My Lady Quicksilver

Thirteen

Rosalind paced the hallway, clenching and unclenching her fists. The longer she’d waited for Lynch, the more she’d begun to question herself. In the heat of the moment, all she’d wanted was him. It was only after, as her body slowly cooled, that she realized how dangerous events had become.

Losing her head like that, losing control of the game… If she wasn’t careful she would find herself in deep water.

She’d had to get away.

Twitching aside the curtains, she glanced into the street. No one had followed her home. Not that she expected them to, but still… Today’s sudden interrogation made her wary. Did he suspect something?

I have four hundred and fifty Nighthawks, Mrs. Marberry. Don’t make me too curious.

Was his curiosity satisfied? She knew hers wasn’t.

“Have we got a problem?” Ingrid’s husky voice startled her.

Rosalind’s gaze jerked up as the other woman took a stealthy step into the room. “Are you trying to catch me unawares?”

“It’s been remarkably easy of late. You need to get your mind off whatever’s distracting you before Jack notices.”

She stared at her friend.

“You smell like a man’s cologne.” Ingrid folded her arms across her chest as if daring Rosalind to reply.

“Of course I do. I work in a whole building full of them.” Lifting her arm she sniffed at herself. “It’s most likely Garrett.” She ignored the way Ingrid’s expression didn’t change. Not fooled one bit. “No news?”

“No sign of Jeremy,” Ingrid replied.

Restlessness itched down her spine. Rosalind started working on her gloves, frowning worriedly. “I need to push plans. Lynch has nothing in his study about Jeremy or the mechs—the dratted man keeps it all in his head.”

“Then you may as well abort the mission.”

“No.” She dropped her glove on one of the frilly little table covers that haunted the room. Every inch of space was taken up with knickknacks and lamps and lace doilies. “I’m learning too much and I’m in the perfect position to hear the latest news from the Echelon.”

“And if he discovers you?”

“He won’t,” Rosalind affirmed.

Ingrid growled under her breath. “So what next?”

Rosalind paused by the liquor cabinet and unstoppered a decanter of whiskey. She poured the pair of them a generous shot. “Lynch needs to find the humanists who bombed the tower.”

“Hardly news.”

“So I’m going to point him toward the mechs. I think it’s time Mordecai had a taste of what it’s like to look over your shoulder.”

Ingrid took her glass and clinked it against Rosalind’s. “I’ll drink to that.” She threw the glass back. “How do you propose to do that without blowing your cover?”

Rosalind swirled the contents of her glass in the lamplight, watching the play of light. Exhilaration beat in her breast and lower—a longing unfulfilled. “I’m not. Mercury is.”

Time to take a risk.

And time to assuage the restless ache inside her. She threw the whiskey back, feeling it burn all the way through her.

Feeling thwarted, Lynch sank under the waters in the pump room, the biting hot bringing a flush of warmth to his flesh. Scraping his hands over his tired face, he surfaced, blinking through the water droplets.

Steam lingered on the surface of the bathing pool and clung to the stone pillars that supported the heavy domed ceiling. The drone of the enormous furnaces and the pumps that drove water throughout the building echoed in the walls. Years ago, Fitz had taken one look at the plumbing and devised a system of hot water that not only supplied the entire guild but ran heated pipes through the stone floors too; the by-product of that bit of genius was this. The heat from the furnaces had to go somewhere, Fitz had said. Why not use it for a bathing room, much like the ones the Romans built centuries ago?

If there was one indulgence Lynch owned, it was this.

Easing against the edge of the pool, he shut his eyes and let his body float. His cold blood made him crave the heat like one of the mythical dragons the Chinese Empire spoke of.

The steady throb of the pump engines filled the room, vibrating against his skin. Lynch let his mind float free, trying to forget about the afternoon and the incident with Mrs. Marberry. She hadn’t been here when he returned and guilt added a sour flavor to his mouth. Did she regret what had happened? Perhaps it was for the best. He couldn’t imagine what he was going to say to her on the morrow. Seducing his own employee…

Water rippled against his chest, gentle little waves that lapped at his skin. Lynch scraped his wet hair back and then froze.

