished surface of the walnut secretary desk, written in the spidery hand of the mechanical letter copier. She had just finished with Miss Lovett, who was making remarkable progress. The girl’s stammer had almost completely submerged, except in times of emotional duress, and she could recite the names of the Great Houses of the Echelon by rote: Malloryn, Casavian, Bleight, Lannister, Caine, Goethe, and Morioch.

“Of course, Mr. Macy. I was just reviewing my notes on Miss Lovett. They say she’s caught the eye of Mr. George Fitzwilliam of the House of Lannister. A minor offshoot but a coup for the academy, sir.”

Mr. Macy allowed himself a small smile. “Indeed.” Then it faded. He stepped into the parlor she’d been allocated for her lessons, shutting the doors behind him with meticulous care.

Honoria felt the air deflate out of her and put the spring pen down, smoothing out her skirts. This was going to be a difficult talk, possibly disastrous. She could tell.

Still, she kept the smile on her lips. “Would you care for some tea, sir?”

“No, thank you.” Mr. Macy took his seat, sinking into the stuffed armchair. The drone hovered with the tea caddy, little puffs of steam erupting from the release valve on its head. “I’m afraid, Miss Pryor, that we need to have a serious discussion.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I know yesterday was inexcusable. It won’t happen again, I promise. Charlie’s illness caught me by surprise. I didn’t—”

“I’m not here to discuss your brother’s illness,” Mr. Macy said. His watery blue eyes met hers from behind his steel-rimmed glasses. “I had a rather alarming visit this morning from a dear friend of mine, Mr. Bromley. He said that he saw you passing through Aldgate three days ago after work, on your way out of the city.”

Her stomach plummeted. Somehow she kept the smile in place.

“I’m afraid it’s led me to question certain inconsistencies in your story, Miss Pryor.” He pulled a note from his pocket. “I sent a telegram to your reference in Oxford, Mrs. Grimthorpe. The response came back this afternoon.” His gaze met hers. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Oh, dear
. “I’ve never given you any reason to doubt me, Mr. Macy. I’ve only ever had three days off, tending to Charlie, since I began working for you, and I’ve had remarkable success with my ladies.”

He pulled an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table between them. “I’m very sorry to do this, Miss Pryor. You have been an exceptional employee. But I cannot risk someone with a dubious past at the academy. As you say, Miss Lovett is discussing thrall contracts with the House of Lannister. It could
make
Macy’s Academy of the Finer Arts, but it would also pull undue scrutiny from the Echelon. It is clear that you are hiding something. It would be rude of me to insist upon an answer, but the mere fact that you used a reference from a
woman
who
doesn’t exist
, as well as the lack of Oxford-born speech to your tongue—and yes, I have an ear for accents too—tells me that it would be unwise to further our association.”

“Mr. Macy, please…” There was something hot on her cheeks. Goodness, was she crying? She touched her gloved finger to it and stared at the wet lace. “Please, do not do this. I have a younger brother. A sister. They depend upon me.”

Mr. Macy looked uncomfortable. “I’ve included a reference for you. An excellent one. And a bank check to see you through the next two weeks.”

Honoria knew when the battle was lost. The decision had been made before he even entered the room. She eyed the envelope. Two weeks. And then they would have nothing but Lena’s meager wage. It wasn’t enough, and yet it was more than he ought to have given her after she’d lied to him.

A pity she couldn’t use it, for she didn’t dare show the bank her identity card. And
Miss
Pryor
had none.

“I’m very sorry.” Her head bowed in defeat. “I’ll gather my things. Thank you for…for the reference.”

He stood, evidently eager to have this over with. “Would you like me to call a steam cab for you?”

Honoria laughed under her breath. Five shillings for the cab. “No. No, thank you, sir.” She stood, sweeping her skirts out behind her. What a strange relief she felt. No more snide comments from Lena about the fine dresses she wore to fool Mr. Macy. No more sneaking around, pretending to ride the tram to the address she’d given him in the West End.

She knew the shock would soon wear off and fear would settle in, gnawing at her belly. Those ever-present questions would begin circling her mind like vultures.
Where
to
work? How to feed them? How to pay the rent? How to find warm clothes for the winter that was looming around the corner?

But she couldn’t think about it now. She could only digest—slowly—this latest hand that fate had dealt her.