Chapter Ten
When Mina left her cabin to join the others for dinner, Scarsdale was waiting in the passageway. He offered her a lovely greeting and his elbow, which she took with a smile. A glance through the open door of his and Trahaearn’s cabin didn’t reveal the duke . . . but Mina didn’t intend to ask.
“Yasmeen’s cabin is only one deck up.” Scarsdale stared straight ahead as they walked. “If I don’t see a porthole and pretend that I don’t hear the engines, I can fool myself into thinking I’m on a real ship.”
“I could lead you blindfolded, next time.”
He gave a short laugh. “I’ve done that before.”
Yasmeen must have known about his fear. The windows of her cabin had all been covered. Mina entered with Scarsdale, and only his forward motion prevented her from stopping to stare. The room could have been lifted from a seraglio painting. Red curtains draped the walls. A small fountain bubbled in the corner, and yellow canaries chirped in a hanging cage. In the center of the room, a round teak table stood only a few inches above a thick woven rug, and was surrounded by tufted ottomans and enormous pillows covered in sapphire and emerald silk.
In billowing shirtsleeves and a blue kerchief, Lady Corsair lounged beside the table, smoke curling from her mouth. Next to her sat Archimedes Fox. The adventurer had traded his yellow coat for peacock blue, and watched the aviator captain with hooded eyes and a set jaw. Whatever conversation had passed between the two before Mina and Scarsdale arrived apparently hadn’t been a pleasant one.
A cabin girl took Mina’s overcoat, and she sank into the pillows across from Yasmeen, with Scarsdale on her right and Fox on her left.
Scarsdale was all smiles. “Gunther-Baptiste! Fancy seeing you here.”
With a curl of her lip, Yasmeen said, “He is Archimedes Fox now.”
“Fox? No.”
“Yes,” Fox said, his expression lightening as Scarsdale laughed until his eyes watered. The adventurer glanced over as Yasmeen nodded to the cabin girls, and they began setting trays on the low table. “But the lady’s not pleased.”
“Few men please me.” Yasmeen smiled at Scarsdale. “Where’s Trahaearn?”
Scarsdale shrugged. “You know the captain. A table’s for eating, not talking. And he’d rather eat his own hand than sit chatting with . . . and I’m proven wrong.”
Mina glanced over her shoulder. Trahaearn stalked into the cabin, his dark eyes sweeping the room. Without a word, Scarsdale moved closer to Yasmeen, and the duke took up all of the pillows next to Mina, and half of hers. She frowned at him. With a half smile, he held her gaze until the absurdity of it all struck her and she had to look away from him.
A girl filled her glass with a deep burgundy wine. Before Mina could say a word, Yasmeen said, “You can be certain that I don’t stock wines that are made with sugar.”
Grateful that she hadn’t needed to ask first, Mina sipped. She closed her eyes in pleasure. The bold flavor was unlike any of the watered honey wines her family sometimes bought during the New Year holidays. This spread through her, warm and spicy, and seemed like it could serve as a meal itself. She took a deeper sip, and had to conceal her delight when one of the cabin girls refilled the glass almost as quickly as she set it on the table.
Scarsdale and Fox carried the conversation around them, with an interjection now and then from Yasmeen. Mina focused on her plate and her wine, savoring every unusual dish that the girls set in front of her: yogurt and cucumber, some kind of beige, garlicky paste, and fluffy round pieces of white bread. But above all, she took her time over the rice. Yellow and fragrant, it was unlike any rice Mina had eaten at home, but she was still glad to see it. Since the Horde’s supply ships no longer came into London, rice had become too expensive to buy except for special occasions. And although her family had tossed out many Horde traditions after the revolution, food had not been one of them.
Mina was feeling stuffed, sleepy, and warm when she finally sat back against the pillows, her still-full wineglass in hand. She couldn’t contain her sigh of contentment, and it brought Fox to a halt midsentence. With a laugh, he turned to look her over.
“You wear your armor even to dinner, Lady Wilhelmina?”
“Inspector.” If he could demand “Fox,” then Mina would demand the title she preferred, too. When he nodded, she said, “Of course I wear armor. I am sitting with a pirate, a mercenary, an adventurer, and a bounder. If a shot is not fired tonight, I daresay that your reputations are nothing but lies.”
It was a silly thing to say, of course. Her armor wouldn’t stop a bullet at this close range. But their laughter seemed to rumble through her, leaving her strangely giddy. She dared a glance at Trahaearn, who wasn’t laughing, but watching her with a heated intensity that was really quite attractive. His gold earrings winked at her like cheeky little bastards . . . and his muscular thigh looked the perfect place to lay her head and have a nap.
Blinking rapidly to clear the image from her mind, Mina took another drink. She must have eaten too much. Never before had she been quite this sleepy and fuzzy after a meal.
When the laughter quieted, Scarsdale lifted his glass to Mina before looking to Yasmeen. “I say, where are we headed to? We’re flying south by southeast. The Market’s a bit more west.”
