Forged by Desire

by Bec McMaster

  “Never solved,” Garrett replied. “Lynch hates letting go of a case unanswered. And now there’s not a single note in the file about any attempts made to track her. Not even a photograph or portrait of the girl.”

  “Someone tampered with it. Lynch would never leave a case like that.”

  “Exactly.”

  For a moment they were in perfect accord.

  “But who could steal into the clerical wing without being seen?” Byrnes asked. “And why the sudden interest in the Morrow girl?”

  “She’s the commission.”

  Byrnes was at his best when there was a puzzle to be solved or something to be found. “It seems like the past is certainly coming to light again. The Duke of Moncrieff’s return and now this, the mystery of poor Octavia Morrow being dredged out of the depths.” Those bright eyes locked on Garrett. “Who requested the commission? I know the duke graced us with his presence yesterday.”

  No point denying it. Garrett gave a terse nod.

  “How very curious,” Byrnes said.

  “I want to know more about the case,” Garrett replied. “I remember a handful of facts, but only what was shouted about in the broadsheets.”

  “Perhaps you should ask Perry. She seemed quite taken with the story in the papers the other morning.”

  “Perry?”

  “Tall, slim girl. Rather serious expression, quiet, seems to prefer breeches to gowns. Looks rather smashing in red silk, though, wouldn’t you say?”

  Garrett frowned. There was a sense of something lurking beneath the words. “I know bloody well who she is. It surprised me, is all. She’s not said a word to me about the duke.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you were speaking much at the moment. Either of you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Garrett growled.

  “Miss Morrow isn’t the only mystery around here. You’re not sleeping, and the pair of you are frequently at odds these past few days. That in itself has never happened before. Then of course, Perry’s tiptoeing around in the middle of the night—”

  He was one moment away from dragging Byrnes across the table when that last sentence penetrated. “What do you mean, she’s sneaking around at night?”

  “Last night,” Byrnes replied. “Ava said she saw Perry disappearing toward the steam baths.”

  “Perry can use the steam baths if she wants—”

  “Pardon, sir. Did someone say my name?”

  Miss McLaren appeared carrying a plate of kippers and fried sole. Her hair was neatly braided and she wore the same drab green gown they’d found for her the day before. She paused at the edge of the table when she saw their reactions. “My apologies. I didn’t realize you were unaware of me.”

  Both of them pushed to their feet. Garrett held her chair out for her. “Simply business,” he replied smoothly. “Byrnes was telling me how you were recovering.”

  “I’ve been better.” Despite the haunted look in her eyes, she graced him with a smile as she sat. “But Master Byrnes has been very kind.”

  Not a word he’d ever associate with the man.

  “A little blunt, but very solicitous,” Miss McLaren corrected, sighting his expression. Stabbing a kipper with her fork, she popped it in her mouth. Then paled.

  Byrnes swore under his breath. “Your body’s not the same, and neither are your necessities. Food is no longer something you require.”

  As she pressed her fingers to her lips, Garrett hastily found her a napkin. Miss McLaren took it from him and used it to discreetly remove her mouthful. “Oh, that’s ghastly.” She looked down in dismay. “I adore kippers.”

  “Try blood,” Byrnes replied. “You’re a blue blood now.”

  A fierce little pinprick of hunger lit her eyes, but her skin paled further. “No, thank you. I believe it’s an acquired taste. Much like others.” This with a darting glance at Byrnes.

  Garrett paused with his cup to his lips. Good God. Was that flirtation?

  Byrnes gave her a smile. “Perhaps you’d prefer something a little fresher?” He flicked the button on his sleeve and drew back the fabric, revealing the inside of his wrist.

  “Byrnes was telling me you saw Perry last night,” Garrett broke in, with a warning glare toward the other man. The woman had been through an ordeal; this was the last thing she needed. Especially from Byrnes. The man was coldly calculating in all pursuits, including those that involved women.

  Then he put his cup down. Byrnes knew how haunted some victims of crime could be. Garrett sat back and reexamined them. Byrnes had his arm slung along the back of her chair, seemingly relaxed—though tension rested in his shoulders—and Miss McLaren…she was leaning in toward him. Hands shaking a little around her cup, despite her weak smile.

  Perhaps Miss McLaren saw Byrnes as some sort of protector? Safe enough to smile at, to try to make some attempts at what she perceived as normality.

  Perhaps she needed this to heal? To forget the nightmare? And Byrnes was her version of safety?

  “I did,” Miss McLaren replied, her gaze dropping. For the longest moment she stared at the thumping pulse in the offered blue veins.

  The devil knew, she needed someone to help her adjust to being a blue blood and she seemed to trust Byrnes. “Did Perry seem out of sorts?”

  Miss McLaren jerked her gaze to the kippers. “I’m not quite sure, sir. I barely know her.”

  Garrett reached out and laid a hand over hers. “I’m merely concerned about her. It cannot be easy being the lone woman in a building full of men.”

  “She—I promised I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “I won’t let her know.”

  Miss McLaren’s eyes softened. “She looked surprised to see me there. As if she was hiding something. And she…she…”

  “Please,” Garrett asked, holding her gaze. Forcing her to look at him, to trust him. “She seems out of sorts of late and we argued yesterday. I only want to know if she’s all right.”

