My Lady Quicksilver

Twenty-one

Through the door, Lynch barked orders, snapping one last briefing to his men. Rosalind took a deep breath, smoothing the trim skirts over her hips. The gown fit almost too snugly, her breasts threatening to spill over the top of the peach-colored silk’s square neckline. Bands of chocolate brown chenille passementerie foliage trimmed the neckline and the soft drapes of her skirt. A cream foile hip scarf spilled to the ground behind her, making a rustling sound every time she moved.

Perry raked her with an experienced eye. “You’ll do. Turn around.”

Perry herself was almost unrecognizable. Gone was the cold-faced woman in harsh black leather with her pomaded hair. Instead, a white ostrich feather danced in her hair, the curls of the black wig trailing over her shoulder. She wore red silk, the bias-cut panels of the bodice creating slight curves out of the woman’s slender figure. An underskirt of Point d’Angleterre lace peeked out from beneath the drape of her train, and she wore pearls wrapped thrice around her throat. Rosalind knew all of this, because Perry had explained it in quite explicit detail while they raided the French couturier that afternoon. One flash of Perry’s leathers and the madame had been most accommodating, no doubt for fear of incurring the wrath of the Nighthawks.

A strip of black velvet ribbon circled Rosalind’s throat and Perry tied it. A single teardrop-shaped pearl hung from the center, warming against her skin.

“Lynch is going to have an apoplexy,” Perry muttered with a nasty smile as Rosalind stared into the cheval mirror.

“You’re very good at this,” Rosalind noted, meeting the other woman’s eyes in the mirror.

“I prefer to wear pants. It doesn’t mean I don’t know what a dress is for.”

“I wear dresses,” Rosalind pointed out. “And I don’t know what half of this is called.” She pointed at the lacy frill that draped her shoulder.

“Do you know how to use a knife?” Perry asked, ignoring the question in her words.

“Better than I know how to use that fan.”

“This?” Perry grabbed the fan off the bed with a sharp flick of her wrist. The copper-plated blades fanned out, creating a deadly half circle that looked like it could be thrown.

For the first time that afternoon, Rosalind leaned forward in interest. “Are the edges sharp?”

“Sharp enough to shave with,” Perry replied, folding it back into itself. She hung it from her own wrist and took a small six-inch shape off the bed. “This is a bodice dagger.” Drawing the small blade from its velvet sheath, Perry flipped it in her fingers with a dexterity Rosalind almost envied. “Do you want it?”

Rosalind nodded and accepted the blade, tucking it between the fine boning of her corset, the handle sitting snugly between her breasts.

“And this”—Perry grabbed a thin shiv off the bed—“is designed to be worn in the hair. See how the handle is ornamental?”

“Very pretty.”

Perry grinned, handing it toward her hilt first. “Don’t let Lynch lure you into any dark corners. He might cut his fingers off by the time I’m through with you.”

Rosalind glanced at her beneath her lashes. She was almost starting to like the other woman. “I thought he looked more likely to throttle me.”

“Interesting. I was expecting you to deny it.”

“Black suits you, my lord.”

The sultry voice came from behind. Lynch’s fingers jerked on his cuff links and he turned around…then stopped.

Rosa sauntered down the staircase, fanning herself with a scrap of white lace as her skirts trailed behind her. His breathing quickened. Hell. Someone had poured her into that dress. If she took a sharp breath buttons were going to suddenly become a fatal hail around her.

His gaze dipped. Buttons trailed down the nipped in waist of her gown and vanished into the gauzy fabric bunching at her waist. He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, an image of her clever little fingers working on similar buttons springing to mind.

“You look like your collar’s too tight.” A little smile flickered over her lips as she reached up and gently toyed with the white bow tie around his throat.

“You look amazing.” His gaze dropped again, a faint darkening shadowing the edges of his vision. Every man at the opera was going to be staring at her…buttons.

“Don’t scowl.” Rosa’s smile faded, her fingers lingering on his collar for longer than was appropriate. She stared at his throat, a small hint of nervousness flickering through those dark eyes. “I want you to be careful tonight, sir.”

The thought that she was worried about him drew a harsh laugh. He’d spent hours trying to work through his own arguments about why she shouldn’t attend.

Slowly her hands slid down to his chest, resting lightly against the lapels of his coat as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to stop touching him.

“Rosa,” he murmured.

Her dark lashes fluttered against her smooth cheeks and those luminous eyes hit him with all the power of a punch.

“Rosa, I wanted—”

“Don’t.” A bleak word. Her gaze dropped, her hands fluttering helplessly against his chest. “Please, don’t.”

