Of Silk and Steam
Page 43

Obviously he had overestimated the situation.
The duchess’s one desire was to return to her gilded life. And why not? What would she want with a bastard? With a man who was nothing? He had nothing to give her now but himself, and he knew how cheap a gift that was.
If only he could make her want him, prove he had some worth left.
“Well,” Honoria said, her hand sliding over the small of his back, “the truth is out. There’s nothing to be gained by sitting here and dwelling on it. Now we must plan what we will do for the future.”
Despite himself, he smiled a little at her, though the effort soon slipped. Honoria would never change. Practical almost to a fault, but he liked the way she said “we.” They’d made their peace over the years about his involvement in Charlie’s illness, but he’d never truly felt as if she’d forgiven him.
His smile faded. “How ironic… Here I am standing on your doorstep, begging for help.”
Four years ago, she’d been a stranger to him, the daughter that Todd had loved more than him. The little girl who’d grown up in Caine House while Todd still had the duke’s patronage. How he’d hated her as a child.
When Todd had been murdered by Vickers, the Duke of Lannister, she’d fled into Whitechapel with Charlie and Lena, with barely a handful of coins and the clothes on their back. Leo had turned her away from his door when she came begging for money after she lost her position of employment. Though he’d tried to hide her traces and steer Vickers’s manhunt in the opposite direction, he hadn’t done enough. He’d never forgive himself for it. “Honor, I—”
“A wise man once reminded me that I would never have married him if you’d given me money back then.”
Leo let out a slow breath and said gruffly, “Now I know the baby’s stolen your wits. You’re referring to Blade as wise.”
“He has his moments.” Honoria reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I never thanked you for that.”
“For not helping you when I should have?” It had plagued him for years.
“For driving me straight into his arms when I was too proud to go there of my own volition.”
“I’ve done horrible things to you over the years.”
“The mechanical spiders in my bed when I was a little girl living at Caine House?” An arch of the brow. “All I can say is that I wouldn’t sleep too deeply, if I were you.”
However, the laugh that she gave him belied the words. Leo sighed, his head lowering in thought.
“Do you know what the problem is, Leo?”
He glanced at her. “What?”
“I forgave you,” she said solemnly. “Years ago.”
The words floored him. “But—”
“You never forgave yourself. I feel it in you every time you’re with me. There’s a door between us that I can’t breach. I see how close you and Lena have become, and I wish… I wish we all shared that. Charlie thinks you’re smashing. You can do no wrong in his eyes.”
Christ. “But I was the one who infected him.” His own infection with the craving had come from an untested vaccine Todd had used on him as a lad, when he’d been so desperate for a father’s approval that he’d even sought Todd out, mouthing his humanist platitudes. Todd had despised blue bloods, and as soon as signs of infection sprang up, he’d turned his back on Leo—despite the fact Leo’s turning had been Todd’s fault.
Leo had never been a vengeance-minded man, but when he’d learned years later that Todd had perfected the vaccine and planned to use it on himself… Leo’s fist clenched. “I swapped the vial for the one Todd used on me. I didn’t once consider that he might use it on someone else. I-I thought it justice.”
“I know that now.” Her fingers laced through his. “Father has his share of the blame for that. He treated you abominably.” It had to be a bitter confession, considering how much she’d adored her father.
There were no words. Leo stared down at their linked hands. “Thank you,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Honoria gave him a weary smile. “You should go to bed. Tomorrow won’t seem half as grim.”
No, it would be much, much worse, but he didn’t give voice to his thoughts. Kissing the back of her hand, he said his good nights and turned toward the door.
“Need I ask which bed you will be staying in?” There was a deceptive lightness to her tone.
Leo paused by the door. That was finished between him and Mina. “My own,” he said roughly.
* * *
There was no point banging on the door or screaming for help. There were bars over the window; not the first time this room had been used for this purpose. Mina tried to pick the lock on the door, but it turned out to be bolted on the outside too.
“Rot.” Scraping a hand over her mouth, she turned again to survey the room.
She was at the very back of the house on the top floor. Peering through the window, she could see a brick yard below, with strands of ivy choking the walls. If she could get outside, perhaps on the roof, then she had some chance of getting away.
After all, nobody ever expected a duchess to be able to climb, and they would be watching for people entering the rookeries, not exiting it.
Standing on the bed, Mina reached up and tested the ceiling. Plaster. A smile curved over her lips, and then she ripped a large swathe off her skirts and wrapped it around her fist. Built to hold men, she suspected, but not blue bloods.
Plaster dust rained down upon her as she punched a hole through the ceiling. Every couple of seconds she’d pause and listen, but nobody seemed close enough to hear her. By the time she’d cleared a hole large enough to slip through, a fine layer of white dust powdered her shoulders.
Dashing off a note to Barrons, she left the piece of paper in the middle of the bed, then hauled herself up through the hole. The roof above was good solid tile, so easier to go back down rather than through it. Smashing her way through the ceiling, she found herself in the bedroom next to hers. A man’s room, by the look of it. Mina swiftly raided his wardrobe for trousers, a large white shirt made of rough material, and a belt to hold it all together. Knotting her hair into a tight chignon, she quickly searched the room, finding a dagger beneath the mattress.
Never let it be said that the Duchess of Casavian needed a man to do her dirty work.