Of Silk and Steam (3 page)

“So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?”

“I know every cog, bolt, and alignment on the latest engines,” she replied haughtily, then added a faint smile. “Perfect bedtime reading.”

An eyebrow arched. “So you only have a theoretical notion of how to fly an airship?” he repeated.

“Trust me, Barrons,” she practically purred. “I don’t invest in anything I don’t know the ins and outs of. Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Right next to my desire to live,” he shot back.

Mina ducked under his arm, swimming away from him with a taunting splash in the face. “Come, grandmother. Let me show you how to steal an airship.”

* * *

Stealing an airship was the sort of idea that left a burning tingle in the blood. Something he’d have done as a lad for a dare, before he’d grown out of such mischief. That the very cool, rational Duchess of Casavian had come up with the idea was a thought that Leo couldn’t stop considering as they stared at the airship from the dark silence of a garden folly.

Another sign that the duchess was not at all what she seemed.

“What sort of distraction do you think would be best?” she asked. Since their truce, she’d grown easier with the idea of working with him. It was surprising how well they’d managed.

He cast a quick glance back at the two uniformed guards standing at the mooring ropes, joined for the moment by the first pilot. One guard lit a cheroot as Leo watched, shaking out the match.

“They’re bored, and most importantly, they’re men.” His hands slid over her shoulders, earning him a wary glance. He teased the clasp of her cloak open. She was shivering wet underneath it, and he was glad he’d left it under a hedge for her. “Why not use the few weapons we have?”

With that, he dragged the cloak off, letting it fall to the folly floor. The duchess wrapped her arms across her chest, her lips trembling.

“Look at you,” he whispered, kneeling at her feet. “All wet and cold, with some miscreant having stolen your dress—and dare I say it, your virtue?” Taking hold of her petticoats, he tore them up her thigh, earning a hissed intake of breath. “Trust me. We don’t need an extensive diversion.”

Mina’s lip curled. “One would argue that you’re saying men are base fools, to be led by their instincts.”

“Have you only just worked that out?”

“I’m going to kill you for this.”

“Go.” He gave her a gentle shove in the back. “And I would advise you to let your arms drop. You’re hiding your best assets.”

Giving him a truly evil glare, she dropped her arms, revealing how tightly her stays and chemise clung to her full, rounded breasts as well as the tight puckering of her nipples. “You’ll pay for this, Barrons. I promise you that revenge will be excruciating.”

He didn’t look. There would be time enough for that later. “I shall await your endeavors with great anticipation.”

Oh, how those eyes burned him. Leo muffled a laugh as the duchess turned on her heel and strode out of the folly. Hardly the damsel in distress.

She changed, however, when the men caught sight of her, the guard choking on his cheroot.

“Sir, oh sir!” the duchess called. She looked utterly miserable, bedraggled, and glorious, the flickering gas lamps playing over her gently rounded curves. “Could you please help me?”

Dangerous minx. Leo eased into the shadows, moving around toward the airship. How easily she slipped into the role, as if she’d been fooling people her entire life.

Grabbing hold of one of the mooring ropes, he climbed hand over hand, up toward the deck that lined the edges of the gondola, the muscles in his shoulders burning. Listening for a moment, he stole over the edge and crouched low. The engines were silent, the enormous inflated envelope above keeping the dirigible floating nearly twenty feet off the ground.

What a bloody travesty. The decks were obviously designed for its owner to “take in the air,” with a foredeck covered in a daybed and mounded pillows. For the view, no doubt. A floating pleasure palace. Matheson was a modern-day Louis XIV. Leo strode toward the engine room. Its structure reminded him somewhat of the
Valkyrie
, which he’d sailed aboard on his way to Saint Petersburg and back. Only minutely. Captain Alexi Dansk would have sneered at such extravagances, and no amount of frippery would have survived the icy winds as they’d crossed the Baltic Sea.

Jerking open the captain’s cabin, Leo found himself face-to-face with a second pilot. The man had his feet kicked up on a stool and was flipping through the
London
Tribune
. The moment Leo appeared, the pilot’s jaw dropped and he opened his mouth to yell.