Light gleamed over the coppery shine of her hair. Lynch took a deep breath, drawing in the lemony scent of her as he closed his eyes. He felt as if they stood alone, the world a thousand miles away. Silence fell over them like a mantle, and he simply listened to the soft sigh of her breathing, the racing, throbbing beat of her heart… The sound of it was its own form of communication and he felt it echo deep within his chest.

Reaching out, he traced his fingertips over her lips. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do this. It would only hurt her if he failed at his task tonight, yet he was as helpless as a moth drawn to flame. Slowly his head lowered, his forehead leaning against the soft silk of her hair. He could taste her breath between them and as she shifted, her own face lifting ever so slightly, he felt the stir of it against his own lips.

Lynch couldn’t move, couldn’t press closer. Instead he lingered, drawing her breath into his lungs, where it belonged. Feeling her so deep inside him, as if she had wrapped chains around his heart and bound them together.

Rosa tilted her face, a soft whimper sounding in her throat. Her mouth brushed his. Once. Twice. Silk rasping over his sensitive lips. His hands fisted at his sides and he brought them up, stroking the backs of his knuckles against the velvety skin of her jaw.

I wish that it didn’t have to be this way.

Again their mouths brushed against each other, more of an inhale than a kiss. Rosa’s body surrendered to his, her hips pressing hard against his thighs. Yet despite the softness of her body, her hands still curled around his lapels as if she was afraid to let go entirely.

“Be careful tonight,” he whispered, tracing her mouth with the words. “I could not bear to see you hurt.”

She licked her lips, her tongue wetting his own. A groan echoed in his throat and he took a deep breath and pulled away. The world spun. When he met her eyes, they held the same unfocused breathlessness he himself felt.

Slowly, her pupils focused on him. “I won’t let you be hurt,” she said, swallowing hard. Her voice strengthened. “No matter what I have to do.”

The edge of ruthlessness was so at odds with what he’d known of her, yet he could remember the dark shadows in her voice the other night when she lay in his arms and told him of her life. Rosa was sunshine and smiles, yet an edge of hardened steel existed beneath the exterior. She had known pain and she had survived it. As she looked up at him, he realized then that he had underestimated her.

She would do whatever was necessary to protect him.

He saw in her eyes the truth of what she wouldn’t tell him, the truth she wouldn’t let him tell her. Fear wouldn’t allow her to give voice to it, yet it existed between them, as heady as opium.

Lynch nodded slowly and stepped away, her hands falling helplessly from his coat.

“I have something for you,” she murmured, her pulse still throbbing in her throat. Reaching down, she drew a leather mouth mask out of her reticule. “I know someone who makes them and I bought as many as I could while Perry and I were out…shopping.”

Easier to speak of this than everything that remained unsaid. His gaze cut to her face, noting the stiffness of her shoulders. Something had changed between them that night they’d been taken to Undertown, and though self-doubt told him it was because of what he’d almost done to her, his gut clenched with instinct. It had happened before that; the moment she told him he couldn’t kiss her again, the moment panic had edged its way across her face.

For so long he’d been afraid to let another woman close after Annabelle’s betrayal. It had hurt so badly, though the ache of it was like an old scar now. He’d never wanted to feel that way again.

Somehow Rosa had gotten beneath his skin. He hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was too late. And now he was falling for a woman who was afraid to love him back.

Oh, yes, he recognized the deliberate distance she kept between them. The only time she’d ever come close to revealing herself—that secret core she kept hidden—she’d been in his arms and his bed, and neither of them had been focused on speaking.

He knew she had secrets. He simply didn’t care.

The taste of her fear rode over his tongue, despite the weak smile she flashed him. If she wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, then he would let her—he had to. Anything else would only prolong the pain of his death if he couldn’t figure out a way to give the Echelon what they wanted without betraying Mercury.

So he didn’t push her to face this fear. He didn’t ask what it was that she was keeping from him. Instead, he took the half mask in dubious fingers and examined it. “What is it?”

A small round disk centered over the mouthpiece, bound with mesh that roughened the pad of his thumb as he scraped it over it.

“It’s a filtration mask. It helps those suffering from the black lung, or other lung diseases, to breathe without the choke of London air.”

“You think it will stop the bloodlust from effecting me?”

“I don’t know. It might. It’s supposed to filter out all noxious gases and pollutants.”

She knew. Knew the fear that lurked in his own heart. The vulnerability should have concerned him—he hated having anyone know his weaknesses—but Rosa was different. He trusted her implicitly, despite the secrets that lurked between them. This meant more to him than any gift. “Thank you.”

