The Iron Duke (51 page)

“Yes, Your Grace.” She began to rise, but he abruptly stepped forward, hand outstretched.

“Don’t. Finish what you’ve—” He gestured to her bowl. His hand dropped to his side, and this time his gaze moved over her, soft and searching as the first time he’d kissed her—and she felt it, just as much. “May I sit?”

Struggling for breath, she simply nodded. Three months had passed, and yet it still hurt to look at him.

It hurt
not
to, and so she drank in the sight of him. The rough shadow of his jaw, the glint of gold at his ears. The thick lashes that intensified the darkness of his eyes, the penetration of his gaze.

But whatever he saw in her didn’t please him. He frowned. “You’re thinner.”

Ah, well.
“It is not an easy thing to first have a clockwork heart grafted to one’s chest, and then have it replaced by a heart made of mechanical flesh.”

His face whitened. That brim of his hat crushed in his hand. “But you
are
healed?”

“Yes.” Stronger, faster—and with extraordinary endurance.

“And you have returned to your job.” His gaze fell to the epaulettes sewn into the shoulders of her new overcoat. “I’ve seen mention of it in the newssheets.”

Yes, there had been
many
mentions of it. And the caricatures accompanying them must have been drawn from some of Newberry’s ferrotype photographs, each feature true to Mina’s own. They had not even tried to dress her up, rounding her eyes or narrowing her face and nose.

“They were kind,” she said. “I have you to thank for it.”

Her investigation into Haynes’s murder and everything that had occurred afterwards had been well covered by the newsmen. And though they’d had many sources, piecing the story together, Mina knew that Rhys had been a significant one—and Scarsdale, too.

“No. I only told them the truth of what happened. The rest they saw for themselves at Newgate. I have you to thank for
that
.”

She smiled. “I think we might be even, then.”

“No. The accounting does not come close to even,” he said, and his fierce stare bored into her until she nodded. His expression lightened, and he gave his own nod, as if satisfied. “I heard a boy from the Crèche reading the kraken account to the laborers in the Narrow yesterday.”

Mina had to laugh. “I think they like to reprint that and the Newgate story, simply to include drawings of me clinging to a rope.”

His eyes flattened. “Better than drawings of what happened after.”

“Yes.” She had heard many accounts of those terrible minutes up on the gallows. They had given her enough of a picture. Shaking it away, she studied his clothes, his top hat. “And you’ve just come from Parliament? How are you finding that?”

“It’s much like piracy. You tell your enemies that if they don’t fall in line, you’ll leave them to die.” His gaze narrowed and fell to her grin. “But you know very well.”

She laughed. Indeed, she did. Not only her father’s accounts, but the newssheets and the political flyers, too. Everyone Mina knew had been abuzz when the Iron Duke had announced that he was taking his spot in the White Chamber, but as the first days passed and he’d remained quiet and seated, simply listening and watching the proceedings, a pall of disappointment had seemed to join her mother and father to dinner—until the day the leader of the Free Party had been speaking, and Rhys had stood and declared him full of more shit than the Thames.

Their meals had been quite lively since then.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And?”

Another laugh burst from her on a puff of cold air. Yes, he knew her well. “And I cannot believe you are
already
talking of giving more power to the Commons! First, you must—”

“Clear out the rotten boroughs, yes. I remember.”

His voice had deepened.
I remember.
Mina did, too, every conversation they’d had over breakfast, and it made her heart ache. Such a strange thing, that she could still feel pain in an organ made up of nanoagents and metal.

She suddenly couldn’t laugh anymore.

“Where’s Newberry, Mina?”

Her empty bowl stared up at her. “Waiting for me to return to headquarters. I left a body for him to examine. I ought to head back and see how he’s done.”

“But why is he not with you?”

“Oh.” She met his frown with a half-hearted smile. Soon she’d have to stand up, to walk away. “Since Newgate, and the newssheets . . . it’s not the same. Not as bad.”

A fire lit behind his eyes. “What does that mean?”

It meant that she only heard “jade whore” a few times a day—and that people she didn’t know would take the speaker to task for insulting her. That in the month since she’d been up and about with her new heart, she’d only been spat at once. That no one had tried to hit her.