“A hundred quid to keep your mouth shut,” Leo said, slipping through the door and examining the control panel. A series of gears and levers greeted him. Hardly incomprehensible, but he preferred to take his time to examine such things before he tried to levitate them off the ground. Stripping out of his wet coat, he tossed it aside.

The pilot was still gaping at him. “Here, sir, you can’t be up here.”

Leo held up his billfold. It was dripping, along with the rest of him, but the notes within it would dry. He tossed it toward the fellow. “I’m commandeering this vessel. You have two choices. One, I can knock you unconscious and attempt to steer this bloody thing myself, or two, you can take whatever is in that billfold, steer me to my destination, and then return with the airship in one piece to collect Matheson.”

“His lordship will have my head,” the man replied, hands cupped around the wallet.

“Tell him you saved the vessel from certain destruction,” Leo replied, peering through the window. Mina had managed to find herself a man’s jacket to cover herself—the first pilot’s, by the look of it.

Seconds ticked by. “Aye, sir.” The man’s shocked expression cleared. “Where would you like to go, sir?”

“What’s your name?”

“Whitcomb. Bennett Whitcomb.”

“I just need help with one other thing before we get under way.”

“Sir?”

He pointed through the glass-plated windows. “That comely lass there is with me.”

* * *

“You found a pilot,” Mina said flatly, accepting a flute of champagne as Barrons knelt on the edge of the plumply cushioned daybed, the bottle fizzing in his fingers.

“You sound disappointed.”

“A little.” She ran her fingers along the timber paneling of the daybed at the front of the ship. “It was my only opportunity to fly such a thing.”

“Change of plans,” he replied, stretching out alongside her as the engines kicked into gear and the propellers on either side of the gondola began to spin faster. A heady rumbling sound vibrated the deck beneath them as all of the boilers lit up. “I’ll personally pay for Galloway to provide you with lessons.”

“Admit it,” she replied, sipping her champagne and shivering. “You didn’t like the idea of your fate being in my hands.”

“I don’t like the idea of my fate residing in anyone’s hands.” The airship quivered and then gave a faint surging push as it lifted into the air. His gaze returned to hers, the faintest of smiles touching those hard lips. “Least of all yours. You
were
threatening me with all manner of dire retributions, were you not?”

“Please don’t think me so limited as to consider dropping you off an airship revenge enough.”

A fluid shrug, all sleek muscle and lazy acquiescence now that they were under way. As if he barely felt the cold that was beginning to almost burn beneath her skin. Shouts began to circle up from beneath them. “Here’s to retribution.” He tapped his glass against hers with a clink, his dark eyes catching glimmer-shine off the gaslights along the rail. “Even if it is merciless.”

“You doubt me?”

“Never. I was there when you dueled with your cousin Peter. I know you can be merciless when you need to be.”

Cold air streamed over the deck. She couldn’t quite reply, the words taking her by surprise. So many years ago now, and yet the memory still lashed her like the cut of a whip, brutal and searing.

Not
merciless
, a part of her whispered.
Not
with
Peter.
That had been nothing more than a young girl’s survival instinct. Desperation. Him or
her
.

His death was still on her hands, though.

Barrons drained his glass, eyes narrowing as he watched her over the edge of it. Then he reached out and dragged one of the heavy blankets over her.

“I don’t know where this has been,” she replied through her suddenly dry throat, but she tucked the blanket about her shoulders, trying to create something of a windbreak.

“We could share,” Barrons suggested.

What?
Her head jerked up. Devil take it! She was so cold that her wits were slowing. And something about the night had softened her focus, made her forget that this man was the enemy. Perhaps the truce. Or perhaps…almost a kind of…camaraderie between them tonight. “I’d rather freeze.”

A fingertip traced patterns on the blanket, over her hip. “Something I said?” he murmured, gauging her expression with those dangerous eyes, as if he were searching for answers when she didn’t even know what the questions were.

“We’ve escaped,” she replied. “The terms of our truce are finished.”

“Not quite.” He poured himself more bloodied champagne and sipped at it, resting back on the mound of cushions like some indolent pasha. “The debt has not yet been paid.”

Mina sat up, dragging the coat and blanket tightly around herself. “You demand payment tonight?”

“I do.”