“Braggart,” Yasmeen said.
He batted his eyelashes at her. “And handsome, too.”
Handsome, yes. But Mina frowned, trying to understand how he was a braggart.
Trahaearn’s voice came low near her ear. “You can spin him around in a fog blindfolded, and he’ll know the direction he’s facing at the end of it.”
Ah! “Now that is a fine trick.”
Amusement deepened the duke’s reply. “And a useful one on a ship.”
“And in London, too,” Scarsdale said. “But I still am wondering why we’ve taken a detour.”
“After your declarations of love, now you’re in a hurry to be off my ship?” Yasmeen nudged Scarsdale’s thigh with the toe of her boot. “We’re taking Mr. Fox to Venice, first.”
“Ah, and he will have another adventure that we shall soon see in the magazines. Which is probably the best way to hear them. It pains me to say it, Fox, but you’re much cleverer when you write than when you speak.”
“My sister writes them.” He looked to Mina, who realized that her mouth had fallen open. “I’m a salvager, not a writer. But if turning my work into a popular adventure allows her a measure of independence, she can continue using my name as long as she likes.”
“I see.” Her voice sounded deep. Across the table, Yasmeen’s eyes had narrowed at Fox, and made Mina wonder if she’d need her armor, after all. “That’s very good of you, sir.”
“I try.” Fox’s gaze moved past her to Trahaearn. “So you’re continuing on to the Ivory Market? I saw that Haynes was dead. Are you after the Terror?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve only read the story in the newssheets. Have you got another version, captain?”
“I don’t know their version. I don’t read them.”
Scarsdale looked up. “I’ll tell you how it happened.”
Blowing out a mouthful of smoke, Yasmeen rolled her eyes. “You weren’t there.”
“So I’ll make it more exciting. But first, a drink.” He lifted his glass. “To Baxter. A damn fine man. I daresay not a one of us would be here if not for him.”
How true. Mina would likely still be at home if the admiral hadn’t been killed. She drank deep, and noted that although Trahaearn’s glass had remained untouched throughout his meal, he drank to his friend.
He hadn’t drunk or talked much. She liked his quiet. The others always seemed to be laughing and moving and gesturing, but Trahaearn sat, solid and strong and quiet. If the pillows hadn’t been here, she could have leaned against him, and not worry at all that she’d be jostled about.
Scarsdale raised his glass again. “And to Bontemps. A good airship should never fall into a madwoman’s hands, or into the sights of a Royal Navy firebomb squadron.”
Yasmeen snorted into her glass, but drank. Trahaearn’s face was more solemn as he took his.
“A fine ship,” he said.
“And one more to our lovely inspector, for her quick and lovely mind . . . and her opium gun.”
This time, Trahaearn smiled as he drank, meeting her gaze over the rim of his glass. Mina grinned at him, suddenly very glad that he’d bribed the Lord Regents.
Fox set his glass back to the table. “Are you married, inspector?”
She laughed. Truly, what an absurd question. “No. I never will be.”
His frown smoothed away, and he shook his head. “I forget the English are not Brits. An unmarried lady would never travel without a chaperone in Manhattan City.”
Ah, yes. A bounder girl was only worth as much as her virtue. No wonder all of them were prudes. Their dresses only had to lift above their ankles, and they were ruined. “It doesn’t matter for us,” Mina said. “We’re all already compromised.”
“By the Frenzies?”
“Yes,” Trahaearn said, and the rough note in his voice made her turn to look at him. He stared back at her, with a beat at his temple that said he held himself under rigid control. What for?
“Yes,” she echoed.
Behind her, the birds chirped. Mina frowned. The silence that had fallen was thick and uncomfortable. She looked from Fox to Yasmeen to Scarsdale before she realized why. They all knew a Frenzy had come only a few months before the tower had fallen. And nine years ago, she’d been old enough to be affected.
She glanced at Trahaearn again, and something in the way he looked at her made her stomach hot. She stared down into her drink. It was bottomless. Truly, amazingly bottomless. And if she drank enough, it would cool the burning in her gut.
He asked her quietly, “You don’t remember, do you?”
Her brows lifted. Why would he think that? “Oh, I do,” she assured him.
“Dear God, you asked.” Scarsdale pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is why we dare not attend dinner parties.”
No, Mina appreciated it. Trahaearn didn’t pretend. He didn’t make silly conversation. And when he said something, she didn’t always like it, but she liked knowing what was in his head.
He flicked a glance to Scarsdale. “He said your mother didn’t remember the Frenzy when you were conceived.”
“Oh, well. My mother is very good at not remembering things that she doesn’t want to.”
“But you do.”
Oh, yes, she remembered. The loss of control, the overwhelming need—and the terror of knowing that it wasn’t coming from within her, but from the Horde.
“I remember,” she said, and sighed. “And my experience was less horrifying than what most buggers went through, I suppose. At least I didn’t get with child, and was with someone I knew.”
