Of Silk and Steam (11 page)

Despite herself she was drawn. “I think Galloway is a solid investment, though I understand the risks involved. The rest of Europe is beginning to race headlong into the skies, following France and the colonies’ examples. Travel will be expensive at first, mostly first-class passengers, though I see a need—and a desire—for the common classes to seek passage in the future—and of course it would help significantly with long-haul freighting. One day, we’ll be able to board a dirigible in the morning and be in Manhattan City within a day. You mark my words.”

The console spread out before her, providing an incomprehensible display for the unlearned, but Mina had been reading Galloway’s design manuals for months.
Here’s the switch for the boilers for the engines for extra speed… The deflation device for the envelope…
She traced another switch.
The
ballonet
air
valve…

“You like the idea of flying.” His hands settled on either side of her hips as he leaned forward, examining the console over her shoulder. That large body surrounded her, leaving her desperately aware of how close he stood.

Flying.
The sort of thing she’d dreamed of as a girl, when she first heard of France’s airships, until the death of her parents had cost her all of her naive fantasies. Still… Her fingers traced the sleek mahogany steering wheel for the horizontal and vertical stabilizers. “Do you know who I admired most as a girl?”

“Who?”

“Grace O’Malley,” she admitted, letting her lace-clad fingers drop from the wheel. “The Pirate Queen.”

At that Barrons stepped to the side, twisting to rest his hips against the console so he could see her properly. A sudden smile lit his entire face. “You wanted to be Grace, didn’t you?”

“My brother Stephen and I played pirates.” Even she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at such remembrance—and the very incongruity of the thought. Who would ever suspect it of the very proper Duchess of Casavian?

“What did you like about her?”

“She was brave. Fearless. Willing to defy Queen Elizabeth herself. And, of course, she had red hair like me. Stephen was always Edward Teach. He preferred the villain. We would run about the hills at Eton Grange during the summer, with real swords. Father allowed it as it helped teach us both swordplay.” She opened herself up just a little to him. “What did you play at?”

His dark eyes sobered, his arms crossing over his chest. “I had no brothers or sisters. My only companion was my weapons master.” A slight pause. “Master Baldock was a former Falcon who did not consider play a very useful means of development.”

Mina’s smile faded as she examined him. “There were no other children your age?”

“Only one. The daughter of an inventor the Duke of Caine gave patronage to. I used to put mechanical spiders in her bed. Honoria despised me.”

“You sound like my cousin Peter.”

“Careful,” he warned. “I knew Peter. We were of an age at Eton. That’s hardly a compliment.”

“Was I seeking to turn you up fancy?” she replied, shrugging her shoulder a little flirtatiously.

The light in his eyes flared with interest and Mina stilled.
What
are
you
doing?
She turned away, focusing on the console again. It was too easy to forget herself around him.

“Do you know what I like about flying?” he asked.

“What?”

“There are no boundaries. No England, no France, no Russia… Simply wondrous places, the likes of which you’ve never seen before. I never realized how much I was missing out on, until the mission to Saint Petersburg.”

Mina’s breath caught. “What was it like?”

“Cold.” He gave a swift laugh. “Very cold at first. We were still bundled in furs into March, and the dirigible struggled with the temperature. Ice kept forming on the propellers, but it was wonderful. A modern-day Venice, they call Saint Petersburg. Full of palaces the likes of which you can barely imagine, akin to the magnificence of Versailles. And gold-domed monasteries. Their Orthodox Church has not rescinded their blue bloods. Perhaps it dares not. The blue bloods rule completely. It’s the most dangerous place I’ve ever been.”

Her mind took her to the places he spoke of. Ancient monasteries…palaces…a city of canals. Something stirred in her breast, an unmerciful itch.

“Have you ever traveled abroad?” he asked.

“There was no time for my Grand Tour. My father died when I was seventeen, and that put an end to that.” It put an end to a lot of things, actually.

He eyed her, that mischievous gleam making her heart tick faster. “I should take you to Paris. We’ll fly there on one of Galloway’s dirigibles and tour Versailles, or what’s left of it, or sip champagne from your shoe.”

