Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy (29 page)

I
NGRID WOKE
because someone was trying to wear a rut in her floorboards.

Byrnes.
She'd woken several times since the vampire tore her apart, and every time he'd been at her side in a heartbeat, demanding to know if she was all right, if she was in pain, hungry...
what?

Ingrid didn't know what to make of it.
She wasn't used to being fussed over, and if she were being honest with herself, Byrnes was fussing.
He'd even fed her soup.
Soup!
And her favorite too.

How he knew this....
She suspected Rosa’s help, which meant a conspiracy against her, but then again, who knew when it came to Byrnes?
He was always watching.
Always filing little pieces of information away in that brain of his.

It left her feeling distinctly uncertain about the way things were between them.
They'd agreed, damn it.
They weren't going to take that step forward, but it seemed that she'd missed some vital change of mind.

“Good morning,” he said.

"Still here?"
she asked, tossing back the covers and trying to stand.

She barely had a chance to do so before his lean body was pressed against her own, gently easing her arm around his shoulders as her legs wobbled.

"Byrnes.”
Her exasperation showed.
“I’m not an invalid.”

He sat them on the edge of the bed with his arm around her waist.
"You've barely gotten your feet back under you.
I'm not letting you out of bed until you're completely healed."

"I need some privacy, Byrnes."

"You can barely stand—"

"Byrnes," she growled, deep in her throat.

"Five minutes," he finally said, and then left the room so that she could take care of the necessities and then scrub her teeth.

Ingrid paused in front of the mirror, then rolled up her nightshirt, tentatively untying the bandages there.
Smooth skin met her gaze.
No sign of the vampire's attack.
She touched the area lightly.
"You survived," she whispered, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
It didn't feel like it though.
Not deep inside, where a part of her had met her own mortality head-on.
She'd always been invincible.
Or felt like it.

But this was the first time she’d borne such a grievous injury.

It left her feeling vulnerable in more ways than one, and Byrnes wasn’t helping the situation.
How could she deal with his sudden change of heart?
What did it mean?

"Knock, knock," Byrnes called, and Ingrid jumped.

"I'm done," she called, scurrying back to her bed and slipping under the covers.

He entered briskly, carrying a tray.
"I brought you breakfast," he said, as though she couldn't smell the beefsteak.
"Jack told me you're not worth dealing with before you've eaten, after one of these episodes."

"I'm not hungry."

"Actually he
warned
me not to deal with you before then."
Byrnes lifted the silver tureen off the self-heating platter.
Steam wafted off it, and the smell hit her like a punch to the gut.
Her stomach chose that moment to mimic the sound of whales mating.
Loudly.
Curse him.

"Pity," Byrnes said, wafting the steam toward her with the most evil smile she'd ever seen.
"Herbert went to a lot of trouble to cook this up for you.
Now what am I supposed to do with it?
Hmm, there was this scrawny young cat out the back.
I suppose I can just feed it to her."

Ingrid ground her teeth together.
"There are times when I'm tempted to do...
something to you."

Byrnes swung into the chair beside her bed, still fanning the steam her way.
"Oh?
Do tell?
Something...
wicked?
Something involving the pair of us getting naked?
Again?"

"Something permanent," she growled, and then took the plate off him, and the knife and fork.
If she didn't eat then she was going to be too weak to get out of bed.
It had nothing to do with him getting the better of her, and then acting all smug about it.

Besides, it felt good to have the fork in her hand.

Byrnes very subtly moved his leg out of the way when she glanced at it.
Perhaps it was the way that her fingers curled around the fork?
Or maybe the expression on her face?

"Just remember," he warned in a mild tone, "you like those bits of me."

"Do I?
I find I can't quite recall why at the moment."
Which was a blatant lie.
She very much liked those bits of him, and her memory chose that moment to remind her in precise detail about what those bits looked like.
What they felt like against her skin....
Ingrid smothered a groan, and stabbed the beefsteak instead.

It wasn't fair.
Here she was trying to play by the rules that he'd invented—the rules that said that they couldn't do this—and he was doing his level best to dash all of her best defenses.
Ingrid shoved a piece of steak in her mouth.
She didn't understand any of it.
She chewed thoughtfully.
She needed Jack to talk to.

"Why are you here?
Why are you bringing me breakfast?
And why were you even sitting by my bedside at all?
Don't you have a vampire to hunt?"

"Kincaid's waiting downstairs.
I just wanted to see...."
He paused then, and a half dozen expressions flitted across his face before he managed to soothe his expression back into a blank mask.
"What do you remember?"

"I know that you didn't like seeing me like that."
Byrnes hadn't been at all himself.
There'd been a frantic energy to him, as if the blue-blooded predator within him lay very close to the surface.
Ingrid frowned.
"And I don't think you liked Malloryn being in here."

Which was a curious memory indeed.

