The Iron Duke (32 page)

“I need more.” His gaze burned into hers. “I want to taste all of you, Mina. I want to drink you up. Are you wet enough?”

She trembled.
I intend to lick between your legs until you come in my mouth.
And she was so slick, ached so much, needed so much.

“Yes.” Her breath came in pants. “Yes.”

Slowly, Trahaearn kissed his way down her throat. Between her breasts. Her booted feet hit the floor and she braced her shoulders against the wall, watching him sink to one knee in front of her.

He pressed his lips to her belly. His fingers hooked into the waist of her trousers.

Need rushed over her, beyond anything she’d ever felt—except for once. How was he doing this to her? She suddenly couldn’t breathe. Fear squeezed her chest and quickly burst into terror. She pushed her hands into his hair to hold him still.

“No more, Trahaearn. Please.”

 

 

The word barely penetrated the dull roar in Rhys’s head. God, he needed her. He hadn’t expected arousal to take him over like this, burning hotter than the wine and the softness in his head. He hadn’t known that his need
could
take him over like this.

But only for her. Only for Mina.

“Please,” she said again, and this time he detected fear in her voice.

He
would
please her. And show her that he’d take care of her, that she had no reason to be afraid. He dragged her trousers over her hips and halfway down her sleek thighs, and something twisted in his chest. Even by the dim light of the lantern, her short drawstring pants appeared patched and ragged. Pain lashed through his scalp as she pulled at his hair. He kissed her through the threadbare cotton, trying to soothe her fear. And he’d soon give her silk and lace. He smoothed her pants down and groaned.

“Oh, no, no. Please.” She yanked at his hair again. “It’s too much like the Frenzy. I need it too much.”

He could see that. The wisp of black hair covering her sex was no barrier to his gaze, and she
was
wet, and pink, and flushed with her arousal. She tugged again, and he pinned her hands against the wall before she snatched his scalp bloody. No need to urge him on. She needed, and he’d give. He couldn’t wait to give. Her musky scent threatened to drive him out of his mind, more heady than any perfume, any wine.

Above him, Mina whimpered on a panicked breath. He understood this fear. Her first time exposed. Her first time so vulnerable. But he wouldn’t hurt her.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“Please, Trahaearn. No more. I can’t feel this much, I can’t—”

But she could. His mouth covered her sex and her flavor burst over his tongue. He groaned over her thin scream, her electric response. Her hips jerked. Fingers flexing, her nails bit into his hands. Though her wrists were pinned and her trousers bound her thighs, she managed to twist her body. Rhys followed, seeking out every slick drop, licking between her plump lips. She cried out when he suckled on the swollen bud of her clitoris. Her body arched, and she was so wet again, with more for him to lick and taste.

He pushed her relentlessly, relishing every muffled cry, every sobbing moan. She tried to throw him off, as if the pleasure was too much, but he held her still, until she stiffened and convulsed, her flesh pulsing against his tongue.

Triumphant, he tenderly licked until her shudders faded. And though his cock ached, he
wouldn’t
carry her to the bed. Hell, he didn’t know if he could even stand up, now that the wine had sunk into him with its fuzzy teeth, the wine and the addictive taste of Mina. He was dizzy with it. He’d have done anything for another taste. And her need had been strong. Maybe she could take more.

He looked up and his heart froze.

There was no desire on her face. No ecstasy, no contentment. Only tears. Devastation.

Oh, Christ no.
Realization hit him, a sick punch to his gut. Her protests hadn’t been what he’d thought. And this hadn’t been making love to her.

“Mina.” His voice was hoarse. “I thought—”

Fury boiled through her command. He immediately dropped his hands from her wrists. She lurched for her weapons. He didn’t see which one she grabbed. He could have stopped her.

But he had too much to pay for now.

She shoved the barrel against his neck and pulled the trigger.

 

 

Numb, Mina watched Trahaearn fall unconscious to the
floor. She sank next to him, her back to the wall. She couldn’t sob. Couldn’t let herself feel anything.