There was nothing to stir the water but his own body.

He cracked his eyes open and stared at the shadow-wreathed figure on the other side of the pool. She knelt at the tiled edge, steam obscuring her face as she traced her fingers through the water.

His body screamed its awareness as Mercury smiled at him. Her eyes were covered, this time with a leather half mask that reminded him of Carnevale. Brass studs curled up one side in decoration and the thin gleam of her eyes watched him through the cat-slit eye holes.

“Why look,” she drawled huskily, “it’s me Lord Nighthawk…in the flesh.”

The double entendre stirred through his gut with hot fingers. Lynch lowered his hands slowly, relaxing his arms back on the edge of the pool. A muscle ticked in his jaw. She’d come here on purpose, no doubt to disarm him.

She would learn. He was never disarmed, never anything short of lethal and right now his temper was roused.

Barely eight feet of water separated them. He could cover that distance in a second, but from the way she edged onto the balls of her feet, she was expecting that. No doubt there were more than a few weapons hiding under that overwhelming brown coat.

And she wouldn’t have come here without reason. His curiosity was aroused.

Lynch forced his body to relax, though it was hard. Mrs. Marberry had destroyed him this afternoon and he could barely gather his thoughts—or his rampant lust—long enough to deal with the revolutionary. “You do realize there are over a hundred Nighthawks in this building?”

“And yet not one of them noticed me.” Her smile taunted him. “Not even you.” Pointing a forefinger at him, she made a shooting gesture that wasn’t lost on him.

His gaze hooded. “If you wanted me dead, I would be.” He’d give her that. “I just didn’t realize you wanted me naked.”

“All the better to seduce you, me lord.”

That made him laugh. “So you can overwhelm me again? I think not. I make mistakes, my dear, but only once and only rarely.”

“So I’m a mistake, am I?”

“I don’t precisely know what you are. But I will.” He let his own smile edge over his lips. “I never intended it to be difficult to get into the guild. Getting out is another matter.”

Mercury slowly unfolded herself, revealing dark red skirts hooked up just enough to reveal a flirtatious froth of petticoat and a bronze corset-style bodice that thrust her pale breasts high. The same brass studs that decorated her mask ran along a heavy belt that held her pistol and her dark hair curled over her shoulder. It wasn’t coincidence that her coat had fallen back, barely clinging to her pale shoulders.

His throat went dry. He’d never seen a woman dressed like that before. It was indecent. Scandalous. And he wanted her more than ever.

His dreams lately had been of another woman, but right now, temptation roared. His slender secretary who liked to drive him wild, or a woman he barely knew, his sweetest obsession?

“You’ll lemme go,” she said with a careless shrug. The coat slipped a fraction more, revealing her rounded shoulder. “The alternative’s the Echelon’s dungeons and I ain’t thinkin’ you want that.”

“What I want doesn’t always matter.”

“Don’t you ever give into your urges, me lord?”

“Rarely.”

“You should.” Another slow suggestive smile that sunk through his gut with iron-tipped claws. “Why don’t you come out of the water?” She kicked the toe of her boot through the surface, sending a shower of droplets toward him.

“Why don’t you come in?”

“I wouldn’t want to get meself wet.”

Lynch pushed away from the edge. He kept his eyes on her, not trusting her an inch. Steam curled around him as he stood, shaking off the water.

Mercury took a wary step back. “I’ll get your towel,” she said, dragging it off the hook it hung on. Turning, she held it out, staying a good five feet away from the water.

Lynch found the steps that led out of the bathing pool and ascended with cool disregard for his nakedness. Water sluiced down his skin, steam rising from his bare arms as he lifted his hands and raked his wet hair back. When he glanced at her, the little smile had died, replaced by something far more watchful.

He took his time, flicking off water droplets before holding his hand out. “The towel?”

