Heart of Iron

“Yes. And no.”

“Lena, the Nighthawks are huntin’ Mercury! It won’t be long before they find him and anyone connected to him. Today I had to promise Sir Jasper Lynch that I’d keep an eye out for any signs of him. Even as I said the words I knew I were lyin’, for I knew you were involved.” With a disgusted look, he raked his hands through his hair. “What am I goin’ to do with you?”

The question brought to mind a number of answers. But she didn’t think he’d approve of any of them.

“Well? Are you goin’ to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

The answer to that was simple enough. Panic flashed through her. “No.”

“That’s the wrong answer, luv.”

“That’s the only one you’re getting.”

“I could make you tell me.” He leaned closer, looming over her.

Lena scooted back up the bed until her back hit the headboard. “I hardly think you’d dare. Since you don’t want to be found in my chambers any more than I want you found. I’ll scream.”

The look on his face made her breath shudder.

“You’ll try,” he said. One large hand latched around her ankle, the obscene heat of his skin branding her. His eyes had gone completely wolfish as he drew her toward him.

Her nightgown slid over the silken sheets, sliding up around her hips. The robe was tumbling from her shoulders. There was a moment where she could have saved it. A moment where sanity intruded. A moment where she remembered the look in his eyes… Was it real? Or had she just imagined it? Did he want her?

Heaven help me, she prayed silently. Then she gave a little shrug and the robe slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her waist.

She had to know.

Will’s gaze sharpened. Heat. Hunger. An intensity that scalded her from within. She’d been right. It was not disinterest that tightened his expression and tensed the muscles in his forearms.

The realization was heady. She could barely breathe as he reached out and captured her chin in one hand. Yes, oh God, yes.

He turned her face to the side, his hot gaze running down her throat. Then to the other side. Lena frowned, capturing his wrist. What was he doing?

Ignoring the delicate scalloped lace neckline of her gown, he caught her wrist and turned it up.

No. Her breath caught and she wrenched her arm to her chest in shock. She knew exactly what he was looking for now.

“Lena.” His hand fisted in the bottom of her nightgown.

The amber gleam frightened her. There was no lucidity to it, no sign of Will. Only the predator, his face tight with anger. Clutching his hand, she slid it higher, over the inside of her thigh and the raised scar there.

The ugly reminder of what Colchester had taken from her that day in the alley.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” She pushed him away and scrambled for the side of the bed. The hurt was a sharp, stabbing pain in her chest. For a moment, just a moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her again.

Sliding her robe up over her shoulders, Lena yanked the sash tight and tied it. “How did you know?”

There was no answer.

Lena turned and found him kneeling in the middle of her bed, his head bowed and his hands clenched in her sheets. A tremble ran through his shoulders and his hand jerked. Slowly his head lifted. A shiver ran down her spine as their eyes met.

“Colchester told me.” His voice was hoarse. “Told me he’d had you.”

A line of heat sprang across her cheeks. Damn it, not now. Tilting her head discreetly to the side, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “You saw him? Where? I told you not to do anything rash.”

“I were at the jewelers. He walked in.” A shifting of sheets and then his booted feet came into view. Will knelt in front of her. This close, she could make out the split in his lip and the faint bruise on his cheekbone. Someone had hit him. Colchester, she was sure of it.

“Lena?” The back of his fingers stroked her damp cheek. “What happened?”

His gentleness nearly undid her. She pushed past in a flurry of silk, panic catching her breath in her chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Three steps before he caught her. She whirled around to push him away and found herself in the circle of his arms. His chest was firm against her cheek, his heat enveloping her. God help her, but she couldn’t stop her fingers from curling in his shirt. She felt so safe here in his arms. The fight drained out of her. If only he could hold her like this forever.

If only he wanted to.

“Damn it, what did he do to you?” Will’s voice was strangled. “Did he—did he rape you?”

“No,” she blurted. “But not for lack of trying.” The memory stained her. Colchester, a handsome young dandy in the streets, stopping to smile and charm her. She’d not thought it odd at all, for she’d been used to such flirtation before her father died. She even recognized him as the Duke of Lannister’s heir, though she’d been a fool to think for one second that he saw her as anything other than a coal lass. Easy prey.

“He took my blood.” Forced her back into the alley. Shoved her hard against the wall. Her pails had spilled everywhere, coal tumbling across the dirty cobbles. She’d tried to say no, unable even then to comprehend what was happening. “I didn’t want it. I didn’t. But he kept saying I did, that I’d like it.”

Warmth burned on her cheeks. As soon as she realized she was crying, a sob overtook her. Colchester had been right. She had liked it, in the end. The chemicals in his saliva had set off some sort of reaction in her body.

Will’s hands came up and gently pressed against her back. “Easy now, mo cridhe.” He rubbed soothing circles against her back. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

But she wasn’t safe. The tears came harder. Safe was a world without the Echelon and their grasping blood-suckers in it. Without humanists threatening her family, or Colchester stalking her. Safe was a world where she was loved and happy. Safe was here. In Will’s arms.

“And the humanists?”

“I d-didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” But the words were a lie. She’d wanted to find something, anything, to give her a sense of purpose in life.

“Caught up in what?” His voice was lower, huskier. “Lena?” he whispered, stroking the hair off her sticky face. “Tell me.”

