Heart of Iron

Ten

Five days later, Lena popped a cherry in her mouth and nibbled on it, watching as Will paced the room. He’d spent the morning being fitted for a new wardrobe with Leo. Though she was in charge of introducing him to the Echelon, there were some events she wasn’t allowed to oversee.

A pity, she thought, running her gaze across his broad shoulders.

“Back straight,” she called, as she lounged on the daybed in Leo’s sitting room. “Do try and walk as if you’re out for a stroll, rather than stalking some footpad through the alleys.”

She couldn’t deny his grace of movement was appealing, but there was something dangerous about the way he moved. Even when he was still, he looked ready to pounce.

Will shot her a dark look. “I ain’t gonna mince around like one of them puff-shirted vultures. No matter how many times you make me do this.”

Lena sat up. This was the fourth lesson they’d had and he was fighting her at every turn. The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t do this; the problem was that he didn’t give a damn about the rules of etiquette. “Once more,” she said, daring him to disobey.

Will crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t see the point.”

“You never do. The point is that I told you to do it. And you agreed to obey me. I know this world. You don’t. And right now, you look like some rookery bruiser prepared to smash someone’s head in.”

Visibly grinding his teeth together, he turned and stalked back toward the window.

Lena clapped a hand to her eyes, restraining herself from a sigh. This was going to be a long afternoon. “Tell me, how many sources of power are there in the Echelon?”

“The Council o’ Dukes make all the decisions.”

“And who sits on the Council?”

“The seven heads o’ the great Houses and the prince consort.”

“Who can overrule their vote?”

“Technic’ly the queen, through Right of Regency,” he retorted, turning on his heel with a flourish that almost reminded her of Blade. “Though she speaks with the prince consort’s voice.”

The words could have been her own. Despite his lack of education, Will could parrot things back at her verbatim.

“How do you remember all of this?” So far he hadn’t missed a single question, though when she lectured him on the power plays of the Echelon she’d been certain he was paying her no mind.

“Blade taught me. We don’t write things down in the warren. So we gotta remember it all. Who owes us some tin, how much, who’s paid, street addresses, names, who’s been beatin’ his moll up…” He shrugged. “Ain’t hard.”

Will sauntered back toward her. He’d stripped his coat off, as he often did when he was indoors. A gray tweed waistcoat sculpted the broad planes of his chest and he’d rolled his sleeves up again. On the inside of his wrist was a tattoo of a pair of crossed daggers. Blade’s mark. A tattoo all of his Reaver’s gang wore.

“You’ll have to stop doing that,” she noted. “Sleeves remain down.” And coat remains on. But she was enjoying the view enough not to mention it. Taking another cherry, she twirled the stem off it and slid it between her lips.

His gaze lingered on her mouth. “What next? We’ve covered bowin’ and scrapin’, mincin’ about, who I need to be wary of, who holds the power, who doesn’t, what I oughta wear…”

Lena bit through the plump, juicy flesh and swallowed. “Dancing.”

“Not more dancin’.” He knelt on the edge of the daybed and reached for one of the cherries. “We’ve already done that.”

With Mrs. Wade watching on like a disapproving mama. Now that they were alone… “Definitely more dancing.”

Tugging out a pair of cherries, he leaned forward, dangling them over her lips. “You’re doin’ this to torture me.”

Lena bit into one of them and tugged it free with her teeth. “Absolutely.”

Lifting the other to his own mouth, he chewed in a considering manner. “Later,” he said. “All this prancin’ about’s borin’ me and I ain’t been to sleep yet.”

“I’m so sorry my company’s wearying you.”

Leaning back on his hand, he slid her feet up so he could sit properly. He did look tired, the scrape of his stubble shadowing his jaw and his eyes darker than usual. “It ain’t your company. Last night someone decided to torch a shop Blade’s offered his protection to. Had to find ’em. Some drunk fool who nearly shat himself when he saw us. So gin-soaked he hadn’t even seen the pair of crossed daggers carved into the door.”