His face darkened. “Who?”
Scarsdale groaned. “I say, inspector, if this isn’t something you want to talk about—”
“My friend Felicity.”
“Oh.” The bounder leaned forward. “Pray, then. Do talk about it.”
Yasmeen threw an olive at him. The tension and silence around the table broke into laughter, and Mina laughed with them, glad she was able to. Glad to pretend it didn’t matter.
Except when she met Trahaearn’s eyes. They said that she didn’t fool him.
“That’s not why I’m here,” she said to him. Out loud. Mina didn’t even know what she meant, but he nodded and looked to Fox.
“Have you heard anything of a Black Guard?”
Mina’s hand flew to her mouth. “You can’t ask him,” she hissed. “What if he is one?”
The duke shrugged. “Then I’ll kill him after he tells us.”
Yasmeen shook her head, pulling out another cigarillo. “Not until he’s paid me for the remainder of his contract.”
“You’ll be compensated, captain.” Fox leaned toward her, holding a spark lighter. She stared at him as he lit the end, then as he leaned back and lit his own. He looked to Trahaearn. “I’m not Black Guard. But I have had a run-in with one of their men.”
Yasmeen smiled faintly. “And which story was that?”
“I didn’t let her write it. With people like this, you don’t take the chance that they’ll recognize themselves in one of those stories, and inadvertently send them your sister’s way.”
Mina liked him very much for that. “What happened?”
“It was about three years ago. I usually do salvage work, but now and again I’ll be hired as a guide. Usually by researchers or scientists. Sometimes people with too much money and not enough sense. This one said he was a historian, and that he’d come across a document detailing the location of da Vinci’s clockwork army.”
Scarsdale snorted. “You believed him? That legend is as old and as false as my mother’s teeth.”
“No. But he had money enough for the fee Bilson and I charged, and an airship. But—”
“What airship?”
Fox glanced at Yasmeen. “The Mary Katherine.”
The captain shook her head. She looked to Scarsdale, who seemed to study her face before slipping his arm around her waist and hauling her into his lap. She settled against his chest with a smile.
Strange, and . . . intimate. Mina tore her gaze away. Fox appeared startled, too, and it seemed with an effort that he turned to Trahaearn again and picked up the thread of his story.
“But once on the airship, we only needed to spend about five minutes with the man before we realized he wasn’t a historian. Educated, but not specialized. When I told him that the location he had was farther east than the Habsburg Wall, it didn’t mean anything to him.”
It didn’t mean anything to Mina, either. She knew the Habsburg Wall had stood for almost fifty years as the strongest defense against the Horde’s approach into Europe, but the reason why a location farther east meant something kept slipping through her mind.
“What should it have meant?”
“Da Vinci designed his clockwork soldiers after the wall was up. Everything east of Austria was already Horde territory. Even if the legend had merit”—he glanced at Scarsdale, then quickly away—“the army wouldn’t have been constructed on that side of the wall. But Pope insisted that we take him to the location he had, regardless. So we flew on.”
Mina leaned forward. “What did you find?”
He smiled slightly, reached for his wine. “First, let me tell you about the journey there. It was a two days’ flight, and Bilson and I escaped Pope’s company for all of thirty minutes. By the second day, I’d have locked myself in the privy if I could.”
“Was he so unpleasant?” The member of the Black Guard who’d killed Baxter hadn’t been, at first glance.
“Not his manner. Not his physical person.” He frowned, drawing on his cigarillo. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t have the talent for description that my sister does. Just that after every conversation, I felt unwashed—and I’m a man who’ll run for a month through swamps, with my clothes caked in dung and zombie blood, before I find a bath. Somehow, he always got round to bugs. And specifically, the control the Horde had had over buggers, and what sort of acts they were all made to perform. Without ever crossing what my grandmother would have called polite boundaries, he managed to suggest perversions that were . . . were . . .”
Mina followed his gaze and almost dropped her wine. Scarsdale had lowered his head to Yasmeen’s neck, and was slowly tracing his tongue up the column of her throat. She arched her back with an audible purr. Fox stared at them, then looked down into his drink before throwing the contents back.
Trahaearn didn’t appear to notice the display. “What perversions?”
“Incest during the Frenzies. Humans mating with animals and bearing offspring. Experiments where—” He broke off, shaking his head. “You’ve heard them all. And I’ve heard them before, too. Had conversations, genuine speculation whether any of it could be possible, and it didn’t turn my stomach like Pope did. And he was obsessed with the animals. Jesus.”
“I like animals.” Laughing, Scarsdale glanced up from Yasmeen’s throat, then yelped when she dug her fingers into his thigh. He caught her hand and licked the inside of her wrist. “I like you, too, love.”
“And when we arrived,” Fox’s voice sounded a little too loud, but it brought Mina’s attention swinging back to him, “we found a Horde installation. A laboratory, with a package waiting for him.”
“Resistance smugglers?”