Of course he did. London glided by, the enormous brick walls that surrounded the heart of the city—and the Echelon’s territory—passing directly below them. Lights stretched out for miles, twinkling in the darkness of night. Beautiful.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“Some place safe. Some place nobody knows about.”

“And then?”

“Then?” He arched a brow, lying on his side and resting his head on his open palm. “Then we finish this.”

“This is a bedroom,” Mina said, her teeth chattering.

“Mine, to be precise,” Barrons replied, ushering her through the door and then flicking on the gaslights.

“I thought you lived at Waverly Place.”

“Officially.” He gave nothing away as he crossed toward a decanter and poured blud-wein into a pair of glasses. “Unofficially, I sometimes need a place to stay that nobody knows about.”

A small house outside the city walls? Unusual. None of her sources on him had ever turned up anything like this. Why would he need a private sanctuary? That indicated involvement in some mischief. Mina closed the door behind her and tugged the pilot’s coat tighter around her in a vain attempt to warm herself.

The bedroom was smaller than expected, with an enormous four-poster bed taking up most of the space and a cold fireplace in the corner. Curiosity bit her, and she found her gaze dwelling on the ormolu clock on the mantel and the heavy damask drapes. She trailed her fingertips over the smooth velvet pane on the bed.
Wonder
what
that
would
feel
like
against
my
skin.
She jerked her hand away.

Barrons offered her one of the glasses, his fingers brushing against hers. He frowned, then turned her hand palm up. “You’re freezing.”

“Some idiot pushed me into a canal.”

She waited for a sharp response, but instead the line between his brows drew deeper. “If I recall, I suggested it. Come. You need to get out of those clothes and get warm.”

He led her toward the connected washroom. At the sight of the enormous bath, Mina balked. “If you think that I’m getting in your bath—”

“Then don’t.” He flicked the taps, sending a stream of water into the claw-footed tub. “If you won’t avail yourself of some scandalously hot water, then I shall.” He lifted up a small vial and dropped a generous amount of foaming soap into the machine aerator. It whipped the soap particles into the water, creating a mess of bubbles. “I’ll send my manservant, Isaiah, up to set the fire to rights. Hopefully that will warm you instead.”

Her gaze flicked toward the water, her skin prickling at the hot steam that began to envelop the bathroom. “This is indecent.”

Barrons laughed under his breath. “Not yet, it’s not.” Shrugging out of his wet jacket, he tossed it aside. “Now, you or me?”

Why not both of us?
She lowered her eyes, but the image of him remained. Wet, his sleek shirt clinging like a second skin, delineating the heavy muscle of his shoulders and chest, hinting at the darkness of his nipples behind the fine lawn.

Steam curled up, dancing in the air like a dozen ethereal harem girls. She desperately needed to return home, to set into motion ploys to protect herself, but she was so damned wet and cold. And tired. For the first time in months, she just wished to take a moment for herself. The euphoria and exhilaration of the chase through the Venetian Gardens had vanished, leaving her utterly drained. How the devil was she going to explain all of this? The queen’s pale face flickered to mind.

“I cannot remove my corset myself,” she replied stiffly, and it was both capitulation and an order.

“Let me play lady’s maid then.” He stepped closer, the presence of his body behind her sending shivers down her spine. Strong, firm fingers caught her hips and turned her toward the mirror with forceful pressure.

The pilot’s crisp white coat buttoned at the front. Mina jerked it open with rough, careless tugs, shivering as the humid air of the washroom met her dimpled skin. The coat slid sinuously down her body until Barrons caught it in his fist. Their eyes met in the mirror, his gaze sliding down over the pale skin of her décolletage to the gold corset and her bedraggled chemise and petticoats. The silk clung wetly, molding over every dip and curve.

Let him look his fill. The promise of their bargain burned within her. So typical of a man to demand such things from her. Men had done so all her life until she’d finally found a way to prevent it by burying her passions so deep that they almost didn’t exist anymore. Men did not desire ice. They called it a pity now, such a shame that someone of her beauty should be so untouchable, so untouched, and yet it was the only trait they would have respected in her.

For a moment disappointment flickered. She hadn’t hoped that he would be different, had she? For that would mean that a ridiculous girlish part of her still existed.