A husky laugh greeted him. “Now, why would I want to do that?” Another slow, heated look that caressed his body. “Me lord Nighthawk, imagination does you no justice at all.”

“I would like to be able to say the same.” He stepped closer.

Her smile remained, but he sensed the coiling of muscle within her at his abrupt nearness. So she was not so certain of his intentions? Good.

“I’d like to indulge,” Mercury replied, her iron hand clenching in the toweling. “But I think we’d both prefer it if I kept me mask. Adds a little, what’s them Frenchies say? Jay nay say—”

“Je ne sais quoi.” A certain little indescribable something. An edge. For the first time, he had the impression that she was toying with him. She knew exactly what she meant to say. He frowned slightly. The cockney was distracting, which was precisely the point, he imagined.

Who was she? His hands ached to remove the mask, to reveal her identity to him. He could do it too, before she even knew he’d moved.

And then?

She was right. He liked the mask, the mystery. It drove him to distraction and yet he was not quite prepared to solve the puzzle of her identity. To do so would mean he had to act on it and reluctance sat heavily on his shoulders.

Lynch grabbed her hands where they clenched the towel and dragged them around his waist. The soft toweling brushed against his groin as Mercury landed flush against him, her sharp intake of breath telling him he’d succeeded in disarming her.

“Desire cuts both ways, my dear.”

She looked up, her corset pressed flush against his chest. The angle thrust her breasts into smooth globes he ached to touch. “So it does.”

Letting go of her hands, he drew the ends of the towel tight and tucked one edge into the other. Mercury’s hands trailed over his hips, her head lowering in curious exploration and Lynch suddenly understood her. Whatever had happened between them in the enclaves—whatever he thought he had lost—she had lost too.

“So what makes you think I won’t just hand you over to the Echelon?” he asked.

Her fingertip trailed down the smooth trail of hair beneath his navel, tangling in the dark strands. It brushed the edge of the towel and hooked against the fabric as she tugged, just gently enough to be suggestive. Lynch sucked in a sharp breath.

“I think you want me for yourself.”

“That’s a dangerous assumption to make considering where you are.” She seemed so certain he wouldn’t hurt her.

Could he? That shadowed gaze met his behind the mask. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he felt the connection as their gazes locked. It ran a hot hand through his body, wrapping tightly around his cock. His erection stirred against the toweling and Mercury noticed. She wet her lips, her finger sliding more securely behind the towel.

“Did I presume wrong?” The mask challenged him; he desperately wanted to see behind it.

And just as desperately did not. A hollow feeling pooled in his gut. Instinct. Whatever her secret was, a part of him didn’t want to know it.

Why? His expression turned hard. He’d learned to trust that instinct over the years, but what was it telling him?

“No,” he said softly. “You didn’t presume wrong.”

The air between them changed. Stillness radiated through her as if he’d surprised her. Lynch’s gaze dropped to her mouth. He knew he was going to do it. Call it madness or insanity, he couldn’t help himself.

One hand slid around the curve of her nape, cradling the stark line of her skull. The edge of a wig cut into his hand and his mind filed that away for future pondering, even as his mouth descended on hers.

The moment their lips touched he felt the spark of it all the way through him. He wanted her. Not to capture her, not to turn her over to the prince consort, but just to have her. As his.

The thought was madness. There could be no future in this, nothing behind the heat of sex and hunger. Mercury was a shadow; he knew nothing about her. But she was his shadow, his challenge, his obsession. Mrs. Marberry was a temptation he couldn’t afford, a dream of something he’d long since thought gone, but this…this was safe enough to risk.

Violent need swept through him, ignited by passion and frustration. He growled deep in his throat and slid a hand down the smooth curve of her back to the full flesh of her arse. Pressing her against him, he sucked in a sharp breath as his hips rode against the soft juncture of her thighs.

Lynch squeezed his eyes shut, sensation spearing through his groin with white-hot abandon. Her tongue darted into his mouth and he crushed her against him, trying to drink her all in, to take everything he could of her. Lifting her against him, he drove her back against one of the marble columns, her thighs locking around his hips and her skirts riding up between them. A little gasp drove from her throat, then she was kissing him again, her iron hand sliding over his nape as she rolled her hips, straining against him.

