My Lady Quicksilver (17 page)

A tendril of hair brushed his cheek in the dark interior of the carriage, silky-smooth and lemon-scented. With Rosa busy tending his wound, she barely noticed as he turned his head and breathed in the scent of her. Whatever perfume she used, it bathed her skin and drenched her hair as if she’d washed in it. He could barely discern her natural scent. His mouth went dry at the thought. He yearned to press his face to her throat, to drink in that scent, his body reacting with swift need.

“There,” she murmured, tying off the ends of the piece of petticoat. The instant she was done, she tugged her gloves back on as if the lack of them left her vulnerable. “That should hold until we get to the guild.”

Lynch sucked in a shaky breath. “Thank you. You’re most efficient.”

“In all matters.” She shot him a soft smile, her dark eyes flashing in the silvery moonlight. Her gaze slowly lowered as she sobered. “You knew Lady Arrondale.”

The words were no question.

“Annabelle?” The thought sheared through his desire like a knife.

“You were very gentle with her body.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and dragged himself upright.
Annabelle
. Guilt was a sour taste in his mouth. “She was my cousin’s consort.”

He knew she heard the sharpness in his voice and cursed himself for a fool. He despised speaking of himself; the story had been all through the papers at the time, with every journalist taking it upon himself to form an opinion on the circumstances. Few of them had come close to the truth, but that didn’t matter. He’d suspected Bleight behind half of the damned stories, and truth was but a varnish to the duke.

He’d never given a damn before, but something about the close nature of the carriage and Mrs. Marberry’s curiosity bit at him.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked her.

“Because…” She floundered for words, a flush of color darkening her skin. His gaze charted the path of it, across her throat and cheeks.

“Idle curiosity is not something I encourage.”

The words might have been a slap. Her magnificent eyes jerked to his. “Because I suspect you took more than one wound today. I wanted… I was offering comfort, nothing else.” Shoving away from him, she leaned against the door of the carriage and peered out, limned by soft shadows and moonlight.

“You’re not curious?”

Lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks as she gazed down at her lap. The line of her nape drew his eyes. He wanted to press his lips there, to lick the lemon scent from her skin and taste her body’s salt.

Lynch stilled, arrested by his hunger again. The roar of it surged through his veins.
Just
one
little
taste…to have her beneath him, the knife to her throat, hot blood in his mouth as she struggled weakly
. She was a temptation he never should have brought beneath his roof. For forty years he’d contained his blood urges, and she stomped all over his control as if it were worth nothing. The thought was troubling.

I
will
beat
this
.

“I’m curious,” she admitted. “Of course I am. But the motivation is not vulgar.”

“So your curiosity is personal?”

Silence. It lingered for long moments, during which he found himself examining her again, his fingers tightening their grip on the carriage seat.

“Yes, it’s personal.” A sharp look away.

He wasn’t the only one afflicted by this madness. Fighting his body, he forced himself to think of Annabelle, lying on the floor with betrayal written all over her face.

It worked, like a splash of ice water to the face.

“I told you,” he said simply, “Alistair and I competed in all things.”

“You loved her?”

“I don’t know. I was fifteen.” He breathed a harsh laugh. “I was consumed by her with all the rabid fascination of a young man. And I wanted to win her. Neither Alistair nor I wished to push our rivalry so far as a duel, so Annabelle became the prize.”

“And he won?”

Silence. This time of his own making. Lynch slowly shut his eyes, the image of Annabelle painted behind his eyeballs. He hadn’t seen her in years. The shadow of age had surprised him, but he could recognize her still, in the elegant lines of her cheekbones and those lips that had been made to laugh. Guilt was a twisting sensation within his chest. Guilt, regret, and sorrow…

“My apologies,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize how strongly you still cared.”

“I’ve not seen her in more than thirty years,” he replied. An old wound, but this had only seemed to knock the scab off it. “They tell me he was kind to her.”

Rosa seemed to wrestle with something. Slowly she reached out, her hand sliding over his. A gentling touch, but still a tentative one, as though she had to force herself to do it.

