Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy (24 page)

Byrnes scrubbed himself clean then tossed her chemise aside.
“Move over," he told her, swatting her lightly on the backside.

"I don't recall this being part of the service," Ingrid replied, bemusement in her voice.

Byrnes slid in behind her, dragging her back into the curve of his arms.
The bed was too small, not built for two large people.
But she fit just right as she molded against him, and wasn't that a bloody thought?

"That was an excellent gift, Byrnes," Ingrid murmured sleepily.
"But you still haven't won your second challenge."

"No," he murmured, snuggling his face into the back of her neck, and brushing a kiss there.
"Not yet."

But he would.

B
YRNES STRODE
into Lynch's dining room the following day, handing his hat and coat to the butler.
He was tired of meetings, tired of talking about whether to arrest Ulbricht or not, and this note had arrived at a fortuitous moment.
He’d taken two steps inside the room when Ingrid's scent assailed him.
The hunger within him flooded upwards like a tide, his vision flashing to black and white before he swallowed and brought himself under control.

Ingrid looked up from the end of the ducal table, bouncing a chubby baby on her lap.
Surprise gleamed in her bronze eyes, and her full lips parted slightly as she caught sight of him.

Ambushed.

"Byrnes," Garrett Reed, the Master of the Nighthawks, greeted, and Byrnes realized they were not alone.
Garrett's wife, Perry, gently rocked one of her twin daughters at the end of the table, but the sight of Ingrid had shocked him enough to overlook them.

"What a surprise," he replied, meaning it, as he crossed to kiss Perry on the cheek.

"Buck up," Perry murmured in his ear, which was one of the reasons he liked her so much.
"Rosa's on the warpath."

"Thanks," he replied dryly.
"I hadn't guessed."

As Lynch rose and strode forward to shake his hand, Byrnes realized his old guild master was entirely complicit in this deception.
After all, the invite had come from him.

"Anything I should be aware of?"

Those canny gray eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Rosa's not entirely certain what to think of this entire affair.
If she picks up her knife, I'd duck for cover if I were you."

"I always duck for cover when Rosa's giving me that look," Byrnes replied, accepting a glass of blud-wein from the butler.

It still felt strange to be invited into Lynch's inner sanctum here.
Lynch had taken him off the streets when Byrnes's infection with the craving virus bloomed and given him a place in the world, but he'd never thought of the man as a father, like Garrett did.
No, Lynch had been a mentor, one of the few people that Byrnes truly respected.
They took dinner every now and then, and Byrnes knew he could go to the duke with a vexing case when he wanted insight, but Lynch's life had drifted away from the course of his own over the past few years.
Though once reluctant to step into the duchy's shoes, now Lynch thrived on his involvement in politics and his busy little family's affairs.

"Byrnes," Ingrid greeted.

"Miller," he replied, his tone devoid of any emotion, as he circled the table and took a seat across from her.
Being so clearly on display had his guard up, which wasn't entirely fair to her, especially not after last night.
His tone softened, "I didn't realize we were both attending tonight.
Else I'd have offered you a ride."

"Likewise," she drawled, and turned her attention to the baby.
Dinner was to be an informal affair then, if young Phillip was around.

Byrnes held little truck with children—until now, they'd never truly entered his life—but he was struck by how warm Ingrid's expression was as she burbled something to the baby, who promptly stuck her pearls in his mouth.
She'd relaxed in a way that he'd rarely seen, and it troubled him.

Perhaps it was her confession the other day; she'd lost her own family as a little girl, and Rosa and her brothers were all she had.
He'd known this.
But the reality of the situation hadn't struck him until now.

Ingrid wanted children.
She wanted a husband and a family of her own, and this was precisely why Rosa had wanted him to be here.
To see it.

He met the duchess's dark eyes and felt like he wanted to be ill.

"So," Lynch said, leaning back in his chair, as if Byrnes hadn't just been struck by a revelation that made him want to bolt from the table.
"Tell me about these Rising Sons.
Just how dangerous do you think they are?"

It was easy to answer, to string sentences together, and put cold hard facts out for the duke's perusal, but a part of Byrnes remained aware of Ingrid, who was playing some sort of game with Phillip involving spoons.
The baby was laughing.

A cold clammy hand gripped the back of his neck.

"Vampires," Garrett murmured, leaning back to rest his arm along the back of Perry's chair.
"That bodes ill.
How many do you think there are?"

"We killed one at Ulbricht's garden party, so there's at least three left."

Garrett and Perry shared a look.

"No," Perry replied firmly.
"Don't even think it.
I'm not leaving you here in the city to face a vampire alone.
Or three."

"If trouble comes," Rosa chipped in, to prevent an argument and perhaps forestall Lynch on the topic, "then Perry and I will take the children out of London.
But not yet, I think."

"Malloryn's passed along his findings to the Council of Dukes," Lynch said, looking at Byrnes, "but I wanted your take on matters first.
The queen is uncertain whether to declare martial law upon the city, and if we're forced to take a vote on the matter...
well, I'd like the facts, at least."

Martial law would send the Nighthawks out onto the street in force, which might be good for the case but would also cause panic among the citizens and lead to potential riots and outbursts in the streets.
The revolution was still too raw in people's minds.

"I'd...
wait," Byrnes said slowly.
"So far these vampires seem to be under the control of Ulbricht's mistress.
They're not rampaging through the streets."

"And by voting for martial law," Ingrid pointed out, "we're playing directly into the hands of whoever is behind all of this.
Each event so far has been to provoke some sort of response in the populace.
These people want the crowd to fear the queen, they want them to start thinking about what happened three years ago, and the second that starts, I suspect these events will increase in intensity.
Right now there's a lot of behind-the-scenes work going on.
Ulbricht and his crew are building up to something, but they're not there yet."

