Tarnished Knight

READ ON FOR AN EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEAK OF THE EVENTS LEADING UP TO HEART OF IRON:


LENA’S DECISION



1





Slipping through the skylight onto the roof above, Lena Todd let out a sigh as she realised it was empty. Part of her – a part she was growing uncomfortable even admitting to – had hoped to find Will up here.

The hulking verwulfen bodyguard often used the rooftops as a vantage point from which to observe the rookery of Whitechapel. People forgot to look up, and so he and the rest of Blade’s men could keep an eye on them without being observed.

The aloofness suited Will and his nature. Despite the fact that she now lived under the same roof as he did, she saw him only rarely. If Lena was as foolish as she sometimes pretended to be, she’d almost think he was avoiding her.

Unlikely, she thought, sitting down with a frown and gathering her pretty yellow skirts around her ankles. Will barely even noticed her. The idea of him going out of his way to avoid her seemed like the sort of frothy drivel she read in the French novels that Esme, Blade’s housekeeper, bought.

“…hold still… And stop flexing your arm…”

Lena flinched at the suddenness of the words, glancing around. She knew the voice instantly. Honoria. If her older sister found her on the roof, she’d have words to say about how dangerous it could be. Never mind that the rooftop was the only place in the Warren that Lena could truly be alone to think.

“I’m not flexing,” someone else snapped, in an aristocratic tone that took Lena back years to the time when she and her family had lived on the edge of the Echelon. “You’re coming toward me with a hypodermic syringe. Considering you’ve only just begun to forgive me, I may be tensing a little.”

“What makes you think I’ve forgiven you at all?” Honoria snapped back and silence fell.

It seemed to be coming from the other skylight, which was cracked open an inch. Lena leaned closer in curiosity. The room below belonged to Honoria’s laboratory, where she spent most of her afternoons.

“You did agree to offer me a consultation,” the man replied in a quieter tone. It wasn’t quite a question.

Who the devil was it? Blade was notoriously protective of his wife. It seemed completely unlike him to allow Honoria to entertain men in her laboratory alone.

Lying down on her stomach, Lena slid closer and tried to peer through the window.

All she could see was a band of her sister’s red skirts and a gentlemen’s dangling legs. Whoever he was, he was sitting on her sister’s examination table. And he was wearing Hoby’s boots. The cut of his pants were tailored exquisitely. Definitely an aristocrat or someone who had money.

A little flutter of excitement started in Lena’s chest.

Life on the edge of the Echelon had been a heady thing. Her father had been a gentleman scientist who’d won patronage from two of the great houses of the Echelon. Though the Todd’s were never quite accepted into the aristocratic ranks, she’d been expected to attend lessons in etiquette by Vickers, the duke who had held her father’s patronage license. Lena might never have made her debut, but by joining other young women at their lessons, she had been introduced to several of their family members. Eventually she might have caught the eye of a young cousin or brother. Or at least that was her understanding of the situation.

Everything had changed the night her father was murdered and Honoria had taken Lena and her brother, Charlie, into hiding. Suddenly she’d been swept away from the bright, glittering world she’d stood on the edge of. Instead she’d been thrown into the squalor of the East End and forced by circumstance to work her fingers to the bone just to put food on the table. She had never resented her sister for that fact, but she’d hated the circumstances. And now that she no longer had to work from dawn ‘til dusk or ration herself with food, she still found that she wasn’t quite happy.

She loved the Warren with the eccentric members of Blade’s adopted family but it was becoming abundantly clear that she had no place here. No future. Though she had a talent for clockwork and often pursued projects in her spare time for her old employer, Mr. Mandeville, she knew precisely what she wanted out of life.

A husband who loved her just as much as Blade loved her sister. At least four, fat, happy children who adored her, and a household of her very own in at least the fashionable end of town where it was safe.

The end of town where the man below had come from.

