Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy (14 page)

A
LONG FRUITLESS
day of following up on smaller leads stretched behind Ingrid.

Jack had retreated to what they were affectionately calling the dungeon to attempt to decode the scrap of letter that she'd found; Byrnes was off at the guild, coordinating the use of Nighthawks in tramping all over the Venetian Gardens; Gemma Townsend was reportedly setting up surveillance on Lord Ulbricht; and Ingrid had snatched six hours of sleep before checking in on Ava to see if there'd been anything else from the autopsy or the Doeppler orbs connection.

Today had been a frustrating day.
No results on any of the leads, but Ingrid knew from long experience that these hours spent laying down the groundwork often yielded a vital clue in the end.
One of these leads would suddenly amount to something, and the entire case would open up.

She just wished it would happen sooner rather than later.

Ingrid dug her thumbs up under the arch of her brows to relieve the pressure in her aching head as she pushed aside her notes.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, along with soft feminine laughter.

"Are you coming?"
Gemma Townsend called, popping her head in through the door to the library, where Ingrid had been meticulously going over her case notes.

"Coming?"
Ingrid looked up distractedly.
"Where?"

Gemma slipped inside the library, a fan dangling from one wrist and a rather daring ruby gown barely containing her figure.
"Malloryn's letting us off the leash for the night," Gemma said, "while he sets his information networks to ferret out every secret Ulbricht ever owned.
So a few of us thought we might as well see a bit of the town, get to know each other a little better."
She shrugged one slim shoulder.
"It's probably going to be our last chance for a while, for as soon as Malloryn discovers something, he'll have our noses to the grindstone.
The man doesn't know the meaning of the word 'rest.'"

Time to get to know each other....
It wouldn't hurt.
After all, these people might hold her life in their hands one day.

Ingrid looked down at the sheets of paper in front of her.
Ulbricht.
Vampires.
Venetian Gardens.
Orbs.
Connection?
She'd been staring at her notes for hours, and nothing was making sense anymore.
Time away from this place would do her the world of good, and hopefully allow her mind to clear.
"Who's going?"

"Charlie's leading the expedition—it was his idea, after all.
And somehow he's talked Kincaid into coming.
Something about gaming hells, I believe.
Then it's just you, me, and Ava."

"No Byrnes?"

"No sign of him," Gemma replied with a cheerful shrug.
"I think he's still at the Nighthawks Guild."

"Good."
A weight lifted off Ingrid's shoulders.
She needed a night away from him following the intensity of that kiss.

The man was dangerous to her senses.

"So...
does that mean you're tempted?"
Gemma asked.

"Be more specific," Ingrid drawled, crossing her arms over her chest, and leaning back in her chair.
"Where, precisely, are we going?"
A night out on the town could mean anything, from the fighting pits in the East End to the automaton theatres in Covent Gardens.
And Gemma reminded her of Rosa in some ways; flirtatious, worldly, and cynical.
She could be leading them anywhere.
Particularly astray.

Gemma's smile was pure deviousness.
"The Garden of Eden.
Ava has an interest in plants and as soon as she heard where we were heading, she wanted to come and examine the...
flora."

Flora.
Ingrid's eyebrows arched.
"She does realize that plants are hardly the draw card to the Garden?"

"Oh, I must have forgotten to mention that!"
Gemma's eyes widened in mock surprise.
"Want to come and watch her spectacles fog up when she realizes where she is?"

Ingrid frowned, then pushed her way out of her chair.
"I'll come, if only to keep the rest of you from leading her too far afield."

"Excellent."
Gemma spun toward the door, shooting one last glance back over her shoulder.
"But I'm going to have to insist upon a dress, darling."

"
A
nother
?"
Charlie Todd blinked as he leaned on the table and stared her down.

Ingrid allowed herself the faintest of smiles.
"Give in before I drink you under this table."

"I can hold me drink...."
He blinked again.
"Hell and damnation, are you even feeling it?
You look so bloody cool and collected."

"I'm verwulfen, Charlie," she replied, dragging her small cheroot case out of her reticule.
"Alcohol burns through me like it's been set on fire."

"B-burns through me too," he declared, finding his feet and swaying a little.
"But not that bloody quickly.
Here.
I'll fetch another bottle."
He wove away through the crowd, swaying slightly, as he joined Gemma at the bar.

"Amateur," Kincaid sniffed, and threw back his glass.
Considering the fact that he was purely human, his steadiness was impressive, as he wasn't far behind either her or Charlie.
Seeing her considering look, and interpreting it correctly, he arched a brow.
"Experience counts, love."

"There's experience," she countered, "and then there's the type of man who's drunk enough in his lifetime to earn some sort of immunity."

"Every man here's got his own demons," he said, stirring his finger through the sticky ring of brandy on the table.
"And ways to deal with it.
I had a few bad years a while ago."

"It's not going to be a problem, is it?"

Kincaid's blue eyes glittered as they locked on her.
"Are you and Byrnes going to be a problem?"

Touché
.
Ingrid shrugged as she lit a cheroot, and breathed it in.
The last thing she needed was Malloryn getting wind of this.
She needed the money too much.
"That's none of your concern."

