Of Silk and Steam
Page 70
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Leo wore unrelieved black from head to toe. Sunlight winked through the ruby stud in his ear. The sight was so familiar that she felt a little clench in her chest, but when she stepped away from the window, crossing toward him, he gave no sign that he felt it too.
Blade had delegated the pair of them to prepare, while he sorted through his men for those dexterous enough to handle the Cyclops. A hard balance. Take too many and the wall would fall. Mina knew only too well what she was asking of him. Admiration bloomed like a reluctant flower. The Devil of Whitechapel was a dangerous man but, she was starting to realize, he was also incredibly loyal and protective of those he considered his own. A man who weighed the risks of halving his forces, knowing that if he erred on either side, their mission would fail.
And his people would die.
Morioch might have fallen back for most of the day, after his ruse with the clockwork bombs had failed, but she could hear the marching step of metal feet in the distance, even through the closed window. The rest of the Echelon’s automatons, half of them ceremonial, no doubt. Morioch was so determined to win the rookery that he was stripping valuable defenses from the Ivory Tower.
There couldn’t be a better opportunity, could there? Mina rubbed at her chest, trying to ease her doubt.
Barrons held up a brass-plated protective leather corset that would buckle over her shirt. Outwardly he seemed relaxed but she sensed the same inner tension within him. “It’s one of Lark’s, apparently.”
It should fit. The young woman was of a height with her, though Mina couldn’t help wondering if she’d be able to breathe. She held out her hand and he responded with a rather bland look that said everything.
“It won’t be the first time I’ve played lady’s maid for you.” Although there was a challenging glint in his eyes, his voice was rougher than it ought to be and a shadow of stubble decorated his cheeks. Mina recognized a bone-deep weariness that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. He’d had one shock after another in the last few days, and though she could see him slowly putting himself back together, the experiences still haunted his eyes at moments.
She didn’t have the heart to insist he wait outside. “How does it work?”
“Hold your arms up.” Barrons tugged the laces as loose as he could, then slipped it over her head, sliding it down over her shoulders and setting it into place over her hips and waist. His hands smoothed over her hips, pausing for just a moment. She could almost feel the tension building in his body. Mina dragged her hair over her shoulder, holding it there.
“You’re nervous.” His clever fingers pulled at her laces, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck.
No point in denying it. She felt ready to fly out of her skin. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“You can trust Blade—”
“I wouldn’t have ever mentioned it if I didn’t think I could trust him.”
The press of his body was somehow comforting, even as his fingers slowed. “Then what’s bothering you?”
“I’m well out of my depth here.” It felt strange to admit to a weakness. “I have no information. I don’t know what’s going on at court, if the queen’s still well, if all of the humanists I’ve set into place are still free—” If Hannah and Grimsby and the rest of her people were safe…
“Breathe,” he suggested. Warm fingers curled over her shoulders, abandoning any pretense at lacing her up. He dragged her back against his body, pressing his lips lightly to the back of her neck. “And tell me what the real problem is.”
Mina stood arrested. The real problem…? She opened her mouth, then paused, letting his thumbs dig into the tense muscles of her shoulders through her silk shirt. Working her way through the turmoil in her mind. “What if I have one chance and I destroy it by moving too quickly? Surprise is our only weapon.”
“What if you have one chance…and you never take it?”
The words were a blistering realization. Mina glanced over her shoulder helplessly.
“You need to trust in yourself—in all of us. The Ivory Tower is going to fall, Mina, sooner or later. There are too many voices that refuse to be silenced, too many people the prince consort’s crushed. He cannot kill them all. And I know, in here”—he thumped his fist against his heart—“that when we rise, the whole of London will rise with us. He can’t defeat that, Mina. That’s how I know we’re going to win.”
She could barely think, blinded by the surety in his voice—and the sudden realization that this was the only man who had ever understood her on any level.
The truce between them was a tenuous one, but she could feel him reaching out to her. Mina stayed very still, softening under the slow circles of his thumbs. I’m tired of pulling away.
What if you have one chance…and you never take it?
The words echoed in her ears and beat in her heart, like the opening strains of a waltz, growing stronger, steadier, as the players found their confidence. Wondering in that moment if this was all that the pair of them would ever have—stolen moments shrouded in secrecy.
“Lean forward,” he suggested.
Without thinking, Mina turned, gripping his face and lifting up onto her toes. She only had a second to see the shocked look in his eyes, and then her lips met his. A strangled sound came from his throat, then his hands slid over her hips, jerking her roughly against him. He kissed her with everything he had.
This man would never be easy to manage. She could never hide herself from him. He’d demand everything of her and still ask for more, and she wasn’t certain she could give it. But this…
Mina pressed him back against the wall, sliding her hungry hands down over his chest. His own caressed her arse, grinding her hips against him, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. She wanted more, wanted to feel the smooth glide of his skin beneath hers. Mina’s hands yanked at his shirt, dragging it out of his pants, her palms seeking the coolness of his skin beneath. Roaming the tautness of his flat stomach, feeling the ripple of his abdominals quiver beneath her touch, and up over the hard planes of his chest.
More.
Mina bit his lip, jerking her hands out to tug at his buttons. One hit the floor. She didn’t care. Barrons pushed her away just long enough to jerk the damned shirt over his head with a snarl, baring all of that skin to her gaze, to her touch. He caught her wrists and dragged her back against him, holding her there.
