Moonlight & Mechanicals (2 page)

“You’re the son of an earl, my boy. That gives you entry into places none of my other officers can go.” Dugan gave Liam a stern glance. “I know you don’t like to tread on your family connections, but right now, we need them.”

“Forgive me, sir, but what information is it you think I can provide that his grace and company cannot?” Yes, Liam was the barely-acknowledged younger son of an earl, but an Irish one, and a werewolf—hardly the cream of London society. Many of the Knights of the Roundtable, on the other hand, such as his grace, moved in the upper circles with the public in utter ignorance of their magickal activities.

“Disaffected younger sons seem to be the primary target of a new organization that has come to our attention.” Dugan’s mutton-chops drooped and the bags beneath his eyes had luggage of their own. Something out of the ordinary weighed on his mind. The superintendent had taken Liam under his wing when Liam had first joined up, teaching him the job and about life. Hell, Jack Dugan had been more father to Liam than his own ever was, and it was nearly painful to see him look so fatigued. “The Order doesn’t have any of those in London at the moment, so you’re it. We want you to mingle as much as you can, see if you can get yourself drawn into whatever plot is afoot. So far, all we’ve heard is that they plan to make some kind of statement at an upcoming royal event.”

“And when is Her Majesty’s next scheduled appearance?” Liam hoped they were talking about the Queen. If they had to account for all her cousins and offspring, it was liable to be a circus and a half. Liam didn’t even know how many people the term
royal family
encompassed. All the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of George III? More? The logistics of keeping track of all of them boggled the mind.

“The Royal Ascot races,” Trowbridge said with a look of mild disappointment, as if Liam should have already known.

“Of course.” Everyone in England knew about Ascot. The races were only a week or so away, and the royal family always made a big showing. Liam rather hated horse racing, so he hadn’t paid much attention to the schedule. “Would you like me to confer with the palace guard about security measures for the royal enclosure?”

“That wouldn’t hurt.” Dugan nodded briefly. “We also expect you to be a guest
in
the enclosure for the duration of the event. Here are some of the others who will be present.” He handed Liam a sheet of paper. Several of the names were familiar—the duke, of course, and his wife and mother, the current and dowager duchesses. Trowbridge’s son and daughter-in-law, Lord and Lady Lake. Kendall Lake was also a Knight, so that was good. Sir Tom Devere and Sir Connor MacKay were also both members of the Order, though Liam hadn’t known they were interested in racing. It appeared the royal party would be well protected, even without Liam. Hell, even Winifred Hadrian and her mechanical dog were forces to be reckoned with. Liam had seen the young woman wield a sword and she was bloody damn good.

Then Liam noted another pair of names and his eyebrows lifted. “Lord and Lady Bell? I didn’t know my father and stepmother were even in England at present. Why are they attending the races?”

“Who knows?” The duke shrugged. “I believe the earl and countess are expected to arrive just a day or so before the event,” Trowbridge said. “They’re staying at Windsor Castle as guests of the Queen. I know relations between you are strained, but is your joint presence in the enclosure liable to cause a scene?”

Liam shook his head. “I suspect the earl will be quite content to pretend I don’t exist. He’s become something of an expert at that over the last decade or so.” Ever since Liam had defied his father, left the pack and come to London to join the police. Liam had spent years suppressing his hurt over his father’s rejection, so he was certain none showed in his demeanor as he shrugged. “My stepmother is unlikely to so much as recognize my face.”

“Good, then there shan’t be a problem.” Dugan didn’t bother with pointless expressions of sympathy. Liam liked that about the man. You always knew where you stood with Dugan—he was fair and honest to a fault.

“No, sir, Superintendent. Your Grace.” Liam knew when he was licked. He didn’t have it in him to let his mentor down. “I’ll listen to what I can at the ball tonight, and meet with the Yeomen of the Guard tomorrow.”

Dugan nodded. “Good. Now get out of here.” Without another word he turned back to the stack of reports on his scarred wooden desk.

Liam and the duke left the tiny office together. “Kendall and Amy will be happy to see you tonight,” the duke offered. “I’ll warn them ahead of time that you’ll be working.”