“It’s better,” she said.

“Already?” Something bleak moved through his expression. “But you didn’t come to me.”

“Come to you?” She stared at him, trying to read his face. Bleakness was quickly turning to detachment. “For what?”

A bitter smile touched his mouth. “So that I could renew my offer to you. My bed, and you will have anything that you want. I’ll take you anywhere you desire to go.”

Until he was done with her again.

“No,” she said.

His jaw hardened. Looking out over the square, he asked, “Do you have another man, then?”

Another
man? That assumed that she had one to begin. “No.”

His gaze met hers again, burning fiercely. “Then have you been lying, and you truly
aren’t
healed?”

Stunned, she shook her head. “I’m well.”

“Then why—” He suddenly crouched in front of her, eyes searching her face. “No.
No.
”

His hands shot to her waist, hauled her to him. The bowl flew from her grip, shattering against the steps. Around them, peopled cried out in surprise.

“Rhys!” Mina struggled, but he held her fast, cradled against his chest. “Let me down!”

No one tried to stop him as he crossed the square. He started for his steamcoach—and made an abrupt left turn and entered the nearest building, instead. An office of some sort. He kicked open a door. Three scriveners looked up, mouths dropping open.

Rhys roared. “Get out!”

He slammed the door behind them, pushed Mina up against it. Holding her wrists over her head with one hand, he found and tossed her weapons. His fingers ripped at the buttons to her trousers.

“Rhys—”

“Tell me no, Mina.”

She should. She couldn’t. Heart pounding, she said, “Let my hands go.”

“No.” His denial was hoarse. “I can’t let any of you go. Not now that I’ve seen you. Not now that I live again.”

He shoved trousers and pants to her knees, until they were stopped by the tops of her boots. His hand worked at the front of his breeches. He rose up, pushing her thighs as wide as her trousers allowed, and Mina cried out as he was suddenly inside her, filling her. Deeper, lifting her against the door, driving his thick length home.

He levered his torso back. Pinned against the door by his cock, held motionless by his hand circling her wrists, Mina called his name on a ragged breath. Relentless, he unbuckled her jacket, ripped aside her shirt, unfastened her armor.

His fingers traced the edges of the livid palm-sized scar beside her breast and along the soft inner curve.

“It’s healed,” she said, panting.

His gaze lifted to hers again. “Completely?”

“Yes!”

“Good.” His hand skimmed down to her bottom, fingers digging into her cheek, holding her hips still as his thick length slid from her body. “I’ll shag you now.”

She expected—anticipated—a hard thrust, ramming deep. Instead he came into her with an excruciating slowness that left her gasping, writhing. Again, and again, until both ecstasy and frustration had her sobbing his name.

“God, Mina. At least there is this.” He buried his face in her neck. “At least you love this.”

He released her wrists, and for a terrible, shattering moment, Mina thought he was letting her go. But he gripped her bottom in both hands and began hammering into her with hard, devastating strokes. Her fingers fisted in his hair. Her mouth found his and he kissed her, hot and wet, tasting her deep and then swallowing her cries as she came, shuddering and lifting against him.

With a tortured groan, he pulled away.

No sheath, Mina realized. She reached down, intending to finish him, but he set her on the floor and backed against a desk. He sat for a moment, watching her, his chest heaving. Then his gaze cooled. Pain tore through her chest, and Mina spun toward the door, using her overcoat as concealment as she hauled up her trousers.

Rhys stood and shoved his cock into his breeches. In his detached voice, he said, “We’ll continue on, then, as we were on the
Terror
.”

What?
That wasn’t going to happen. And she wouldn’t leave until he understood that. She dropped her hand from the door latch and faced him.

“No,” she said.

“Why? You love fucking me. The only objection you had was the hatred you’d face in the newssheets. That’s not a concern now.”

“You said you were done with me,” she reminded him.

“I’m also a pirate and a liar. You can’t trust my word. So we’ll continue as we left off, with you in my bed—or me in yours.”

Mina stared at him. How
dare
he offer this to her again? When it was all she could do to get by every day without dreaming of it?