Fox looked to Trahaearn. “Yes. I recognized it, too. So I asked what he intended to do with it.”
Trahaearn’s lips quirked. “Of course you did.”
Mina was lost. “What kind of smugglers?”
“Horde resistance,” the duke said. “They fund their rebellion by smuggling Horde tech and weapons to the New World. I’ve picked up dozens of packages the same way.”
“But this one wasn’t tech,” Fox said. “It was a weapon, of sorts—a plague.”
“What?” Mina’s heart dropped to her stomach. Even Scarsdale and Yasmeen looked up from their pillow.
“Modified from the strain that killed so many of the Horde fifty years ago. Apparently, they wondered how the bugs had resisted it, so they experimented until they found a strain that affected buggers. Not intending to use it. Just to know. But the resistance got their hands on it and sold it. And unlike the Horde, Pope intended to use it.”
That was much more than they’d ever learned from the assassin in Chatham. “And he told you all of this?”
Fox’s grin was sharp and dangerous. “I can be persuasive.”
“What else did he say?” Trahaearn asked.
“That even if I killed him, the Black Guard would endure. And that it would never be defeated.” Fox shook his head. “It sounded like the type of speech that comes before a man jumps off a cliff. And the next thing, he’s running outside, yelling for the zombies. So I shot him.”
“Better than the zombies,” Scarsdale said.
Yasmeen watched Fox through narrowed eyes. “Except that one didn’t deserve the mercy of it.”
Maybe not. More importantly—“What of the plague?”
“Bilson and I destroyed it, and flew home.” He looked away from Scarsdale and Yasmeen. “I haven’t run into others. And I suspect that Pope wasn’t running on a full load of coal. But there was money behind him, and someone had contacts inside the Horde.”
“And they were looking to kill buggers,” Trahaearn said.
“Yes.” Fox’s gaze darted across the table again. He abruptly stood. “I’m sorry. I must be up early tomorrow. Good night, inspector, Scarsdale. Captain Corsair.”
With a stiff bow, he left.
Mina blinked at the sudden change, then realized that Yasmeen was lifting her mouth from Scarsdale’s. She lay against the pillow next to him with a sigh. “Thank you, James.”
He stroked her hair. “You have to stop hiding.”
“I will when you do.”
With a laugh, he glanced at the duke. “I doubt I ever will, now. The captain has turned his life around.”
“So determined to destroy everything.” Though Yasmeen rolled her head to look over at Trahaearn, she still spoke to Scarsdale. “It’s unfortunate he stopped before getting to you.”
“How true.” With a short laugh, Scarsdale picked up his glass. “Shall we raise another to Baxter?”
Trahaearn frowned at them before shaking his head. “I’ve already had too much to drink.”
He stood. And as abruptly as Fox, he left.
Mina stared after him. From across the table, she heard another purr followed by a soft laugh. And she didn’t want to be here anymore.
After several attempts to get up, she finally made it to her feet and followed him.
The airship had begun to sway, making it difficult to walk down the passageway without bumping into the bulkheads on either side. Uncertain whether she was seeking air or Trahaearn, Mina climbed the ladder to the main deck and made her way forward. Sharp wind bit into her heated cheeks. Gas lanterns lit her path and threw deep shadows behind stanchions and capstans. Near the bow, a coil of rope knocked into her foot, and she almost tripped against the side. A warm hand caught her wrist and steadied her.
From his seat on the wooden chest—her wooden chest!—Trahaearn rose, and somehow managed to link his fingers through hers. His calluses scraped her palm as he locked their hands together.
“You seem to be handling your wine as well as I am,” he rumbled against her ear.
Her laugh became a chattering of her teeth. She’d forgotten her overcoat—but Trahaearn had his. Drawing her in front of him, he wrapped the sides of his coat around her front and strapped her in with his arms. His solid form was like a furnace behind her, and she was suddenly, wonderfully warm. She began to relax against him, but then her eyes registered the scene that lay before her, and she jolted up with a gasp.
“Blue heavens! What are those?”
In the distance, moonlight slanted across white peaks and jagged black cliffs. And above them shone the moon itself . . . and the stars. Heart in her throat, she stared upward at the bright pinpoints of white, white light, feeling like weeping and laughing.
How beautiful. The stars truly must be blessed.
“Those are the Alps.”
Her gaze returned to earth again. A mountain range. She’d known that Europe had them, as triangles inked over maps. But she’d never thought of the mountains. Only the cities and the people who’d had to flee from the Horde. She’d never considered that such a sight would have been just as valuable as the buildings and fields they’d all left behind.
She watched the stars and the peaks, and Trahaearn slowly moved behind her. His mouth touched her hair, then her ear. She shouldn’t be letting him do this, but couldn’t summon the will to stop him. Then his lips found the side of her throat and she felt his tongue on her skin, and she wanted to arch against him and purr. Just like Scarsdale and Yasmeen—though Mina was certain that no woman could possibly make a sound quite like the aviator captain had.