“Fine,” she said, sitting up. “Perhaps we’ll save the dancing for later.”

“No more lecturin’ either.”

Lena’s lips firmed. “No dancing. No instruction. Perhaps you’d find a demonstration better?”

“Definitely.”

With a little smile, she shifted to her knees. The door remained open and every so often Mrs. Wade popped her head in, but for the moment they were alone. And she felt like teaching him a lesson about finding her company wearying.

“Tell me,” she murmured. “How does a woman demonstrate her availability as a potential thrall?”

“Ain’t the foggiest.”

Dragging her skirts behind her, Lena stood and crossed to the cherry bowl, adding an extra little swish to her stride. Picking up the gilded bowl, she settled beside him, her emerald skirts brushing his thighs. It was finer than what she usually wore for day dress, but he would never know that.

Will tensed. She’d never before realized how much coiled power his muscular frame held, but it was almost vibrating off him.

“She wears white, to begin with,” Lena said, tugging another cherry out of the bowl. “But only during the evening, for it’s considered passé during the day. Cherry?”

He stared at her as she lifted it to his lips. For a moment she wasn’t sure he would take it from her, but then he reached out and bit into the sweet fruit, vibrant red juice coloring his lips.

“Would you do this?” he asked thickly. “For a blue blood?”

Lena glanced up from beneath her lashes. Then licked the spilled juice from her fingers. “They’d consider me fast. That’s a dangerous reputation for a debutante.”

His lashes lowered, shuttering those beautiful eyes. “So this is a game you’re playin’? With me?”

“It’s all games,” she replied, giving a little shrug. Watching the color of his eyes change, she lifted another cherry toward his lips. “I’m not putting you to sleep, am I?”

Will caught her wrist. “No.”

Taking the cherry from her trapped hand, she bit into it. “Good.” Leaning closer, she gestured to her throat, trailing her fingers lightly across the skin there. “There are certain points on a woman’s body that she reveals if she’s shopping for a patron. Covering them means she’s not interested.

“The throat, for example.” Arching her neck, she presented the smooth skin to him with languid grace. “No debutante wears a necklace or choker unless she’s in the process of signing a contract.”

Will’s pupils flared, his gaze dropping over her throat and lower, to her collarbone and the upthrust of her breasts. The gown was daring, even for her. The type of thing she’d only wear for him.

“Where else?” The words were soft, but they buffeted her skin, raised a shiver.

His eyes were a dare.

Leaning closer, she presented the interior of her wrist to him. The soft creamy skin, veins pulsing blue beneath it. “Here.” Their eyes met. “Do you remember how you greet a woman?”

He took her hand by reflex, but she kept her wrist presented up, toward him. Will stilled, uncertainty tightening the hard planes of his face.

“You press your lips to the back of her hand,” she whispered, lifting her wrist toward him. “For a woman to signify her interest, she presents her wrist instead.”

His head lowered, his lips brushing against the delicate inner skin of her wrist. A cool caress. Barely a ghost of sensation. The prickle of his stubble rasped through her, her nipples pressing hard against the stiff black lace of her corset. Lena pressed her tongue against her teeth to stifle a gasp.

“If a blue blood is interested, he lingers,” she murmured. “Perhaps a trace of his tongue.”

Will lowered his head again, his eyes watching her. Lena’s lips parted as his mouth covered her wrist, suckling the soft flesh. The wet rasp of his tongue seemed to touch her deep inside and she pressed her thighs together, feeling it there, feeling the chafe of her drawers.

“That,” she whispered, “is rather provocative for a blue blood.”

Will’s mouth broke from her skin, his warm breath cooling the wetness. Lena’s heart thundered behind the constriction of her corset. What was he doing to her? How had he turned the tables so deftly? She couldn’t bear it.

His hand was warm on hers, a blaze of welcoming heat. A considering look entered his eyes. “How often do you present your wrist?”

“Why?” She shifted.

The amber in his irises flared. “Tell me.”

The possessive quality of his voice thrilled her. “What does it matter?”

