watched her foot shift as she made to step forward, to claim the name of Mercury. She watched swift expression dance across his face as he made the connections. He was the one who’d sent her to spy on the humanists, on Nathaniel. After years of believing her dead, she had suddenly shown up, just as the name of Mercury was on everybody’s lips.
One word and he could condemn them all.
But he didn’t say it. The moments ticked by and he glanced down, toying with the signet ring on his finger. Strain tightened his face. He’d never once betrayed his prince, yet at what cost would this take? What would he demand of her?
She looked for Lynch, frightened and unsure. Their gazes locked and she knew that he understood her fear.
“You’re lucky your man has your best interests at heart,” the prince consort said to Lynch with an oily smile as he settled in his chair. “If he’d stayed his arrival another minute, he would have been able to cast aside the label of
“Perhaps you don’t understand loyalty then, Your Grace?” Garrett again.
Lynch cut him a look and shook his head in warning.
The prince consort stared at Garrett for an uncomfortable minute. “Oh, I understand loyalty.” His smile vanished. “Lynch, you may go.”
Rosalind let out a breath.
But Lynch paused, turning to face the council, his boots almost in the puddle of blood Mordecai’s body had left behind. “I do believe you promised something else, Your Grace. Some incentive, should the revolutionary be brought to justice.”
Silence.
Barrons stepped forward, clad entirely in black velvet with a ruby dangling from his ear. “You swore that you would revoke Sir Jasper’s rogue status and name him one of the Echelon.”
The prince consort’s smile died. “So I did. Thank you for reminding me of that, Barrons.”
“My pleasure.”
“And so I declare it. Sir Jasper Lynch,” the prince consort called. “I officially revoke your rogue status and name you one of the Echelon.” A nasty little smile twisted his mouth. “As such, I strip you of the title of Guild Master of the Nighthawks. No blue blood could remain amongst the rogues.”
“I agree.” Lynch straightened.
He was up to something.
Drawing all eyes, Lynch took a step back, his boot heel cutting over the brass circle. Then another, until he stood fully within it. He met the Duke of Bleight’s gaze and gestured with a mocking little twitch of his fingers. “This has been a long time in coming, Uncle. I challenge you for the duchy of Bleight. First blood.”
The prince consort’s grip tightened on his chair, his face going white with fury. And Rosalind understood what Lynch had planned. Her heart leaped—then fell. If he won this fight, he became a duke and would join the council. There would be no place for her at his side.
But he would be free of the threat of the prince consort’s power. Safer perhaps with power of his own. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—deny him that.
The Duke of Bleight slowly levered himself to his feet, his ancient face expressionless. Most duels were to the death. Not only was Lynch offering a reprieve, but in the Echelon’s eyes, an insult. Would his pride overcome his fear of mortality? They all knew how uneven this match would be, even Bleight.
The rest of the council waited with bated breath.
“I accept, you little cur.”
The wind tore through her hair as she stepped down from the front door of the brownstone manor and Rosalind clamped her gloved hand to her hat. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. She’d done it. Without a shadow of a lie or even omitting a single detail. Everything she’d just won had been with the truth.
Her burgundy skirts flipping around her ankles, she crossed to the plain black steam carriage that waited at the curb. It was rented, of course. Jack blew warm air into his palms through the open hole in his respirator and then stepped forward to open the door for her. People stared. He’d tugged the collar of his coat up to hide the half mask, but still their eyes lingered and women grabbed their children by the arms and dragged them away as if afraid whatever contagion he had might spread.
Rosalind reached for him and squeezed his hand. Asking him to step out of the dark shadows he’d hidden in for the past eight years was an enormity she didn’t underestimate.
??So?” he asked, ignoring the crowd as if he didn’t give a damn.
“Sir Gideon has agreed to have lunch with me on Friday at the Metropolitan Hotel. He’s cautious, but he certainly seemed interested in what I had to say.” Excitement bubbled up in her chest. “Oh, Jack. You should hear some of his ideas. I always thought the Humans First party to be nothing but hot air but he’s not. He’s actually quite clever.”
“You think this will work then?”
For the first time in days, her smile softened, losing its hard, false edge. She hadn’t realized how unfocused her dream had been lately. Everything she’d done had become reactive, rather than taking initiative. She’d done what she had to, but she’d done it mechanically, without any real feeling for it. A chore. Something she owed Nate, for what she’d cost him. But now, a thousand ideas sparked through her breast. “I do. I really do. I had thought that giving up my plans would hurt more, but it doesn’t. We’re going to draft a bill to put before the Council about the increased rights for mechs. Mordecai’s Bill. That’s a start.”
“You think they’ll approve it?”
Her smile was vicious. “Of course not. Not at first. But unfortunately for the Council, I’m not going to go away. I’m going to keep at them until they are weary of my voice.”
Calculation gleamed in his gray eye. The other was covered by an eye patch. “I think you’ll have at least one of the Council votes in your pocket.”
The reminder shattered her smile. She’d been trying not to think about it ever since Lynch won the duel. There’d been so much to do and she’d gotten swept aside in the chaos after that swift battle. Standing in the doorway, watching as Barrons swept him up with a hard thump to the back, she’d slowly edged back through the door. He’d won. He was safe and the Duke of Bleight banished to a country estate, his titles stripped. If Lynch had wanted to see her, then she wouldn’t have sat up for the last three nights alone, watching her candle burn down as the night slowly passed.
“I wouldn’t presume,” she said stiffly.
“I would.” Jack tipped his head toward the open door of the carriage. “Perhaps you’d best step in.”
The expression on his scarred face was unreadable, but she could detect the faintest of lines around his eyes. A smile perhaps. Her eyes darted toward the carriage, her chest squeezing just a little tighter. That tickly sensation in her stomach multiplied a thousand times over, burning through her until she thought everyone would notice.
“Jack, what have you done?”
He held his hands up in surrender and stepped back onto the curb. “Why nothing, Roz. Some gent approached me and we had us a little chat.” From the sudden sharp gleam of his eyes, she had a feeling the discussion might have lasted at least one of the several hours she’d been inside.
It was then that she noticed the driver sitting up on the seat of the carriage. Perry glanced at her, a cap pulled low over her eyes. Rosalind swallowed hard. As much as she was blindingly desperate to see Lynch, she didn’t want to get in the carriage.
“Be brave,” Jack lowered his voice, taking her hand by the fingertips to help her inside. “You deserve to be happy.” A faint grimace. “Even if
