Forged by Desire

by Bec McMaster

  “Then get more men on it. You don’t need to do all of this by yourself anymore.”

  Another slow smile. “I’m still getting used to this position, I suppose.” He shifted a handful of shillings toward the factory. “Those can be Nighthawks. Hayes is good at questioning people. He can be in charge.” He frowned. “Why is he taking daughters of the Echelon? That’s the part I can’t figure out. They’re not prostitutes or women whose disappearance wouldn’t be remarked upon.”

  “They have to have come into his sphere somehow, and maybe…maybe he sees them and wants them for his collection.” She thought of Hague. “Some men—or monsters—are like that. They fixate on women they’ve seen.” Her. Perry swallowed. The duke had told her after Hague first found her trying to free girls from his laboratory that she was safe. That he had a deal with Hague. Hague would do the duke’s work, and the duke would look the other way when it came to some of Hague’s…peccadilloes. That was the word he’d used. In return, Moncrieff’s thralls were not to be touched.

  Only she hadn’t been safe. For days after the aborted escape attempt, Hague had watched her every time she moved around the Moncrieff’s mansion, desperately writing to her father to break the thrall contract. The moment the duke was gone for the evening, Hague had drugged her and she’d woken up—

  Perry forced the memory back into its locked box in her mind.

  “What else?” Garrett mused, not noticing her discomfort.

  “Someone needs to question Ava and Alice.”

  Silence fell. Perry drained her glass, letting the warmth of the blud-wein soften the tension in her muscles. I’m not going to think of that. Not tonight.

  “We’ll let them rest,” Garrett replied. “Alice won’t let anyone near her except Doyle, and Miss McLaren is still…unsettled. I’m not going to force that on either of them. Not yet.”

  “You could let Byrnes question Miss McLaren,” Perry suggested. “She seemed to trust him.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Perry curled up along the sofa. She was feeling deliciously relaxed now. “This is a most excellent wine.”

  “Perhaps you can send the duke your regards,” Garrett replied dryly, draining the last of his glass and placing it aside. Leaning forward onto his hands and knees, he swept up the pennies and shillings.

  The view was most excellent too, Perry thought, staring at his arse. Leather did all kinds of wonderful things for the male anatomy. A hot flush pooled low in her belly, igniting all sorts of wicked ideas in her head. Or perhaps that was the amount of blud-wein she’d consumed. It left her flushed and relaxed and contemplating things she probably shouldn’t.

  Slowly she closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth from the fireplace. Garrett cursed under his breath as he gathered up the rest of the pennies, the monotony of it lulling her even further. She felt utterly safe here, knowing that he watched over her.

  “Perry…”

  A presence loomed. She reached out to stop it, but then warm arms slid beneath her and the scent of Garrett’s familiar cologne filled her head. “Never could hold your wine, Perry. Come on, I’ve got you.”

  Strong arms. She thought about insisting that he put her down, but she was tired, the world was hazy, and if she were honest with herself, she quite liked being here. Her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, her head nestling on his shoulder. The world spun as he straightened and Perry let it, nuzzling in closer.

  The next thing she knew, she was in the soft, gentle dark and Garrett was easing her onto her bed. Hands tugged at her boots, and one heated palm curled around her calf.

  “What’re you doing?” She yawned.

  “Lie still.” A breathless laugh filled the warm darkness of her room as Garrett tossed her boots aside, then knelt on the bed. “How the bloody hell does this thing work?”

  Her corset. Deft fingers played over it, working with smooth efficiency to unclip each silver buckle. Then the tight laces at the front that held it all together. She lifted her arms up as he dragged it over her head, the thin cotton undershirt she wore clinging to her breasts. Looking down, she started on a button, but the damned thing was so small she could barely get her fingers around it and—

  The next thing she knew she was flat on her back and Garrett swiftly undid her buttons. “Tell me you’re wearing something beneath this,” he murmured.

  “My chemise.”

  “Good.” He whipped the black shirt over her head. Then froze. “That is barely a chemise. That—Christ, that’s a scrap of lace.”