She fought to clear the spinning in her mind. “What happened down there?”
“The Horde took it all.”
“No. Not in the mountains. In the cabin. Scarsdale and Captain Corsair aren’t . . . they weren’t . . . and yet they . . . ?”
“Yasmeen likes to be touched, but she only trusts a few people to do it. Scarsdale’s the same.”
“Oh.” Mina tried to process that. “Are you someone she trusts?”
“I don’t know. Even if I was, I wouldn’t. I don’t like to touch anyone. Or to be touched.”
Then why did he stand here now? She felt him all around her. Not skin to skin, yet still touching. “But—”
“I made an exception.”
Oh. Her breath came in sharp little pants. His mouth opened against her neck and he bit her, gently. A hot ache formed low in her belly. She shifted her feet against the deck before making herself stand still, arms at her sides.
What had they been talking about? She cast desperately through her memory until she found it. “Everything changed between them when Fox left.”
“Ah, well. They were laying it on thick because she wanted him gone.”
“Why?”
“He made a fool of her. She didn’t know who he was before coming aboard. And he made her uncomfortable. He watched her all through dinner.”
“How do you know? You were watching me.”
He laughed into the curve of her shoulder. “Yes. And for the same reason. But she wanted to get rid of him, and you . . . you came to me.”
Mina didn’t want to think of that. “She and Scarsdale have played it before.”
“They have an arrangement that benefits them both.”
“Because of what they have to hide?”
“You are the inspector. You have to figure out what their secrets are. I won’t tell you.”
Laughing, she shook her head. She felt his smile against her neck and his palms sliding up over her belly. Confused, she glanced down. To Mina’s shock, her short jacket had been unbuckled to her breasts, open in an inverted V that he slowly spread wider.
She made a soft noise, and his hands flattened, holding her against him. Heat bloomed between her legs, shortened her breath.
“Mina.” His deep voice turned her name into a command.
“No.” She trembled against him. “I haven’t given you permission to use my name.”
“Just like you waited for Hale’s permission to cross the Channel? Do you only care for permission when it suits you? No, Mina.” He shook his head. His fingers brushed the red band over her sleeve. “Lie, if you must protect yourself. But do not be a hypocrite. I can’t tolerate hypocrites.”
Then she should list all of her hypocrisies. But the brush of his fingers against her arm resolved into meaning, and stabbed at her pride. “You think this band is a lie?”
“I was in London during the revolution. I saw what happened to every Horde person on the streets. If you had been out there fighting, they wouldn’t have cared who your parents were. You’d be dead.”
Yes. She would have been. And he must have seen what no one in England ever mentioned now: the murders and the rapes that had nothing to do with the Horde, and the buggers’ uncontrollable emotions after being freed. For a few days, they’d been no better than animals.
And it was a collective shame. Most people outside of England didn’t know. The revolution had been something to be proud of—but not everything that happened in that time was.
He tensed. “You weren’t out there, were you?”
“No. My father locked me in my mother’s attic workroom.”
“So what happened?”
They didn’t speak of this. Yet the words were tumbling out. “I heard my mother scream. I heard a gunshot. And so I used an awl to open the lock.”
And she’d still been carrying it when she’d run downstairs. Outside, the city had been screaming and burning, and her own terror had terrified her even more. Uncontrollable, her fear had fed itself, until it had completely consumed her.
Now, it was like a dream. She could remember being afraid. But she couldn’t comprehend how much, and hadn’t felt anything like it since.
“They were brothers,” she said. “They’d lived in the corner house in the square for a few years. They’d offered for me, once. Not for marriage, but to keep as a concubine, and my father turned them down. But that night, they had an airship and were leaving, because all the Horde were being killed . . . and I think they came to save me. To take me with them, where I might be safe.”
Trahaearn’s arms tightened around her. She took a deep breath.
“So they came for me. They’d shot Henry. And my mother, there’d been the Frenzy, and she and my father . . . She was with child. But she’d tripped, or one of them had pushed her, and there was blood, and my father was trying to help both her and Henry, and Andrew was screaming and trying to fight them off. Then I came downstairs, and the brothers tried to take me outside the house. Tried to take me away from my family. I didn’t think. I still had the awl. And so I . . . stabbed. Over and over, until they let me go.”
Even now, her hand tightened. Trahaearn was silent behind her.
“And you’re correct: I do use the band to protect myself. When buggers see it, sometimes they decide to let me be. But it isn’t a lie. I spilled Horde blood. The only lie is that it’s supposed to be a celebration.” Not a marker of the most horrifying moment of her life.
His lips pressed to her temple. “I’m sorry.”
She shuddered, trying to let go of the memory. Trying to return to here, and now, and to the knowledge that she should be pushing him away.
“Yasmeen said that you wanted to destroy everything—and you told me you weren’t saving us when you blew up the tower. But is what happened to us what you intended? Did you know we’d become like animals? Like zombies?”
