My Lady Quicksilver

Slowly, she dragged her arm back to her chest, clutching it as if he’d hurt it. “You can’t have her. You know that?”

“I know.” Two days. He smiled bitterly down at his untouched ale. “But I won’t betray her.”

“There you go again, shatterin’ me perceptions.” A hurt smile ghosted over her lips, but her cheeks were still white. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “It were easier when the blue bloods were just monsters. You oughta know, me lord Nighthawk, that I won’t move against you. I couldn’t.” Her fists clenched and she shook her head. “All this plannin’ and you destroyed it in the matter of a few weeks.”

Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “I know what the mechs are up to. The massacres in Mayfair were just a test. They’re plannin’ on goin’ after the Echelon with their Doeppler Orbs, creatin’ a widespread massacre. Lettin’ you blue bloods rip each other apart.”

Lynch stilled. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.” She held up her hands when she saw his expression. “I don’t. Mordecai’s keepin’ ’is cards close to ’is chest. But it’ll be somewhere where a lot o’ blue bloods are gathered. Somewhere as’ll make the biggest impact.”

Where? His mind raced. There were no major political events planned nor even social ones. The Season was winding down, most of the thrall contracts signed.

A commotion caught his ear and he spun, sighting a pair of immaculately shaven gentlemen shoving their way into the pub. His gaze caught Sir Richard Maitland’s, though the man was lacking his distinctive Coldrush livery. Fury flared white-hot in him and Lynch stepped in front of Mercury, shielding her with his body.

“Go,” he told her. “Out the back. Don’t get caught.”

She stared at him, then back to Maitland. “Who is ’e?”

“Go,” he repeated, harshly this time.

Her eyes met his. “This is good-bye then?”

Lynch nodded, the hunger in him screaming its rage. A vein in his temple throbbed, his color dipping to shades of gray, then flashing back through color again.

“Good-bye, me lord Nighthawk,” she whispered.

“Good-bye,” he repeated, then he turned and shoved into the crowd, not looking to see her go. The hunger in him, his inner demon, roared its silent fury.

No! Take her!

Lynch ignored it, shoving the thought deep. Neither of them could be his.

He had a date with the executioner.

Twenty

“Roz?”

She jerked her fingers away from the window guiltily.

Ingrid’s expression was watchful as she stepped over the threshold of the bedroom. “Did you get any sleep?”

“No.” Rosalind’s eyes burned, her thoughts chasing themselves around and around in her head, the same way they had done all night. Those devastating words he’d spoken in the pub, as if there could be a future between them.

There was no future. Not without her brother. And if Lynch found out her secret, he would never look at her—at Mrs. Marberry—the same way.

It isn’t me he loves! It was a person who didn’t exist, a role that she had played all too well it seemed over the past few weeks. The hurt knifed through her. She was finding it difficult to keep herself separated from Mrs. Marberry. Balfour had taught her to place as much truth in her lies as possible, and that lesson had been her downfall.

For Mrs. Marberry was everything that she secretly wished to be. Unburdened by hate, by the violence of her past, the subject of a good man’s love. She touched her lips lightly, as if she could still feel the phantom touch of his caress there.

“What’s going on?” Ingrid demanded, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You ain’t been acting like yourself lately. You been lying to us, avoiding us…”

“I didn’t lie—”

“Where were you yesterday then? You said you were only stepping out, getting some fresh air.”

Rosalind saw the truth in her friend’s eyes. “You followed me.”

Shaking her head in disgust, Ingrid stalked to the window and yanked the sash up. “Aye, I saw you at the Dog and Thistle. I saw him. And the day before, when you were supposed to be sleeping all day?”

“I was with him,” Rosalind admitted, feeling tired of all the lies. “I went to help him recover.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t bear to see him like that,” she whispered.

Ingrid’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand. What changed? You hate them—or you did. Fact was, once, you would never have let one of them lay a hand on you.”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t as I expected him to be. He’s…nothing like I expected.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the standoff. Ingrid breathed deeply. “Jack,” she said.

“Don’t tell him. Please.”

Ingrid gave her an uneasy look, then nodded.

By the time Jack reached her door, he was winded—a residual effect of the scarring. He paused by the door, gaze darting between the pair of them. “Did you tell her?”

Ingrid shook her head. “Didn’t get a chance.”

“Tell me what?” Rosalind demanded.

“The next shipment came through,” Jack said. “Including a mech to do the work for us.”

“A mech from the enclaves? They’ve changed their mind and will work for us?”

“This one will,” he replied.

“Why?”

Ingrid looked up sharply. “Said he was paid good money.”

Her contact in the Echelon. Rosalind turned and stared out the window. She’d always thought her contact had ties to the Humans First Party that spoke in parliament—perhaps Sir Gideon Scott himself, the head of the party. They provided the money and she created the Cyclops.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “Scott doesn’t have the sort of money we’ve been receiving this year. None of the party does. Steel’s expensive.”

“A lot of people donate to the cause.” In the reflection, she saw Jack shrug.

That was true. Still, she didn’t like the feeling that itched its way down her spine. “I think it’s about time we discovered precisely who is donating to this cause.” When she’d first taken over Nate’s work, she’d found most of his contacts in place already. The money had been a trickle then, until she’d come up with the Cyclops plan. Then it had become a flood. Too much, in fact, for her suspicions not to be roused.

Someone wanted her to create a metal army and she’d been too preoccupied with Jeremy lately to wonder why.

“What are you planning to do?” Ingrid asked.

“Get some of our humanists in place—the ones we know are loyal to us—and have each member of the Humans First Party watched. If there’s a money trail, we should be able to find it.”

“That’ll take months,” Jack said.

Rosalind nodded. “Yes, it will. But I want answers.”

“And in the meantime?”