  “Had to cut it off at the bottom,” she murmured. The cool night air shivered over her skin. Idly she traced his knee, which rested on the bed.

  He removed it. Quickly. “I would never have guessed. You. In lace.”

  “I like lace. Sometimes.” She was still a woman, with her own needs and desires. No matter how much she had to pretend they didn’t exist.

  “Only where others can’t see it,” he muttered, starting on the buttons at her waist. “Blast it, how’s a man to forget that?”

  “You didn’t have to undress me.”

  “It seemed a good idea at the time.”

  Her breeches slid down over her hips and she lifted her bottom off the bed to help him. The room spun. “Goodness,” she murmured. His face swam into focus, thick lashes framing his dark eyes. “You’re so pretty, Garrett.”

  “Now I know you’re foxed.” His voice was low and firm. “Stop squirming.” One hand held firm against her thigh as he tugged the leather leggings down over her calves. Perry giggled, his fingers tickling her.

  Even in the near darkness, she could see that he was smiling. Her heart gave a gentle tug in her chest and she reached out, touching his lips. Garrett tossed her breeches behind him and looked up.

  The expression on his face did all sorts of damage to her insides—an equal mix of confusion and bemusement, with a touch of frustration. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked softly.

  Why don’t you kiss me?

  Hands tugged at the sheet, pinning it down over her body firmly, and the bed dipped as he sat on the edge of it.

  She thought for a moment that lips touched hers. Reaching up, her fingers grazed the stubble on his jaw, then Garrett caught her hand and tucked it beneath her pillow.

  “I’ll kiss you one day, Perry, but I’d prefer to do it when you weren’t half-asleep and on the ran-tan.”

  “Not drunk,” she murmured.

  “Not at all.” He smiled again and she blinked sleepily.

  Had he said those words? Or were they only her imagination? Perry tried to open her eyes, but his tall form was moving away from her and she was so tired and… She curled into the pillow and let the darkness wash over her.

  ***

  “Good morning.”

  Garrett gave her a slightly smug smile as she filled her cup with tea and laced it with blood. He held his own cup in his hands, his elbows resting on the dining table, looking handsome and more refreshed than she’d seen him in days. Bastard.

  Perry slid into the chair opposite him and glared. The morning light, which usually hurt her eyes only a little, was unnaturally bright. “I feel awful.”

  “You didn’t have to drink almost the full bottle of blud-wein yourself.”

  “You didn’t have to undress me, either.”

  A smile curled over those devilish lips. “No, I probably didn’t. But let’s be honest… I was rather curious about what you’re hiding under those harsh leathers, considering the way you flaunted yourself at the opera.”

  “Satisfied now?”

  A long, slow, heated look. “Not at all, actually.”

  Perry took refuge in her tea, not quite certain how to answer that. It had been easy to flirt with him at the opera and the other day in the alley, but something…something had changed. There was an edge of seriousness be
neath the lighthearted tone he used. A certain look in his eye. Testing her perhaps.

  “Not going to ask me?”

  “Ask you what?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “If I peeked.” Garrett’s eyes twinkled over the top of his cup.

  “I know you didn’t peek,” she replied, feeling all flushed and bothered. Damn him. “You’re too much of a gentleman.”

  “Sometimes I’m not.” His voice turned soft, drugging. “Sometimes I’m not a gentleman at all. You just haven’t met that side of me yet.”

  And didn’t that present quite an enticing image. Perry stared at him. Waking up in only her chemise and drawers hadn’t bothered her until she’d seen her leggings hanging forlornly over a chair and began to remember last night. She could remember bits and pieces, here and there. The soft almost-ghostly kiss that she could have sworn she’d imagined. Had she imagined that? Her gaze focused on Garrett’s devilishly sensual mouth. Fate couldn’t be that cruel.

  “You didn’t peek,” she repeated. “I know you too well.”

  Their eyes met. Garrett’s smile widened.