“You were nothing like zombies.”
“It felt like it. But instead of hunger, all violence and fear. Did you know it would happen? Is that what you intended?”
“No.” His voice was low and rough. “It wasn’t.”
“Then what did you—” She broke off as he suddenly turned her to face him. “Don’t.”
“I’m taking advantage of this opportunity.” He lowered his mouth, hovering only a breath above hers. “Before you take advantage of me.”
Her head swam. “Take advantage of you? How?”
“With an interrogation.”
His lips settled over hers. Oh, but he tasted of wine, of warmth and spice. She moaned low in her throat, hands clutching at his shoulders. With a rough sound of need, he carried her forward and the rail pressed into her back. His fingers clenched in the tight roll at her nape. Her pins loosened, giving up her hair to the wind.
She dragged in a breath when he lifted his head. “What did you intend?”
With a smile, he tucked his big hands under her short coat. His palms slid up over her shirt and armor to cup her breasts. His thumbs swept over her nipples. “To suck on these. Then I intend to lick between your legs until you come in my mouth.”
Her knees weakened. Mina clenched her thighs together, felt the wetness gathering there . . . with only a kiss and a few words.
She swayed toward him—and the starry skies help her, she lifted her face to his. “Tell me about the tower. What did you intend?”
His jaw hardened and she thought he’d refuse to answer. But he lowered his head and put his mouth to her ear. “I didn’t think of the buggers. I didn’t think of anyone. I only thought of hitting the Horde as hard as I could. But, yes, if I’d stopped to think—I would have wanted it to burn. I wanted to destroy everything. But I didn’t realize what that meant. Not until I saw what I’d done. And so I’m still paying for it.”
What? She comprehended most of it, but couldn’t fit the last part. “How are you paying for it? Why?”
He kissed her again until she was clinging and breathless. With his hands beneath her bottom, he lifted her against him. She felt the hard press of his erection into her stomach, and the low, melting ache between her thighs. It was all she could do not to open her legs around him and ride that thick ridge of flesh.
He groaned into her neck. “Invite me to your cabin, Mina.”
“No.”
“You don’t have anything to fear here. Not on the airship. Be with me.” He lifted his head, met her eyes. “You’ve thought about it?”
Yes. Again and again. “I don’t need to. My answer will always be the same.”
Because it was the only sane answer.
He closed his eyes, and let her slide down his body until her feet touched the deck. “Then go. I’ll escort you back to your room.”
Lifting a lantern from one of the posts, he preceded her on the ladders and steadied her as she climbed down. He followed her along the passageway to her cabin. The faint moonshine through the porthole barely penetrated the darkness of her room, and the only light came from the dim glow of Trahaearn’s lantern. She turned back to him.
“I need to find the spark lighter for my lamp.”
Trahaearn nodded. Quickly, she searched the small desk for the lighter. The room brightened and the door closed. The light flickered when he set the lantern beside her. Mina froze.
She didn’t look up at him. “Have you come in to help me find it?”
“No.” His hand curved around her waist. “I’m taking this opportunity to persuade you.”
Then she’d see how well her resistance stood. Not long. He wanted her. And by the blessed stars, she wanted this.
Deliberately, Mina turned toward him as he drew her in. Lifting her against the solid wall of his chest, he devoured her mouth with another kiss, hungry and wet and hot. So hot. She melted under the onslaught, gripping his shoulders, trying to reach for more, to take him deeper. Her legs wrapped around his hips.
With a heavy groan, he raised his head. His gaze burned into hers, his breathing ragged.
“I won’t fuck you,” he promised. “Not with both of us drunk. I won’t. I’ll only taste you.”
A taste, yes. He bent toward her, and hot kisses rained down her throat. She made fists in his hair and dragged him to her mouth again. His muscles surged between her legs as he lifted and moved. Her back hit the wall near the porthole. Fire exploded through her as his rigid length ground into the cradle of her thighs. She broke away from his kiss, arching and gasping.
And then dove in for another taste. Blue heavens, she wanted so much. Her hands shoved his overcoat from his broad shoulders. He spread her short coat open, stripped it down her arms, and laughed against her when he found her shirt and her armor. She tried to laugh, but she was hungry for another taste of his mouth, his throat. He denied her both, grabbing the hem of her shirt. Cotton pulled over her head, and the buckles of her armor quickly released beneath his fingers and thudded to the deck. Tugging down the loose neckline of her chemise, he buoyed her small breasts, exposing them to his gaze. Chest heaving, Mina watched the dark need suffuse his face.
His need couldn’t be as big as hers. She didn’t see any fear in him, and hers was growing huge, frightening.
“Mina,” he rasped. His hands lowered to her backside, and she whimpered when he rolled his erection against the core of her, where she felt so wet and hot and swollen. “I’d fill you here. So deep.”
Oh, but she needed that. Her head fell back against the wall.
“But not now.” His head dipped. “Now I finally taste you.”