Hands came up in the periphery of her vision, brushing her wet red hair off her shoulders. She forced herself not to feel it, to watch the reflection of them dispassionately in the mirror over the vanity. Light gleamed off her white-and-gold outfit, but Barrons was only shadow behind her, his hands brushing her hair into smoothness. Surprisingly, he was no longer watching her in the mirror, admiring his prize. Instead he was stroking the knots from her hair, his gaze solely focused on the task. Despite herself, impressions began to leach into her: the rasp of his knuckles against her back, the sharp tug as his callused fingers caught in a knot.

“You needn’t bother,” she murmured. “I’m only going to wash it.”

Those black eyes met hers. So reminiscent of a blue blood when their hunger was roused, but lacking the intensity. Shadows. Eyes of shadows. “You have beautiful hair,” he said, and the spell was broken.

Beautiful
hair.
She stared at herself again and felt nothing.

“
So
beautiful
,” the Echelon had breathed, when she made her debut.

She might have damned well been invisible, but she had learned. Beauty could be a curse or it could be used, and she had learned to use it well over the years. “I do believe you were unlacing my corset.”

Barrons ignored her, still untangling the knotted lengths that stretched to her waist. “I like the feel of it. It’s so very soft.” A wry smile touched his mouth. “I keep expecting to feel nothing but sharp edges when I touch you, but it’s just a lie. You’re as soft as any other woman, aren’t you, Mina?”

“No, I’m not.” She dragged the heavy weight of her wet hair over her shoulder, curling her hands possessively around it. What he spoke of was weakness, not softness. “My corset, my lord.”

“As my lady wishes.” The words were gentle, but they made her shiver again—and this time she couldn’t blame the cold.

He didn’t touch her. Not in any way she’d expected. No lingering caresses down her flanks and hips. No hands curling around her to cup her breasts through her corset. Every inch of her body was on edge. A part of her simply wished for him to make his move.

His touch was not sexual, yet far too intimate. Tender, perhaps? Gentle hands tugging at her wet laces. The only person who ever touched her like this was her maid in the sanctity of her bedchamber, a place where no one wanted to kill her or hurt her, dethrone her or judge her.

The corset gaped open suddenly and she caught it against her breasts, still holding onto her hair with one hand.

“I shall fetch you some blud-wein,” he said, looking up then and finding her eyes on him in the mirror. Startled eyes, she couldn’t help but think before she narrowed them.

His own were liquid darkness. Unfathomable. As were his actions.

Mina watched him leave, each step owning the space around him. Far too comfortable in his own skin—comfortable too in this situation, as though he thought he had mastery of it. Leaving her laces undone and her corset sagging, her heart beating just a little too swiftly for comfort.

What the devil was his game here? It felt uncomfortably as though neither of them were Casavian nor Caine at this moment—not enemies but simply two people who found an attraction in each other.

And she’d be a fool if she thought that. She waited, listening to the silence in the room, but there were no answers to the question. He had demanded a kiss from her and more, but he seemed disinclined to take either boon.

And the bath was cooling.

Practicality forced her to examine her options. She had no dry clothes, and no doubt there would be men looking for her, men well equipped to remove her, should the process prove necessary. If she were a Falcon, her first instinct would be to surround her prey’s house and wait. People always returned home, seeking what they perceived was safety.

But they wouldn’t be looking here, would they? Nobody would ever suspect her erstwhile rescuer to be Leo Barrons, not with the feud between their families. She would be invisible here, and the threat he cast toward her could be…managed, if nothing else.

Wriggling out of her undergarments, she let them fall to the cold tiles and stepped into her bath. Home was no longer safe for the moment, and there was nothing she could do to fix the situation tonight. She needed to think, to find some way to outwit the prince consort, and her first instinct—to run or hide—was hardly suitable.

Scalding water slid over her body as Mina sank into the bath, teeth gritted. Sensible thoughts fragmented, bubbles clinging to the smooth slope of her breasts while her skin turned a pleasant pink. “Oh, goodness,” she whispered, sinking farther into the water and leaning her head back against the rim of the claw-footed bath. This was surely divine.