Lynch tore his mouth free, gasping as his hips pinned her to the column. He didn’t think. Couldn’t. Need was a vicious beast within him, so hungry for release that he could barely see through the gray haze of his vision. Somehow his hunger had risen and he grabbed her wig and wrenched her head back, his lips sliding over the smooth skin of her throat. The heady kick of her pulse vibrated against his tongue and Lynch bit down, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh with a warning.

Mercury stilled, her iron fingers curling in his hair, just this side of painful. Her heart thundered like a panicked animal in her chest, her breath coming in little gasps that punctuated the air.

“Don’t you trust me?” he whispered, pressing his lips gently to the area he’d just bitten. He licked her, suckling gently to soothe the hurt. “Do you think I’d do it?” The words were reckless. That was precisely what he wanted to do. To put a knife to her throat and spill the sweet blood beneath her skin. To drink it down, to assuage the hungry ache that never completely left him.

His hands quivered as he cupped her backside, lips brushing temptingly over the smooth muscle of her trapezius. He wanted it so badly, the scent of her fear sending hunger cramping through him with iron claws. But he was better than that. He could control this. He would.

Mercury’s hand slid over his throat and down his chest. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Would you?”

Lynch pulled away with a gasp, pressing his forehead to hers. Swallowing hard, he fought to rein himself in. He’d never been this tempted, never come so close to losing control. It was his greatest fear and his own secret agony. “I want to,” he admitted. “But it frightens you.”

“I ain’t food,” she snapped.

“That’s got nothing to do with it.” He shook his head and dragged his hands up to cup her face. “I want you. I want to claim you as mine, and this…this is part of it.” He breathed hard, biting her lip, her chin. Lower. Pressing his face to her cheek as he moaned. “I want to own you.”

Mercury’s iron fingers locked around his wrist. “Like a thrall.”

“No.” He trailed his mouth down her throat and felt her head drop back stiffly. She was clinging to him, as if to hold on to some semblance of control. Lynch’s lips rasped over the bite mark, feeling the imprint of his own teeth. “As mine.”

“You barely know me.”

“Then tell me something about yourself,” he demanded, bringing his drugged gaze back to her flushed face.

Mercury’s hands slid down his chest, one warm, the other cool iron. They trembled. “You scare me,” she whispered, and he didn’t think she was referring to what he could do to her.

His hands stilled. Her full mouth was parted and swollen, her breasts heaving with her breath.

Slowly, he stroked a thumb over her mouth, feeling the wetness on her lips. “You scare me,” he admitted.

Lynch almost caught a shadowed glimpse of her eyes as they darted to his. Then she turned her face away, shutting them. A shudder ran through her. A reckless laugh. “I never expected this.” Slowly her hands ran over his shoulders, fingertips trailing over his skin. “I should ne’er ’ave kissed you.”

“But you did.”

“Aye.” She leaned forward and kissed his chest. Opening her mouth she licked his skin, her small blunt teeth sinking into the muscle of his pectoral.

Lynch sucked in a sharp gasp at the flare of pain, his hands clenching into fists beside her face. His hips gave an involuntary flex, and heat flared through his mouth. Need.

Mercury’s hips slowly unlocked and then she was sliding down him with sinuous grace, her lips trailing over the smooth skin of his abdomen. Muscle clenched and Lynch shoved a hand against the marble column to hold himself up, his gaze locking on her. Mercury slid to her knees, her palms gliding over his thighs and her lips grazing the roughness of the towel, dangerously close to his groin.

She looked up and Lynch’s knees almost gave at the heated look on her face. “Do you trust me?” she whispered, a slow smile spreading over her lips. Slowly she kissed him through the towel, the touch spearing through his engorged member.

Lynch’s other hand hit the column as he shuddered. “Not even an inch,” he told her on a rough laugh, almost an exhale.