  Again Miss McLaren seemed caught on the edge of a precipice. “She seemed upset. And, if I didn’t know any better, I’d believe she left the building. Or at least, she had a small satchel with her. I was… My room felt so small that I spent most of the night pacing the hallways, and I never saw her return.”

  “Satchel?” Byrnes asked.

  “Left the building?” Why the hell would she have needed to go out last night? A cold hand gripped the back of Garrett’s neck as he shoved his chair back and stood.

  “Yes,” Miss McLaren whispered. “She asked me not to say anything to you.”

  Fifteen

  The train’s whistle cut through the commotion of the crowd, a huge billow of steam erupting from the smokestack. Garrett shoved his way through the milling passengers, his eyes raking the platform for her.

  Don’t let it be too late. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, but desperation churned through him. Perry was leaving him. He’d known it the instant the words left Miss McLaren’s lips. That had been two hours ago and he’d been practically running through the streets ever since, trying to track her.

  Struggling through a knot of workmen, he staggered to a halt on the middle of the platform. The train bunched its iron muscles, throbbing with imminent tension. A young lad leaped aboard, the conductor grabbing his arm and steadying him. A pair of young ladies in dark bonnets stepped back, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs as they waved him off.

  Where was she? He could see dozens of young women, but none of them was Perry. Pushing past a workman, he strained to see along the platform. Nothing.

  Pulling out the locating device, Garrett cursed under his breath. Its faint metallic clicks meant she was close. He could track her to her proximity—she was here, somewhere—but the device was no more specific than that.

  If I lose her…

  His vision grayed at th
e thought, violence playing through him. Perry was the only thing holding him together right now.

  Movement flickered through his vision. Dark feathers bobbed over a stylish hat as a young woman glanced through the window on the train, then back at her lap. Garrett’s breath caught. Perry. He’d been looking for a young lady in men’s clothes, but she wore the black wig from the opera, her burgundy velvet coat buttoned tightly beneath her chin. A young woman toying with her gloves in her own compartment, nonchalantly waiting for the train to depart.

  It cut at him inside that she could look so uncaring. Did she even give him a thought? She hadn’t even bloody said good-bye.

  The whistle screamed and smoke poured from the smokestack of the train. It let out a mighty hiss, then the wheels started turning. In her compartment, Perry looked up, her shoulders slumping in relief.

  “Stand clear!” the conductor bellowed.

  Garrett was moving before he thought about it. The train lurched forward, the conductor swinging the door shut. As the train started to move, Perry’s carriage came face-to-face with him.

  Look at me, damn you.

  Slowly her shoulders stiffened and she looked up. There was no hint of recognition at first, only that deadened gaze meeting his. Then her eyes widened, expression painting itself across the muted planes of her face and enlivening it. Garrett nodded at her and stopped walking, falling back into the curious crowd. Perry slammed herself against the window, palm splayed over the glass as she stared after him, her lips parting.

  Carriages rocked past. Garrett started running, shoving people out of his way as the train sped up, carriages rattling past him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the last carriage drawing up close to his shoulder. One last chance…

  He took it, leaping out over the tracks, his hands catching the lip of the carriage roof. A gasp went up behind him, but he ignored it, swinging his leg up onto the top and crouching there for a moment to catch his breath.

  Now you’re mine.

  ***

  Perry’s heart leaped into her throat as she threw herself against the window, straining to see where he’d vanished to. How had he found her? What was he doing? Was he letting her go?

  Slowly she sank down into her seat, the skin of her cheek still imprinted with the coolness of the glass. The image of his face flashed through her mind, tight with a fierceness that almost made her tremble.

  He’d never let her go. Not like this. She knew him too well. This was not good-bye.

  Perry leaped to her feet, reaching up to tug her satchel from the overhead compartment. It caught and she tugged it free with a hard wrench. The satchel spilled open, the few garments she’d managed to pack tumbling into her face and then falling in a half circle at her feet.

  “Blast it,” she swore, kneeling to stuff it all back into her satchel. Her heart hammered in her chest, tempting her to flee.

  Perry buckled it shut and spun toward the door. She had to move. She could almost feel him on the train now, prowling toward her. Flicking open the latch on the compartment door, Perry was reaching for the handle when a man dressed entirely in black stepped into view through the window.

  Too late.

  Their eyes met through the glass and Perry was too slow to move. Garrett yanked the door open, a blast of noise racketing through the private compartment, and stepped inside.

  His hard eyes raked over her, lingering on the suitcase. Something dark shifted through his expression, and then he turned and eased the door shut with a soft, controlled click. Sound choked off.

  “How did you find me?” Was that her voice? So tight and dry?

  “The more interesting question is where, precisely, are you going?”

  Light suddenly streamed through the windows as the train left the station. The carriage rocked as it began to move faster, forcing her to brace her feet. Garrett moved with the sway of the carriage, yanking the curtain down over the door so that no one could see in. One glance at her face and she knew that he realized she had no intention of saying anything.

