Forged by Desire (London Steampunk Book 4)

by Bec McMaster

  A hand came out of nowhere, an offer of help.

  “Why are you doing this?” Garrett asked hoarsely.

  A considering look flashed through those gray eyes. Something he thought he’d never see in his master’s eyes. “Because I abandoned you when you needed me,” Lynch replied quietly, “and someone we both know reminded me of that fact.”

  Perry. Garrett stole another slow, steady breath, trying to fight the urge to descend back into the pit. They were words he’d hungered for, knowing that he didn’t deserve them. That didn’t stop the sound of them from aching like a knife to the chest. Lynch had turned his back on him, and he was right. Garrett had needed him. He was the only man Garrett had ever trusted—someone Garrett thought of as the father he’d never had—and he hadn’t been there.

  “You doctored her case file,” he said, instead of everything he wanted to say. “You knew who she was when you declared the case unsolvable. You removed the photograph of Octavia Morrow so that no one would ever realize who she was.”

  “Ah.” Lynch caught Garrett’s hand, knowing he wouldn’t take it. He hauled Garrett to his feet. “I wondered how much you knew.”

  “Not enough.” Christ, the room was a mess. The desk was cracked right down the middle, the splintered remains of a chair scattered across the floor. He couldn’t recall doing any of it. Garrett raked a shaky hand over his face. “I don’t know why she fled from him or why she was so frightened.” His voice cracked. “I don’t know where she is.”

  “She’s gone back.”

  Back. There was a hand on his arm and Garrett looked down, blinking through the sudden rage. Lynch’s grip was a reminder. He needed to control himself right now.

  “She’s gone back to Moncrieff,” he echoed. “Why would she do that?”

  “That’s what we need to discover,” Lynch replied. “I never asked her about what happened all those years ago. I never let her know that I’d realized who she was. I should have.”

  “Perry wouldn’t have answered anyway.”

  “No. Probably not. And she would have never completely trusted me again.” Lynch frowned. “But how do we find out?”

  Garrett stared at the destruction in the room. “We go to the source.” His voice hardened. “Perry owes me a damned good-bye.”

  Twenty-one

  The one thing the Duke of Moncrieff couldn’t control was the weather.

  Lightning lashed the stormy skies over the city, and rain dripped down the window, obscuring Perry’s view. She stared at it, watching each drop coagulate and streak toward the bottom of the pane, not allowing herself to think of anything else.

  Behind her, an abigail silently arranged the blond curls of her wig over her shoulder. Every so often she’d catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror of the vanity, and the sight always made her gaze jerk back to stare at the young woman in red.

  The Moncrieff had arranged for everything. The red silk dress had been laid across the bed for her when she arrived, with a note from the duke. He thought the color would suit her, a sign of what she’d become.

  All it did was remind her of Garrett—of that night at the opera when she’d worn red silk and this whole mess had begun.

  “There we are, miss. You look beautiful,” the abigail murmured shyly.

  Perry didn’t even have the heart to ask her name. She simply stared at her own reflection, at the clear, crystalline gray of her eyes and the blondness of her wig. A stranger. One who looked slightly uncomfortable in her borrowed finery, as though she’d almost forgotten what it was like to wear silk gowns and diamond chokers.

  Or perhaps she’d changed so much that it was no longer her. In a way, she’d buried Octavia so completely that the foolish young girl no longer seemed to exist, even within herself.

  “Thank you. That will be all.”

  The abigail bobbed a curtsy. “As you wish, miss.”

  Perry waited until the door shut. A sudden sense of restlessness washed through her. She couldn’t stand to be trapped in this room any longer, with its wash of pale-pink Chinese wallpaper and lacy cushions piled on the canopy bed.

  Your room, my dear.

  She despised pink. She always had.

  Perry crossed to the door and eased the handle around. It turned, but the door wouldn’t open.

  The abigail must have been under orders to lock her in. For a moment she was furious, and then an unwilling smile crossed her lips. If the Moncrieff thought that a simple lock could trap her, then he truly did not understand who he was dealing with anymore.

  She tried the windows and found them latched too. A jest, really. Perry slid one of the pins from her hair and swiftly picked the lock. The window slid up, rain spattering across her skin as she breathed in the London air. Not enough to assuage the feeling of restlessness. She glanced out. The rain was beginning to soften, large fat drops instead of a steady downpour. Perry looked down at the silk dress and realized she truly didn’t care about it.