“My husband…” she began, and faltered. “It wasn’t…wasn’t love for me. Not at first. Indeed, I set about luring him into the marriage quite purposely.” At this, she darted a glance at him, as if to see how he took this revelation. “I hate that now that he’s gone. He loved me so much and I regret…so many things.”

Lynch stroked her thumb through the kid leather, simply listening.

“The guilt never goes away but the feeling fades,” she admitted bleakly. “At the end, when he realized what I’d done… I saw it in his face, you know? He hated me in that moment. But if he had survived, I wouldn’t care if he still hated me. As long as he were alive. That’s all that matters.”

Her voice trailed off, and he listened to the sound of her breathing, the feel of her hand anchoring him.

“What do you think happened?” Rosa whispered. “If your cousin cared for his wife, as you say, what could have made him kill her?”

“I don’t know.” Lynch’s gaze drifted to the window. He squeezed her fingers, feeling strangely vulnerable. “But I intend to find out.”

Rows of gaslights gleamed in the night as the carriage rolled past a park. Something caught his eye as his gaze lowered to Rosa’s hand and Lynch’s head snapped back to the window. There, standing by a grove of trees was a familiar figure smothered in a black silk cloak.

Mercury
.

His heart leaped into his throat, throwing off the pall of grief. Exhilaration flooded through him. “Stop the carriage!” he bellowed, yanking at the door and dropping Rosa’s hand.

The masked figure blew him a kiss, then stepped back into the grove. Lynch opened the door while the carriage was still moving and leaped out, staggering as he landed. He clapped a hand to his ribs.
Cursed
weakness
. Of all the times for his body to give out on him.

“Sir?” Perry shut off the boilers and knelt on the edge of the driving seat, peering into the darkness intently.

“Mercury,” he snapped, gesturing to the park. “I saw her in the trees. Get after her.” He drew sticky fingers away from his side. No point running after her himself. Frustration soared through him.

Perry leaped down into the street and sprinted toward the park.

Skirts rustled and then Rosa was sliding under his arm to help hold him up, her dark eyes raking his face. “What’s going on?” She looked down and paled. “You’ve torn your wound open.”

“It will heal.” He stared after Perry. On the other side of the park an engine hissed to life as a steam carriage pulled away from the curb. “Damn it.” He’d bet his last penny that Mercury was in that carriage. Perry would lose her and he didn’t know how to drive the carriage himself in order to give chase.

Rosa pressed her gloved hand against his side. “You need to sit back down and rest���”

“It won’t kill me,” he said absently.

“No, but you’ll end up bedridden for days at this rate,” she replied tartly.

That
caught his attention. Lynch looked down in bemusement as his secretary clucked and scolded him back into the carriage. Her expression was furious as she tugged his undershirt back up and reexamined her bandaging.

“Of all the rotten timing,” she muttered under her breath. “It doesn’t look too bad. The bleeding is slowing. However, if you move suddenly again, I shall be most put out with you. Sit there and don’t move until we reach the guild.”

One didn’t argue with a woman with that kind of tone. Lynch sank back into the leather seats.

Perry arrived at the door, breathing hard. “Lost them, sir. They had a driver waiting—a man wearing similar cologne to what Garrett prefers. Looked like he was wearing some sort of half mask over his lower face. And a tall woman on the back of the carriage, like a footman. She helped hustle the masked woman into the carriage.”

“Not your fault.” Lynch’s eyes narrowed in the direction Mercury had disappeared into. “They planned this meeting.”

But why? Nothing had come of it. Mercury had meant to be seen. Was she sending him a message? A taunt? Or was her presence in connection to the death of Alistair?

“Do you want me to track them?” Perry asked.

“You can do that?” Rosa’s head jerked up.

“Perry can trace scents even I can’t,” he admitted, then turned back to Perry and shook his head. Most of the men would be returning to the guild. There was no way he was sending Perry after the revolutionaries on her own—not so soon after nearly losing Garrett.

