My Lady Quicksilver (25 page)

“I’ve had that lecture from Doyle already. I want to observe tonight, not attack.” Lynch scratched at his jaw. He’d let her go but that meant nothing. He needed Mercury’s secrets, to discover if what she had said about the mechs was true. “Where’s the entrance to Undertown?”

“Behind a whorehouse in Limey,” Byrnes replied. “Trapdoor around the back that looks like it leads to a cellar. Someone’s cut a hole down into the ELU tunnels.”

No doubt the brothel fronted as a smuggling den then. Undertown existed for enterprising types. Lynch’s eyes narrowed. “A guard?”

“I slipped him,” Byrnes replied. “He’s too busy fondling the merchandise.”

“Let’s move, then.”

The tiles were slick beneath Lynch’s boots, but he moved like liquid through the night, knowing that Byrnes followed. Fierce joy arose in him as he leaped across a narrow alley and landed on a nearby roof, his feet barely touching before he raced up the steep slope of the roof. This was the only time he felt truly free, unhindered by responsibility and duty. Byrnes might frown on him taking such an active role in the hunt, but Lynch needed it, now more than ever.

With a sharp gesture, he indicated Byrnes to take the lead once they reached Jamaica Street. The silence of the world was strangely eerie now that martial law had descended. People no doubt prowled the streets—there weren’t enough guards to police every rookery—but they kept their outings quiet.

A whispered argument caught his ear, ghosting through the fog. He ignored it, trying to stay low on the roofline and out of the stark moonlight.

And then something about the words caught his ear. A voice he knew only too well. “You must be mistaken,” Mrs. Marberry said quite clearly, her voice echoing through the reaches. “I’ve paid my lease for the month.”

Lynch stopped in his tracks. What the hell was she doing out? One glance showed Byrnes vanishing into the shadows. Lynch ought to move on; duty beckoned. He’d made his decision earlier about Mrs. Marberry and he intended to stick with it.

Then a man’s low-laughed reply made every hair on the back of his neck lift, the world muting down to gray shadows tinged with red. Lynch knew that sort of laugh. He was moving before he could think.

***

Rosalind leaned against the brick wall, trying not to breathe too deeply. Her temporary landlord reeked of gin.

The butcher leered down her bodice, not even making pretense at decency. “I don’t recall that transaction.”

“Would you like me to fetch the receipt?” she replied through her teeth. She knew precisely what he was up to. A widow was considered fair game here in the East End and she’d been lucky to be unmolested for so long. Of course, if he knew what she was planning—how easy it would be to slit his throat—then he might not be so interested.

She stilled her impulses. A body in the streets would raise questions that she didn’t need right now. Someone like Mrs. Marberry would deal with this in other ways.

“I shall look for it,” she said. “Perhaps you would prefer to speak to my brother Jack about the misunderstanding?” It rankled to involve a man, but sometimes it was quicker. Rosalind wasn’t above using whatever tool was needed for the task.

Taking a step to the side, she jerked back as the butcher slammed a meaty hand against the wall beside her face. “Let’s not cause trouble we don’t need,” he said, looking around. “You and I, we can come at some sort of arrangement.”

The press of his body almost made her gag. She was half tempted to trigger the blade in her iron hand and shove it up underneath his fat chin, just to see the piggish gleam in his eyes disappear.

“Listen here—” she began, when a shadow swooped down from above.

The butcher disappeared. One moment, his gap-toothed smirk was in her face and the next he was slammed up against the wall by a cloaked figure. The stranger held the butcher by one hand, his fingers digging into the man’s throat with ease. Rosalind’s mouth parted in shock as she recognized the harsh, aquiline features and cold burning gleam of Lynch’s eyes.

What was he doing here? Her stomach twisted itself in knots as she mentally raked her attire. She wore nothing of Mercury’s and she’d liberally sprayed herself with perfume before leaving her home. Unless the imprint of what had happened in the steamy bathing room beneath the guild had left some sort of invisible mark—a scarlet letter painted against her forehead.

Had he followed her from the guild? She was rarely careless, but she knew her head had not been in a clear space of mind. Instead, frustration and sexual desire had raked through her, driving her half-mad with impatience. She’d had to get out of there before she marched back in and demanded her dues. This was twice now he’d left her on the edge, her body thrumming with unfulfilled need.

