She thought that somewhat presumptuous. So much had happened between her and Lynch in the last week, yet nothing had been resolved. And he was a duke now. As the Master of the Nighthawks he’d been somewhat within her reach, but the Echelon would be expecting him to take a consort or begin making thrall contracts. No matter how much she loved him, she could not be a thrall.
“How are you getting home?” she asked.
“I’ve a mind to walk.” Jack shrugged. “See if I can convince Ingrid out of her sulk.”
Not all of them had been so happy to hear her confession about her feelings, both for the cause and for Lynch.
“She’ll come around.” Jack saw the expression on her face. “She loves you. She just doesn’t like change. And she’s scared that there’s no place for her here, out in the light.”
Rosalind nodded. The carriage door loomed open, revealing nothing but shadows within. Steeling herself, she gave her brother a kiss on the cheek, grabbed a handful of her skirts, and swept inside.
The sudden plunge into darkness left her blind. Jack slammed the door shut and somehow she found her seat, the shadowy shape of long legs starting to form in front of her. Following them up, she noticed the tight frock coat Lynch wore and the stark white spill of a cravat. Not his usual uniform then. It only reminded her of the distance between them and the small, hopeful part of her stuttered in its exhilaration.
Rosalind finally met his gaze, twitching at her skirts to straighten them. Beneath the dark curve of his lashes, his eyes gleamed an intense gray—watchful but giving nothing away. His only awareness of her showed in the stiffening of his body and the sudden clenching of hard muscle in his thigh. Seeing him again made her heart twist as though some enormous hand were squeezing it. She barely had the control to comport herself. She wanted to throw herself at him and drag his mouth to hers. To touch him. Assure herself that he was really there.
But why was he here?
“Hello, Your Grace,” she said quietly.
At that Lynch grimaced. “I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.”
“You’d best get used to it as I believe you’re going to have a lifetime of it.”
A sigh. Then those canny eyes found hers again. “You’ve been busy.”
Rosalind folded her hands neatly in her nap. Nothing. The dratted man was giving her nothing. She was so tense she felt as if she were going to fly apart. “I’ve had nothing to do for three days.” Censure crept into her voice. “And someone once told me that I would never win a war, not in the streets.”
Lynch glanced toward the window and the brownstone, as the carriage lurched into motion. His fingers drummed a slow, steady beat on his thigh. Restless. “So now you’re going to go after them in their own hallowed halls. Beard the lion in its den?”
“I’m going to dabble in politics,” she said. “Sir Gideon Scott is interested in several of my ideas and I…” Her heart quickened. “I admit I’ve grown somewhat excited about some of his. He’s not the fool I took him for, but he knows how far he may extend at each step.”
“It’s a dangerous path,” Lynch said bluntly.
“Less so than my previous one.” She took a deep breath. “Do you remember that boiler pack I was trying to smuggle from the enclaves?”
He nodded.
“It’s designed to power an automaton. We call them the Cyclops. They’re built large enough for a man to sit inside them and manipulate them and they’ve enough firepower to handle four of the Echelon’s metaljackets.”
Lynch’s eyes narrowed on her. “How many do you have?”
“Not enough. Not yet,” she admitted. “And most likely I won’t pursue the project. You were right. This can’t be won by outright war.”
He scraped a hand over the back of his neck. “That doesn’t ease my mind one whit.”
“What would you suggest? That I pursue a hearth and home, perhaps take up knitting?”
The sudden smoky intensity of his gaze unnerved her. “That’s not quite what I had in mind. Besides, you would probably stab someone with your knitting needle.”
Rosalind couldn’t help herself. Her heart began to quicken, her fingers toying uselessly with each other. Her gaze dropped to them. Damned hands. Always betraying her. “I see. And what did you intend for me?”
“Damn it, Rosa. Do we have to be so formal?”
Again she lived in uncertainty. Looking up, she found the hard line of his jaw clenched. He had never been a man given to much emotion, but she saw it, gleaming in his pale eyes and pinched nostrils. A man holding himself so tightly he was afraid to let go.
But one of them must. Or they’d exist in this exquisite politeness until the carriage pulled up and then he would help her down and offer some platitude and she would probably accept it, watching as he left.
To take that next step scared her. But she wasn’t as afraid as she had been. She’d thought once that to love again would be the worst that could ever happen to her, but it wasn’t. To come so close to losing him had shown her how small such a fear could be.
“I waited for you for the last three nights,” she said in a small, choked voice. “I was so certain you would come for me. But you didn’t. I had to do something with my time. I was going out of my mind—”
“Hell, Rosa. I wanted to come. I thought—you weren’t there. When I turned around you’d gone and… There were things I desperately needed to take care of.”
“Oh?”
“Balfour,” he said gruffly. As she stiffened, he reached out and took her hand. “He won’t bother you again, Rosa. Indeed, he has no desire to hurt you. He’s almost as intent as I in seeing that the prince consort never hears the truth of Mercury.”
Heat flashed through her. “Why?”
“I believe he regrets what happened. No matter what you may feel, he seems fond of you and quite proud.”
Rosalind tore her fingers from his. “It’s a ploy.”
Reaching out, Lynch tried to touch her again but she was too agitated. What was he saying? That in his fury, Balfour had done something he’d regretted? She shook her head.
“If it is a ploy, then I am prepared for him,” Lynch said quietly. “You mentioned that he asked you to assassinate several persons for him. I would like the details, when you are ready. I want to prepare a full case against him, in case he decides to manipulate you. I’ve spoken to Barrons about it and he’s prepared to press the case for me.”
“Blackmail?” she asked, swallowing the hard knot in her throat. “I would never have expected it.”
“Leverage,” he corrected. “Balfour once said I am predictable. Maybe I was. But not anymore.” His expression darkened. “I have had enough of being manipulated by those in power. I won’t be threatened anymore—and I won’t have those I consider mine threatened either.”
The look he gave her left her in no confusion as to whom he referred to.
“And us?” she whispered. “What of us? You said—”
“I know what I said.” His face darkened, his eyes going black with heat and need. “Rosalind… When you walked into that chamber…” He shuddered, each word said so precisely that it was clear he was barely holding on. “I know what you intended. I could see it all over your face. Don’t you
“What was I to do? Let you die in my place? It nearly killed me when Garrett told me what you were planning.” Everything that she’d been holding inside for the last few days boiled up. Heat raced behind her eyes. “You stupid man! You should have told me what the prince consort was demanding! I can’t believe you… You—you didn’t even say good-bye…”
She couldn’t help herself. She was so angry. Or hurt. Or…something she couldn’t quite explain, even to herself. Leaping toward him, Rosalind balled her fist and drove it into his arm. Lynch caught her wrists, dragging her forward.
“Damn you,” she snapped, then his mouth took hers and the words were lost.
She slid her hands into his hair and yanked his face closer to hers. The hard edge of violence rode him, the muscles in his arms quivering with restraint as she raked her hands down them. She didn’t want restraint. She hated it, hated the distant politeness, the way her emotions sat in a hard ball in the center of her chest. She let it
