Of Silk and Steam
Page 44

It was quick work to unlatch the window and slip out onto the ledge. Catching hold of the gutter, she hauled herself onto the tiled roof and lay flat for a moment, scanning the horizon. Houses pressed close on either side of the Warren, built crooked or on a slant, so that it almost seemed as though they leaned upon each other. A thick velvety darkness softened the sky in the west. Night then. She could feel her blood thundering through her veins. Night was a blue blood’s natural habitat. Nothing to fear. Not for her.
Mina peered toward the city and the enormous Ivory Tower that kept guard over all of London, clearly visible even from here.
Time to keep her promise to her queen.
Thirteen
“What do you think?” The prince consort sipped his blud-wein, staring out over the entire city of London beneath him. His city. “Do you think it collaboration?”
“I doubt it, Your Highness.” A voice from the shadows as Balfour stepped forward. “My man in her employ specifically stated that she asked for information on how to destroy Barrons.”
The curtains flipped closed. “Unfortunately, then, the duchess seems due for a disappointment. The Crown does not deal with ransoms or threats. He can have her. Saves me the need to bury her when the time comes.”
A bow. “As you wish.”
—A conversation between co-conspirators
He tried to stay away. Truly he did.
Leo unlatched the heavy bolt guarding the duchess’s door and rapped on it with his knuckles. “Your Grace?”
Leaning closer, he listened to the echoing silence. Suspicion bloomed.
Leo shoved the door open. There was a duchess-sized hole in the ceiling, and the bedding was littered with straw, plaster, and the ragged remains of her skirts. A note was tucked neatly on the top of the pile, mocking him. He swore under his breath and flicked it open.
I did ask you nicely to let me go. Give my regards to the Devil of Whitechapel, and tell him to send my man-of-affairs the bill for any damage.
Regards
Lady Aramina Duvall
Leo shoved his head through the hole in the roof. Barely three feet in front of him was another hole.
“Honoria!” he called, striding out into the hallway and into the next bedroom.
It had clearly been ransacked. While he’d been sipping blood with his sister and trying to gather his thoughts, the duchess had been plotting her escape like a seasoned criminal.
The swish of skirts caught his ear and Honoria paused in the doorway, trying to catch her breath. “Good heavens, what are you—” She looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling and then the not-quite-closed window. “What in blazes…?”
Leo jerked the window open and peered out. Twilight limned the rookery, washing away the harsh stains of the day. Warm flickering candlelight sputtered in several nearby windows; no cool gaslight here. “She’s gone.”
It was almost a twenty-foot drop. Entirely possible for a blue blood, and he had to start thinking of her as such now, not merely a woman. Baring his teeth, he looked up at the roof. A single strand of cotton was caught on the edge of the slate tiles. There. She’d gone over the rooftops.
A distant shout caught his ear, followed by several more. What the hell was she thinking? Of all nights, this would be the worst to be out on the streets. She’d be lucky if she were only accosted by Coldrush Guards.
“Where are you going?” Honoria asked.
“After her,” he replied, slinging a leg over the windowsill.
“Perhaps you should leave her be. There’s more than enough excitement for everybody to handle at the moment, and she’s…she’s a duchess, Leo.”
Leave her be? No. She was the only damned variable he could control at the moment. He could no sooner let her go than he could change the weather.
“A duchess who knows entirely too much about our plans.” He crouched on the windowsill. “Stay here with Esme. I’ll bring her back.”
“Leo?”
He paused.
“Are you certain that’s the true reason?”
“Of course I’m certain,” he lied.
* * *
Fires burned in barrels past the wall that circled Whitechapel. In the distance Mina could hear the roar of a gathering mob and see the gleam of steel as several makeshift weapons were thrust in the air.
Crouching low on the roof, she surveyed the wall. It was more heavily patrolled than she’d expected. The mob might be unruly, their armor and weapons crafted out of whatever they could lay to hand, but Blade’s men moved ruthlessly through the night, alert to the faintest hint of noise.
If the Devil of Whitechapel got his hands on her, she was quite certain he’d act swiftly to remove any perceived threat.
The ring of iron-shod feet echoed on distant cobbles. Metaljacket legions by the sound of it, the ground forces of the Echelon’s automaton army. No doubt some of the models would be spitfires, capable of burning half the rookery to the ground with the flamethrower cannons strapped to their arms. She had to get out of here before this entire mess degenerated into a massacre.
Timing the guards along the walls, she leaned forward on her hands and the balls of her feet. A shadow slipped past in the night and Mina wasted no time, running up the tiled slope of a roof and leaping up to catch hold of the edge of the wall. She hung there for a moment, her shoulders straining, listening as the guards kept walking.
Not quite as easy as she’d imagined it would be. Gritting her teeth, she dug her toes into the wall and hauled herself up, inch by inch. Determination was her ally; there were so many times people—men—had told her she wouldn’t be able to do something in her life. She’d proved them all wrong.
A horn screamed through the night and Mina crouched low. She wasn’t the cause. The stamping metal feet had fallen silent, evidently reaching their destination, leaving the racket of a dozen dogs howling as the noise echoed through the cold night.
No houses leaned up against the wall on the outside. Mina eyed the distance to the ground, then slung her legs over the edge of the wall. Twisting, she let her body lower until she hung, prepared to drop into the alley below.
Free.
A hand snagged her wrist. Mina gasped and looked up into eyes black as Hades. The flickering firelight was unforgiving, casting a pall over his lean features and highlighting the stark cut of his jaw.
“Going somewhere?” Barrons gave her a tight, frigid smile.
The fierce intensity of his regard burned through her as she dangled against the wall. “Just out for a stroll,” she replied.