“Thank you.” That meant the other Knights would know as well. They’d watch Liam’s back and he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally offending them if he was distracted. Good. Now if he could just get out of dancing, his evening wouldn’t be a waste after all. There was no chance of that though, not with the Hadrian and Lake ladies present.
Bugger.

Thinking of the Hadrian ladies, or one in particular, anyway, made Liam’s fangs ache. When those buffoons had insulted Wink this afternoon, something deep in the center of his being had longed to shift so he could leap over the seats and rip out someone’s throat. While his human side knew that was a little extreme for an insult, filthy though it had been, his instincts had been to protect and defend her at all costs, which wasn’t at all appropriate behavior for a single man toward an unmarried woman.

Yes, he liked her and respected her brilliance. Of course he found her attractive—he was a red-blooded male, after all. But that’s all it could ever be. Wink deserved to be happy and to have a man who treated her like the treasure she was. It was simply too damned bad that couldn’t be him.

As he walked through the building, he saw two young constables struggling with an iron safe, about waist height, that they were apparently trying to drag into the evidence room. “Problem, boys?”

“Thing weighs more than the bloody Tower of London,” one said.

The other cursed, then looked up at Liam. “Oh—pardon, Inspector.”

“No worries.” He grinned and just for fun, leaned over and plucked the safe up off the floor, lifting it easily. Sometimes, it was good to be a werewolf. “So where do you need it to go?”

The two youngsters paled and pointed. Liam carried the safe through into the evidence room and nodded at the clerk. “Afternoon, Frank.”

The retired officer nodded back. “Afternoon, Inspector. Over in that corner if you don’t mind.”

Liam deposited the item in the space requested and left with a wink at the two young men. “That’s how a real copper does it.” He kept his grin to himself until he left the room.

“I told you to watch out for Inspector McCullough,” one of the youngsters whispered.

“Cor, you weren’t half kidding,” said the other. “Wonder what he eats for breakfast?”

“Idiots like you two,” Frank said. “Now get back to work.”

* * *

Wink made her curtsies to the duke and duchesses and was warmly embraced by Amelie, Marchioness Lake, at the end of the receiving line.

Wink smiled back at her friend, a photographer who’d married into the Order a few years earlier. Shorter than Wink, a little plump, and with her brown hair gleaming and a look of radiant happiness on her pretty face, the marchioness epitomized domestic bliss.

“Amy, you look marvelous. How’s the baby?”

“Ned is doing fine,” Amy said. “Stop by tomorrow afternoon and visit, if you have the chance. The grandmothers might even let the two of you get close to him.” She turned to hug Nell, who was right behind Wink in the line.

Nell laughed. “We’ve plenty of experience in
not
damaging infants. I suspect we’ll past muster.”

“They do all right,” Caroline said with a fond smile from her position ahead of Wink in the line. As she and Merrick now had four natural children, ages three months to seven years, in addition to the five they’d adopted or fostered, the older ones had done a fair bit of changing nappies. “Next time we’re in town, I’ll bring Vivi over. She and Ned can play.”

With a line behind them, there was no more time for conversation. Amy’s tall-dark-and-handsome husband, Kendall, bowed over Wink and Nell’s hands. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

The Hadrian party, which included Tom as well as Aunt Dorothy, moved past the line into Trowbridge House’s palatial ballroom. Men flocked to ask Nell and Caroline to dance, backing away at Merrick’s angry scowl. Soon they all dispersed to chat with various acquaintances, leaving Wink on her own, struggling for breath in a ridiculous concoction of lace, hoops, steel boning and ribbons so tight she could barely breathe. Not two steps into the chattering throng, she found Connor at her side.

“You’re looking lovely tonight—as always.” He glanced down at the antique pearls gracing her cleavage, which was barely there when she didn’t wear a corset. His flushed cheeks indicated there was some advantage to wearing the torture device.

Now if only someone else would notice.
Across the room, Wink saw another familiar face, and her pulse sped up. Her skin heated and she bit her lower lip, trying to hide her reaction from her companion, especially when Liam McCullough began a leisurely saunter across the room to meet them.

