“No,” she replied, stepping forward with her fists balled. “You’re not going in alone. If they’re planning on releasing the orbs, then I won’t have you there. You know what happened. I won’t allow it! Not again.”
Lynch stared at her, feeling everyone’s eyes upon them as he struggled to find the words. She wouldn’t have said this if she didn’t care for him, would she? Elation soared in his chest, but he choked it off ruthlessly. He had nothing to offer her. No hope of anything beyond today, no matter how much he wished it.
Because he couldn’t bring himself to betray Mercury to the Council.
“You are not in a position to deny me,” he reminded her quietly, though the words spoke of so much more. He hated having to do it—hated watching the furious flood of heat surge through her cheeks as if he’d slapped her—but this was for her own good. If he let her have hopes, then he would only cruelly dash them. Let it end now. Before the damage became too great.
Garrett winced but Mrs. Marberry tipped her chin up. “You’re correct,” she replied. “I have no authority—no…no right to deny you. Do as you will, you stubborn fool, but don’t doubt this. You won’t be going alone. I’m a respectable widow with a—”
This time it was his turn to start. “Absolutely not!”
“And how do you propose to stop me?” she replied, lacing her arms across her chest. “Let me assure you that I can and will find myself a ticket to the opera if you try to keep me out of this. I can be extremely ingenious when I wish to be.”
“I’m aware of that,” he replied. “But that should be rather difficult—even for you—if I chain you up in my bloody bedroom!”
“Sir, really,” she drawled, a glint of humor warming her dark eyes. “A gentleman never reveals his intentions in public as such.”
He gaped.
Rosa took a step toward him, her smile growing victorious. “Besides, what makes you think I won’t simply pick the lock?”
“I will remove all of your pins.” That vein in his temple was starting to throb again. Did the woman have no sense? This was dangerous.
“All of them? My lord, you are thorough.”
It couldn’t have sounded more like innuendo if she’d tried. Garrett coughed, and Perry’s lips were pressed so tightly together she looked like she was going to burst.
“I believe you are being outmaneuvered.” Garrett murmured. “I’d suggest a healthy capitulation now, before you say something you truly do regret.”
“Fine.” Lynch narrowed his glare toward Garrett. “I am not taking her into the opera alone. You at least look the part. I want you in court clothes within two hours. You don’t stray an inch from her side.”
“I don’t need a nursemaid,” Rosa protested.
Perry grinned. “Those pretty looks have come in handy again, Garrett.”
Lynch’s gaze cut to hers. “And you can find a dress.”
Perry’s jaw dropped. “Not a chance, sir.”
He stabbed a finger toward her. “I’m not asking. Find a dress and a wig or else I will find one for you. Then I will stuff you into it myself if I need to!”
Silence greeted this outburst. Even Garrett—who was struggling to suppress his laughter—didn’t dare say a word. Lynch straightened. “Byrnes, I want you to have men in place surrounding the building. I also need a contingent sent to each of the other events on the list, just in case we’ve picked the wrong one.” He knew he hadn’t, but there were enough Nighthawks to cover each place.
“Have a man sent to Barrons and alert him to what is happening. He can get the queen and the prince consort out if matters go awry.” He started picking at his cuff links. “Garrett, on your way, send Doyle up to help get me ready.”
“Aye, sir.” Garrett snapped a salute.
“And what about me?” Rosa asked.
He looked down at her. “If you think you’re coming, you need to look the part. It’s going to be difficult enough convincing the doormen to let us through as it is.”
“Take Perry,” Garrett added blandly. “You may have to show her what a dress is.”
Perry’s sudden glare was one step short of murder. “I hope you choke on your cologne,” she snarled, stalking toward the door and grabbing Rosa by the arm.
Twenty-one
Through the door, Lynch barked orders, snapping one last briefing to his men. Rosalind took a deep breath, smoothing the trim skirts over her hips. The gown fit almost too snugly, her breasts threatening to spill over the top of the peach-colored silk’s square neckline. Bands of chocolate brown chenille passementerie foliage trimmed the neckline and the soft drapes of her skirt. A cream foile hip scarf spilled to the ground behind her, making a rustling sound every time she moved.
Perry raked her with an experienced eye. “You’ll do. Turn around.”
Perry herself was almost unrecognizable. Gone was the cold-faced woman in harsh black leather with her pomaded hair. Instead, a white ostrich feather danced in her hair, the curls of the black wig trailing over her shoulder. She wore red silk, the bias-cut panels of the bodice creating slight curves out of the woman’s slender figure. An underskirt of Point d’Angleterre lace peeked out from beneath the drape of her train, and she wore pearls wrapped thrice around her throat. Rosalind knew all of this, because Perry had explained it in quite explicit detail while they raided the French couturier that afternoon. One flash of Perry’s leathers and the madame had been most accommodating, no doubt for fear of incurring the wrath of the Nighthawks.
A strip of black velvet ribbon circled Rosalind’s throat and Perry tied it. A single teardrop-shaped pearl hung from the center, warming against her skin.
“Lynch is going to have an apoplexy,” Perry muttered with a nasty smile as Rosalind stared into the cheval mirror.
“You’re very good at this,” Rosalind noted, meeting the other woman’s eyes in the mirror.
“I prefer to wear pants. It doesn’t mean I don’t know what a dress is for.”
“I wear dresses,” Rosalind pointed out. “And I don’t know what half of this is called.” She pointed at the lacy frill that draped her shoulder.
“Do you know how to use a knife?” Perry asked, ignoring the question in her words.
“Better than I know how to use that fan.”
“This?” Perry grabbed the fan off the bed with a sharp flick of her wrist. The copper-plated blades fanned out, creating a deadly half circle that looked like it could be thrown.