“I have three more.” The look in her eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. “One each for Perry and Garrett and one left over for whoever you feel needs it.”

“Byrnes,” he said instantly. “He’ll be leading the outside contingent.”

Footsteps intruded. “I heard my name,” Garrett announced, striding out of the shadows and into the light, his attention focused on his cuff links. He straightened them and looked up, light gleaming off his chestnut hair and the stark white shirt beneath his black coat.

One would think a member of the Echelon had arrived; from the pristine folds of the white scarf dangling around his neck to the crisp white gloves Garrett tugged into place, he looked like any other dashing young rake.

His body was focused however, stillness radiating through sleek muscle. A weapon at Lynch’s side and one he had to trust enough to use. Garrett would survive, he had to believe that. Lynch couldn’t protect them all, especially not when this time he was the one who needed help.

“Where’s Perry?” Garrett asked. “Still trying to figure out which end of the dress goes where?”

“Oh, I managed,” Perry drawled, from the top of the stairs.

Even Lynch’s eyebrows shot up when he saw her. Languidly waving a fan, Perry slid her blood-red skirts into her other hand and started down the stairs. Her natural predatory grace made it seem as though she were stalking them, a small triumphant smile on her painted lips as her blue eyes locked on Garrett.

“Do you think I’ll do?” she asked in a surprisingly girlish voice as she reached the foot of the stairs. Glancing at Garrett beneath her lashes, she gave a little twirl that flared the skirts around her trim ankles.

At his side, Rosa pressed her gloved hand to her lips and coughed. Lynch looked down sharply. That had sounded suspiciously like a laugh. When he saw the smile she couldn’t quite hide, he raised a questioning brow.

She tilted her head toward Garrett, who was frozen in the act of straightening his coat.

“Well?” Perry repeated, coming to a halt, with her red skirts wrapping around the bottom of her legs and an excited, breathless flush in her cheeks.

Garrett cleared his throat. “Good God. Mrs. Marberry you work wonders.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Rosa replied. “Perhaps you’re not giving Perry her dues. It seems she’s been hiding more than a knife or two under that body armor all along.”

The color drained out of his second’s face. A dawning suspicion began to grow on him and Lynch glanced between the pair of them. Rosa’s face came into view as she straightened his coat and she winked up at him as if she knew precisely what he was thinking.

“Don’t ruin it,” she mouthed silently.

“Quite,” Garrett said in a crisp, distant tone that sounded not at all himself. His eyes were wild. “Shall we?”

Light gleamed over the heavy Grecian columns that supported the opera portico. Dozens of brightly dressed ladies littered the marble stairs that led to the doors, fans fluttering like ghostly wings in the night.

Lynch stepped out of the plain black steam carriage, raking the crowd with a ruthless gaze. Blue bloods thronged all around him, some of them casting curious glances at the carriage as if wondering what he was doing there. He’d earned a knighthood over twenty years ago for finding the kidnapped cousin of the queen, but he rarely moved amongst them. They might call him “sir” to his face, but they still considered him little better than a rogue. Indeed some of the younger members of the Echelon didn’t even bother with the “sir,” too young to remember a time when he’d walked amongst them with the same rights and dues as they owned.

He offered his hand to Rosa. Her glove rested on his, then she slid down from the carriage with effortless grace, fanning herself. The bored expression on her face perfectly matched every other lady there, as though they didn’t dare reveal too much emotion for fear of appearing gauche.

Her eyes however raked the crowd with the same attention to detail as his—almost as if she were looking for someone. Lynch slid his hand into the curve of her back and urged her toward the opera house, bending low to murmur, “Don’t be nervous. I won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“I know.”

Her spine was steel, reluctance tight in each muscle beneath his fingertips. “Do you expect your father to be here?”

Rosa stopped in her tracks. “How did you—” Then she stopped and he had no difficulty deciphering her thoughts.

“I know he’s of the Echelon. And I know he hurt you. One of these days, you will tell me what he did—” At the sudden jerk of her head, he lifted a soothing hand. “But not now. Just rest assured that you will come to no harm. If you wish to wait in the carriage, you may.”

“If I see my father, then I know I shall not come to any harm.” Her expression tightened. “I cannot say the same for him.”

Cold foreboding traveled down his spine. “Do you have your pistol?”

“Of course. It’s strapped to my thigh.” She pasted an impressively convincing smile on her face. “Fear not, my lord, for I don’t intend to hunt him down.” She reached up and trailed the edge of her fan over his lips. “I also have no intention of waiting in the carriage.” This time her smile softened with genuineness.