“What about”—her eyes ran over him—“a good ten inches?”

His breath caught. Slowly, she reached up and hooked her fingers in the towel. The tucked end came loose and the rough toweling rasped over his erection as it dragged free.

He knew what she intended. Still, he could barely breathe as she slid her palms up his thighs, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

The shock of her hot mouth almost drove him out of his skin. His hand speared down through her hair and he thrust against her, feeling the wet glide of her mouth over his cock. Her teeth scraped against him as if in warning and behind the mask he saw the gleam of light off her eyes.

Yes. His head bowed in defeat, a guttural groan tearing through his throat. She had the upper hand for the moment, but for once he didn’t give a damn. She was his unholy fascination, simply his in a way that he couldn’t yet comprehend and he needed this so damned much. The week’s torment had driven him out of his mind. He still didn’t know what he would do about Mercury, but luckily this didn’t require thinking at all.

That hot little mouth worked him wetly, stealing his breath and the few wits he had left. Lynch’s mouth parted on a gasp, his eyes hooding as his fist clenched in the wig she wore.

“Stop,” he groaned.

A smile widened over her full mouth and her iron hand fisted around the base of his cock, making him suck in a sharp breath. Hell, that felt so fucking good. He was so close, he needed her to stop, but somehow his lips wouldn’t say the words and she knew it.

She’d put a spell on him. One kiss in the enclaves like a bullet to the chest and now he couldn’t stop feeling it, no matter what the consequences were.

Mercury took him deep, her tongue stroking his shaft with wet abandon and he was lost.

Lynch’s fist clenched and he gasped, thrusting hard against her mouth as he came with a guttural groan. Those pink, swollen lips suckled the sensitive head of his cock and he collapsed against the column, breathing hard.

Mercury pressed a kiss against his thigh, stirring the fine hairs against his skin so that he shivered. “Well,” she whispered, licking her lips. “Me lord Nighthawk, you do impress.” She smiled up at him, cool and mysterious, then slowly slid up his body, pressing herself between him and the column.

If she thought that would undo him, then she was mistaken. And if she thought that was the end of what lay between them… He watched her with cool eyes, stroking the back of his fingers against her swollen mouth.

“I have barely begun,” he murmured, leaning closer and breathing in the sweet taste of her breath. A smile curled over his mouth as he looked down, his fingers trailing lower, brushing over the smooth curve of her up thrust breast. “You, my love, are no lady.”

Her breath quickened at the teasing stir of his touch. “Do you want me to be one?”

“No.” He slid his hand over her nape and spun her around, pressing her hands against the column. She tensed, then stilled as he smoothed the long, dark tail of her hair out of the way and pressed his open mouth against the back of her neck. Suckling hard, he brought the blood to the surface in a red bruise then nipped at the damning mark. Mercury shivered, a soft little gasp of surrender crossing her lips, and Lynch smiled.

He ran his lips down the soft curve of her shoulder, biting her just enough to leave a mark, then soothing the sting with his tongue. Slowly his hands slid up beneath her coat, tracing the curve of the corset she wore. The feel of it stirred desire through him and he pressed his hips against her bottom, letting her know just how much he wanted her.

Mercury sucked in a sharp breath, half turning. “Me lord—”

He caught her hands and shoved them against the column. “Don’t let go.” Then his hands were cupping her breasts, holding the plump weight in his palms.

Mercury’s head tilted back with a groan. “Mercy,” she moaned. “We need to speak.”

“Do we?” He edged the lip of the corset down and her nipple sprang free, hard and tight. Sliding his other hand against her abdomen, he drew her hips back against him, rolling the turgid peak of her nipple between his fingers. “I thought you came here for this?”

Mercury arched into him, her head falling forward with a helpless gasp. He could feel the surrender in her body and the shaking in her knees.

“No. Yes.” She shook her head and moaned. “You want to know who blew up the tower?”