For the first time that afternoon, Rosalind leaned forward in interest. “Are the edges sharp?”
“Sharp enough to shave with,” Perry replied, folding it back into itself. She hung it from her own wrist and took a small six-inch shape off the bed. “This is a bodice dagger.” Drawing the small blade from its velvet sheath, Perry flipped it in her fingers with a dexterity Rosalind almost envied. “Do you want it?”
Rosalind nodded and accepted the blade, tucking it between the fine boning of her corset, the handle sitting snugly between her breasts.
“And this”—Perry grabbed a thin shiv off the bed—“is designed to be worn in the hair. See how the handle is ornamental?”
“Very pretty.”
Perry grinned, handing it toward her hilt first. “Don’t let Lynch lure you into any dark corners. He might cut his fingers off by the time I’m through with you.”
Rosalind glanced at her beneath her lashes. She was almost starting to like the other woman. “I thought he looked more likely to throttle me.”
“Interesting. I was expecting you to deny it.”
“Black suits you, my lord.”
The sultry voice came from behind. Lynch’s fingers jerked on his cuff links and he turned around…then stopped.
Rosa sauntered down the staircase, fanning herself with a scrap of white lace as her skirts trailed behind her. His breathing quickened. Hell. Someone had poured her into that dress. If she took a sharp breath buttons were going to suddenly become a fatal hail around her.
His gaze dipped. Buttons trailed down the nipped in waist of her gown and vanished into the gauzy fabric bunching at her waist. He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, an image of her clever little fingers working on similar buttons springing to mind.
“You look like your collar’s too tight.” A little smile flickered over her lips as she reached up and gently toyed with the white bow tie around his throat.
“You look amazing.” His gaze dropped again, a faint darkening shadowing the edges of his vision. Every man at the opera was going to be staring at her…buttons.
“Don’t scowl.” Rosa’s smile faded, her fingers lingering on his collar for longer than was appropriate. She stared at his throat, a small hint of nervousness flickering through those dark eyes. “I want you to be careful tonight, sir.”
The thought that she was worried about him drew a harsh laugh. He’d spent hours trying to work through his own arguments about why she shouldn’t attend.
Slowly her hands slid down to his chest, resting lightly against the lapels of his coat as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to stop touching him.
“Rosa,” he murmured.
Her dark lashes fluttered against her smooth cheeks and those luminous eyes hit him with all the power of a punch.
“Rosa, I wanted—”
“Don’t.” A bleak word. Her gaze dropped, her hands fluttering helplessly against his chest. “Please, don’t.”
Light gleamed over the coppery shine of her hair. Lynch took a deep breath, drawing in the lemony scent of her as he closed his eyes. He felt as if they stood alone, the world a thousand miles away. Silence fell over them like a mantle, and he simply listened to the soft sigh of her breathing, the racing, throbbing beat of her heart… The sound of it was its own form of communication and he felt it echo deep within his chest.
Reaching out, he traced his fingertips over her lips. He’d sworn he wouldn’t do this. It would only hurt her if he failed at his task tonight, yet he was as helpless as a moth drawn to flame. Slowly his head lowered, his forehead leaning against the soft silk of her hair. He could taste her breath between them and as she shifted, her own face lifting ever so slightly, he felt the stir of it against his own lips.
Lynch couldn’t move, couldn’t press closer. Instead he lingered, drawing her breath into his lungs, where it belonged. Feeling her so deep inside him, as if she had wrapped chains around his heart and bound them together.
Rosa tilted her face, a soft whimper sounding in her throat. Her mouth brushed his. Once. Twice. Silk rasping over his sensitive lips. His hands fisted at his sides and he brought them up, stroking the backs of his knuckles against the velvety skin of her jaw.
I wish that it didn’t have to be this way.
Again their mouths brushed against each other, more of an inhale than a kiss. Rosa’s body surrendered to his, her hips pressing hard against his thighs. Yet despite the softness of her body, her hands still curled around his lapels as if she was afraid to let go entirely.
“Be careful tonight,” he whispered, tracing her mouth with the words. “I could not bear to see you hurt.”
She licked her lips, her tongue wetting his own. A groan echoed in his throat and he took a deep breath and pulled away. The world spun. When he met her eyes, they held the same unfocused breathlessness he himself felt.
Slowly, her pupils focused on him. “I won’t let you be hurt,” she said, swallowing hard. Her voice strengthened. “No matter what I have to do.”
The edge of ruthlessness was so at odds with what he’d known of her, yet he could remember the dark shadows in her voice the other night when she lay in his arms and told him of her life. Rosa was sunshine and smiles, yet an edge of hardened steel existed beneath the exterior. She had known pain and she had survived it. As she looked up at him, he realized then that he had underestimated her.
She would do whatever was necessary to protect him.
He saw in her eyes the truth of what she wouldn’t tell him, the truth she wouldn’t let him tell her. Fear wouldn’t allow her to give voice to it, yet it existed between them, as heady as opium.
Lynch nodded slowly and stepped away, her hands falling helplessly from his coat.
“I have something for you,” she murmured, her pulse still throbbing in her throat. Reaching down, she drew a leather mouth mask out of her reticule. “I know someone who makes them and I bought as many as I could while Perry and I were out…shopping.”
Easier to speak of this than everything that remained unsaid. His gaze cut to her face, noting the stiffness of her shoulders. Something had changed between them that night they’d been taken to Undertown, and though self-doubt told him it was because of what he’d almost done to her, his gut clenched with instinct. It had happened before that; the moment she told him he couldn’t kiss her again, the moment panic had edged its way across her face.