“It was worth a try.”

She laughed under her breath, low and husky, the sound stirring over his skin like soft fingers.

“Can you see Garrett or Perry?” he asked, looking around. “I wish I could wear the aural communicator.”

“Garrett is probably still gaping like a breeched cod,” Rosa murmured, catching a handful of her skirts as she smoothly took the first stair at his side. “They’ll have to leave the hackney out of sight and walk on foot. I shouldn’t expect them very soon, not with this crush.”

More people turned to glance at them as they reached the top of the stairs, whispers sprouting.

At the door, a pair of Coldrush Guards gave him an uneasy glance. The prince consort and queen must be in attendance then. Lynch’s gut clenched. As if tonight wouldn’t be difficult enough.

Handing over his tickets at the door, he and Rosa slipped inside the marble foyer. A black-and-white checkerboard of tiles extended all the way to a gilded pair of spiral stairs.

“Where to?” Rosa whispered, looking up at him. She was almost breathless with excitement, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

“Upstairs,” he murmured, shielding her from the buffeting crowd with his body. Dozens of gold-plated servant drones wheeled through the crowd and he snatched a pair of glasses off the flat tray on one of their heads. Offering her the champagne, he sipped at his own blud-wein. The crowd was starting to move, and across the foyer he saw Garrett protectively ushering Perry inside.

If the mechs were here, they’d know him on sight. They wouldn’t, however, recognize the pair of Nighthawks unless he did something to draw attention to them. Lynch glanced away, focusing on the liveried servants that mingled with the crowd. None of them looked as though they’d led a hard life and he could see no sign of a distinctive mech limb anywhere.

“Not the servants,” she murmured. “These men are from the enclaves. There’s no way they could blend in enough for the Echelon to mistake them.”

She was right. They’d be somewhere deep within the bowels of the building, perhaps posing as workmen behind the scenes or maintenance workers.

A blue blood minced past with a pale young woman on a leash, her gaze downcast and a thin, gauzy white robe revealing inches of decadent skin. Rosa’s eyes hardened and Lynch steered her away with a hand to the small of her back. One glance told him she knew exactly what he was doing; that diamond-sharp gaze scored him and for a moment he felt a flush of shame, as though by his very complicity, he himself had put the golden shackle around the young blood slave’s throat.

“There’s nothing I can do about it,” he told her. “Nor you.”

“So we simply ignore it?”

Swallowing her champagne, she slammed the glass flute down on the tray of a passing servant drone and jerked away from his touch.

“We keep our minds on the business at hand.” He grabbed her elbow in a hard grip and Rosa stilled, her back rigid with barely suppressed fury. Lynch sighed under his breath and stepped closer, lowering his face close to her ear. “I have no influence here. I’m as much an outsider as you are, Rosa.”

One look at Rosa’s face, at those implacable black eyes told him she wasn’t swayed. “If you could, would you help her?”

Something about the stillness of her figure told him the answer was deadly important to her. She looked right through him, as though seeking to bare his soul, to find something inside him that she desperately needed to find.

“Do you have to ask?” His hand gentled on her arm. Hell, he couldn’t believe what he was thinking, his mind branded with shock. She’d admitted her brother was a humanist, but her own thoughts on the matter were dangerously revealing. “Rosa, you need to keep such thoughts close, especially here. If anyone overhears…”

Rosa sucked in a sharp breath, her entire body quivering beneath his touch. “They would think I had humanist tendencies. Perhaps I should say something. Perhaps this eternal damned silence—this hold-your-tongue-or-die attitude is what keeps women like that in shackles. This lack of a voice—it’s the very reason we are here. The reason there is a war going on, played out in secret beneath the Echelon’s very noses.”

She was shaking so violently he could barely contain her. Darting a look over his shoulder, he pressed her against the wall, using his body to screen hers. For once, he was relieved at the oppressive laughter and gossip nearby, for it kept Rosa’s damning words from common ears.

Their eyes met. She was angry and he didn’t quite understand.

“If I said something—”

“Then you would die, and I with you,” he said curtly.

Rosa’s lips parted, her eyes widening. He watched thoughts racing in rapid emotion across her face, like the shadow of cloud cover over the ground.

“They would have to go through me first,” he explained. “But I would die, and you too, and perhaps there would be some to cry ‘martyr,’ but in the end it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would change. That girl will go home with her collar and leash, and her master will take as much blood from her as he desires.” The back of his gloved fingers trailed over her jaw. She looked so lost, so crushed. “That is why I must stop these humanists, these mechs. They will bring war and death down upon the Echelon, but they will trample the innocent in their path just as much as the enemy. If we don’t find them, theirs will be a hollow victory, earning them nothing but hate and fear. And when the Echelon fear something, they destroy it.”