She’d never imagined this playful side to him. “You’re forgetting that France is full of humanists. And why would I go to Paris with
you
?”

Barrons’s eyes practically smoldered. He stepped closer, the backs of his fingers brushing against her hip. “To make love on a bed smothered in rose petals while we drink champagne and argue immeasurably, and I strip all of these skirts and petticoats off you.”

“You’re a romantic,” she accused, unable to believe it herself.

“I could fuck you here and now,” he whispered, stepping closer again until she was looking up at him, all of the words fleeing her startled mind. His hand grew bolder, sliding up her corseted hip, his thumb brushing against the fullness of her breast. “But I think you need a little romance in your life, Mina. A little adventure. And God knows, I do.”

Leaning closer, his mouth brushed against her forehead, his lips smooth and cool against her skin. Mina shut her eyes, her hand curling around the wheel as if to hold herself upright against the sway of his magnetism. His mouth traced her cheek, breath whispering into her ear: “I want to make love to you on silk sheets. To melt all that ice and find out if underneath all of this silky-smooth skin beats a heart of pure fire, like I suspect it does.”

His thumb brushed back and forth, teasing at her nipple. Mina whimpered, backed against the console. His hand slid lower, a knowing caress against the silk covering her abdomen. “You liked what I did to you last night.”

Fingers cupped her between the thighs, rubbing gently, her skirts tangled between them. “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I want to be your lover. All you have to do is say yes. I’m certain if I write a reasonable check, Master Galloway can outfit the
Lionheart
by the end of the day. I’ll even let you fly it, if you want…”

The words were temptation indeed. Mina stared at him helplessly. “I can’t,” she whispered, the debt of her responsibilities sinking like lead through her chest.

He mistook her denial for a challenge, and a kiss scalded the smooth skin below her ear. He painted delicate butterfly caresses on her cheeks as he bunched the material between her legs, his fingers working a delicious friction as he sought to seduce her to his cause.

Clinging to his waistcoat, she shot a glance around the workshop. Galloway’s group was still exploring the
Gilded
Falcon
, like a flock of well-dressed penguins. “Barrons!”

“Part your legs.”

She shook her head, then gasped as his fingers increased their mastery. Her hand gripped his wrist.

“Nobody can see. It’s just you and me here.” The devilish light in his eyes dared her. “Come to Paris,” he whispered and she bit her lip as her entire body trembled. “Come and make love with me in a bourgeois hotel tucked in some hidden alley. Come, Mina.”

If anyone glanced up and saw them… Everything inside her tightened at the thought. A new flush of urgency lit through her veins like white fire. She lost her mind. All she wanted was to tear at the intervening layers of fabric between them, to rake her nails down his bare flesh. To fill that beckoning ache deep within her.

To say yes.

“Come.”

The word stole her wits, sending her over the edge. Mina grabbed at the console, pressing her other hand to her lips and sinking her teeth into it as a breathy noise tore from her throat. Barrons’s thigh pressed between hers as his hand withdrew, and she gasped out her pleasure.

The world reeled around her, leaving her with only Barrons for balance. The dark heat of him evaporated off his coat, until all she wanted to do was bury herself in his arms and fight to still the raging heat in her blood.

Instead she pushed at him, forcing him to back away a step, leaving her hot, flushed, and aching. At the sight of the satisfied smile curling over his mouth, she slapped his arm. A husky laugh hummed through his body. She wanted to kiss him so much that she ached. She’d never felt like this before. “You’re a madman.”

“And you, my duchess, are exquisite.” His expression sobered. “Come with me.”

“I can’t,” she told him, stepping out of the way of the press of his body. She needed some space to clear her mind. Her blood might be cooling, but the merest breath of his cologne did damaging things to her insides, setting her nerves alight again. “Some of us have responsibilities. And can you imagine the scandal?”

“I’ve never given any particular care to what others think of me.”

That made her furious. “Of course you haven’t! For it wouldn’t truly matter to your reputation if I said yes. I can’t be your lover. I can’t afford to be. And”—her brow darkened, though she wasn’t certain if she was angry at him or herself—“I’m not quite certain it would be worth my downfall.”