"Not mine, no."
His gaze slid sideways as the swish of skirts hurried up to the table.
"But if I were a betting man, it might be someone else's."

Ava slid into the seat beside Ingrid, breathless in green silk.
"Did you know that there are fire-breathers in the back room?
This place is...
extraordinary."

That was one way of putting it.
At the front of the room, the crowd thinned as attendants wearing only tweed vests, tight pants, and bowler hats cleared some space.
A sheet was dragged across the stage, but her attention was focused on Ava, and Kincaid's words.

She liked Ava.
And she obviously wasn't the only one who'd noticed how the pretty laboratory assistant lit up when Byrnes entered the room, which left Ingrid feeling like slime coated her skin.

"Shadow Show's starting," Kincaid said, his voice like liquid velvet in the night, and again, they were on the same wavelength.

Ingrid had rather hoped Ava would stay enamored with the fire-breathers a little longer.

"Ladies and gentleman."
A tall woman wearing a ringmaster's attire strode onstage as the lights dimmed, and instantly the room fell quiet.
"The lovely Miranda and Cozette are about to begin their act.
Do we have any volunteers to assist them?"

Over two dozen men threw themselves to their feet, waving their arms.

"Pick me, ma'am!"

"I volunteer!"

A chorus of enthusiastic cries rolled around the room, leaving only their table untouched.

Kincaid looked unimpressed and poured himself another brandy as a spotlight suddenly flicked on behind the sheet, highlighting a bed.

"You're not keen to volunteer?"
Ingrid murmured.

"Do I look like I'm the fucking entertainment?"
He held out his hand, and she passed him her cheroot, which he took a long drag from.
"I prefer...
something a little more private."
His gaze lit on the long-legged beauty in the ringmaster's outfit.

"What must he do?"
Ava asked, as a young man was helped onto the stage, thrusting a fist in the air in victory toward his rowdy table.

Ingrid looked at Kincaid.
Kincaid looked back at her, and actually appeared to blush.

Coward.
"He's, ah, they're going to engage in—"

"Oh, my goodness," Ava whispered, staring at the stage.
"Are they...."
Her mouth fell open as the shadows moved, and it became very clear that yes, yes they were.
"Is that even legal?"
she gasped, as the two curvaceous women dragged the willing young fellow behind the sheet.

Kincaid eyed the fellow's rampant excitement as one of the shadows pushed the fellow down on the bed.
"Probably not."

Ava blushed to the roots of her hair, but tore her gaze away.
"Oh, my goodness."

Ingrid shot Kincaid a look, who returned it steadily.
Then he handed back Ingrid's cheroot and sighed.
"Would you care to take a stroll in the gardens, Miss McLaren?"

"Is it going to be any safer out there?"

"Possibly."
Kincaid's smile turned slightly evil.
"But then, you'll be with
me
, so possibly not."

Onstage the female shadow crawled up over the ecstatic young volunteer, and Ava staggered to her feet.
"Yes!
Yes, the garden would be good."

"I deserve a medal for this," Kincaid murmured in Ingrid's ear as he rolled to his feet and extended an arm toward Ava.

"Be nice to her," Ingrid warned, and it wasn't entirely playful.

Kincaid rolled his eyes.
"Virgins," he said, in some disgust.

And then they were gone.

Ingrid stayed to watch the show.
A swift glance showed Charlie caught up at the bar, laughing at something that another young man was saying.
The play onstage didn't interest her overly much, but if she closed her eyes and listened to the soft sounds of laughter and panting, then she could imagine she was elsewhere.

In Byrnes's bed, her thighs straddling him as she bent down to take his nipple between her teeth.

That got her going.
Half memory.
Half dream.
Soft fingers of heat trailed through her abdomen and lower, leaving her wet as the man onstage gasped
.
Then she was sliding lower, down the chiseled ridge of his abdomen, as Byrnes flexed beneath her, his wrists bound to the bed with her stockings.

"Touch yourself," he rasped.

And Ingrid smiled, rearing up to tug at the ribbons on the chemise as they trailed between her full breasts.
"Oh, Byrnes...
who said
you
were in control?"

A shiver ran over her skin.
A sense of foreboding.
Ingrid stubbed her cheroot out, exhaling the smoke.
She felt like she was being watched.

Opening her sleepy eyes, she had a moment of disorientation, as though she were in the dream again, reliving that memory.
But as Byrnes prowled the edge of the room, his gaze locked on her, she realized it wasn't a dream.
Nor a memory.

But the man himself.

G
iving in to temptation
, Byrnes trailed his fingertips along Ingrid's shoulders as he slid into the chair next to her, ignoring the stage with its enthusiastic noises.
"Where was my invitation?"

"You weren't around," she replied, the sudden stiffening of her spine belying the easy way she'd been sitting with Kincaid and Charlie until he showed up.

And didn't that get to him.

Watching her laughing and drinking with the other men had set him close to the edge.
Because she didn't behave like that around him.
No, there was always some sort of tension in her whenever they shared a room.

It was his own bloody fault too.
He'd not considered how frustrating this would be.
Not so much in a sexual manner, though there was that too, but returning to Baker Street with the expectation of running into Ingrid and starting some kind of teasing debate, and then not finding her there....