"You have the full cooperation of the Nighthawks," Garrett told Byrnes, which made something inside him spread its wings.

He'd been overlooked for the job of guild master when Lynch resigned, and had slowly come to terms with it.
Garrett did a much better job than he ever would have.
But it was nice to realize that his opinion was respected enough for Garrett to offer them to him without objections.

"Thanks," Byrnes said, just as the first course arrived.
"We may just need it."

T
he Duchess
of Bleight was not as easygoing as her husband, Lynch.

Byrnes heard the swish of fabric a moment before Rosa swept into view, bearing down upon him like a Dreadnought, its cannons raised.
In that moment, he had a brief sensation of what the French might have thought at Trafalgar.
Oh, shit.
Just when he'd thought he'd escaped.
Pausing in the entry, in the act of tugging his gloves on, he gave her a raised-brow look.

"A moment, Byrnes,” she said, and her voice was deceptively casual.
Her dark eyes, however, flashed fire.
One might not think it to look at her in all of those green ruffles and pretty pearls, but Byrnes would rather face Lynch over weapons than Rosa.
Anyday.

"Something the matter, Your Grace?”

"Don’t you ‘Your Grace’ me.
What are your intentions toward Ingrid?”

Byrnes’s eyes narrowed.
"None of your business, I believe."

She snorted, and a gloved finger stabbed into his chest like a chisel.
"Ingrid belongs to me, and I don't like this at all.
You're the last man I'd ever throw her to."

"Ingrid belongs to herself," he told her firmly.
"Not you.
Not me.
As such she can make her own choices in life, regardless of what you think of me."

"I'll concede that point, Byrnes, and I mean no offense, but we all know what type of man you are.
You're not the sort to dally with a woman past your interest in her.
You don't have marriage written in your future, or children, or all of the things that Ingrid secretly craves."

No, he hadn't been that man.
Ever.
But last night something had shifted in his perception of what was happening between them.
He just wasn't entirely certain what it was.

And he clearly wasn't hiding it well enough, for Rosa's eyes narrowed as she watched him.
"What was
that
?"

"What?"

"That look," she said suspiciously.

"Dinner disagreeing with me perhaps."
He turned toward the door, conversation over.

Rosa darted in front of him, and Byrnes stopped short just before he ploughed into her.
They both looked down.
He had his hands up as if to stop himself and they rested but an inch from a certain area of her anatomy that Byrnes generally pretended Rosa didn't have.

He jerked them out of range before someone shot him.

"That look," she said, highly amused by his panic, "wasn't just dinner disagreeing with you.
You were considering something.
What was it?"

Byrnes crossed his arms.
Interrogation it was, then.
Never let it be said that he was afraid to face the worst womankind could throw at him.
"Answer me this first: why is she so frightened of rats?"

"This is not an exchange of questions."

"Rosa," he warned.
"She practically leapt into my arms when a rat scurried over her foot.
She was frightened, and she won't tell me why.
I want to know."

Rosa paused.
"What do you know of her past?"

"She was stolen from her family and sold to Lord Balfour," he replied promptly, "who by all accounts was a right rotten bastard."

"Well, that is succinct."
With a sigh, Rosa continued, though hesitantly, "She's only ever spoken of this to me once, Byrnes, so consider this a matter she's extremely reluctant to deal with."

"I won't say anything."

"Imagine being a little girl, stolen from your family and placed on a ship by men who don't speak your language, and don't consider you even human.
She wasn't the only child taken, either.
There were two other girls in the hold, and a little boy in the cage next to her.
His name was Viktor, and he'd sustained quite a beating in his capture.
And, like most ships, there were rats."

Byrnes shifted uncomfortably.
"What happened?"

"Viktor didn't survive," Rosa said, quite brutally.
"You can imagine what the rats did to his body, and what she had to see.
Ingrid would walk into a burning house to save someone she loved and not bat an eyelid, but rats...
She's terrified of them."

"She's still looking for her family."

"Wouldn't you?"

He looked away.
This was more complicated than he'd expected.
"We have a...
challenge set in place.
If I win three challenges, she'll allow me into her bed.
Those are my intentions.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a vampire or two to catch.”

"Byrnes.”
Rosa caught his sleeve as he opened the door.
Those eyes were molten chocolate as she looked up at him.

"I’m not your husband, Rosa.
I’m not going to fall for those innocent eyes.
I know exactly who you are, and what you’re capable of."
He couldn't forget that she'd once been an assassin, despite the fact that Lynch seemed to be able to.

"But do you know who Ingrid is, and what she’s capable of?”

"Rendering a man senseless, or tearing his head from his shoulders?
She’s verwulfen, Rosa.
I know what she can do.
I've seen her take on a vampire, after all.”

"But do you know what it means, to be verwulfen?”

He paused then.
There was something beneath the words that he couldn’t quite identify.

Rosa took his hesitation as intended.
"Verwulfen are passionate and loyal and completely enslaved by their emotions.
The Scandinavian verwulfen often mate for life, and when their partners die, they rarely take another.
They refer to marriage as mating, and when they do so, it is only ever once.
Ingrid’s wary when it comes to letting a person into her life, but when she does… it’s forever.
If she falls for you, then she won’t let you go.
Not in her heart, though she may watch you walk away.
She has her pride, after all, and Ingrid has learned how to adapt to loss.
Sometimes I fear that a part of her won't accept any man as her mate, for fear of losing him, but...
I hope that one day she will find someone."