Lips parted, she watched as his tongue flicked across her nipple. Usually so soft, now they stood hard, like bullets. She cried out when he drew the stiff peak into his mouth, tugging and sucking. Uncontrollable need whipped into her. Her hips rocked. His fingers clenched on her bottom, holding her firm over his thick erection.
Arousal had flushed his cheekbones when he lifted his head. He made a rough noise, as if the sight of her nipple drawn tight and ripe by the suction of his mouth pleased him. He moved to her right breast, sucking and pulling, and Mina almost lost herself again, her fingers digging into his scalp, helpless to the sounds of need and pleasure erupting from her throat.
He returned to her mouth for another hard and hot kiss. The fine wool of his coat abraded her wet nipples. Still dressed, though she was only in her trousers and a chemise that hid nothing at all. And her trousers were loose, unbuttoned, though she didn’t know when or how or even if she’d done it herself.
“I need more.” His gaze burned into hers. “I want to taste all of you, Mina. I want to drink you up. Are you wet enough?”
She trembled. I intend to lick between your legs until you come in my mouth. And she was so slick, ached so much, needed so much.
“Yes.” Her breath came in pants. “Yes.”
Slowly, Trahaearn kissed his way down her throat. Between her breasts. Her booted feet hit the floor and she braced her shoulders against the wall, watching him sink to one knee in front of her.
He pressed his lips to her belly. His fingers hooked into the waist of her trousers.
Lick between your legs.
Need rushed over her, beyond anything she’d ever felt—except for once. How was he doing this to her? She suddenly couldn’t breathe. Fear squeezed her chest and quickly burst into terror. She pushed her hands into his hair to hold him still.
“No more, Trahaearn. Please.”
Please.
The word barely penetrated the dull roar in Rhys’s head. God, he needed her. He hadn’t expected arousal to take him over like this, burning hotter than the wine and the softness in his head. He hadn’t known that his need could take him over like this.
But only for her. Only for Mina.
“Please,” she said again, and this time he detected fear in her voice.
He would please her. And show her that he’d take care of her, that she had no reason to be afraid. He dragged her trousers over her hips and halfway down her sleek thighs, and something twisted in his chest. Even by the dim light of the lantern, her short drawstring pants appeared patched and ragged. Pain lashed through his scalp as she pulled at his hair. He kissed her through the threadbare cotton, trying to soothe her fear. And he’d soon give her silk and lace. He smoothed her pants down and groaned.
“Oh, no, no. Please.” She yanked at his hair again. “It’s too much like the Frenzy. I need it too much.”
He could see that. The wisp of black hair covering her sex was no barrier to his gaze, and she was wet, and pink, and flushed with her arousal. She tugged again, and he pinned her hands against the wall before she snatched his scalp bloody. No need to urge him on. She needed, and he’d give. He couldn’t wait to give. Her musky scent threatened to drive him out of his mind, more heady than any perfume, any wine.
Above him, Mina whimpered on a panicked breath. He understood this fear. Her first time exposed. Her first time so vulnerable. But he wouldn’t hurt her.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Please, Trahaearn. No more. I can’t feel this much, I can’t—”
But she could. His mouth covered her sex and her flavor burst over his tongue. He groaned over her thin scream, her electric response. Her hips jerked. Fingers flexing, her nails bit into his hands. Though her wrists were pinned and her trousers bound her thighs, she managed to twist her body. Rhys followed, seeking out every slick drop, licking between her plump lips. She cried out when he suckled on the swollen bud of her clitoris. Her body arched, and she was so wet again, with more for him to lick and taste.
He pushed her relentlessly, relishing every muffled cry, every sobbing moan. She tried to throw him off, as if the pleasure was too much, but he held her still, until she stiffened and convulsed, her flesh pulsing against his tongue.
Triumphant, he tenderly licked until her shudders faded. And though his cock ached, he wouldn’t carry her to the bed. Hell, he didn’t know if he could even stand up, now that the wine had sunk into him with its fuzzy teeth, the wine and the addictive taste of Mina. He was dizzy with it. He’d have done anything for another taste. And her need had been strong. Maybe she could take more.
He looked up and his heart froze.
There was no desire on her face. No ecstasy, no contentment. Only tears. Devastation.
Oh, Christ no. Realization hit him, a sick punch to his gut. Her protests hadn’t been what he’d thought. And this hadn’t been making love to her.
“Mina.” His voice was hoarse. “I thought—”
“Let me go.”
Fury boiled through her command. He immediately dropped his hands from her wrists. She lurched for her weapons. He didn’t see which one she grabbed. He could have stopped her.
But he had too much to pay for now.
She shoved the barrel against his neck and pulled the trigger.
Numb, Mina watched Trahaearn fall unconscious to the floor. She sank next to him, her back to the wall. She couldn’t sob. Couldn’t let herself feel anything.
Easier said than done. The room spun. She couldn’t think clearly. He hadn’t been thinking, either. His shock as he’d looked up at her had been genuine. Both drunk. And by the bright stars, she’d been so stupid. She put her head in her hands. Watered honey wine hadn’t prepared her for this.