Snatching at her hat, Mina started for the door in a swish of skirts, her blood boiling. All she knew was that she had to get away from him.

Barrons strode after her, heels echoing on the metal walkway as she hurried down the stairs. “Mina, wait.”

“No!”

One of Galloway’s men saw them coming and started, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “May I help you, sir?”

“He was just leaving,” Mina told the fellow coolly.

“Actually,” Barrons replied, “I want to place an order for something like this.” His soft laugh followed her, meant for her ears alone. “I’m told the cost is substantial…but I live in hope of a trip to Paris in the near future.”

The moment she stepped inside her home, Mina let out a sigh of relief. Here she could rub at her temples to try and still the pounding headache Barrons’s words had caused.

Slipping through the hallways, she avoided most of the staff by dint of her supernatural hearing. The sun had nearly reached its zenith, leaving her desperate to reach her bed. Two days without sleep left her feeling slow-witted and dull, as evidenced by what had occurred at Galloway’s. If she’d been in her right frame of mind, she’d have laughed in his face.

Instead she’d melted like flavored ices in the sun.

What was she doing? She might have destroyed the evidence against him, but she still despised his father. Her feelings for Barrons were far more uncertain.

If she stripped away the history between them and looked at him as just a man, she had to admit that she found him quite charming and humorous at times.

Come
to
Paris… Make love to me…
Mina swallowed. A foolish part of her was almost tempted.

If she were honest with herself, she almost…liked him.

A scream cut through the stillness of the early morning silence. Mina froze, her heart jacking into her throat and her foolish daydreams vanishing. That had come from her bedroom. Another one followed it, dying to a helpless sob.

Yanking the door open, she stepped inside, the hilt of a knife warming her palm. Her maid, Hannah, sobbed in the middle of the room, her hand pressed to her mouth and the curtains stirring over the open sash of the windowpane.

“What in blazes is—” Mina’s gaze fell on the bloodied mess in the middle of her bed. Her gloves made a slapping sound as they hit the floor.

“Oh, Your Grace…Your Grace…”

She ignored the maid’s helpless sobs and took a step closer, her face draining of heat. Bloodied fur. That was all she could see. Someone had been in her house. In her room. Someone had… Her mind shied away from the thought.

“I swear I didn’t hear anyone come in! I don’t know how…how it came to pass.”

Mina crossed to the window, moving as if through a nightmare. Twitching aside the curtains, she stared down at the street with its early-morning passersby, gentlemen in tweed coats and top hats making their way to their place of employment. Across the road, the same man who’d been watching the house the day before looked up from his newspaper, meeting her eyes.

The slightest hint of a smile tugged his moustache upward and he tipped his hat to her, tucked his folded newspaper under his arm, and sauntered away with a whistle.

Mina’s fingers curled into the window frame. A message from Balfour—or the prince consort, no less. Why? They couldn’t know about her humanist plans or else there would have been no message, merely an escort of Coldrush Guards.

What if that had been Hannah or one of her other servants? If a Falcon could get at her here, then what did that mean for those that surrounded her?

“You’re dismissed,” she said hoarsely.

“Of course, Your Grace. Let me ring for Grimsby…” The maid caught her teary breath. “And then I’ll see that poor…poor Boa—”

“Dismissed,” Mina repeated sharply, turning on the girl. “I’ll provide you a reference and a generous stipend, but I want you gone by luncheon.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped, her eyes welling up again. Mina forced herself not to weaken.
Oh, you dear girl, I’m trying to save your life. Far better to be well away from here.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hannah whispered, proffering a curtsy. “I shall send Grimsby up.”

From the footsteps on the stairs, he was already on his way. Her father’s faithful butler had been with the household since the day she was born.

The door clicked behind Hannah, giving her a moment of peace. Mina shut her hot eyes, wilting a little.
This
is
war
, her mind kept saying,
but
it
doesn’t feel like it
. No, it felt like the only place she’d ever been safe was gone now. They’d been in her
bedchambers
. And her cat—fat, pampered Boadicea… Mina couldn’t even look at her.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, she gathered herself. Not the time for weakness. She had to…to collect herself. Protect her household, her loyal staff members…

Only then could she turn to the bed. A shaking hand reached out, flipping the bed pane over the cat’s body. Still warm.

