Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy (7 page)

Byrnes scratched at his jaw.
"Looked like teeth marks to me.
What's your point?
What's new about this?"

"Think about it, Byrnes," she said, leaning back in her chair.
"If this SOG had anything to do with it, then why would they kill a girl of their own class?
Or kidnap an entire party full of blue blood lords?
How does that affect their cause?"

That got his attention.
"Maybe Carrington knew something.
Or maybe the partygoers were arguing against the status quo."

"I did a little digging.
Carrington was a vocal supporter of the prince consort before the queen overthrew him.
His finances took a blow thanks to the revolution.
I'd imagine that if this SOG does have something to do with the disappearances, then he'd be a prime candidate for one of their members."

"Go on."

"So why attack a group of people belonging to their own class?
And what would a group of disaffected lords be doing tramping through sewers?
How would they even know what was down there?"

Byrnes frowned.
"You're blowing holes in my theory."

"It's a nice theory."
She shrugged.
"And deserves looking into.
Maybe the black flag symbol is purely coincidence...
but maybe it's not.
We just have to put the pieces together.
Which is why you need me."

His back straightened.
"Miller—"

"The party should reveal more about this mysterious SOG."
Ingrid crossed toward the screen, snagging her shirt and protective overcorset off the edge of a chair.

"And I'll tell you everything you need to know—"

"I'm coming, Byrnes."

"No, you're not."
He stood, tucking the invitation firmly within his pocket.
"You didn't get a chance to read the fine print, but I'm not telling you when or where.
I might be able to slip beneath their notice, Miller, but you're very clearly verwulfen.
As far as they're concerned you're an animal, and far beneath their notice.
You'll stand out like a sore thumb, and contrary to popular opinion..."
He held up a finger to stall her protests.
"I don't want you getting hurt because some blue blood lords decide they want to play games with you."

She glared at him over the screen, because he was mostly right.
"I'll think of a way."

"As for today," he continued, as though she hadn't spoken, "I'm planning on informing the Moore family of Imogen's passing, and seeing if they know anything more about Carrington, or this Ulbricht fellow.
What are your plans?"

"I'd love to tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
With a smirk over the top of the screen, she dropped the robe.
His eyes turned flat, his nostrils flaring as she slipped into her shortened chemise.
"May the best agent win, Byrnes."

After all, two could play this game, and Ingrid was weary of his lone wolf attitude.
"Now get out, and let me wash and dress."

"I could stay," he replied with a half-amused smile.
"Button up those hard to reach places for you."

"I could also rip your arm out of its socket," she told him mildly.
"But I'm not going to.
Though I am tempted."

Byrnes wisely beat a strategic retreat as Ingrid set to thinking.
Just because he didn't want her along on this mission into Ulbricht's home didn't mean that she couldn't be there.

T
HE SUMMONS TO Debney's
house appeared early that afternoon.
Curious, but not entirely surprised, Byrnes complied.

"Change of heart?"
he called, appearing in Debney's study where the lord was scribbling something furiously on a piece of paper.

Debney started, spattering ink across the page he'd been working upon.
"Can you not use the front door, like everyone else?"

"The point is subterfuge," Byrnes replied, resting his hip against the desk and trying to see what his half brother had been writing.
"I don't particularly want anybody seeing me waltz in and out, and neither should you.
I'm a known Nighthawk, and you're a very convenient source of information.
You look like hell."

"Thank you."
Debney pushed away from his desk, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
"I'm not entirely certain whether I've been manipulated, or whether I've had an attack of conscience."

"Oh?"

"I'm coming to the house party."

That was interesting, but also not exactly what he'd planned.
Debney would be cannon fodder at best, and if Byrnes was to work at optimum, then he couldn't be watching over his shoulder all the time, trying to keep an eye on his wayward brother.
"If you don't wish to go, then you don't have to.
I don't need you, Debney."

"No, but I do," came a sultry voice from the door, and then, with a swish of skirts, Ingrid appeared.

Like hell.
"I don't—" And then his mind stopped working as he saw her for the first time.