Easier said than done.
The room spun. She couldn’t think clearly. He hadn’t been thinking, either. His shock as he’d looked up at her had been genuine.
Both drunk.
And by the bright stars, she’d been so stupid. She put her head in her hands. Watered honey wine hadn’t prepared her for this.

And she couldn’t stay here on the floor. Standing, she pulled her trousers up over flesh that was still hot and wet and sensitive. Her fingers shook as she tugged up her chemise and buckled her armor. She had to drag her shirt from beneath his knee, and almost toppled over when she straightened again. Dizzy, she braced her hands on the bed, wondering if she’d soon vomit, but nothing came up.

She looked down at Trahaearn, taking up almost the entire narrow floor. The deck had been sanded smooth. Perhaps she could drag him to his cabin. Crouching, she slipped her hands below his arms, and tried to lift him up. Even straining, she could hardly move him, and soon she was sick and dizzy again.

She gave up and threw a blanket over him. With his long body stretched out, she could barely open the door without banging it into his head. Turning sideways, she eased through and crossed the passageway.

The duke’s cabin was empty—Scarsdale must have still been with Lady Corsair. She recognized the red waistcoat flung over the foot of one bunk. Trahaearn had worn that earlier. Crossing the cabin, she climbed into the Iron Duke’s bed.

Probably not how he’d pictured her there.

Not how she’d pictured it, either.

Suddenly exhausted, she closed her eyes. The image of his mouth on her sex floated behind her lids. She squeezed her hand between her legs, trying to suppress the memory of his lips and tongue. Her terror seemed almost like a dream now, leaving only the need . . . and her wish that she could be someone else, someone who could let herself feel.

 

 

Footsteps and the flare of a lamp woke her. Her tongue
thick and her head aching, Mina opened her eyes and squinted against the light. Scarsdale stood in his breeches on the other side of the cabin, facing away from her. He pulled off his shirt. Mina’s breath stopped.

Old scars laddered his back. The white, raised flesh crossed his skin in the distinctive lashes and knots made by a thieves’ cat-o’-nine-tails.

Eyes wide, she rose up on her elbow. Scarsdale glanced over his shoulder—then looked again, spinning around and holding his shirt against his chest like a startled matron.

“Inspector!”

She had to force her brain and her tongue to work. “Yes.”

He hastily pulled on his shirt again. “Why aren’t you in your cabin? Where’s the captain?”

“On my floor. I couldn’t move him.”

“He never drinks that much. I should have—Oh, Christ.” Concern and wariness flooded his expression. “Did he . . . ?”

“No. I shot him.”

Alarm replaced the concern. “With what?”

“Opium.”

“He’s fucked, then.” He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. “That will keep him out far into the morning. Between the two of us, we might be able to drag him in here, but we won’t get him up to the bed. Shall we leave him?”

“I already did,” she said.

He laughed suddenly. “So you have. And pardon me for saying, you look like hell. I don’t know that you could stand up, let alone drag anyone anywhere.”

She supposed he knew better than most what could and couldn’t be done after a drunken binge. “I concur, sir.”

With another sigh, he sat on his bed. “Normally I’d offer to sleep in your cabin. But I imagine you left the porthole uncovered?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Will you be all right with me here?”

“Yes. I’ll pretend you’re my brother.”

His grin flashed and he lay back. “Do you have another opium dart?”

“On the desk in my cabin. Next to the porthole.”

“Damn. Not worth it, then.”

She stared across the room at him. He turned to blow out the lamp, and caught her looking. A wry expression crossed his features before the room went dark.

“You can ask me what happened to my back,” he said.

Blast.
“Was I so obvious?”

“Yes. But everyone is. And then they usually make some clever remark about how apt my courtesy title is.
Scars
dale. It wasn’t so clever by the third time I heard it, though.” She heard his bunk creak as he lay down again. “My first year as navigator on the
Terror
, the captain had me flogged.”

“Trahaearn did?” Sickness lodged in her stomach. “Why?”

“I wanted to sail into the Antilles. Captain had plans for Liberé coast, and wouldn’t change them. So I gave the helmsmen the wrong heading.”

Aghast, she said, “You stole his ship!”