I
don’t need to chase you… You’ll come back to me.

He was right. Even now her body betrayed her, fierce hunger beating in her breast as she eyed that hard, muscular frame—a body she knew almost every inch of now.

“Do you know who I am?” Lynch asked quietly.

“Ye-es.” A hoarse reply. The scent of urine filled the air. “Please—”

“Keep your mouth shut.” Lynch’s voice was almost unrecognizable, almost metallic. A knife appeared in his other hand and he pressed the sharp edge to the man’s throat and leaned on it just enough to break the skin. “This woman is under my protection, do you understand?”

Those piggy eyes widened and the butcher made a whimpering sound that could have been assent. Rosalind took a nervous step back. The demon rode him hard tonight. Her hand slid into her pocket and gripped the hilt of the pistol strapped to her thigh. Then let go. She didn’t quite know what to do.

“If you ever come near her again, I’ll cut your throat,” Lynch whispered. “And nobody will ever find the body.” His gaze dropped as the knife moved an inch, slicing through skin like it was paper. Blood slid between the rolls of the butcher’s chin. “Her lease is free for six months, do you understand? And all the other women who rent off you—you don’t touch them either.” He leaned close, menace radiating from him. “Don’t ever think I won’t have someone watching.”

“No, sir,” the butcher gasped, swallowing against the blade.

Another rasp of the knife. Rosalind watched in morbid fascination as Lynch sliced the man from ear to ear, the pressure just firm enough to part the skin. The butcher was barely even bleeding but he’d remember it. And when he looked in the mirror in the morning to shave, he’d see evidence of this night.

Lynch shoved away from him and the man tumbled to the cobbles, crying in great, racking sobs. “Go,” he said coldly, wiping the edge of the knife against his breeches. “Before I change my mind and have you arrested for breaking curfew.”

A quick scramble on the cobbles, then the butcher staggered past her, so frightened he didn’t even seem to see her. Rosalind pressed back against the bricks to avoid him, then slowly looked up.

Lynch breathed hard, staring down at his gloved hands. He closed his eyes, his entire body trembling.

Something was wrong. Rosalind wet her lips and pushed away from the building.

“Are you all right?” she whispered. He hadn’t followed her. He couldn’t have—or else he wouldn’t have stayed his hand with just the butcher. This was pure chance that their paths had crossed.

“No.” Hoarse words. He reached out and splayed a hand over the pitted brickwork. The very preciseness of his movements made her still, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting. She’d seen this before in Balfour.

This wasn’t the man she knew; his hunger was in ascendancy, Lynch holding on to it by the thinnest of leashes.

“What are you doing out?” he asked harshly. “It’s martial law. I should damned well arrest you.”

“I was looking for my brother,” she said, a pang of sadness twisting through her. “He’s not come home yet.”

The words almost bought tears to her eyes. She was holding on to sanity herself by the slightest grip. Every day only tightened the knot inside her heart, where Jeremy belonged. No matter how busy she kept herself, the quiet moments still crept up, where she couldn’t help but dwell on her growing sense of loss.

Still
no
sign
of
him… She couldn’t give up. She wouldn’t… But why couldn’t she find him?

Lynch turned black eyes on her, the irises completely obliterated by darkness. “How often has that man harassed you? Has he ever—”

“No,” she hastened to assure him. “He hasn’t dared before. I came across him on the way home and he’d been drinking—” She shook her head. “And I have my pistol. For men like that.”

Lynch pushed away from the wall. “Then why didn’t you draw it?”

Rosalind was tempted to back away but didn’t dare. “I didn’t think I needed to. I was in control.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

She gaped for words, not understanding the change in him. His anger was so fierce she could almost feel it on her skin. “Well. I don’t think I shall have to be concerned in the future. Word will spread after that little performance.”

He grabbed her arm. “I would force you to stay at the guild, but I don’t think that wise. I’ll set a man to watch over you instead.”

The closeness of his body set her on fire, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t quite forget the feel of those clever fingers between her thighs and the rasp of his teeth against her throat. Concentrating was hard, but she would not be undone like she had been in the bathing room. “No,” she blurted
. The worst thing possible
. “That’s quite all right. I don’t need a Nighthawk on my doorstep.” Then she frowned. “And why don’t you want me staying at the guild? I thought…after this afternoon—?”

