My Lady Quicksilver

What was he doing here? Her stomach twisted itself in knots as she mentally raked her attire. She wore nothing of Mercury’s and she’d liberally sprayed herself with perfume before leaving her home. Unless the imprint of what had happened in the steamy bathing room beneath the guild had left some sort of invisible mark—a scarlet letter painted against her forehead.

Had he followed her from the guild? She was rarely careless, but she knew her head had not been in a clear space of mind. Instead, frustration and sexual desire had raked through her, driving her half-mad with impatience. She’d had to get out of there before she marched back in and demanded her dues. This was twice now he’d left her on the edge, her body thrumming with unfulfilled need.

I don’t need to chase you… You’ll come back to me.

He was right. Even now her body betrayed her, fierce hunger beating in her breast as she eyed that hard, muscular frame—a body she knew almost every inch of now.

“Do you know who I am?” Lynch asked quietly.

“Ye-es.” A hoarse reply. The scent of urine filled the air. “Please—”

“Keep your mouth shut.” Lynch’s voice was almost unrecognizable, almost metallic. A knife appeared in his other hand and he pressed the sharp edge to the man’s throat and leaned on it just enough to break the skin. “This woman is under my protection, do you understand?”

Those piggy eyes widened and the butcher made a whimpering sound that could have been assent. Rosalind took a nervous step back. The demon rode him hard tonight. Her hand slid into her pocket and gripped the hilt of the pistol strapped to her thigh. Then let go. She didn’t quite know what to do.

“If you ever come near her again, I’ll cut your throat,” Lynch whispered. “And nobody will ever find the body.” His gaze dropped as the knife moved an inch, slicing through skin like it was paper. Blood slid between the rolls of the butcher’s chin. “Her lease is free for six months, do you understand? And all the other women who rent off you—you don’t touch them either.” He leaned close, menace radiating from him. “Don’t ever think I won’t have someone watching.”

“No, sir,” the butcher gasped, swallowing against the blade.

Another rasp of the knife. Rosalind watched in morbid fascination as Lynch sliced the man from ear to ear, the pressure just firm enough to part the skin. The butcher was barely even bleeding but he’d remember it. And when he looked in the mirror in the morning to shave, he’d see evidence of this night.

Lynch shoved away from him and the man tumbled to the cobbles, crying in great, racking sobs. “Go,” he said coldly, wiping the edge of the knife against his breeches. “Before I change my mind and have you arrested for breaking curfew.”

A quick scramble on the cobbles, then the butcher staggered past her, so frightened he didn’t even seem to see her. Rosalind pressed back against the bricks to avoid him, then slowly looked up.

Lynch breathed hard, staring down at his gloved hands. He closed his eyes, his entire body trembling.

Something was wrong. Rosalind wet her lips and pushed away from the building.

“Are you all right?” she whispered. He hadn’t followed her. He couldn’t have—or else he wouldn’t have stayed his hand with just the butcher. This was pure chance that their paths had crossed.

“No.” Hoarse words. He reached out and splayed a hand over the pitted brickwork. The very preciseness of his movements made her still, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting. She’d seen this before in Balfour.

This wasn’t the man she knew; his hunger was in ascendancy, Lynch holding on to it by the thinnest of leashes.

“What are you doing out?” he asked harshly. “It’s martial law. I should damned well arrest you.”

“I was looking for my brother,” she said, a pang of sadness twisting through her. “He’s not come home yet.”

The words almost bought tears to her eyes. She was holding on to sanity herself by the slightest grip. Every day only tightened the knot inside her heart, where Jeremy belonged. No matter how busy she kept herself, the quiet moments still crept up, where she couldn’t help but dwell on her growing sense of loss.

Still no sign of him… She couldn’t give up. She wouldn’t… But why couldn’t she find him?

Lynch turned black eyes on her, the irises completely obliterated by darkness. “How often has that man harassed you? Has he ever—”

“No,” she hastened to assure him. “He hasn’t dared before. I came across him on the way home and he’d been drinking—” She shook her head. “And I have my pistol. For men like that.”

Lynch pushed away from the wall. “Then why didn’t you draw it?”

Rosalind was tempted to back away but didn’t dare. “I didn’t think I needed to. I was in control.”

“It didn’t sound like it.”

She gaped for words, not understanding the change in him. His anger was so fierce she could almost feel it on her skin. “Well. I don’t think I shall have to be concerned in the future. Word will spread after that little performance.”

He grabbed her arm. “I would force you to stay at the guild, but I don’t think that wise. I’ll set a man to watch over you instead.”

The closeness of his body set her on fire, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t quite forget the feel of those clever fingers between her thighs and the rasp of his teeth against her throat. Concentrating was hard, but she would not be undone like she had been in the bathing room. “No,” she blurted. The worst thing possible. “That’s quite all right. I don’t need a Nighthawk on my doorstep.” Then she frowned. “And why don’t you want me staying at the guild? I thought…after this afternoon—?”

His gaze lowered, but he wasn’t staring at her breasts as the butcher had. “This afternoon was a mistake,” he said gently but firmly. “I should never have taken such liberties and I beg your forgiveness.” He met her gaze then. The black was fading, but the implacability of his resolve was not. “It won’t happen again, Rosa. It can’t.”

She should never have provoked it in the first place. Yet her heart clenched at his words, a dangerous sense of…something…filling her. Disappointment?

“Why?” she blurted recklessly.

Lynch seemed to withdraw into himself as if he were putting up walls. “You’re my secretary,” he said, “and I your employer. I would be taking advantage.”

“I didn’t mind,” she murmured. “I wanted what happened—”

“I kissed another woman tonight,” he said bluntly. “You should know that.”

She’d known. Of course she’d known. Yet the way he threw it in her face actually hurt. She could feel the heat draining from her skin, her heart suddenly pounding sharply in her ears. How ridiculous… To feel such jealousy over what was essentially herself.

“Why?” she whispered.

Lynch drew away, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he snapped. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“Is she… Is she someone you know?” It seemed ridiculous to ask, but she was suddenly desperate to know what he truly thought about her. Or about Rosa Marberry.

Anger filled her. She wasn’t Rosa Marberry. The woman was just a role. Yet it felt real. A tiny little part of her wanted to be Rosa Marberry. Someone without the crushing burden of her past or the pressure of a missing brother. Someone that Jasper Lynch had wanted, even for a second.

Lynch’s bleakness surprised her. “No,” he said. “She’s no one I know, no one…important.”

That made the ache fiercer. “I see.”

“I should never have touched you. The shame is all mine,” he replied. A faint hesitation. “Come, I’ll walk you home.”

“No.” She jerked away. “It’s fine. I can find my own way.”

“Rosa.” A hand caught her upper arm.

She lashed out then, balling her right hand into a fist and driving it into his gut. “Don’t touch me! Just leave me alone!”

He exhaled sharply but the ribbed padding of his armor deflected the blow and she was left clutching at her hand, heat bubbling up behind her eyes.

The shock of it took her by surprise. Then she was crying and she couldn’t stop, wet messy tears sliding