“Tell me.” His grasp on her hand tightened.

“Once,” she admitted. “I was young and Lord Ramsay was handsome. I learned my lesson, however. I’ve not offered it since. Not until now.”

“I’m not interested in your blood.”

“Then what are you interested in?” Lena leaned forward, knowing that her bodice gaped and her curls tumbled around her face.

A long breathless moment. Will leaned toward her unconsciously, as if some invisible force drew him. Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his fingers against her bodice, lightly stroking the silk as if memorizing the texture. The touch sparked through her and she leaned against it, forcing his hand against her aching nipples. That was where she wanted to be touched. There.

Every little hair on her body stiffened. A sudden yearning sprang to life, a desperate need to have his hands on her. Lena leaned forward, her hand sliding over his thigh, feeling the corded power in the bunched muscles, her face tilting toward his…

Opening his mouth, Will tried to say something, but the words died in a harsh growl. “Damn it, Lena.” His gaze skittered away. He pushed her firmly away and sat back, arms spread over the back of the daybed. “Learnin’ how to do what I’m here for. That’s what interests me.”

Just like that, she’d lost him. Confusion and frustration yawned like a gaping pit within her. Unfulfilled need. She’d never had any trouble wrapping men around her fingers, but Will constantly defied her.

She could barely breathe. Gave it one last attempt. “Of course, as with the throat, a covered wrist has different meanings also.” Gesturing to her gloves on the table. “You’ll notice I wear full-length for evening or gloves that cover my wrists quite decently.”

“As you should,” he muttered.

She shot him a glance, but his expression was flat, unreadable. He leaned his elbows on his knees and glared stonily at her.

“A lady wearing half gloves is another matter. It bares the wrist to a blue blood’s lips. A sure sign that she’s available, perhaps even a little fast.”

“And bare wrists?”

“Never. Only a patron sees a woman with bare wrists. It’s considered highly personal.”

“Yet you ain’t wearin’ them now.”

“You said yourself you’re not interested in my blood.”

His expression darkened. Lena leaned against the back of the daybed, her fingers toying with his sleeve. “You might be more interested in the distinction between blood rights and rights of the flesh,” she murmured.

The muscles in his arm coiled. “What’s that mean?”

“A woman offers her blood rights to her patron when she becomes his thrall in exchange for protection and provision. Her flesh rights are another matter. That’s one of the mistakes the middle class makes. They assume a patron may take his thrall to bed as well as drink from her body.”

Will’s gaze shot to hers.

“Not unless she agrees,” she added softly, knowing she was treading dangerous ground. “Her flesh rights are hers to give freely. Perhaps this is more to your area of interest?” Leaning closer, she licked her lips, watched his gaze drop to them. “Do you crave flesh, Will?”

“Are you offerin’ it?” His voice was harsh. “Cause we’ve a word for that, where I come from.” Jerking away from her, he found his feet as if hunted.

“You’re confusing the two,” she replied. “Flesh rights are given freely. For nothing more than the cost of pleasure.”

Hot color burnished Will’s cheeks. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And how does a patron know if they’re bein’ offered?”

Lena arched a brow. Stroked her finger across the smooth arch of her collarbone. “He finds her naked in his bed.”

The bold statement drew a hiss from him. For a moment she was wondering if he pictured it. The way she was. The thought sent a thrill through her.

“It’s not generally spoken of,” Lena continued, “but as well as lessons in etiquette and sewing and music, a young woman is often…given hints…in how to please a man, should she decide to offer him her flesh rights.”

Not that she’d learned much before her father was murdered and she was dragged to Whitechapel. But he didn’t need to know that.

His eyes narrowed. “I’m fairly sure you shouldn’t be speakin’ o’ this with a man who ain’t your patron.”

“True.” Another shrug, displaying the smooth creamy skin of her shoulder. “I’m just teasing.”