“When we return to the guild, I want you to take three of the men and see if the scent trail’s still alive,” he murmured, easing back in the seat. “Don’t confront them and don’t be caught alone. You can give me your report in the morning.”

Whatever Mercury’s purpose, for tonight he had other concerns he was forced to prioritize.

***

Lynch hadn’t been able to examine the body or the house and knew Bleight would never allow either now.

Fitz had stitched the wound in his side and they’d propped him here hours ago. Staring across the dark shadows of his study, Lynch silently ran through what he knew of the case. He’d examined both Haversham and Falcone himself. There’d been no sign of needle marks, no toxins or poisons in either of their cups and no evidence in the house to suggest a reason behind this insanity.

Just that sticky sweet smell he’d noticed in both houses.

He could only assume that Alistair’s bout of insanity would be the same.

Scraping his hair out of his face, he stared at the desktop. His mind felt dull tonight—grief, most likely. He could barely think. Every time he chased a thought, it skittered away, dissolving into mist. The confrontation with Mercury kept leaping to the forefront of his mind, despite the need to focus on Alistair.

Why had she appeared tonight? Had she tracked him from Alistair’s house? Was she involved with his death? If she was… His fist clenched. There would be no mercy if she was.

A sharp rap at the door sounded.

Perry. He could tell by the way she waited for his response. “Yes?” he called, glancing at the clock. She’d been gone only three hours. This wouldn’t be good news.

Perry slipped in through the door, a light rain misting her hair and eyelashes. “Lost them,” she said. “I got a trail on them for several streets, then it started to rain.”

“Which direction were they heading?”

“The docks by the East End.”

Lynch sat back in his chair and eyed the way she clasped her hands behind her back. “You have something else to report.”

Perry sighed. “When I lost the trail, I went back to Holland Park Avenue. I managed to pick up a scent from the man wearing cologne in the opposite alley. He never approached the house, but I assume he was watching for you.”

“Not involved in the attack then,” Lynch muttered. “Which means their interest was in me. But why?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.” She took a deep breath. “There’s something else. The taller woman is verwulfen. I’ll swear it.”

Interesting.

“I’ve sent two of the men out to check the registry, to see if they can identify a woman,” she said.

The treaty with Scandinavia had introduced a change in the laws, freeing all of the verwulfen in the Empire from slavery. Yet, all newly freed verwulfen were required to register at each city and town they passed through.

“Excellent.” The pieces were starting to fall into place. Lynch had always been patient; the spider’s web was starting to tingle, the trap slowly drawing in on Mercury. A flutter of anticipation stirred in his gut.

“You look exhausted,” he said. “Clock off and get some rest. You did well tonight.”

Perry didn’t quite smile at the rare praise, but she nodded and took her leave.

Slowly his gaze focused on the desk in front of him and he realized there was a piece of folded vellum popped beside his inkwell.

Scent wafted off the paper—Rosa’s scent, reminding him of spring days and sunshine, of laughter and linen sheets. Despite his mood, he felt his shoulders ease. He’d wanted a secretary who wasn’t afraid of him, though he had no idea what to do with her.

Be
careful
what
you
wish
for.

Well, she certainly didn’t fear him, and he had to admire her ingenuity with the flask of blood. He also admired certain other aspects of her person but those were better left unthought of.

Flicking open the letter with his thumbnail, he ran his gaze across the sheet. Moonlight glanced over his shoulder, giving him just enough light to understand the slanting script.

Dear Sir,

They say that cleanliness is next to godliness, which explains your lack of reverence. I have therefore taken it upon myself to save you from sinning. You’ll find your papers filed in my office; sorted, alphabetized, and ironed flat.

I would appreciate it if you could keep them this way, though I have low hopes. With all due respect…

Your servant,
Mrs. Marberry

She must have written it prior to this afternoon. And he in his blustering state had not noticed it.

Lynch traced the curl of her name, his lips softening. Blasted woman. She had an audacity that astounded him.