It hurt for a long time, until the heat began to soak into her bones, warming her from within. Mina washed the stink of the canal from her hair, then added more hot water, her foot resting on the rim of the bath and her fingers idly twirling the pearls at her throat.

It was no surprise when the door opened and Barrons returned. She swung cattish eyes on him and stayed silent, not bothering to sink any farther beneath the bubbles that covered her. Let him play his little games; she had her own in place and wouldn’t need long to divine his intentions.

Men were so predictable. The thought steeled her will. Barrons was just another man, after all, and she’d been using her feminine wiles to wage war for years.

He’d changed into dry clothes—a black shirt that seemed to absorb all of the darkness in the room and black suspenders riding hard over broad shoulders. At some point he’d rolled the shirtsleeves up, leaving his forearms bare. She’d never seen him in anything other than court clothes. These more informal clothes made him look a little more ruffled, more sensual.

His hair had grown longer in the month since he’d left for Saint Petersburg, and he’d tied it up now with a thin piece of velvet. It highlighted the stark line of his cheekbones and a lower lip that was slightly fuller than it ought to be. She wanted to drag that ribbon from his hair and run her hands through the gilt-colored strands.

Mina sank a little farther into the bath. She wasn’t innocent. There’d been two short-lived affairs in her past, but she’d been in complete control of both of them, even when her blood-lust had risen. This sensation left her a little unsettled. The sight of him—perhaps the situation—stirred feelings inside her that she’d never owned.

Lust could be controlled. Always.

“I suppose you’ve come to claim your prize.” She toyed with the pearls.

One tawny eyebrow arched. “I’ve come to bring you your blud-wein, Your Grace.”

There was a tray in his hands. He set it on the vanity, then poured a glass and offered it to her.

Mina accepted, swirling the bloodied wine in her glass. Troubled again. “You make an excellent lady’s maid, Barrons.”

“Are you hiring?”

She breathed out a laugh. “Hardly.”

His fingers trailed over her shoulder as he circled the head of the bath. “We worked well together tonight.”

So that was his aim. “You think we could carry this alliance onto the Council?” He served as the Duke of Caine’s proxy, after all.

“It would be the last thing they’d expect. But, no, Mina, I was merely commenting, not offering an alliance.”

“Good.” She drained her glass and handed it to him. There was no way in hell she’d consider an alliance with the son of the man who’d killed her father. “For the truce is definitely over.”

Barrons stared at her wineglass for taut seconds. “A shame.” He placed it on the vanity carefully, then turned back to her.

Mina tensed.

Fingertips brushed her cheek. “I have no plans to hurt you,” he reminded her, circling around behind her. “You shall never have that to fear, Duchess.”

A hand fisted in her wet hair and dragged her head back. His face appeared in her vision, upside down. “Unless I plan on stealing your heart,” he whispered. “Then you should be on your guard.”

“I’m always on my guard,” she breathed.

Barrons’s gaze softened, his face lowering. “If I recall, you owe me a kiss.”

“You owe me a note,” she shot back, her hands clutching the edge of the bath and her heart hammering.

“A kiss,” he repeated, “if I managed to get you out of there safely.” His face lowered toward hers, candlelight turning his skin a delicious golden hue. “The note was for another payment indeed.”

Her whole body burned. The fist in her hair tightened, as if warning her that he had her at his mercy. “I’m already naked,” she replied flatly.

“But clothed in bubbles, my dear.” That smooth voice turned molten. “Bubbles and candlelight.”

The tension between them changed. She could feel it thickening the air around her. The bastard was daring her, a little smile playing around his lips. Knowing that she did not want to pay her dues.

Mina’s heart pounded. “So be it.” She forced her whole body to relax, her fingers releasing their claw hold on the lip of the bath. “You’ve earned your kiss. I do hope it’s all you imagined.”

Reaching up, she slid a hand through his hair, tearing it loose from its velvet thong. Palm flat against his scalp, she dragged his head down, tilting her lips to his.

They were softer than she’d expected, melting over her own and sucking her breath into his lungs. The intimacy of that thought burned between her thighs, a hollow, empty ache that seemed almost alive…waiting for something more. She brushed her mouth against his once. Twice. Licked at his tongue, then sucked it into her mouth as she slid both hands up to cup his cheeks.