"HERE WE ARE," Kincaid said, pulling to the curb and thrusting one foot out to steady them.

Ava clung to him tightly, squeezing her eyes shut behind the goggles he'd provided her with. He'd insisted they ride his velococycle, a three-wheeled contraption one sat upon, which was going to be the most popular vehicle in London, he'd assured her. She sat sideways on the seat behind him, her breasts crushed to his back, and the throb of the growling steam engine in the velococycle quivering beneath her like some maddened beast.

Ava scrambled off the velococycle, clutching at a lamppost. "My God." Solid ground. She wanted to kiss it.

Kincaid shoved his goggles up on top of his head, scruffing up his black hair. He laughed at her as he tugged his leather riding gloves off, looking younger than she'd ever seen him. "Anyone would think you didn't trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust." She pointed at the velococycle's shiny black painted body. "There's a reason we ride in carriages. Because they are safe, and slow, and nobody is hurtled to a fiery death on the cobbles, which are barely inches beneath your feet, might I point out—"

"Ava." He slid off the velococycle, the flaps of his long leather coat slapping against the backs of his thighs as he captured her upper arms in his hands. "Breathe. I would never put you at risk. I'm an expert driver. I helped build the bloody machine after all, and was on the enclave team that came up with the concept. Surely it was just a little bit enjoyable?"

She stared up at him. Now she had her feet under her again, she felt infinitely better. She'd pinned the enormous mass of her hair back tightly, but loose curls escaped it, and if she were being honest, she couldn't deny there'd been a slight thrill. "Just the littlest bit."

Their eyes met, and then Kincaid's smile grew. "Spread your wings, Ava."

"But," she said, stepping away from him and smoothing her skirts as she set eyes on Winthrop's Emporium, "I still might walk home, thank you very much. Now let’s go find my caterpillar mushroom."

Ava pushed open the door to the shop, the bell over it ringing as she entered. Kincaid's body was a warm presence at her back.

"Hello?" she called. "Is there anybody here?"

The small store smelled musty. Books lined the walls in mahogany shelves that groaned under their weight. Maps of the globe splayed over the bare inches of actual wall that remained, highlighting exotic countries with names like Afghanistan, and Nepal, and Bhutan. Little baskets of herbs sat on every flat surface, some bundled up into little sacks, and others spilling from the baskets. Incense burned, and the smoke hovered just below the stained ceiling like some watchful cloud.

Movement drew her attention to the back. A handsome gentleman appeared, wiping his hands on a clean rag, his mustache neatly trimmed in an almost militaristic style, and his boots polished within an inch of their life. He was a big man with proud bearing, but she couldn't help thinking beside Kincaid, he seemed... small. "Ah, what prosperous day brings such a lovely young flower into my midst?"

He was talking to her. "Good afternoon," she replied, taking a moment to gather herself. "My name is Miss Ava McLaren, and this is my—"

"Fiancé," Kincaid interrupted, taking her hand and resting it on the crook of his arm with a painted-on smile. "Liam Kincaid."

Ava didn't quite look at him, though her lips twitched. Fiancé? What the devil was he about?

The stranger eyed them both for a second, and then gave her a broad smile. "Of course. You're a lucky man, Mr. Kincaid. I'm Major Tom Winthrop, formerly of the East India Company."

The pair of them shook hands, and Winthrop's gaze dropped to Kincaid's mech hand, though he didn't say anything. A company man, one who'd left London during the prince consort's reign, no doubt, when mechs were deemed less than human, and akin to the dirt beneath a blue blood's heel.

Ava bristled in Kincaid's defense, but kept all trace of it out of her voice. "You've travelled through the Orient?"

Winthrop's smile widened, and he showed them the maps pinned to his walls. "Widely. I spent a great deal of time investigating opportunities for the Company in Lhasa, until things turned a little... well, frankly, it was a bit of a hotspot of political interest with the Emirate of Afghanistan sniffing at the door, and the bloody Russo's looking on hungrily, not to mention the White Court of China. After I left the Company, I guided an exhibition for the Duke of Vickers, which searched for the hidden city of Shambhala."

"Shambhala?"

"A hidden land," Winthrop breathed, and she realized he was a natural storyteller, light gleaming in his eyes as if he could see such a thing himself, spread before him. "They say there is a hidden beyul—or valley—hidden high in the Kunlun Mountains, ruled by a mysterious people who are not entirely human. The Land of the Living Gods." Winthrop smiled down at her, his voice taking on a lilting quality. "The people there are almost immortal, and age very slowly, almost not at all, it seems. And they have pale, pale skins, though they worship the sun-chariot."