His voice seemed familiar and she had the sense she should know him. But what blue blood of the Echelon would dare come into Blade’s turf? Though it had been two years since he’d been knighted by the Queen, his distrust of the Echelon – and their distrust of him – had not lessened.

“You know why I agreed to the consultation,” Honoria muttered, stepping away form the man with a syringe full of blood.

Lena ducked back, but not all the way. She caught a glimpse of the man’s smooth-shaven jaw and firm mouth. He’d stripped his jacket off and wore only a shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his right arm to allow Honoria access to his veins.

“Because--”

“You saved my husband’s life,” she continued, in that abrupt oh-so-Honoria tone. “If you think there’s anything more to this, then you’re wrong.” Metal rasped against glass as she discharged the syringe into one of her vials. “Though you should have at least mentioned this earlier. Your skin’s quite ashen. People must have noticed.”

Lena could almost sympathise with the stranger. She’d been on the end of that tone many times over the years.

“Honor, I--”

“How long have you been injecting the silver nitrate for?”

“If you’d let me finish a sentence, I might be able to tell you,” he replied, in the most neutral tone of voice.

That he called her sister by the same name Lena did made her frown. That implied familiarity, perhaps more.

“My craving virus levels have been high for the last five years. I don’t know why. I’m barely twenty-nine.” At last a hint of frustration broke through in his voice. “I’ve been injecting the silver nitrate since it came on the market as a solution to bring my CV levels down.”

“It doesn’t work.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” The stranger snapped then swore under his breath as Honoria fell silent. “Your husband’s hair is getting darker. His skin too. I’m sure others have noticed but I’m possibly the only one who might suspect why the effects of the Fade seem to be reversing in him. You found your father’s diary, didn’t you? He found the cure? The cure for the craving virus?”

A diary that their father had died to protect. Lena froze, her nails digging into the tiles on the roof. Very few people knew that fact.

“Or did you have it all along?” The stranger’s voice had softened. A hint of anger stirred in it.

Honoria came back into view, her skirts sweeping angrily against her ankles. “I had it,” she replied, tipping her chin up so that the spill of inky dark hair framed her pale, heart-shaped face. “Though there is no cure.”

“Liar.” The man slid off the table and stepped closer, staring down at Honoria. “Blade was virtually on the edge of the Fade. Another few months and he would have started evolving into a vampire. Like I am.”

This time Lena caught a full view of his face. Leo Barrons, the Duke of Caine’s heir. Virtually one step below the Prince Consort himself.

Once, years ago, Lena’s father had worked for his. Lena had grown up in Caine House, until Vickers had stolen her father’s patronage away. Or at least… she couldn’t quite remember what had happened. She’d been too young.

“You’re not quite at that level, yet.” Honoria snapped back. “Your CV percentage is sixty-five. You still have a year or two.”

“Until I start stinking of rot,” he replied tightly, grabbing Honoria’s wrist. “Like he did.”

“Let me go.”

Barrons’s jaw clenched. “Is this how you’ll punish me? Make me suffer the way your father did? An eye for an eye. Do you think I deserve that?” Something pained shook him. “Blast it, Honoria. I never meant the damage I caused. I wanted a way to get back at him for what he’d done to me. I never thought that I would infect anyone else.”

“Well, you did,” Honoria shoved him back a step, looking furious. “And now Charlie’s a blue blood because of you--”

Lena gasped, then slapped a hand against her lips and ducked beneath the edge of the skylight. This man had infected her younger brother? Tears burned in her eyes. All of the months she and Honoria had spent fighting the disease, fighting to save Charlie before the unavoidable happened. Charlie had very nearly lost control and gone for one of them before Blade finished the transformation and taught him to control his blood urges.

After that, Charlie spent months avoiding them, as though he’d still been frightened to be alone with either of them. It was only recently that he could bring himself to be near Lena, where they’d once been as close as twins.

The bastard!

“Did you hear something?” Barrons asked.