Blade had delegated the pair of them to prepare, while he sorted through his men for those dexterous enough to handle the Cyclops. A hard balance. Take too many and the wall would fall. Mina knew only too well what she was asking of him. Admiration bloomed like a reluctant flower. The Devil of Whitechapel was a dangerous man but, she was starting to realize, he was also incredibly loyal and protective of those he considered his own. A man who weighed the risks of halving his forces, knowing that if he erred on either side, their mission would fail.
And his people would die.
Morioch might have fallen back for most of the day, after his ruse with the clockwork bombs had failed, but she could hear the marching step of metal feet in the distance, even through the closed window. The rest of the Echelon’s automatons, half of them ceremonial, no doubt. Morioch was so determined to win the rookery that he was stripping valuable defenses from the Ivory Tower.
There couldn’t be a better opportunity, could there? Mina rubbed at her chest, trying to ease her doubt.
Barrons held up a brass-plated protective leather corset that would buckle over her shirt. Outwardly he seemed relaxed but she sensed the same inner tension within him. “It’s one of Lark’s, apparently.”
It should fit. The young woman was of a height with her, though Mina couldn’t help wondering if she’d be able to breathe. She held out her hand and he responded with a rather bland look that said everything.
“It won’t be the first time I’ve played lady’s maid for you.” Although there was a challenging glint in his eyes, his voice was rougher than it ought to be and a shadow of stubble decorated his cheeks. Mina recognized a bone-deep weariness that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. He’d had one shock after another in the last few days, and though she could see him slowly putting himself back together, the experiences still haunted his eyes at moments.
She didn’t have the heart to insist he wait outside. “How does it work?”
“Hold your arms up.” Barrons tugged the laces as loose as he could, then slipped it over her head, sliding it down over her shoulders and setting it into place over her hips and waist. His hands smoothed over her hips, pausing for just a moment. She could almost feel the tension building in his body. Mina dragged her hair over her shoulder, holding it there.
“You’re nervous.” His clever fingers pulled at her laces, his breath ghosting over the back of her neck.
No point in denying it. She felt ready to fly out of her skin. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“You can trust Blade—”
“I wouldn’t have ever mentioned it if I didn’t think I could trust him.”
The press of his body was somehow comforting, even as his fingers slowed. “Then what’s bothering you?”
“I’m well out of my depth here.” It felt strange to admit to a weakness. “I have no information. I don’t know what’s going on at court, if the queen’s still well, if all of the humanists I’ve set into place are still free—” If Hannah and Grimsby and the rest of her people were safe…
“Breathe,” he suggested. Warm fingers curled over her shoulders, abandoning any pretense at lacing her up. He dragged her back against his body, pressing his lips lightly to the back of her neck. “And tell me what the real problem is.”
Mina stood arrested. The real problem…? She opened her mouth, then paused, letting his thumbs dig into the tense muscles of her shoulders through her silk shirt. Working her way through the turmoil in her mind. “What if I have one chance and I destroy it by moving too quickly? Surprise is our only weapon.”
“What if you have one chance…and you never take it?”
The words were a blistering realization. Mina glanced over her shoulder helplessly.
“You need to trust in yourself—in all of us. The Ivory Tower is going to fall, Mina, sooner or later. There are too many voices that refuse to be silenced, too many people the prince consort’s crushed. He cannot kill them all. And I know, in here”—he thumped his fist against his heart—“that when we rise, the whole of London will rise with us. He can’t defeat that, Mina. That’s how I know we’re going to win.”
She could barely think, blinded by the surety in his voice—and the sudden realization that this was the only man who had ever understood her on any level.
The truce between them was a tenuous one, but she could feel him reaching out to her. Mina stayed very still, softening under the slow circles of his thumbs. I’m tired of pulling away.
What if you have one chance…and you never take it?
The words echoed in her ears and beat in her heart, like the opening strains of a waltz, growing stronger, steadier, as the players found their confidence. Wondering in that moment if this was all that the pair of them would ever have—stolen moments shrouded in secrecy.
“Lean forward,” he suggested.
Without thinking, Mina turned, gripping his face and lifting up onto her toes. She only had a second to see the shocked look in his eyes, and then her lips met his. A strangled sound came from his throat, then his hands slid over her hips, jerking her roughly against him. He kissed her with everything he had.
This man would never be easy to manage. She could never hide herself from him. He’d demand everything of her and still ask for more, and she wasn’t certain she could give it. But this…
Mina pressed him back against the wall, sliding her hungry hands down over his chest. His own caressed her arse, grinding her hips against him, letting her feel just how much he wanted her. She wanted more, wanted to feel the smooth glide of his skin beneath hers. Mina’s hands yanked at his shirt, dragging it out of his pants, her palms seeking the coolness of his skin beneath. Roaming the tautness of his flat stomach, feeling the ripple of his abdominals quiver beneath her touch, and up over the hard planes of his chest.
More.
Mina bit his lip, jerking her hands out to tug at his buttons. One hit the floor. She didn’t care. Barrons pushed her away just long enough to jerk the damned shirt over his head with a snarl, baring all of that skin to her gaze, to her touch. He caught her wrists and dragged her back against him, holding her there.