She pushed out of the comfort of his arms and turned away, shamelessly wiping her face against the shoulder of her nightgown. She knew what he wanted, but she had to explain to him first, to show him that her reasons for all of this hadn’t just been some frivolous whim. Maybe then he wouldn’t hate her so much if he found out what she was supposed to do. “There was nothing for me in Whitechapel. Honoria had Blade. And Charlie was settling in. We were always so close, but he didn’t want to be around me once he became a blue blood. And then—” Her voice broke slightly and she hurried on. “You were gone. And nobody wanted me there.

“I thought that if I returned to society things would change. It was what I’d been raised for. Honoria always had Father and her work, but growing up there was nothing for me but lessons on etiquette and the things a young lady ought to know. When Father died and we were forced to hide in Whitechapel, I was on the cusp of making my debut. It was the happiest time of my life.” Her voice trailed off. “I just wanted to go back to it.”

Everyone had praised her beauty and charm then, and the glimpse she’d had of the Echelon had only fuelled her excitement to join it. But she had looked at it through innocent eyes. Whitechapel had changed everything about her. She was no longer that naive young girl with stars in her eyes. There was no going back, and it had taken a long time to realize that.

“The rot’s not apparent at first,” she said. “Leo sponsored my debut and everyone was so charming and elegant. Of course they were. They wanted something from me. I was offered three thrall contracts in the first week. It was terribly exciting.”

“You never accepted ’em.”

She couldn’t turn around and look at him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. “One of them—Lord Ramsay—invited me to stroll in the garden with him. I knew what he intended. It’s not uncommon for a woman to offer blood before a contract is signed.” Her voice dropped. “I couldn’t. The more I thought about it, the more it upset me. I couldn’t breathe. All I could think about w-was Colchester. In that alley. I was so overwrought that Lord Ramsay slapped me and then Leo was there and he took me home and I-I—”

Warm arms slid around her waist. “Don’t cry, Lena. Damn it.”

Of course he wouldn’t want her crying all over him. She tried to dry her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the one who ought to be sorry.” Dire words. A hint of threat underlying them. His hand stroked her hip, her waist. “I hate seein’ you cry.”

“You do?” she whispered. His hand stroked smooth circles over her hip. So lightly it was almost hypnotic. Somehow she found herself relaxing back into the circle of his arms.

The world upended as he swept her up into his arms. With a gasp she clapped her arms around his shoulders. “Will?”

He was carrying her to the bed. “You’re shiverin’.”

And she was, she realized, her lips quivering with the chill of the room—and her memories. Tucking her face against his neck, she closed her eyes and breathed in the wet musky scent of him. He eased her under the sheets and then tucked her blankets around her. Then he straightened.

Don’t go. She caught his fingertips in mute appeal.

Will hesitated. “It ain’t seemly. And I’m wet—”

“I’m so cold,” she whispered. “And you’re so warm. Please.”

“Me shirt’s drenched.”

“Then take it off.”

Something dark and merciless flashed through his gaze. He sucked in a deep breath. Golden eyes burned in the dark of the night. The hunter? Or the hunted?

“Please,” she whispered. “Just for a moment. Just to warm my sheets.” If she shivered a little more than was strictly necessary… Well, he would never need to know that.

The moment of indecision stretched out, playing over his face. “Tell me more,” he finally said, tugging at his waistcoat. “Tell me what you’re involved in.”

Lena rolled onto her side, watching him. The light from the gas lamp backlit his broad shoulders. His face was little more than shadow and the burning gleam of those eyes.

Heat coiled through her, warming her from within. Her nipples tightened, the silk of her nightgown abrading them lightly as he reached over his head and dragged his shirt off. She felt like a mess, her face and nose all wet and splotched, but she could no sooner turn her eyes away than submit to a blue blood.

Light gleamed over the wet slickness of his skin, highlighting the play of muscle in his chest and the ripple of his abdomen. He shucked his boots and looked up, his damp hair falling almost to his shoulders.

Far too long and unruly to be fashionable. But, sweet Lord, how she wanted to run her fingers through it. To touch him.

Nervous anticipation ran over her skin. She’d never seen a man half-naked. Gooseflesh sprang up over her body, and she squirmed against the unfamiliar wet heat between her thighs. The bed dipped beneath his weight.

“How did you meet them?”

“Meet them?” She looked up, wondering for a moment who he was talking about. “The humanists?”

Will lay on his back, his head pillowed on his arms as he turned to look at her. “Aye.”

Lena slid closer. The first hint of his body heat on the sheets sent a delicious shiver down her spine. She hadn’t realized how cold she was. “I already knew one, although I never realized what he was involved in until later. Until I needed it.”

“Who?”

“You don’t need to know that.” She snuggled closer, reaching out with a hesitant hand to stroke his chest.

Will stiffened. But he didn’t pull away. Taking it as permission, she tucked herself against his side, laying her head gently on his shoulder. The heat was delicious.

“Lena, I can’t protect you unless you tell me everythin’.”

The sound of his voice rumbled through his chest. “He saved my life, Will. He was the one who scared Colchester off. Then he brought me in out of the alley and let me sob all over his shoulder.” She shook her head. “I won’t betray him. I owe him more than you’ll ever know.”

Will rolled, turning to face her. Her head slipped into the crook of his arm and the position put distance between them. His breath curled over her face. “Mandeville.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">