And she couldn’t stay here on the floor. Standing, she pulled her trousers up over flesh that was still hot and wet and sensitive. Her fingers shook as she tugged up her chemise and buckled her armor. She had to drag her shirt from beneath his knee, and almost toppled over when she straightened again. Dizzy, she braced her hands on the bed, wondering if she’d soon vomit, but nothing came up.
She looked down at Trahaearn, taking up almost the entire narrow floor. The deck had been sanded smooth. Perhaps she could drag him to his cabin. Crouching, she slipped her hands below his arms, and tried to lift him up. Even straining, she could hardly move him, and soon she was sick and dizzy again.
She gave up and threw a blanket over him. With his long body stretched out, she could barely open the door without banging it into his head. Turning sideways, she eased through and crossed the passageway.
The duke’s cabin was empty—Scarsdale must have still been with Lady Corsair. She recognized the red waistcoat flung over the foot of one bunk. Trahaearn had worn that earlier. Crossing the cabin, she climbed into the Iron Duke’s bed.
Probably not how he’d pictured her there.
Not how she’d pictured it, either.
Suddenly exhausted, she closed her eyes. The image of his mouth on her sex floated behind her lids. She squeezed her hand between her legs, trying to suppress the memory of his lips and tongue. Her terror seemed almost like a dream now, leaving only the need . . . and her wish that she could be someone else, someone who could let herself feel.
Footsteps and the flare of a lamp woke her. Her tongue thick and her head aching, Mina opened her eyes and squinted against the light. Scarsdale stood in his breeches on the other side of the cabin, facing away from her. He pulled off his shirt. Mina’s breath stopped.
Old scars laddered his back. The white, raised flesh crossed his skin in the distinctive lashes and knots made by a thieves’ cat-o’-nine-tails.
Eyes wide, she rose up on her elbow. Scarsdale glanced over his shoulder—then looked again, spinning around and holding his shirt against his chest like a startled matron.
“Inspector!”
She had to force her brain and her tongue to work. “Yes.”
He hastily pulled on his shirt again. “Why aren’t you in your cabin? Where’s the captain?”
“On my floor. I couldn’t move him.”
“He never drinks that much. I should have—Oh, Christ.” Concern and wariness flooded his expression. “Did he . . . ?”
“No. I shot him.”
Alarm replaced the concern. “With what?”
“Opium.”
“He’s fucked, then.” He sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. “That will keep him out far into the morning. Between the two of us, we might be able to drag him in here, but we won’t get him up to the bed. Shall we leave him?”
“I already did,” she said.
He laughed suddenly. “So you have. And pardon me for saying, you look like hell. I don’t know that you could stand up, let alone drag anyone anywhere.”
She supposed he knew better than most what could and couldn’t be done after a drunken binge. “I concur, sir.”
With another sigh, he sat on his bed. “Normally I’d offer to sleep in your cabin. But I imagine you left the porthole uncovered?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Will you be all right with me here?”
“Yes. I’ll pretend you’re my brother.”
His grin flashed and he lay back. “Do you have another opium dart?”
“On the desk in my cabin. Next to the porthole.”
“Damn. Not worth it, then.”
She stared across the room at him. He turned to blow out the lamp, and caught her looking. A wry expression crossed his features before the room went dark.
“You can ask me what happened to my back,” he said.
Blast. “Was I so obvious?”
“Yes. But everyone is. And then they usually make some clever remark about how apt my courtesy title is. Scarsdale. It wasn’t so clever by the third time I heard it, though.” She heard his bunk creak as he lay down again. “My first year as navigator on the Terror, the captain had me flogged.”
“Trahaearn did?” Sickness lodged in her stomach. “Why?”
“I wanted to sail into the Antilles. Captain had plans for Liberé coast, and wouldn’t change them. So I gave the helmsmen the wrong heading.”
Aghast, she said, “You stole his ship!”
“Yes. And he figured it out quickly enough. He asked me why, and I told him. Then he had me whipped with the cat in front of the crew.”
And was fortunate to have only been flogged. Trahaearn had told her that a good captain gave second chances, but trying to take a ship from one was a different matter. Scarsdale was lucky he hadn’t been hanged.
“Why did you take that chance?”
“I’d heard Hunt was on Antigua. And when I was finally able to walk out of sick bay, I found that the captain had sailed to the island, after all. But Hunt had already left port.”
Mina stared up into the dark. Trahaearn had almost slaughtered the Dame when she’d told him she’d given the Terror to Hunt. And Scarsdale would have risked death attempting to track Hunt down. What kind of man could provoke such hatred? What kind of man held Andrew’s life in his hands now?
“Why were you after him?”
Scarsdale fell quiet, and the only sound in the cabin was the distant huff of the engines. Finally, he said, “You’d probably best wait to hear that after your stomach settles.”