Byrnes flicked a piece of lint off his arm, then shifted his gaze to the window.
"I'm having a slight problem," he admitted.
"I know what I should do.
I know
why
I should do it."
Those blue eyes locked on hers, spearing straight through her.
"But I don't want to walk away from you, and to be quite honest, I am dealing with some complex emotions at the moment."

Ingrid stared back, working her way through what he was saying.
"You don't want to walk away?"

Byrnes stood abruptly and began pacing.
"I don't do this, Ingrid."

"Fetch a woman breakfast, you mean?"
she asked, feeling a faint warmth wash through her, as if a part of her was starting to understand.
She had to admit she liked seeing him so off-balance.
Byrnes was always
too
composed.

"
That
too."

Ingrid swallowed another mouthful.
"Are you trying to say that you have decided that we are going to pursue this little flirtation between us?"

"It's not a flirtation," he finally told her.
"Not for me.
Not any longer."

She nearly dropped the fork.
Of all the things she'd expected him to say, this was not it.
"But I...
I...
you...."
Nothing.
She had nothing to say.

Byrnes eased onto the edge of her mattress, clasping his hands carefully in his lap.
"I've gone above and beyond to prove that you and I meant nothing, and it turns out I've been lying to myself all along."
He hesitated.
"I missed you during this last year, Ingrid.
I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
And I said some stupid things about getting you into my bed and burning you out of my memory, but the truth is...
I don't think I could ever forget you.
You're one hell of a woman.
And I don't know where this road will take us, or whether I can be what you want, but I do know that I want to explore that option."

“I wish you’d make up your mind,” she whispered.

“It is made up.”
This time, there was no misjudging the expression on his face.
“I am going to pursue you, Ingrid Miller, with the intention of never letting you go.
So fair warning….”

Words died in her throat.
This was supposed to be a chase, a game.
Byrnes wasn’t the sort of man that one started daydreaming about the future with.
Except… that seemed to be his intention now.

"I understand that you weren’t expecting this.
Perhaps you don’t feel the same way that I do.
I don’t know.
We need to talk about this," Byrnes said, leaning in to kiss her gently, his hands cupping her face in a way that made her heart leap in her chest.
"But this is not really a wonderful time, and I think you need some time to think.
You keep making these incoherent noises."
He grinned suddenly.
"I'll take them to mean that you're flummoxed by my abrupt turnabout and not disgusted at all.
Just know this: It's no longer about winning your body, Ingrid.
When I finish these challenges, I intend to win your heart."

Withdrawing gently, he stood and stepped away.
"Rest and heal, so you can join me as soon as possible.
Kincaid's not nearly as pretty as you are."

And, after dropping that shocking statement upon her, he turned and left the room.

L
ocking away all
of the doubts he felt about Ingrid and whether she felt even remotely the same way he did, Byrnes amused himself by toying with Kincaid.

"So you're saying that there's not a single positive outcome associated with a man turning into a blue blood?"
he asked.
"Just to make your statement clear."

Kincaid shrugged.
"I don't know, bloodsucker.
Is there?"

Stalking across the rooftop, Byrnes paused at the edge, then leapt down twelve feet to the next rooftop and looked up.
"Well come on, then.
We haven't got all night."

Kincaid examined the drop, then swung himself over the gutter and used his arm strength to lower himself a respectable distance before he dropped onto the roof at Byrnes's side.
"Still can't see a benefit."

Byrnes examined his pocket watch.
"I can.
It's called efficiency.
I should have brought Charlie.
We'd be nearly there by now.
You're slowing me down.
And we have a vampire’s trail to pick up."

"Malloryn's got him doing something."

"What?"

"How the hell should I know?
I'm not his secretary."

“I’m faster than you,” Byrnes pointed out.
“I’m stronger than you.
I heal from practically anything.
And let’s just say that when it comes to the ladies, I can go all night too.”

"That's got nothing to do with being a bloodsucker," Kincaid spat back.

Byrnes grinned at him.

"So, I heard the chemicals in a blue blood's saliva can bring a woman to the edge of ecstasy," Kincaid said, casting him a sidelong glance.

"Your point?"
Byrnes asked.
"I assume you're not complimenting me."

"My point is, a real man don't need no
chemical
enhancements to satisfy a woman."

"Don't worry.
It's not the chemicals in my saliva that leaves my women satisfied.
Jealous?"
Byrnes arched a brow.

"Is that why Ingrid's been casting big eyes at you—?"

Byrnes stopped in his tracks, his easy languor fading off him as if it had never been there.
The hunger within him surged, shocking violence suddenly rising to the fore, and he realized that a part of it was due to his lingering uncertainty about what Ingrid’s answer would be.
"A blue blood can also kill you in a second and bury the body so deep that nobody will ever find it.
And if you even breathe her name again," his voice dropped to a growl, "in a manner indicating anything less than utter respect, then I will take a lot longer to kill you than a second.
I will make it last for
days
."