"Pale skins?" And immortal?

Winthrop's smile widened, his mustache twitching. "They say it's the birthplace of the craving virus."

How fascinating. "I thought the birthplace of the craving virus was in the lands of the White Court?"

"Technically, Tibet has been claimed by them, yes." Winthrop waved a dismissive hand, leaning toward her. "Hundreds of years ago a traveler allegedly found Shambhala and returned to the White Court with the craving. The rulers of the White Court insisted he share this 'gift' of immortality with them, and then they cut off his head so they alone became gods. Only a member of the Imperial family can be given the gift."

"Sounds rather like the aristocratic Echelon," she replied, "and the Blood Rites. Why is it nobles always seek to control such a thing?"

"Power," Winthrop said, ghosting through the bookcases and luring her back into the shadowy bookshelves. "Money. Might. The craving virus makes one faster and stronger, and almost impervious to death. What ruler doesn't want to be semi-immortal?"

"All very interesting," Kincaid drawled, "but we're here searching for a mysterious book, aren't we, Ava darling? Or do you want to hear tales of a mythic city, and the origins of the craving virus?"

Nothing interested her quite as much as esoteric information. And a hidden city, which might be the birthplace of the craving virus? There was an almost fairy-tale quality to such a story. "You're right. Darling." She turned to the major with an almost apologetic smile. "I'm researching a herbal remedy I've heard about. One of the ingredients comes from the Himalayas, and we were directed here. A pharmacist in Marylebone said you were the leading expert on matters of that part of the world."

The major puffed up. "Aye, I am." He gestured to his shop. "I have books, maps, articles of clothing, painted scrolls.... And I stock ancient Oriental herbs and medicines. There's a rich trade for certain things like powdered rhinoceros horn or tiger... ah, tiger parts," he hurried on, as though realizing to whom he spoke, "and herbs like ginseng, or dried mushroom like Boletus lucidus—"

"Boletus... this is a mushroom, yes?"

"Spirit mushroom—"

"Speaking of mushrooms," she said hurriedly, "one of the ingredients I'm most interested in is a mushroom. A caterpillar mushroom. Do you know of it?"

"Yartsa gunbu," he muttered. "I've heard of it, yes. Grows out of the head of a caterpillar in Tibet somewhere."

"Do you have any of it?" Ava held her breath.

The major shook his head abruptly. "No, can't say I have. I have a book on rare plants in the Himalayas, however, if you'd like to look at it?" His smile returned. "I have several books on the Himalayas." He grabbed one off the shelf, and Ava exchanged a frustrated glance with Kincaid.

Another dead end.

"Do you know anyone else in London who might have some of this caterpillar mushroom?" she asked. "The remedy I mean to create was quite specific."

"No, no. Haven't heard of anyone. Here," Major Winthrop said, pressing a book into her hands. "It was written by a traveler who collected stories. There's a section on Shambhala. You should read it. Consider it a gift, from one curious mind to another."

"Oh, I couldn't, Major. This is a beautiful book. It must be expensive." And the sort of thing that sounded quite rare. She patted her reticule, looking for her purse.

"I insist," Major Winthrop said, not quite quirking a brow at her. "Consider it... an engagement present."

"Ah, thank you." Ava tugged one of her calling cards free, and passed it to him in exchange. "And if you do hear of the caterpillar mushroom, please let me know. I'd be very grateful."

* * *

"That man was lying," Kincaid said, as soon as they were out of earshot of the shop.

Ava tore her attention away from the book. "Major Winthrop? Lying? Why ever would you think that?"

"Because the second you asked him about it, his entire manner changed, and he became curt and couldn't wait to get you out of his shop. He knows more about this caterpillar mushroom than he's claiming."

Based on what evidence? Ava gave an exasperated sigh. "You just didn't like him from the start. You were practically bristling."

"That's because he was eyeing you like some tasty little morsel he wanted to sink his teeth into."

"He was not," she protested. "He's a man with a shared interest. I know what it feels like to find someone who shares your passion. It's exhilarating. And, I'm fairly certain you're describing the way you look at me sometimes. Not Major Winthrop."

"That's different."

"Oh?"

"He's a stranger who gave you a rare book he could have sold for a princely sum, for Chrissakes," Kincaid muttered, "even though I introduced myself as your fiancé."