“More games,” he said in disgust. Hands clasped behind him, he paced the small rug in front of her. “Perhaps you need a lesson in what a man’d do in my world, were a women so bold with him.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” It was a statement, not a challenge. She knew how far she could push him. Knew he’d back away the moment she turned the game sexual.

Will turned around. Met her gaze. “Wouldn’t I?”

He leaned forward, resting his knuckles on either side of her hips. One knee pressed between her legs, parting her thighs and pinning her skirts. Lena froze as he reached out and captured a lock of the dark hair that tumbled over her shoulder. “All these games you play… I wonder what you’d do if I played ’em back?”

Excitement raced through her veins. He’d never flirted back before. “Don’t tell me I’m getting under your skin?” she whispered.

“On me nerves, more like it.” His fingers gently rubbed her hair. Then sank into the pile of curls prettily knotted at the base of her nape. It drew a gasp from her lips as he tilted her face toward his. Their breath mingled. Uncomfortably close.

And Lena was aware that she was pinned, trapped neatly beneath him. Catching a handful of his shirt, she stared up at him. His gaze was hard, almost cruel. Suddenly she didn’t like this game anymore.

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“Why? Ain’t this what you want? Me hands on your body? Ain’t that what you been playin’ at this last hour? Or have I pushed the boundaries? Either say what you mean, Lena. Or I’ll take this little game of yours where you don’t mean to take it.”

One word. Yes. One word and he’d do it. But as she met the steely look in those extraordinary eyes, she realized he wasn’t playing. When had this become more than a game? More than a light flirtation?

I’ll stake a hundred pounds that you’re wrong, Adele’s voice whispered in her head. That he’ll kiss you next time.

Yes? Or no? Lena’s heart hammered in her chest. She’d kissed him once. A game, nothing more. But his message now was very clear. Will wouldn’t stand for any more games. And a part of her was afraid to play for real.

She wasn’t that brave. Because if it meant nothing to him, if he used her and then discarded her without a care, she suddenly realized that it would matter. To her.

“No,” she whispered.

Will’s gaze shuttered. “No more of this then. I’ve had enough games. Enough of these lessons for the day. Most of it’s useless anyway.” He let her go and straightened.

That drew her ire. She still felt shaky, surreal. As if the world had turned on its axis and she couldn’t quite keep up. “It’s not useless. I’m trying to help you, yet you don’t give a damn about anything I’m saying.”

“The Echelon ain’t gonna accept me anyway. They want a beast, and I’ll give ’em one.” A derisive look as he unrolled his sleeves.

Lena struggled to sit up. Her skirts were awry. So too her emotions. Will had taken their little game and turned it on its head. He’d never dared respond before. Years of pricking at him, needling him whilst he ignored her… She’d thought that was the worst he could do—to pretend she didn’t exist—but it wasn’t. The worst thing he could do was play back, to utterly destroy her defenses and then stand here unrolling his sleeves as though the moment hadn’t bothered him half as much as her.

“Then there’s no point to these lessons,” she found herself saying. Amazing how her voice barely trembled.

Will froze, halfway through one sleeve.

“No point,” she whispered, “and therefore no reason for you to continue coming here. Or escorting me in society.”

She could see the thought churning in his eyes. “No,” he said gruffly. “No. I’ll continue with it.”

“Why should I waste my time?” She managed to gather herself to her feet, resettling her skirts and smoothing her bodice. A swift glance in the mirror showed her hair tumbling free of its pins. She fixed them ruthlessly, feeling his eyes on her.

Her skin pricked. Damn him.

“You won’t listen to anything I say, you deride all of the rules of society and mock my efforts,” she continued, trying to ignore the feeling. Her skin still felt too small, itchy. “Do you know the worst thing, Will? The worst thing is that they see you as a beast and you let them.” She turned then, met his gaze. “You do everything in your power to live up to the image, the reputation, and then you scorn them for sneering down at you.”

Heat flared in his gaze. He took a step toward her. “That reputation might be all as keeps us safe,” he snarled. “Besides, I’m verwulfen. They ain’t ever gonna see me as anythin’ else.”

“And neither will you!”