His gaze lowered, but he wasn’t staring at her breasts as the butcher had. “This afternoon was a mistake,” he said gently but firmly. “I should never have taken such liberties and I beg your forgiveness.” He met her gaze then. The black was fading, but the implacability of his resolve was not. “It won’t happen again, Rosa. It can’t.”

She should never have provoked it in the first place. Yet her heart clenched at his words, a dangerous sense of…
something
…filling her. Disappointment?

“Why?” she blurted recklessly.

Lynch seemed to withdraw into himself as if he were putting up walls. “You’re my secretary,” he said, “and I your employer. I would be taking advantage.”

“I didn’t mind,” she murmured. “I wanted what happened—”

“I kissed another woman tonight,” he said bluntly. “You should know that.”

She’d known. Of course she’d known. Yet the way he threw it in her face actually hurt. She could feel the heat draining from her skin, her heart suddenly pounding sharply in her ears. How ridiculous… To feel such jealousy over what was essentially herself.

“Why?” she whispered.

Lynch drew away, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he snapped. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“Is she… Is she someone you know?” It seemed ridiculous to ask, but she was suddenly desperate to know what he truly thought about her. Or about Rosa Marberry.

Anger filled her. She
wasn’t
Rosa Marberry. The woman was just a role. Yet it felt real. A tiny little part of her wanted to be Rosa Marberry. Someone without the crushing burden of her past or the pressure of a missing brother. Someone that Jasper Lynch had wanted, even for a second.

Lynch’s bleakness surprised her. “No,” he said. “She’s no one I know, no one…important.”

That made the ache fiercer. “I see.”

“I should never have touched you. The shame is all mine,” he replied. A faint hesitation. “Come, I’ll walk you home.”

“No.” She jerked away. “It’s fine. I can find my own way.”

“Rosa.” A hand caught her upper arm.

She lashed out then, balling her right hand into a fist and driving it into his gut. “Don’t touch me! Just leave me alone!”

He exhaled sharply but the ribbed padding of his armor deflected the blow and she was left clutching at her hand, heat bubbling up behind her eyes.

The shock of it took her by surprise. Then she was crying and she couldn’t stop, wet messy tears sliding down her cheeks and a sob catching in her throat. She jammed her fist against her teeth to stop it from escaping, a hot flare of pain sliding through the wounded limb.

“Damn it,” Lynch cursed. He stepped closer, the toes of his boots coming into her watery vision. “Damn it, Rosa. Please don’t cry.” His hands slid over her upper arms and she stiffened, but he was only rubbing them. Her metal hand was far from his touch.

Then his arms wrapped around her, crushing her close. Rosalind fought for a second, hot angry tears scoring her cheeks, then collapsed into his arms. Hesitantly, she put her hand against his chest. Sexual desire she could fight, but not this… She wanted to be held as if someone cared, just this once.

Hurt bubbled up inside her at the thought. A sudden lurching wave of grief went through her; she missed her husband so dreadfully. Or perhaps simply the touch of a man, the warm companionship, the feeling that someone would look after
her
, instead of always being the one to look after everyone else.

“What’s wrong?”

Rosalind curled into Lynch’s arms, silently pleading with him to hold her. Shaking her head, she buried her face against his chest and let the tears come.

She’d thought she was strong enough to deal with this but she was coming apart at the seams, fracturing, her entire world shattering like a stained-glass window.

“I’m trying to be strong,” she blurted, not knowing where the words were coming from.

“You are strong—”

“No, I’m not,” she cried. “Everything is going wrong. Everything!”

“I don’t understand,” he replied, frustration edging his voice. He rubbed her back, his hand curling protectively against her spine. “What’s wrong, Rosa? What is ‘everything’? Is it the butcher? Or…me?”

Longing filled her. Rosalind wanted to tell him, to blurt out all of her troubles and stay here in his arms. To have someone else deal with the problem for once. As if someone cared, as if someone would look after
her
. What a mess. She dragged strands of wet hair off her cheeks and shook her head. If she told him the truth, the caring tone would leech out of his voice immediately. He wasn’t her ally nor even her friend. Not truly. She had to forget this feeling and forge ahead on the path she’d set herself.