He did have a point. "Maybe he was being kind...." Her words trickled to a halt as she replayed the conversation in her head, and saw the way Winthrop smiled at her. He'd virtually ignored Kincaid. "Oh."

Storm clouds brewed on Kincaid's expression. "You are utterly oblivious, did you know that?"

"Well, men generally don't fall at my feet."

"Or maybe you just don't notice when they do," he muttered.

She shot him a long, steady look. "You're behaving not at all like yourself, did you know? One would almost think you were...."

"Yes?"

"Jealous," she said carefully, though the word sounded ridiculous in her mouth. Liam Kincaid jealous? Over her?

Kincaid's lips thinned, and he looked around. She barely noticed the opening of an alley beside them, before he dragged her into it, his broad body shielding her from street view. "Of course I'm jealous." His hands gripped her shoulders, the look in his eyes naked with unrestrained need. "I want you. And while I'm willing to wait until you're ready, I'm also very aware we made a deal, and I want to fulfill it. I can be patient, Ava, but there's a limit to my patience, and that limit is reached when other men try to charm you."

He captured her chin, one thumb pressing into her lower lip. "You're mine, Ava. Not his. Mine."

Their lips met, and Ava threw her arms around his neck. She'd never been the sort of woman who considered a masculine conquest intriguing, but she understood it now. What it felt like to have a man claim you, a rather barbaric declaration, and it sent a thrill through her. Mine. She kissed him hungrily, not holding back this time, now she knew what she was doing. The fit of his body against hers felt so right. Kincaid lifted her off her toes, one hand splaying over her bottom as he grabbed a handful of her bustle, driving her body against him until she felt something hard press against her belly. It was not his belt buckle.

Desire bloomed to life within her, pure, primal need roaring along her nerve endings. "Kincaid," she whispered, arching her throat as he kissed her chin, then bit her gently.

"Liam," he told her, and she lost herself in that moment. Surrendered completely.

"Liam."

The steel of his erection was defiantly insistent. And the rest of the art in the gallery sprang to mind; a woman's hand curled around a tumescent purple erection, her lips lowering to wrap around that bulbous head.

Is it...? Ava slid her hand lower, drawing back from the kiss to stare into his eyes as her palm brushed over a firm, heated length.

Kincaid's eyes grew glazed, his mouth parting. "Jaysus." He captured her hand, shaking his head. "As much as I'd love to let you finish that thought... this isn't the place. Or the time."

"Sorry," she said.

And he smiled his slightly crooked smile, the one that stole her breath. "Don't be sorry, Ava. I'm postponing the gesture. Not rebuffing it. Later."

"Later." She kissed him as he set her down, and then groaned when he captured her face and gently pushed away from her. "We have to stop doing this," she said breathlessly, licking her lips as she staggered a little without his body to support her.

Kincaid reared back as if she'd struck him.

"No... I mean... not the kissing. The kissing is wonderful. But you dragging me into alleys? Kissing me in art galleries?" She flushed with heat. "What if somebody sees us?"

"Nobody here knows us. Your reputation is safe." He splayed his hand on the brick wall beside her. "Ava." Pure heat spilled through his eyes. He wanted her. She could see it.

"When?" she whispered.

"When your mind's not full of vaccines and rare mushrooms, and dhampir, and you can pay me some thought—"

This time, she put her finger to his lips. "You have no idea how distracting you are. Dr. Gibson asked me several times whether I was all right when I was helping him. It's not the case distracting me, Kincaid. It's you distracting me from the case."

Kincaid bit her finger, and a wave of pleasure swept through her, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Then he smiled. "Well, now. That's what a man wants to hear."

Pushing away from her, he captured her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. There was a cocky strut to his step, as if he'd staked his claim and been reassured.

She'd never have suspected he hid so much doubt. Ava brushed hair out of her face. "I've never wanted a man as much as I want you."

Kincaid paused. "Never?"

There was a question there, one that hinted at the issue between them. Byrnes. His wedding. And all the left-behind feelings she'd dealt with.

Had he been speaking of Winthrop when Kincaid told her she was his? Or was it someone else he pictured?

Ava forced herself to deliberately think of Byrnes. And for the first time, she realized it had been days since she'd given him thought. And perhaps she'd been too innocent, but the thoughts she had given Byrnes in past years had been different to those she felt now. He smiled at me. He touched my hand.

"Never," she admitted, and the word was as much concession for herself as it was for him.