“It’s probably Esme, finishing her chores or one of the servant drones,” Honoria muttered, instruments clanging against metal. “Nobody’s awake yet who can hear us. Blade’s still in bed. Where you should be.”

“I don’t sleep much any more.”

Honoria’s tone softened. Just a hint. “You do look like hell.”

“Thank you,” Barrons replied dryly. The very politeness of their tones seemed to echo in the air. As if both knew an argument had been narrowly avoided.

“Have you made a decision?” he asked. Fabric rustled, as though he was rolling down his sleeve. “About whether you’ll help me?”

“Of course I’ll help you,” Honoria replied, sounding weary. “A part of me will never forgive you for infecting father with the craving virus – for infecting Charlie – but I’m not about to stand by and watch you become a vampire.”

“You don’t know how relieved I am to hear it. How does… How does it work?”

“I told you it’s not a cure,” Honoria warned. “Not completely. But I want you to bring your thrall’s to me to be vaccinated against the craving. When you drink their blood, it will begin to counteract the virus’s effects on your body. Your CV level’s should drop – should, I warn you. It doesn’t seem to do anything for Charlie’s, though perhaps his levels weren’t high enough in the first place.” A pause, where Lena could almost hear Honoria frowning. “I don’t know enough about the disease. I only have three subjects for research, and it’s barely been two years.”

“But it worked for Blade.”

“Yes,” she replied. “It worked for Blade, though his CV levels seem to be holding stable now. Perhaps if I had more subjects to examine--”

“Don’t.”

The sharp word dropped into the conversation like a stone. Lena eased herself up again to catch a glimpse of the tableau below.

Barrons had grabbed Honoria by the arm, his body almost ruthlessly blocking her from sight.

“What are you--”

“Whatever you do,” he warned, “don’t let word of this get out.”

“It could help a lot of people,” Honoria replied. “The Echelon execute almost five blue blood’s a year for entering the Fade. Imagine--”

“Imagine what they’ll do to get their hands on that knowledge,” he cut in with a deadly soft voice.

“That’s what Blade said.”

“Whoever holds the cure, holds the power. There are men who would kill to control that. Or to control you. The only reason the Echelon hasn’t gone to war against Blade is because they’re not sure what the losses might be like. If they had any idea of what he has, of the cure, then they’ll burn Whitechapel to the ground and take you and your research under lock and key. They’ll stick you in a laboratory, Honor, and they’ll keep you there. You’ll never see your husband or your family again.”

The ashen colour of Honoria’s face matched Lena’s own. She couldn’t stop thinking of how many people in the Warren knew Honoria’s secret. Too many. Oh, Lena trusted them all, but there were some – like Charlie – who might not see the harm in spilling mention of it.

She had to warn him to keep his mouth shut. If he’d listen to her. Sixteen seemed to be an irritating age in young men. Especially cocky young blue bloods who could outmuscle most full-grown men these days.

Below her, Honoria took a deep breath. “I won’t breathe a word of it,” she murmured. “Come, I’ll see you to the door. Bring your thralls back here tomorrow at one o’clock, and I’ll inject them with the vaccination if they’re willing. Tell them it’s an inoculation against smallpox or something.”

“I will.”

The pair of them left the room below and Lena slowly sat up, the cool, ripe air of the rookery spilling around her.

What a discovery to make. She didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty for eavesdropping as Honoria never told her anything important, but she couldn’t help raking a shaky hand down her face.

Below her the door opened and Barrons stepped out into the brick yard at the back of the rookery. He was far enough away that Lena couldn’t hear what was said between him and someone on the stoop – Honoria no doubt.

Taking refuge behind a chimney, Lena worked a pebble-sized piece of brick loose and waited until he strode out into the street. Then, with an aim that would have done most young boys proud, she threw it directly at the back of his head.


Will Carver stalked along the streets with his hands shoved in his pockets, people eddying away from him as if he were surrounded by an invisible aura of violence. Wearing a scowl, he ignored most of them and tried to forget the itch under his skin.