The tall, lean huntress had vanished, replaced by a woman in a flattering black jacket, open over a dove-gray corset and bustle that swept up on one side to reveal the midnight-blue sweep of skirts beneath.
There were bows.
Ribbons.
Frills.
A hat cocked on top of a mass of gorgeous, polished honey-brown curls.
She was even carrying a white-and-blue-striped parasol, though the design looked almost like something Ava had created.

Their eyes met.
She was wearing that intense expression—almost as if he were prey at that moment—the one that made his hackles rise.
Ingrid's slow smile was dangerous.

The French had a word for it:
la femme fatale
.

Byrnes' eyes narrowed, and he belatedly realized his mouth was hanging open.
"No," he said, turning and placing his hands flatly on the desktop, as he captured Debney's gaze.
"I don't know how she managed to convince you to do this, but it's not going ahead.
We stick with my plan."

"Which includes you waltzing through the doors at Lord Ulbricht's estate and pretending to hobnob with the Echelon?"
Ingrid snorted, crossing her arms under her breasts.
"Even the blindest member of the Echelon would spot you for a wolf in their midst the second you appeared.
You wouldn't pull it off."

"And you would?"
A vein ticked in his temple.
She was doing this on purpose, using her stance to turn her bust to best example.
If she wasn't careful she was going to spill out of that dress.

And he was having trouble looking her in the eye.

"Debney looks the part," she said.
"The invitation is in his name, and quite frankly, unless he wants Malloryn on his heels, then he needs to comply with this case."

"You
threatened
him?"

"I reminded him of the consequences.
There's a reward, in case you haven't being paying attention."

And Debney needed money.

"You'll get him killed," Byrnes growled.

"That's why I'm going."
Walking smoothly, she trailed her fingers along the desk, stalking behind Debney.
"I can keep an eye on him to protect him, while you're sneaking around the estate.
It's perfect."

If a blue blood could sweat, Debney looked like he'd be doing it.
"Wasn't my idea."

Byrnes didn't take his gaze off her.
"Oh, I guessed that.
I should never have told you."

"
Au contraire
, you should have told me from the start, and we could have come up with a feasible plan together.
I might have allowed you to work
my
case."
Ingrid leaned over the desk.
"As it is, I might still allow you to join us.
Someone needs to play valet."

Might?
Might
?
Byrnes rested his knuckles on the mahogany and loomed closer until her breath brushed his cheek.
"I thought you were chasing up that theory about the Doeppler orbs."

"Jack's still looking into it for me.
Results should be due in around twenty-four hours, and oh, look, I seem to have the time to fit in a side excursion."

"No."

"Give me one good reason," Ingrid countered, her voice thickening and the bronze rings around her pupils flaring.

Usually a good time for any sane man to run.
Verwulfen were rash, passionate creatures, and he'd since learned that Ingrid was dangerous when her verwulfen nature was roused.
"Because I said so."

She leaned toward him and there was a heat in her eyes that indicated she was one second away from pouncing upon him.

He crossed his arms over his chest.
Oh yes, my dear.
Anytime you're ready, I can take you
.

Debney cleared his throat.
"Just in case anyone is interested in my opinion, I've decided that I'm only going if Ingrid goes, and I'm the one with the invitation.
She can pretend to be my mistress."

Ingrid brushed a piece of nonexistent fluff off her sleeve.

"Be reasonable, Caleb."
Debney's expression was long-suffering.
"It's a better idea than your own.
You've only got your back up because someone else came up with it.
And I'm not going to risk my hide without at least two people to watch my back."

"I can circle the ballroom while you're skulking about Ulbricht's study," Ingrid countered.
"Three sets of eyes, instead of one."

Maneuvring him like a chess piece.
"I'm not Debney.
You'll need to work harder than that to convince me."

"What makes you think I need to convince you?"

"The fact that you're trying."

"How about this, then?
First challenge," Ingrid said softly, meeting his gaze.
"Prove to me that you're worth the risk.
Prove to me that you can compromise when you need to.
I'm not interested in...
selfishness, Caleb."

Every muscle in his body locked into stone.
She was accepting his dare.
But— No!
Not like this.
"Miller."

"You won't get another chance."
Those dark lashes fluttered down, obscuring her amber gaze.