That was the thought that undid her.

A sob caught her by surprise. Mina bit into her knuckles, her knees going out from under her. Pressing her face against the counterpane and moaning into it as her hands curled into claws in the carpet. She wanted to scream her pain and rage out into the world. All of her losses compounded upon her—her brother, Stephen; her grief-stricken mother; and her father, slowly fading before her eyes. All she’d ever wanted was to create a safe place for herself and those she loved, and Balfour had sent his Falcons to destroy it.

Mina grabbed the edge of the counterpane as she dragged herself onto her knees. Barrons’s warning rang in her ears. If they meant to cow her…

I
will
kill
the
prince
consort. I’ll kill them all.

“Your Grace!” Grimsby’s voice intruded, his hands clutching at her shoulders. “Your Grace, you must get up.”

She turned and somehow his arms slid around her, rocking her against his shoulder.

“Phillips, please remove the bedspread and see Her Grace’s cat buried outside in the garden. Beneath the roses, if you would. Miss Boadicea always liked to play there. Would you like that, Your Grace?”

She nodded, her face buried in the stiff starchiness of his collar, clinging to him.

“Then see that you shut the door. Her Grace is not to be disturbed, and this is not to be mentioned,” Grimsby warned.

Movement shifted around her. She wanted none of it. Then the door clicked shut, leaving her in a wretched state on the floor in her butler’s arms.

“There, there,” he murmured. “I’ve set the footmen to searching every inch of the house and checking the windows and doors. I assume they came through the bedroom window.”

“They’re gone,” she whispered, pulling back and pressing at her dry face. Nausea swirled through her.

Grimsby saw the look on her face and pressed her head down hurriedly. “Take deep breaths, Your Grace. Nice and slow.”

She did, surrendering herself into his care. When was the last time anyone had looked after her?

Barrons flashed into her mind again. The bath. The way he’d toweled her off so tenderly. A mirage in her mind, for it wasn’t real—but for the first time, she wished she’d been weak enough to turn away when her father demanded that he infect her with the craving so that she could rule the House of Casavian in his absence. Weak enough to sign a thrall contract with some blue-blood lord to be pampered and protected for the rest of her life, or until the contract expired.

Cold enough to turn away the day she’d found the crown princess crying in the garden the morning of her wedding.

Regret left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.
But
you
didn’t make those choices. You chose
this
path. Now don’t drop your head because it’s turning into a horrible slog.

“You won’t protect poor Hannah by sending her away,” Grimsby murmured. “You know she’s safer here beneath this roof.”

Mina shook her head, trying to hold her breath to calm herself.

“If you see her on her way, she’ll be alone in the world,” he continued. “Here, she can be guarded, now that we know what to expect.”

Grinding her hands into her eyes, she wiped away her grief. “Tell her…tell her that I didn’t mean it.”

“There’s also a message from the Duke of Morioch downstairs, calling a session of Council to order. It just arrived,” he said gently.

“Council?” For Morioch to be calling a Council session in the middle of the day… Something was afoot, or else they’d have waited until night. The darkness twisting inside her grew until the room sprang into black-and-white clarity. The scent of blood filled her nostrils, bringing with it a wave of red-hot fury the likes of which she’d never felt before.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Anger burned hot and furious, but she caught herself on the verge of it. Giving in to what she wanted to do would only bring further grief on her household and destroy her carefully nurtured plans.

Be
patient.
A mockery of the very words she’d whispered to her queen. Only now could she fully understand how it felt to receive them in the face of such pain. That, and that alone, stopped the wash of red heat through her veins, letting her think again. Her queen had borne far worse than this, a thousand times over, and only recently had she let it begin to wear on her nerves.

Mina would go to Council, sit at the prince consort’s table, and smile as she sipped her blud-wein. She owed it to Alexandra.

And in her head she would assuage her grief and anger by plotting the prince consort’s downfall in excruciating, explicit detail.