“Yes. And he figured it out quickly enough. He asked me why, and I told him. Then he had me whipped with the cat in front of the crew.”

And was fortunate to have
only
been flogged. Trahaearn had told her that a good captain gave second chances, but trying to take a ship from one was a different matter. Scarsdale was lucky he hadn’t been hanged.

“Why did you take that chance?”

“I’d heard Hunt was on Antigua. And when I was finally able to walk out of sick bay, I found that the captain had sailed to the island, after all. But Hunt had already left port.”

Mina stared up into the dark. Trahaearn had almost slaughtered the Dame when she’d told him she’d given the
Terror
to Hunt. And Scarsdale would have risked death attempting to track Hunt down. What kind of man could provoke such hatred? What kind of man held Andrew’s life in his hands now?

“Why were you after him?”

Scarsdale fell quiet, and the only sound in the cabin was the distant huff of the engines. Finally, he said, “You’d probably best wait to hear that after your stomach settles.”

When Mina woke again, Scarsdale was still sleeping. She
crossed the passageway, bracing herself against the possibility that Trahaearn lay inside, but her cabin was empty.

Relieved, she washed and dressed, then climbed to the main deck. The sun was high, and the deck shadowed by the balloon. She didn’t see him. Fox stood alone near the cargo platform, the winged contraption strapped to his back. Mina glanced over the side. They flew over a swamp crisscrossed by sluggish, muddy canals. Green vegetation all but covered crumbling stone ruins. Most likely Venice—or what was left of it.

A bell rang beside her. Mina looked round, where Lady Corsair gestured her over to the quarterdeck. As soon as Mina reached the windbreak, Yasmeen told her, “He’s shoveling coal.”

Mina frowned, wondering if she’d misheard over the noise of the engine and the wind. “What?”

“You were wondering where the captain is. He’s shoveling coal in the engine room.”

Oh.
But—“Why?”

“Because there’s nowhere else to go.” As if that was an answer, Yasmeen looked away from her. Her eyes narrowed as Fox approached the quarterdeck.

Wearing a black shirt and breeches now, with leather guards around his neck and shoulders, the adventurer had discarded color in exchange for weapons. He carried a crossbow, and two machetes were tucked beneath his glider’s wings. A belt held holsters at both his hips and his back. He’d strapped long knives to each thigh, and four sheathed in his boots. And when the wind lifted his sleeve, she saw that he had two foot-long blades in spring-loaded contraptions along his forearms.

He greeted Mina before nodding to Yasmeen. “Three weeks, captain. I’ll be atop that ruin at noon.”

Mina looked to where he pointed. The pile of rubble was the highest point in the area. He’d be easy to spot from the air . . . and from the ground.

“Oh, my.” With lifted brows, Mina turned back to him. “Good luck to you, sir.”

He laughed and bowed, flashing his boyish grin. “Thank you, inspector.” Still smiling, he said to Yasmeen, “Don’t be late. Those zombies climb fast.”

Yasmeen regarded him almost lazily, as if she was deciding whether to be insulted by the suggestion that she might not arrive in time. She must have chosen not to be.

She nodded and said, “I’ll be here. And I wish you good luck as well.”

Though obviously a farewell, Fox didn’t leave. Hesitating, he looked to Mina, then back to Yasmeen.

“Captain Corsair, you must allow me to explain—”

“No!” Yasmeen’s snarl cut him off. She slashed her hand through the air, her eyes bright with fury. “I’ll be here in three weeks. I’ll fly you back to England. You’ll pay me the rest of my fee. Money is all that will pass between us,
Mr. Fox
, because I don’t care to hear any more of your words.”

Jaw tight, he gave an abrupt nod and strode for the side of the ship. Stunned by the sudden change in them both, Mina stared after him as he slung a small knapsack around his waist, jumped up on the gunwale, and leapt off.

Yasmeen drew a ragged breath and called out, “Fire that cannon, Mr. Siegel!”

Eyes wide, Mina looked to the bow, where the rail cannon had been mounted on the gunwale. The engines huffed, and an unholy wail ripped though the air as the electric generator wound up.

She couldn’t contain her horror. “You’re shooting at Fox?”