  Despite herself, Perry’s heart started to race in her chest. She’d never expected him to level that look at her. She’d seen it enough times—aimed at other ladies—to know what it meant. The thought left her unsettled. For years she’d known exactly where she stood with him, even as it chafed at her. But now everything between them was unsettled. She didn’t know what he was thinking, and the small reckless part of her that had flaunted herself in front of him at the opera and in the alley wasn’t feeling quite so brave this morning.

  “Besides,” Perry added, “that would be cheating.”

  “Were we playing some sort of game? I wasn’t aware there were rules.”

  Were they? She didn’t quite know what this was. But one thing was certain. She’d lose. The stakes were far too high for her, while they meant little, if anything, to him. Perry didn’t realize she’d been smiling at him until it died, melting away as if it had never been.

  Garrett noticed. He always did.

  “You’re right,” he said, his voice turning crisp. “I didn’t peek. The lacy undergarments completely distracted me. I would never have presumed you to be the sort.”

  “Lacy undergarments?” someone asked. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this conversation?”

  Byrnes settled at the dining table beside her, one brow quirking.

  Immediately Garrett’s lips tightened. Perry slid a hand over his, staying him. “We discussed this last night.”

  “My punishment?” Byrnes drawled, sliding an arm along the back of her chair. Despite his careless words, he watched Garrett carefully. “You know I never meant to see her hurt.”

  “I wouldn’t mean to kill you, either…” Garrett growled, shoving to his feet. He rested both hands on the table and leaned over it. “No, actually, that’s a lie.”

  “You’re being unreasonable,” Perry told him flatly.

  “Only where you’re concerned, my dear.” Byrnes gave her an enigmatic smile, kicking one foot up on another chair and spreading his arm across the back of hers. It was a nonchalant gesture, but the muscles in his arm bunched as Garrett’s eyes darkened.

  What the hell did that mean?

  She shot Garrett a look, but he was staring at Byrnes with that unreadable expression on his face, the one that unnerved her. Byrnes stared back, a challenging little quirk to one brow.

  She felt like kicking Byrnes’s chair out from underneath him and then shoving the table into Garrett’s thighs. Anything to break their locked stares. Around the room, some of the novices had begun to notice.

  “You’re drawing attention,” she said quietly.

  Both of them looked around. Garrett flexed his fingers into a fist, then released it, giving her a nod. Acknowledging that he’d been acting like a fool, at least.

  “So where is the case at?” Byrnes asked.

  Perry hastily filled Byrnes in on the events they’d discussed the previous night—anything to break the tension.

  “Perry and I are going to have a chat with Fitz about what we discovered at the laboratory, then we’ll investigate Sykes. Nobody’s seen the foreman since Monday, which seems unusual.” Garrett’s voice softened. “How is Ava?”

  “She woke up screaming several times. So I stayed with her.” Byrnes met Garrett’s eyes with a challenge, as if daring him to castigate him for it. “But she’s recovering as well as one can, I suppose, considering what she went through.”

  “Do you think her nerves have recovered enough to be questioned?”

  “She’s stronger than she seems,” Byrnes admitted grudgingly. “I’ll try, but I won’t push her.”

  “I don’t expect you to.” Garrett gave a clipped nod. “I also want you to pursue some information for me. I want to know if any of the Echelon have ties to the draining factory. Political, economical…anything of interest.”

  “I’m working alone?”

  “For now. Before you get somebody else killed.”

  For once Byrnes seemed less than pleased with the announcement. Perry drained her tea and slammed the mug down, hastily climbing to her feet. “Come,” she said, grabbing Garrett’s arm and dragging him away from the table. “We’re wasting time.”

  The moment the door shut behind them, Perry sighed. “You should stop baiting him.”

  “Me?”

  Perry strode away from him, throwing her hands up. “Let’s go see what Fitz has for us. He, at least, is a rational male.”

  The striking ring of a hammer echoed through the lower floor as they made their way to Fitz’s dungeon. Garrett rapped on the door and held it open for her. The hammering never stopped as Perry stepped through, her eyes instantly watering from the smoke.