She’d known Liam since the day Merrick Hadrian had found her with the others on the streets. Liam had been there that night, a young, handsome constable, and he’d taken Wink’s breath away from the start. Something deep inside her had gotten one good look and said,
This is him. This is the one.
Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to share her fascination, still treating her as nothing more than the child of a friend.

Taller than Wink but shorter than her father or Tom, he still had a powerful presence. Even Connor stepped back, dipping his head in deference when Liam approached.

Liam was too rugged and broad-shouldered to be considered traditionally handsome, but most of the women in the room watched him as well. His hair was neatly trimmed, the wave in his black locks ruthlessly tamed. His face was a study in sharp chiseled planes, and thick brows hooded eyes of such a dark brown they were nearly black as well. Stark and elegant in his black evening suit and pristine white shirt, he shook Connor’s hand before bowing over Wink’s. Even through her satin gloves and his kid ones, she felt the warmth of his touch, impersonal and rote though it was.

“How’s your family?” he asked Connor.
Him,
Liam treated as an adult, while Wink was still a child in his eyes. That was utterly unfair as Connor was barely a year older than her. “Are your sisters doing well?”

Connor nodded. “Both doing grand. Geneva and Magnus are enjoying their new baby.” His elder sister had married a highland laird just last summer. While Wink was genuinely pleased for Geneva, she couldn’t help a tinge of envy. What would it be like to know you had someone to stand beside you every day of your life? To share all the good and bad, and keep each other company through long, quiet nights?

“Congratulations to them both.” Finally Liam turned to Wink. “You’ve recovered from this afternoon, I hope?”

“There was nothing worth recovering from.” Wink shrugged. “I’m sorry you had to witness that disaster, but I’m not going to let it destroy me or divert me from my work.”

“Honestly, I found it fascinating. Your ideas have a lot of merit.” The orchestra began to strike up the opening number. Connor turned, no doubt to ask her to dance, but before he could, Liam smiled. “Miss Hadrian? Would you do me the honor?”

“Of course.” She closed her mouth, which had dropped at his compliment, and smiled apologetically at Connor, ignoring his stricken expression. Wink was going to have to do something about his infatuation—eventually. She cared for him, but more as another brother than as a potential husband.

At the moment, though, she relaxed and gave herself up to the superb music and the enjoyment of being exactly where she wanted to be—waltzing in Liam’s arms.

He was a powerful and gifted dancer, though with his supernatural strength and grace, he could hardly have been otherwise. The pleasure she felt was more than that though—it came from simply being near Liam, feeling his breath on her hair, his hands warm even through gloves and layers of clothing. This wasn’t their first dance—he was a long-time friend of her family, after all. They’d run into one another on numerous social occasions in the six years since her debut. Each time she waltzed with him, though, seemed as magickal as the first. She’d been sixteen then, at her parents’ wedding, on the same day they’d formally adopted her, Nell, Piers and Jamie. Even then, with the stink of Wapping still clinging to her, Liam had treated her like a lady, and Wink had fallen in love with the werewolf constable and his sad, lonely dark eyes.

She forced her mind back to the present as they whirled through the patterns of the dance. They didn’t speak at first, both seeming caught up in their own thoughts or the music.

Finally Liam tapped a whalebone stay at her waist with the tip of his finger. “Why on earth do women wear such ridiculous garments? That thing looks so tight you can hardly breathe, let alone swing a rapier if you needed to.”

Wink didn’t know whether to laugh, be hurt by his dismissal of her most flattering gown or preen that he remembered her weapon of choice. She settled for saying, “I have no idea either. I was wondering the same, not half an hour ago.”

“And yet here you are, trussed up like a Christmas goose.” He looked down into her meager bustline and only snorted, deflating any hope Wink might have had that he saw her as a woman.

“I blame Her Majesty. For someone so adamant about being the ruler in her own right, she’s reluctant to extend similar autonomy to other females.” Wink couldn’t believe she’d actually said that, out loud and in public. A quick glance around showed that no one else was looking at them so she went on. “These idiotic fashions are designed for the sole purpose of keeping us as dependent as possible on the male sex. By emphasizing our so-called feminine attributes, they inherently downplay and actively inhibit our usefulness in any other capacity.”