The breath went out of him. “Dangerous supposition, Mrs. Carver.”
“Arresting the wife of the verwulfen ambassador is bound to incite tension between Scandinavia and Britain. I’m trying to cooperate as much as I can.”
She knew the rules of society well. The prince consort wouldn’t stand to have his new treaty smashed apart by Lynch. He wanted Mercury, but there were some prices he wouldn’t pay.
“You’re trying to protect someone. The interesting question is who. And why.”
“You know who,” she replied. “I’m prepared to reveal certain sensitive information, as long as I have your word not to move against me or my husband.”
“That depends on the information revealed.”
“Then I’m not inclined to be obliging.”
Lynch stepped in front of her. “I like your husband. Don’t force me to do something I don’t wish to.”
Mrs. Carver stared up at him for a long moment, searching his gaze. “You smell like desperation, sir,” she finally said. “Why?”
Lynch took a deep breath, trying to still the tension radiating off him. If Mrs. Carver—newly a verwulfen— could recognize his distress, then it must be evident indeed. “If I don’t get my hands on Mercury soon, then I fear the prince consort will resort to desperate measures.”
“You don’t think he’d send out the metaljackets in force?”
“I don’t know.” Blunt words but true. “He’s not acting entirely rational at the moment.”
Mrs. Carver sighed. “If I knew anything at all, I might suspect that what you were searching for can be found in Undertown.” She looked up. “I can’t say any more than that. I won’t.”
Lynch grabbed her arm as she turned to go, desperation driving him. “You know who she is.”
“She’s no friend of mine, though I wouldn’t wish her ill.” Mrs. Carver’s fingers curled over his own, the strength of her grip belying her small stature. “I have told you what I can, Sir Jasper. Though I fear you are hunting for the wrong person. You should be hunting for a group of escaped mechs.”
“The woman,” he snapped. “Who is she? Give me something, anything… A name?”
Mrs. Carver pried one of his fingers loose. The sudden blaze of bronze in her eyes warned him. “I am terribly sorry for your predicament, sir. But I have given my word and I won’t betray it. That is all I can tell you. Now get your hands off me before I am forced to call Max.”
Lynch stared through her for a second more then let her go. She staggered slightly, gave him a curt look, then straightened her skirts.
“War is coming, Mrs. Carver.”
“War’s already here,” she replied bluntly, then turned toward the park gate and hurried away.
Rosalind paced the hallway, clenching and unclenching her fists. The longer she’d waited for Lynch, the more she’d begun to question herself. In the heat of the moment, all she’d wanted was him. It was only after, as her body slowly cooled, that she realized how dangerous events had become.
Losing her head like that, losing control of the game… If she wasn’t careful she would find herself in deep water.
She’d had to get away.
Twitching aside the curtains, she glanced into the street. No one had followed her home. Not that she expected them to, but still… Today’s sudden interrogation made her wary. Did he suspect something?
Was his curiosity satisfied? She knew hers wasn’t.
“Have we got a problem?” Ingrid’s husky voice startled her.
Rosalind’s gaze jerked up as the other woman took a stealthy step into the room. “Are you trying to catch me unawares?”
“It’s been remarkably easy of late. You need to get your mind off whatever’s distracting you before Jack notices.”
She stared at her friend.
“You smell like a man’s cologne.” Ingrid folded her arms across her chest as if daring Rosalind to reply.
“Of course I do. I work in a whole building full of them.” Lifting her arm she sniffed at herself. “It’s most likely Garrett.” She ignored the way Ingrid’s expression didn’t change. Not fooled one bit. “No news?”
“No sign of Jeremy,” Ingrid replied.
Restlessness itched down her spine. Rosalind started working on her gloves, frowning worriedly. “I need to push plans. Lynch has nothing in his study about Jeremy or the mechs—the dratted man keeps it all in his head.”
“Then you may as well abort the mission.”
“No.” She dropped her glove on one of the frilly little table covers that haunted the room. Every inch of space was taken up with knickknacks and lamps and lace doilies. “I’m learning too much and I’m in the perfect position to hear the latest news from the Echelon.”
“And if he discovers you?”
“He won’t,” Rosalind affirmed.
Ingrid growled under her breath. “So what next?”
Rosalind paused by the liquor cabinet and unstoppered a decanter of whiskey. She poured the pair of them a generous shot. “Lynch needs to find the humanists who bombed the tower.”
“Hardly news.”
“So I’m going to point him toward the mechs. I think it’s time Mordecai had a taste of what it’s like to look over your shoulder.”
Ingrid took her glass and clinked it against Rosalind’s. “I’ll drink to that.” She threw the glass back. “How do you propose to do that without blowing your cover?”
Rosalind swirled the contents of her glass in the lamplight, watching the play of light. Exhilaration beat in her breast and lower—a longing unfulfilled. “I’m not. Mercury is.”
Time to take a risk.
And time to assuage the restless ache inside her. She threw the whiskey back, feeling it burn all the way through her.
Feeling thwarted, Lynch sank under the waters in the pump room, the biting hot bringing a flush of warmth to his flesh. Scraping his hands over his tired face, he surfaced, blinking through the water droplets.
Steam lingered on the surface of the bathing pool and clung to the stone pillars that supported the heavy domed ceiling. The drone of the enormous furnaces and the pumps that drove water throughout the building echoed in the walls. Years ago, Fitz had taken one look at the plumbing and devised a system of hot water that not only supplied the entire guild but ran heated pipes through the stone floors too; the by-product of that bit of genius was this. The heat from the furnaces had to go somewhere, Fitz had said. Why not use it for a bathing room, much like the ones the Romans built centuries ago?
If there was one indulgence Lynch owned, it was this.
Easing against the edge of the pool, he shut his eyes and let his body float. His cold blood made him crave the heat like one of the mythical dragons the Chinese Empire spoke of.
The steady throb of the pump engines filled the room, vibrating against his skin. Lynch let his mind float free, trying to forget about the afternoon and the incident with Mrs. Marberry. She hadn’t been here when he returned and guilt added a sour flavor to his mouth. Did she regret what had happened? Perhaps it was for the best. He couldn’t imagine what he was going to say to her on the morrow. Seducing his own employee…
Water rippled against his chest, gentle little waves that lapped at his skin. Lynch scraped his wet hair back and then froze.
There was nothing to stir the water but his own body.