  “It wasn’t difficult,” he said curtly, responding to her question when she didn’t answer his. She flinched at his tone. “If you were leaving the city, which was the only possibility, it was either by train or ship.”

  Which didn’t explain how he’d tracked her. She’d spent hours backtracking across the city. There was no way he could have followed that trail and found her so quickly.

  Unless he had help.

  Fitz. That damned tracking beacon they’d been using in certain cases. She started patting herself down, trying to find where the small device must have been sewn into her clothes. “Where did you put it?”

  Garrett said nothing. Simply stared at her. And Perry realized that he’d never have expected her to wear a dress. She yanked her skirts up, looking at the heeled boots she always wore. The only flaw to her disguise, but at least she could run and fight in them, and that had been far more important to her mind. “Damn you, is it in one of my boots?”

  He wasn’t watching her. He was staring at her boots… No, at her legs and the elegant silk stockings she wore. Perry sucked in a breath and stepped back, dropping her skirts. The intensity in his expression frightened her. It was something she’d longed for, for so many years. Something she’d dreamed about. Something she’d seen on his face that night at the opera and again last night.

  Something that terrified her.

  He looked up. “You didn’t say good-bye.” Soft, dangerous words.

  “I…I tried.”

  Last night. She saw the knowledge dawning in his eyes. His lip curled back, his teeth bared. The veneer of civility slid off him as if it had never been. He was feral. Furious. And so bloody gorgeous it hurt her heart to look at him.

  “You tried?” He gave a breathless laugh, visibly reining himself in. “You tried to say good-bye? Do I believe that? Let’s be honest, Perry.” His voice hardened. “You were goin’ to give yourself to me but you were never goin’ to say anythin’.” He took a step toward, his face flushed with anger and his words coming out hard and clipped, mangling the fine pronunciation. “You never let me in. You keep me here.” Taking her hand he pressed it against his chest, her arm straight. “All the damned time. And I’m tired of it.”

  He wasn’t wearing his body armor. There was no barrier between her hand and the racing thump of his heart, except for thin cloth. Perry jerked her hand back against her chest, but she could still feel the echo of his pulse against her skin.

  “I was trying to… I didn’t want—”

  “What?” He took up most of the carriage, his anger filling the air.

  “It’s not the same for me as it is for you,” she snapped. “I didn’t want to be hurt—”

  “What the hell d’you mean? When I what? Walked away? Is that what you think I planned to do?” The look on his face… She had the sudden choking feeling that she had made a grave error. Garrett’s lips thinned and he swore under his breath as he realized how badly he was speaking. “Do you think”—he enunciated each word carefully—“for one moment that I would ever do that to you?”

  And suddenly it all welled up inside her, spilling over her lips before she could control it. “You never looked at me! And I was to suddenly believe that things had changed? You like games, Garrett. You like the chase. I’ve seen it a dozen times before. Why would I be any different? Why would—”

  “Because I care for you, damn it!”

  Both of them fell silent, staring at each other with chests heaving. Half the train had probably heard them.

  “Have you ever thought that perhaps you never let me see you?” His voice lowered. “You’re right. You were my friend, but nothing else. You never gave me one hint that you were…that there was anything between us. And you were so frightened when you arrived at the guild that I didn’t see you as a woman. I won’t apologize for that.
You didn’t want me to.”

  She shook her head. But a little part of her couldn’t deny it. It had been far easier to love him from a distance, knowing that nothing would ever come of it. But now that things were growing complicated…

  Another step. He reached out slowly, both hands cupping her trembling jaw. “Where were you going?”

  Perry tore away and paced toward the windows, her skirts swishing. Trying to still the racing beat of her heart. Easier to think of this, rather than all of the unspoken feelings she could never give voice to. It calmed her somewhat. “I can’t tell you.”

  Nothing.

  “Do you know how much that bloody hurts? Damn it, Perry. Where were you going? Were you leaving the city forever? Were you coming back? What are you running from?” His voice thickened. “Was it me?”

  “I just… I needed to…” The words died in her throat. If Garrett knew what had happened to her, she had no doubt that he’d confront the duke about it. She’d seen it happen before, where Garrett had stepped between a whore and her pimp, or a wife and her husband.

  In those moments, he wasn’t the easygoing man she knew. There was a darkness in him, a fierce wrath against men who mistreated their womenfolk. He’d never been able to do anything for his mother, and she knew he saw Mrs. Reed’s face every time a woman was harmed. Perry couldn’t let him go up against the duke, a man who could crush him and wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

  “You’re not going to tell me,” he replied, reading the set of her jaw. “Damn it, Perry. You know you can trust me.” His expression softened. “I’d never hurt you, you know that. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

  Which was precisely the problem.

  I’m protecting you.

  “I was going to send you a letter,” she stammered. “Once I reached the port.” To tell him about her suspicions about Hague, at least, so no more women would have to fear that monster.

  “Port? So you weren’t even going to stay in the country? Would I ever have seen you again?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  A thousand expressions danced across his face. She might as well have struck him. “So you won’t tell me where you’re going,” he said. “You won’t tell me why. How is a man not to let that eat away at him? How am I not to think that it’s something that I’ve done?”