For it was all Kincaid. And if she was quite honest, it had been ever since that interlude in the Garden of Eden when she stole his coat. She still had the bloody thing. She might have even sniffed at it once or twice, drinking in his scent in the privacy of her rooms where she couldn't be caught. Ava groaned. "You frustrate me intensely. But you're always interested in what I have to say. You never treat me with kid gloves. It's.... I feel freer with you than I've ever felt in my life. I don't quite know what to make of it. Of any of this." She gestured at the brick walls. "I just kissed you in an alley where anyone could see us!"

"You're in lust," he said, giving her that wicked smile.

"In lust," she repeated.

She wasn't entirely convinced of the idea. Her mind kept flashing to the orchid he'd tucked behind her ear. The way he'd draped his coat over her shoulders in the Garden of Eden, to keep her warm and make her feel safe.

I like him. A lot. Very much so.

I trust him.

And there was something else there, something she couldn't quite identify.

"What a fearsome frown," Kincaid said. "One would think you're not happy with the idea of being in lust?"

An omnibus blared past, and they broke apart with a start. The world started intruding. Ava caught a glimpse of a little boy glancing at her from the street, his hand in his governess’s as they strolled past.

"It's not that." She cleared her throat. Later. Now was certainly not the time for this discussion. "See? You're doing it again. I should be thinking about how I'm going to get my hands on this caterpillar mushroom, but instead I'm thinking about...."

"About?"

Your soft mouth, and the way it tastes.... "Caterpillar mushroom!" she cried. "I am thinking about caterpillar mushroom, and where I can find it." Turning in a rush of skirts, Ava rubbed her arms. Good lord, what was wrong with her?

"Well, one doesn't sound half as interesting as the other," Kincaid teased, "but so be it. I'll make you a bet," he insisted. "Winthrop lied. I think he knows exactly what this caterpillar mushroom is, and I think he's even got some on hand. I want a look through the rest of his shop, to see just what sort of secrets Major Winthrop is hiding. We'll break in tonight—"

"Break in?" she squeaked.

"Well, he's hardly going to give us the guided tour." A thought clearly occurred—one he didn't like at all, judging by his sudden frown. "You, perhaps, but there's no chance in hell I'm letting you go back in there unescorted."

"Gemma would. She'd give him a smile and a wink, and Winthrop would be spilling his secrets before he even realized what she was doing."

Kincaid stopped in his tracks and shot her a dark look. "No."

"Well, she would."

"You're not Gemma. And that's not a bad thing. But it does mean you're vulnerable to attack, when she is not. She's a trained spy who knows how to kill a man. Aye." He caught her flicker of horror. "You admire her for her confidence, and her beauty, but you never considered the flip side of the coin. Gemma does whatever is necessary to get the results Malloryn desires. She leads a darker life than you do—and sometimes I see the toll of that in her eyes—so pray you never have to lead the life Gemma does.

"As for Winthrop, we know nothing about what sort of man he truly is, except for the fact he worked for the Company, and he imports black market items."

"Black market—?"

"Trust me," Kincaid said. "I know the sort. What if Winthrop's working with our enemy? What if he overwhelmed you, or even killed you? No. And that's final."

"And if I'm right?" she challenged. "If Major Winthrop has nothing to hide, what then?"

Kincaid leaned closer to her, smiling dangerously. "If Major Winthrop is innocent, then I will put a ring on your finger, and give you the wedding of your dreams."

"You sound very certain." The color drained from her face. "I'm not sure I want to be right."

"And if you're wrong, Ava...."

They shared a glance.

"If I'm wrong?" she whispered, breathing a little faster.

"Then you owe me a favor."

"What sort of favor?"

Far, far too easy to walk willingly into his trap. He buffed the back of his knuckles down her side, skimming the lace, and Ava shivered. "I want to see what you're hiding beneath all of this fabric."

She considered it for a long, breathless moment. "Deal. I guess we shall find out tonight. But I don't want you to marry me if you're wrong." The thought was ridiculous. Kincaid.... No. Panic swelled inside her at the thought. She wanted marriage, but she wanted her husband to love her. Not marry her because he enjoyed kissing her.

Or because he'd made a bet.

"No?"

Ava swallowed, feeling a nervous little flutter fill her. She hesitantly traced her gloved fingers down his waistcoat. "I want to see what you're hiding beneath all of this fabric."

The look on his face warmed her from the inside, and she knew she'd remember this moment for the rest of her life—the moment she learned to spread her wings.

Then she turned and walked away, before her nerves got the better of her.