Lynch’s hand tightened on her hip. The words cut through him like a knife. To hide it, he pressed a kiss against the tender skin below her ear and was rewarded with another shiver. She liked this. “You still claim you didn’t do it?”

“Nor did I burn the draining factories.” Her hand splayed over the column, her iron fingers flexing unconsciously. The other hand slid between them, wrapping around his growing erection. “A year ago,” she gasped, “I set a group o’ mechs free o’ the enclaves. They wanted vengeance and I…I needed ’em for somewhat.”

His lashes lowered and he thrust into the grip of her palm. The steel boiler pack he’d taken from her at the enclaves. “I’m listening.”

“There were a power struggle. They broke from me leadership and burned the factories. I were tryin’ to stop ’em when they ’it the Tower.”

“Why?” he asked. Her tight fist made the vein in his temple throb but he could contain the fierce need now. Her clever ministrations had seen to that. She, however, was not so satisfied. “That explosion nearly killed half the blue bloods of the court. I thought that was what you wanted.”

“Personal reasons,” she replied, tilting her head to the side to glance back over her shoulder. “And it didn’t succeed, did it? Now I’ve got every blasted Coldrush Guard and Nighthawk on me trail. You think I wanted that?”

“I think you’re in a lot of danger.”

She laughed under her breath, an almost sad sound. “I chose this path. I knew the risks.”

His lips thinned. Damn her, but he was starting to soften toward her. Was she telling the truth? “Give yourself up,” he said, edging his hand down her abdomen, “and I’ll demand a lenient sentence.”

The stiffness in her body was almost anticipatory. Tension radiated through her and she dragged her iron hand to his, urging it lower. “You can’t make the prince consort do anythin’ ’e don’t wanna.”

“There are ways to play the game,” he replied, his fingers sliding between the heat of her legs, bunching up her skirts. “If you tell me everything you know about the mechs, I’m inclined to be lenient.”

She was tempted. Gasping hard, she pressed her lips to the column, her hips driving back into his groin as his fingers dipped into the wet heat between her thighs. She wasn’t wearing drawers. “Mordecai,” she gasped. “’Is name’s Mordecai. I don’t know where ’e is, but I do know this: ’e’s got somethin’ to do with the massacres in the Echelon. I seen ’im near the second crime scene.”

“How convenient that you were nearby,” he murmured, his mind racing. The mechs had something to do with the madness sweeping the Echelon? That meant it had to be a toxin or a poison. It was man-made and that meant he could catch them.

If she wasn’t lying.

Grabbing her wrists, he spun her around and shoved her against the marble column, holding her hands over her head.

Slowly his hands relaxed on hers, sliding down over the betraying pulse of her right wrist. “Tell me,” he demanded, “that you had nothing to do with the massacres. With Lord Arrondale’s death.”

Mercury pulled against his grip but didn’t fight him. “I ’ad nought to do wit’ it.”

Her pulse ticked through her wrist, as steady as before. She was telling the truth. Either that or she was such a good liar she could control her body’s reflexes.

“I believe you,” he said.

His thumb stroked the soft skin of her wrist. The other one was cool metal, woven so seamlessly into skin that he recognized it as a master-smith job. No wonder her reactions were so exquisite; metal hydraulics had been linked to flesh tendons, and muscle sewn to the thin fibrous sheeting of the interior of her gauntleted wrist. The limb worked almost as naturally as her right hand.

“You want me, don’t you?” she asked. “You’ve been chasin’ me for months.”

Lynch’s gaze hooded. He let her go, hands sliding down her arms. “I don’t need to chase you,” he whispered in his ear. “Because you’ll come back to me.”

“What do you mean?”

Lynch pushed away from the column and dragged the towel around his hips. “I won’t be played for a fool twice. But you…you’re burning for it.” He backed away, watching her shocked expression as she realized he had no intentions of finishing this.

“I thought I’d ’ave to fight me way free,” she whispered, her pupils dilated with desire.