An itch that an hour’s walk couldn’t scratch. Probably not even an afternoon’s session in Blade’s boxing saloon.

Ahead of him, a rum gent stepped out through the brick arch that led into the yard behind the Warren. Will stopped in his tracks as they both dodged each other. Barrons.

“A long time, Carver,” Barrons nodded to him with the slightest tilt of his head. He looked distracted and Will could smell blood and chemicals on him.

Honoria’s laboratory then. For a second he wondered if Blade knew. Then the thought dissolved. Of course his master knew. No doubt he’d encouraged it. Blade liked to meddle too much, and only Will knew of the strained relationship between Honoria and Barrons and the cause for it. Not that either of them knew that.

Dark eyes met his. “It seems I shall be coming back tomorrow,” Barrons replied. “Do you think I could bring the carriage through Ratcatcher Gate?”

“If you want,” Will replied, his lips twitching. His lordship didn’t like getting his boots dirty, if Will recalled. Though he would if required. That was one of the only reasons he tolerated the other man’s presence. That and the fact that Barrons didn’t speak to him like he was a piece of shit beneath his heel, like most blue bloods. He actually treated Will as if he were a man and not verwulfen. “Though it seems mighty charitable.”

“Charitable?”

“You bring your fancy carriage in here,” Will waved a hand to indicate the rookery. “And there won’t be much gilt left on it by the end of the visit.”

“Blade growing soft in his old age?” There was teasing glint in the other man’s eye that took the edge from the words.

Nobody mocked his master. But Barrons had helped saved Blade’s life and the pair of them had an odd relationship. Allies that competed in most matters. Or two cocks in the same yard, if one were to be more accurate.

“He’s granted you passage through the ‘Chapel,” Will corrected. “That ain’t mean you got his protection.”

The idea of being under Blade’s protection almost made the other man’s cheeks colour in indignation. Then he smiled. “You’re jesting me.”

It wasn’t a question. Will shrugged, feeling a smile creep across his face. “Tomorrow you can walk. Same as any other gent here.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Barrons replied.

Turning around, Will started through the arch. He caught a flash of yellow skirts out of the corner of his vision and looked up at the roof, his body stiffening instinctively. Hell. Then a piece of brick whistled past.

“Barrons!” he snapped.

Both of them spun, Barrons snatching the piece of brick out of the air, his stance defensive. Will instantly recognised him as who knew how to fight, despite his fancy black velvet frock coat and the glittering ruby rings on his fingers.

Barrons examined the brick piece, tension slowly ebbing out of his shoulders as he realised nothing else had followed it. “Someone who doesn’t like blue bloods.” His gaze raked the streets as he tossed the brick piece up and down in his hand. An eerie flash of darkness swept through his eyes. A hint of the predator within.

“Oh, she don’t mind blue bloods,” Will muttered, snatching the bit of brick mid-air. “One might say she prefers ‘em.”

Their eyes met, Barrons frowning. “I don’t--”

“Lena,” Will clarified, glancing up again. Nobody else wore bloody printed yellow cotton here. Nor did they have a penchant for scrambling about on the roof. Though he’d have thought her more likely to swoon at Barrons’s bloody feet than heave a rock at him.

Barrons obviously thought the same. “Why would she throw something at me?”

“Don’t know. Maybe the rookery’s rubbin’ off on her.” His fist clenched around the brick. “But I’ll deal with it.”

“Maybe I should?”

Will shook his head. “Don’t go stirrin’ the anthill when you only just got invited back in. I’ll have a chat with her, find out what’s going on in that pretty little head o’ hers.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “Besides, you ought to get goin’. Them in the City will be stirrin’ now. Wouldn’t do to have anybody guess where you been spendin’ your afternoon.”

“No,” Barrons agreed softly. “It wouldn’t.” He nodded. “My thanks. I’ll see you on the morrow.”

Then he turned and strode down the street, leaving Will with a pretty little problem to deal with.

No avoiding her now.