The outburst shocked both of them. Lena let out her breath, staring at him defiantly. “You call yourself a beast, Will, because you believe it. A part of you thinks you’re nothing better than what they claim.” Taking a shuddery breath, she continued. “You’re fighting me at every step of these lessons because you hate the Echelon, but I’m not only trying to help you learn to fit in, I’m trying to show you another way to live.”

Silence quivered in the air between them. Will stared at her in shock, instead of anger. Encouraged, Lena took a step toward him.

“Take my lessons,” she whispered. “Use them to be who you want to be. Force the Echelon to look you in the eye. Dare them to treat you as a man. A dangerous man, if need be, but not…not an animal.”

He looked away, as if the truth of her words had struck him a blow. Then his eyes narrowed. “And what of you?”

“What of me?”

“How will you treat me?”

Lena shook her head, her mouth working silently. “I’m not quite sure I—”

His expression hardened. “You know what they’ll say. What they’ll think when they see you with me. Will you play along? Will you laugh behind your hand with ’em, to assure your own place in their world ain’t at risk? Or will you risk their censure? Risk everythin’ to prove the worth of your words? For there’ll be a cost to this, you mark me words. And you’ll be the one as pays it.”

She stared up at him, the nearness of his body unnerving her. Not once had she thought of the cost to herself of squiring him about. To be seen with him, with a verwulfen, was tantamount to social suicide.

“Aye,” he murmured. “Thought so.” Reaching out he cupped her cheek, turning her face up toward his. “You can play games with me, Lena, because here, no one can see. Well, I’m tired of bein’ your little toy. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am lettin’ others dictate how I see meself. But for all your brave words, so do you.”

The words were a blow. For all her hatred of the Echelon, she’d conformed to their rules as surely as he had. She’d let them define who she was. What she thought. What she dared to do.

Her very own cage.

Will let her face go then stepped back. “You never thought of it, did you?” His lips curled in a bitter smile and he grabbed his coat off the table, slinging it over his shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you at the official presentation.” With a short nod in her direction, he started for the door. “Then we’ll see if your words are worth anythin’.”

***

Two days later, Will leaned against a brick wall, examining the enormous white tower that speared halfway to the heavens. The alabaster marble gleamed even in the dismal afternoon rain, an ever-present reminder of the power of the Echelon. Tomorrow night they’d host the official presentation ball there, once the Scandinavian delegate arrived. He’d be required to put on his best manners and charm, try to entice the Scandinavians into signing the treaty. A Herculean task that made his palms wet.

What if he failed?

He’d never realized how much a part of him longed for the respectability of being a free man. No price on his head, able to come and go as he pleased without watching over his shoulder. Able to do anything he wanted…be anything he wanted…without resigning himself to the fact that he was just hired muscle.

He didn’t bother to think of it much, but Lena’s words the other day were chasing around and around inside his head. He owed Blade the world, but a part of him chafed at the constrictiveness of his life. Something hungry and yearning lurked inside his heart and he didn’t know what it was or how to fix it.

His eyes narrowed as a gilded steam carriage pulled up in front of the tower gates, thick coal smoke shooting from its exhaust. He’d tracked it from Mayfair, where he’d been keeping watch over Barrons’s mansion all morning. The rain helped hide him and the footmen never looked around. Fools all. It just served to prove how easily Colchester could get at her if he wanted.

A footman opened the door and a slender hand appeared, resting on the footman’s. Skirts the color of crushed rose petals swept into view, then Lena alighted, peering up at the tower nervously.

The sight of her never failed to take his breath. Suddenly the unknown need, the hunger within him, had a name and face.

And that troubled him more than the entire Echelon combined.

You can’t have her.

She was human and he verwulfen. He could never be in her bed without risking her life, risking infecting her with the loupe. Something he shouldn’t have to remind himself of.

With a scowl Will crossed his arms over his chest and settled in to wait. He couldn’t guard her within the Ivory Tower and that made the skin on the back of his neck rise. He would just have to trust that Lena would be safe.