  “Devil take it.” Garrett coughed. “Fitz!”

  The guild’s engineer looked up, his eyes magnified by an enormous pair of brass goggles. Tufts of hair stuck up over the top of the goggles, making him look as though he’d been in the midst of an experiment gone awry.

  “Rational, hmm?” Garrett murmured close to her ear as he pushed past her.

  Fitz tossed the hammer aside and dragged his goggles up on top of his head. He blinked, as if only just noticing the thick haze in the room, then turned and swore. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Fitz pulled the lever to open the flue.

  “Sorry, sir,” he called, slightly louder than he needed to. “Didn’t hear you knock.”

  Which was why nobody bothered anymore.

  “What have you got for me?” Garrett asked, prowling among the workbenches littered with a scattering of items. Crates full of the mysterious pieces they’d taken from the laboratory.

  “This,” Fitz said, slapping Garrett’s hand absently as he reached for one of the crates. “Don’t touch.” Gently he slid his hands under something and lifted it almost reverently. “Look at it! She’s a beauty. I’ve never seen the like… I couldn’t even begin to imagine how to create such a thing.”

  The smooth, polished brass lump in his hands began to take form. Bile rose in her throat. “It’s a clockwork heart,” Perry said.

  “Gibson removed it from the chest of the first unidentified victim during the autopsy.” Gently easing it onto a stand, Fitz reached for his forceps. “Mechanical limbs are usually crude, unless they’re formed by the blacksmiths the Echelon control. But I’ve seen their work—even their iron lungs—and I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything like this. Watch.” He gently slid the forceps under one of the beaten brass sheets. The rivets had already been removed and it opened, revealing a chamber of sorts.

  “Whoever he is, he has the genius of da Vinci. This is almost a perfect replica of a human heart, only slightly enlarged. There are clockwork pieces inside—here…” He tapped at the top of the specimen. “And here.” The bottom. “But from what
I can see, I think the entire thing works on pressure. As soon as one chamber fills with fluid, the clockwork at the bottom releases the mechanism blocking each valve, and the blood pours through into the next chamber. It’s…the most amazing device I’ve ever seen.”

  It was vile. Pulsing with evil. Perry shut her eyes and shuddered. “Put it away. I’ve seen enough.”

  Shooting her a surprised glance, Fitz complied, nestling the heart back in the straw-filled crate.

  “The same device resides in both Miss McLaren and Alice, doesn’t it?” Garrett asked.

  Fitz nodded. “Gibson examined them. They both seem quite well, considering their ordeal. He’s going to do some tests on the effectiveness of the device; how much blood it can pump; whether its limits impede either girl’s rigorous movements—”

  “No,” Garrett said, the firmness of his voice echoing a little. “They are women, Fitz. Not an experiment. And they have just been rescued from a hellish ordeal. You are not to question either of them without my authority, and neither is Dr. Gibson. I won’t have them performing some sort of macabre tests for your own curiosity.”

  In that moment, she loved him just a little more fiercely.

  Looking chastened, Fitz gave a stiff nod of the head. “As you wish. I shall restrict my experiments to what I have here.” He gave the mechanical heart another covetous glance. “Whoever he is, he has access to the craving virus. The one thing I am certain of is that all four girls were blue bloods. No human could survive this. And if you see here”—Fitz pointed to the aortic valve—“the heart was joined to the body with the process the Echelon’s blacksmiths call fusion. Using the healing components of a blue blood’s saliva, he managed to fuse the metal with the body.”

  Perry exchanged a glance with Garrett. “Our killer is far more educated than we imagined.” Like Hague had been. It troubled her. “Could he be one of the Echelon’s blacksmiths?” Such men were rare, devoting their lives to their bio-mech work. They were also strictly controlled, often accepting patronage with one of the Great Houses.

  “The Academy of the Greater Sciences would have names of all of their previous students. I’ve not heard of a master smith who hasn’t earned his degree in their hallowed halls,” Fitz said.