She quivered, her lashes drifting shut—but not before he saw the diamond glimmer of a tear in her eye.

“Thousands will die,” he said. “You know I’m hunting humanists, but the Echelon shall not be as discreet. They’ll simply round up whoever they can and execute them all until they get what they want.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered hoarsely. “There has to be a way. We have to have some way to fight—”

His mouth tasted like ash, his worst fears springing to life. We… She’d named herself amongst them as surely as if she’d claimed it directly to his face. Doubt assailed him—a moment where he wondered just how deeply she was involved, how much trouble a spy in the Nighthawks could cause.

But she couldn’t feign everything, could she? If she was a humanist, then she never would have kissed him, never would have…

Mercury did.

That was different. That was lust, a burning brand between them. A flickering match thrown on a puddle of oil. Whatever lay between he and Rosa, it was more than that.

Or it could have been, if he let it.

Still, his thumb stroked over her chin, doubt crippling him. He had to know. Was this real, or was she the greatest actress to ever grace a stage?

He took her mouth, capturing a gasp. Rosa’s hands fisted in his coat instantly, her body pressing against his as she kissed him. This was madness to take such liberties here. The corner was in shadows, weak golden light dripping down the red and white wallpaper throughout the foyer, but he knew this would be noticed and remarked upon.

Still…the taste of her set the darkness roaring inside. A need to claim, to take her as his. Damn her. His hand fisted in the base of her elegant chignon. He was losing himself in her, no matter what he promised himself.

Just once he cursed duty and pushed it aside. Fuck the Council. The prince consort could go to hell. He wanted this—he wanted her, with all his heart. A lifetime would never be enough.

And he only had one more night.

Lynch dragged in a shuddering gasp, breathing hard against her mouth. With barely an inch between them, he could see the wild hunger gleaming in her eyes. It tempted him but he fought it, licking the taste of her from his lips. He could lose himself here, lose himself in her, but if he did, if he took her home and let the mechs do whatever they wanted, then he knew that no matter how frantically he kissed her, he would hear the clock ticking slowly in the background.

“I need you to know something,” he breathed, fingers trembling on her jaw. “No matter what happens…I need you to know.”

“What?” She clutched at his coat as if some sense of premonition shivered through her.

“I lied when I said that I wasn’t sure what I felt for Annabelle. I lied when I said that I didn’t once think of revenge,” he said roughly. “I did. Losing her hurt a great deal, so much so that I swore I’d never let myself feel that way again.” Lynch’s gaze cut to hers, forcing her to meet his eyes, no matter how much she stiffened. He didn’t care if she was afraid of this; he needed her to know, before it was too late. “You make me forget the hurt. You make me wish that there were more days ahead of me. So that we could—”

Rosa put her finger to his lips, stilling the flow of words. Horror rounded her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No, you barely know me.” Hysteria laced the last two words.

“I know you’re frightened—”

“You don’t know anything!” She pushed past, pressing her gloved fingers to her lips.

Lynch followed, hard on her heels, ignoring the sudden scattering of curious debutantes. They couldn’t say this here. It was too crowded, every ear and eye suddenly turning their way.

He caught her wrist, his fingers locking around something hard. Rosa spun like a scalded cat, yanking at his grip and clutching her hand to her chest. Lynch’s fingers rubbed slowly together, as if his mind sought to assimilate the sensation of that touch.

Hard.

Like iron.

She froze like a trapped animal, a vicious, desperate look on her face. “And now, me lord Nighthawk? Do you still feel that way now?”

The noise and laughter around him drained away, the world narrowing in on the woman in front of him as she stared at him, almost daring him. He barely saw it. Everything in him turned to lead, darkness obliterating his vision as the hunger surged.

No. It couldn’t be.

Me lord Nighthawk…

As if a veil had been lifted, everything he knew about her—everything she’d explained away so well—crashed together. Her hands—don’t touch my hands—the pistol she carried, and the way she could pick a lock with barely a thought. No! He’d seen her hand, seen Mercury in the park while Rosa sat in the carriage beside him… Or had he? The truth hit him like a bucket of icy water, washing away the willful blindness, making him feel sick at the deception. The way she’d fooled him and so easily too.

Or perhaps, if he were honest, he had let himself be fooled.

“Mercury,” he whispered, and realized that she had been right.

He knew her not at all.