The alternative was unthinkable.

***

Lena glanced over her shoulder as she stroked the raven’s glossy feather. The rookery at the top of Crowe Tower was full of squawking cages the Echelon had once used to send messages. Now, with the invention of pneumatic tubes and radio frequency, there was no need for them, but the ravens were tradition. To not see them circling the very tip of the tower would seem strange indeed.

And people still used them occasionally. It had become fashionable for blue bloods and young debutantes to send each other secret messages. To get a raven meant considerably more than flowers these days.

Finding the ugly old bird she knew and recognized, she slipped open its cage and coaxed it onto her wrist. Not always as accurate as a homing pigeon, if a crow was trained properly it could find the house it had been bred in. Then a servant would return it to the tower for its next message.

There was no coat of arms bound to this crow’s cage; she had no way of knowing who it belonged to.

A steel thong bound its left leg, so she slipped the small leather-bound tube out of her cleavage and secured it tightly. She hadn’t had a chance to send the message Mr. Mandeville had given her yet. Too many visits to the rookery might just arouse suspicion and it had taken days of deliberation before she’d decided to send it at all.

This was the last one until she could speak to Mercury.

Glancing over her shoulder, she carried it to the open clock that dominated the room. The heavy bronze clock face at the top of the tower drew all eyes, cold wind streaming in through its open facets. The steady tick of the second hand slid past her face as she lifted the raven and bid it into the air.

The Ivory Tower soared in front of her. Crowe Tower was one of four smaller towers that surrounded the massive keep. Her raven spiraled up, circling the gleaming white tower before vanishing over a nearby abandoned cathedral.

Her duty done, Lena turned for the stairs, gliding between the wooden cages. She’d tried to track the raven once with a spyglass but knew only that it headed west a little distance before spiraling down.

Mayfair or Kensington, she suspected.

Which meant her contact was highly entrenched in the Echelon. A servant perhaps? Even a highly placed thrall? Someone with access to the Echelon’s secrets. From the information they passed on, they almost had to be close to the Council of Dukes itself.

In the next day or two an answering raven would scratch at her window with a note to deliver to Mandeville. Leo presumed she had a beau.

Closing the heavy timber door to the rookery, she latched it, then turned. A flash of black silk swept across her vision and someone yanked her back against their body, the sharp edge of a knife pressing lightly against her carotid.

“Don’t move,” came the hoarse whisper.

Lena froze, her heart leaping into her throat. Had someone followed her? Did they know what she’d just sent?

“What face does death wear?” It could have been male or female, she couldn’t tell. But she recognized the words. A sign of another humanist.

“A pale one,” she whispered.

The knife edge eased. But didn’t vanish.

“The Scandinavian delegation arrives tomorrow,” the voice said. “I want you to destroy any chance that they’ll sign the treaty.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said. “I’m done with this. I’ve spoken to Mandeville.”

The knife edge tightened and Lena arched back, swallowing hard. Whoever held her was taller than her, but not overwhelmingly.

“You’re done with this when Mercury says you are.” Cold voice, cruel hands.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath. “Are you Mercury?”

There was a long moment of silence. “I pass along Mercury’s orders.”

“How do I stop the treaty? I don’t know—”

“The Beast,” the voice whispered. “Use him.”

Lena ground her teeth together. “No.”

The sharp retort echoed in the stone corridor. The hand around her waist slid away. “Perhaps this will change your mind?”

Something metal and angular was shoved into her hand. Lena lifted it just enough to see, her heart stuttering when she realized what it was.

One of Charlie’s clockwork soldiers. She’d made it herself. The last time she’d seen it, it had been on his shelf.

In his bedroom.

“Destroy the treaty.” The whisper was harsh. “Or else I’ll take more than his toys.”

Then the pressure vanished from her throat and she staggered forward as liquid footsteps darted away down the corridor.

The only glimpse she caught of the humanist was of a black, swirling cape. But one thing caught her attention; no human could move that quickly.

It had been a blue blood.