He should capture her. Lock her up now. But what to do with her? He was certain the prince consort had spies in the guild, and although he’d managed to keep one or two humanists quietly guarded in his time, the possibility of the prince consort getting his hands on Mercury made him feel physically ill. He couldn’t guarantee her safety. Not at the guild and not anywhere in his little hidey-holes in the city.

Lynch took a step away. “Go via the south wing and wait until the clock tower chimes ten. The guards will be changing their shift.” He tucked the towel into itself, uncertain whether he was doing the right thing. A thought flashed into mind: if he couldn’t hand her over to the prince consort now, how was he going to do it in when the time came?

Mercury’s head. Or his.

“Go,” he said, before he changed his mind. “Get out of here.”

It was a long, slow climb to his rooms and he barely noticed any of it. Once he’d left the warm steamy chamber, his mind had started working again.

What the hell was he doing? Lynch knew what she was doing and doing well—testing his resolve, slowly turning him away from his purpose. He hadn’t missed her words about a challenge to her leadership. She’d meant to set him upon the mechs tonight and they both knew it.

But had she meant anything else she’d said? Or was seducing him just a way to soften him? His fist clenched. He highly suspected she was playing him, though whether he’d managed to inflict some damage on her own psyche, he didn’t know.

This had to stop. He had less than a week to “find” Mercury and deliver her to the Echelon. The first part seemingly the easier of the two tasks. He needed to focus himself and think about what he was going to do before he found himself played for a fool.

Lynch stopped in front of the door to Mrs. Marberry’s study, the scent of lemon-infused perfume flavoring the air. Here was another reason his footsteps dragged. Guilt suffused him. He’d left Rosa this afternoon only to find her gone when he returned. After his actions in the observatory, it was little wonder.

When he was in her presence, he hadn’t once thought of Mercury. Rosa eclipsed all thoughts of any other woman. Yet one steamy encounter in the bathhouse had proven him as susceptible as any other man.

Both women intrigued him in their ways. Mercury was a mystery, designed to be solved. A challenge. Sex.

And Rosa? His stomach clenched. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant to him. Her slightly bawdy humor intrigued him and he found himself seeking her out increasingly. The shocking truth was that he liked spending time with her. She drove him insane with her little games, but the thought of them made him smile—a feeling of lightness when she was around, as if the sun shone just that little bit brighter.

So why then had he betrayed her in such a way? Each step away from the steam room only made him feel more uneasy with his actions. He’d lost his head for a moment, taken pleasure for pleasure’s sake. The agony of it speared through him. He wasn’t the sort of man who could bed two women at the same time. His actions tonight had taken the choice from him, and for a moment he almost hated Mercury for taking Rosa from him. It wasn’t a fair thought though—he’d been the one at blame. The one who hadn’t been able to deny himself.

And it damn well shouldn’t matter. Today had beguiled him in ways he had to turn his back on. He had a job to do and a week to do it in. If he didn’t wall himself off from these distractions, then none of this would matter. He’d be executed in the atrium.

Rubbing at his chest, he pushed into Rosa’s study. She’d gone home long ago, but the ghost of her remained in her fragrance and the meticulous neatness of the room. A vein in Lynch’s temple throbbed. He had to forget her. She appealed to a future that didn’t exist for him.

The heady trail of her perfume, however, wouldn’t let him forget. He followed it through his study, to the previously locked door of his private rooms. Warm candlelight filled his bedroom, the candle sitting in a puddle of wax. She’d evidently expected him long before.

There was a note on his pillow and something small and black beside it. Lynch frowned before realizing what it was.

He crossed slowly to the bed. The letter tempted him. His fingers almost itched to touch it, but he’d made his decision. Mrs. Marberry needed to be forgotten—for her own sake as much as his. No matter how much he longed to see her again.

Pull yourself together. Focus. He crumpled the letter in his fist and threw it in the cold grate where it landed with a soft exhale of white ash. The velvet button however…that he kept, slipping into his pocket as a reminder of what could have been.

Then he turned and headed for his armoire and the stark leather body armor that awaited him. He had work to do.