“Damn you,” she whispered. “No!”

He came up off the desk, stalking her. “Why?
Why?
Nothing holds us apart now—”

“Until the next time you’re done with me!”

“I’ll never be done with you!”
His palms slammed to the door on either side of her head. Teeth clenched, he pushed his face to hers. “I’ll never be done—”

He broke off, eyes widening. His gaze searched her face, settled on her trembling lips.

Softly, he said, “Why would you care, Mina? Why would you care if I’m done with you? Why does that frighten you?”

She closed her eyes. His palm cupped her cheek, and Mina knew he felt her shaking. “Let me go.”

“I can’t.” Warm lips caressed her temple. “I can’t.”

“You did before.”

“No. Even then, I didn’t. I was only waiting to take you back.” He drew back, and she knew that he was studying her face again, watching her. Feeling like a coward, she opened her eyes, met his wondering gaze. “But now you’re afraid that I will let you go. What happened, Mina? These three months, have you realized . . . Have you come to care for me?”

His features blurred in front of her. His thumb tenderly stroked her cheek.

“Come live with me, Mina. Love me. And let me—”

“I can’t.” It burst out on a sob. Her tears spilled over. “When you’re finished with me . . . I can’t go through that pain again.”

His hand stilled. Face white, he stared down at her.

“No.” His voice was ragged. “Mina, no. You didn’t—when I sent you away?
No.
”

She couldn’t answer. The agony of it broke over her again. She buried her face in her hands, her tears and tattered breaths hot on her skin. His arms came around her, holding her to him, his mouth against her ear.

As her sobs eased, he said fiercely, “I wouldn’t have hurt you, Mina. I’d
never
hurt you. But I didn’t know you cared. And I sure as hell didn’t dream that you would.” He gave a gruff laugh. “That’s all I’ve been doing since. I used to imagine shagging you. But since you’ve left the
Terror
, I’ve only imagined seeing you again. That you’d come to my home. That I’d run into you on the street. That I’d look up, and you’d be there, and you’d be
well
. . . and I’d tell you that I love you.”

He offered her this, too? She wanted it so
much
. She only had to trust that it was true.

“Mina?” So much emotion filled her name, she had to answer.

“I didn’t let myself dream anything like that.” Her fingers curled into his jacket. Turning her head, resting her cheek over his heart, she held on to him. Her breaths came in hiccups. “I didn’t let myself hope. I can barely hope now.”

“You
can
,” he said, as if saying made it so, and she had to laugh.

He cupped her face in his hands, made her meet his gaze. Solemnly, he said, “I heard you say that when two people love each other, they fight through everything together. Every doubt, every challenge, every pain.
Fight with me, Mina.
Please. You are the only one for me, for as long as I live. And if you love me, fight with me.”

Her heart filled. Overwhelmed, she battled tears again. “I do.”

“Say it.”

“I love you.”

His mouth came down over hers, hard, searching. Sealing this agreement between them—a bond as unbreakable as he was.

He lifted his head. “Do you want marriage?”

She knew the vow he’d just spoken had been the same for him. And it was for her—but if she was to have him, she wanted him all.

“Yes,” she said.

“It will be done. But if we pass that marriage bill, don’t ever imagine that you’ll need that divorce clause. I’ll tear all of England down before I let you have one.”

“I won’t want one.” She grinned up at him. “And I should tell you—I come with a little girl.”

“A girl?” Ragged wonder suffused his features, as if he was torn between fear and joy. He dropped to his knees, kissed her belly. “My baby?”

“No.” Almost in tears again, she pushed her hands into his hair, held him to her. They would have that, one day. “A girl, Anne. The tinker girl. I gave her my armor at Newgate—”

His head snapped back, eyes blazing on hers.

“It wouldn’t have mattered!” she hastened to tell him. “That armor is best against knives, not bullets—and it was at such close range, the bullet would have gone through, anyway. But Anne felt guilty, and she came to my house that night, and slept outside until my mother brought her in. And she’s been with us ever since. With
me
. Though she’s still the Blacksmith’s tinker, and continues training at his smithy.”