He stood arrested.
Frustration clashed with sheer want.
If he didn't submit, then she'd no doubt never let him so much as touch her.
Oh, she'd trapped him so neatly.
He was furious.
And aroused.
"The prize had better be worth it."

"I'll let you know what I'll consider."
Ingrid's smile held satisfaction: his statement was pure capitulation.
Pushing away from the desk, she took her seat in the corner, crossing her legs.

God.
Damn.
It.

Debney coughed, reminding them off his presence.
"So we're all going, then?"

Byrnes gave a curt nod.
"Let me go get my things and send for the dirigible.
My lord."
He shot one last glare at Ingrid as he strode from the room.

Patience.
Just a little patience, and she could be his.

T
hey borrowed
the dirigible from the Nighthawks Guild, though Ingrid wasn't entirely certain whether
borrowed
was the precise term to use.

Byrnes ushered them aboard a little too swiftly, and insisted on speaking to the captain privately, dropping his voice just low enough to make it difficult for her to hear.

"Well, I'm going to freshen up," Debney said with a yawn.
"It's at least an hour to the air docks near Ulbricht's manor.
And I'll need all of my wits about me tonight.
Are you coming?"

"In a moment," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Just...
curious about something."

Debney's glance shifted between the two of them and he made to say something, then clearly thought better of it and scurried away.

Byrnes was definitely up to something.
Close proximity last year had given her most of his tells, and when Byrnes smiled like that and made an effort to be affable, he was up to no good.
Charm did not come naturally to him, as usually he saw little point in it.

Despite her feelings about Byrnes, it was one of the things she almost admired about him.
Charm was all well and good, but at least you knew exactly where you stood with him.
Most of the time.

"Something amusing?"
Byrnes arched an eyebrow at her as he finished up with the captain and sauntered over.

"A private thought.
I might tell you later, if I feel like it.
I also might not."
Ingrid pushed away from the paneling she'd been leaning against.
"So...
just how difficult are you going to be to work with tonight?"

Byrnes opened a door in the passageway, revealing a private chamber.
Those blue eyes were smoky.
"I'm on my best behavior, aren't I?"

Ingrid stepped closer and slid sideways through the door, not taking her eyes off him for a moment.
"That's because you want something."

His sudden smile took her by surprise, so blinding in its intensity.
"You always think I have ulterior motives."

"You always do," she countered.

"Mmm."
His smile softened.
"Give me a moment to get changed, and then I'll return to plot with you."
His gaze slid down over her curves.
"Unless you don't mind if I change here?"

Ingrid smiled, tilting her shoulder toward him flirtatiously as she slipped her fingers around the door.
"Tempting, truly it is, but the last time you ended up getting naked in front of me, it didn't end well, did it?"

Then she shut the door in his face and went looking for a drink.

H
ers wasn't
the only transformation.

Byrnes's hair swept in a sleek line across his forehead from the layer of pomade and gleamed in the gaslight from the dirigible's chandelier.
He'd borrowed Debney's previous valet's set of tails, and the black velvet coat looked almost touchable.
A crisp white bow tie completed the look, rendering him almost tamed in appearance, though the sleek way in which he moved gave hint to the predator within.
Anyone who mistook Byrnes for something he was not would have his teeth handed to them.

It should help.
Servants were practically wallpaper at these events.
Nobody would be looking for a Nighthawk in the kitchens.

Ingrid sprawled in her chair, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him pour himself a drink.
"Time to plot?"

"Time to plot," he confirmed, sinking into the chair opposite her.

The drone of the engines throbbed through the floor beneath her boots, and her own glass vibrated on the small table beside her.
Ingrid downed the remaining brandy in her glass in one swallow.

"Very well," she said, sitting forward on the edge of the seat as she laid out the small set of maps that she'd found earlier that day.
"Airfields are here, in the small town of Kew-on-Upton.
Ulbricht's manor is here."
Her finger stabbed the map as she set about detailing their arrival and their escape paths should all not go according to plan.

"It will go according to plan," Byrnes countered.
"We get in, you and Debney distract the group and see what you can hear, while I go sneaking about the back hallways."

"Still," she replied, "it never hurts to know your options."

"Always so methodical, my dear."