  Grabbing a fistful of her skirts, she eased out of the window and crouched on the narrow ledge. The heeled slippers impeded her enough for her to remove them and throw them back into her pink jail. Then, with wind whipping through her hair and skirts, she swiftly leaped from window ledge to window ledge, until she reached the upper terrace.

  Say what she would about the Moncrieff, he had impeccable taste in housing. The view from the terrace stretched out over Hyde Park, a hint of greenery among the denseness of London. On a better day, she might almost be able to see the prince consort’s Exhibition Building from here.

  Potted oranges were pruned into exact shape, and chairs rested neatly around a wrought iron table. The glass doors to the orangery ran along the entire terrace, a veritable jungle beckoning from within. Perry’s skirts began to cling wetly to her legs. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  It was exactly what she needed. Some chaos amid all of this ruthless order. A reminder that not everything in life could be controlled. A reminder that she still lived. That in itself was victory.

  The shower of rain came down heavier, wetting her through in seconds. She ought to go back in. Her dress and hair were ruined. The duke would be furious if he saw her, and his guests would begin to arrive on the hour.

  Still…as Perry twisted the glass door to the orangery, a part of her resisted the thought. She didn’t want to go back.

  Lightning flickered, its reflection dancing through the glass doors. Perry bowed her head and pressed her forehead against the door, rain spattering across her bare shoulders and her fingers splaying wide on the glass.

  Something splashed in the puddle behind her. Perry froze, her eyes slowly opening and water dripping off her lashes. A nervous twist in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t caught sight of Hague yet. But a quick glance in the glass showed a reflection too tall to be that vile monster. Not Hague. Her heartbeat sped up. For a moment she almost wished it were.

  “You forgot to say good-bye.” Garrett. She pushed herself away from the door in surprise, her mouth dropping open.

  He didn’t look happy to see her. He looked furious. Raw. Rain dripped from his lashes and his chestnut hair turned dark as it clung to his scalp. Droplets of water slid down the molded leather carapace covering his chest.

  It was everything she’d spent the last twelve hours hoping for.

  And her worst nightmare come to life.

  “Garrett,” she whispered, pressing back against the glass door. “What are you doing here?”

  ***

  What are you doing here?

  She had the nerve to ask him that? Garrett scraped a hand across his mouth, feeling the roughness of his stubble. He’d forgotten to shave that morning. A brief glance in the mirror earlier had shown that he looked just as savage as he felt.

  Perry stared at him with wide eyes, the silk of her dress clinging wetly to her body. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Here she was. Again. Running from him. Pushing him away when he could damn well help her. His. His heart wren
ched at the thought. The idea of losing her was more than he could bear. Shadows flickered through his vision.

  “Perry,” he murmured. “Or should I call you Octavia?”

  Her head jerked a little and she took a half step back. “You know then?”

  Know? Hell, he almost laughed. He knew barely more about her than he had before he learned the truth. Only that she had once been born to the Echelon, to a man who still grieved for her loss; that she’d let the world believe she’d died; and that she’d been running from the Duke of Moncrieff all this time, only to return to him.

  “I don’t have a bloody clue,” Garrett snapped. “All I know is that you couldn’t trust me with the truth.”

  “I didn’t want anyone to know—”

  “I’m not anyone, damn you.” How dare she? “I’ve told you everything about my life and I knew that you didn’t want to speak about your past, but I respected that. I thought there was little to tell.”

  “There isn’t anything to tell.”

  “To me?” Garrett questioned, taking a threatening step toward her. “You told Lynch.” He searched her eyes, desperate to see some sign that she gave a damn.

  “Only what he needed to know.”

  “Incredible. I thought we were partners, Perry. Friends. I always knew that you had my back, but you never thought the same, did you? Of any of us.”

  “That’s not true,” she cried, showing the first sign of agitation.

  “You used us for what we could give you, but you never gave anything back. You kept everything locked up inside so that no one could get close. So that no one could ever guess your secrets. And now that you’ve gotten what you wanted, you’re discarding us, like some fucking soiled robe—”

  She slapped him.

  The vibration shivered through his jaw, turning his head aside. Garrett touched the hot sting slowly, the blackness receding from his vision.

  Rain fell, splashing in the puddles at his feet. She was breathing hard. So was he.

  “You need to leave,” Perry said, her fists clenched at her sides and her body quivering. She turned on her heel, all that glorious, wet red silk clinging to her lean body. “I’m never coming home, Garrett. It’s over. Don’t come back.”

  His gaze followed her hungrily. Then he was in front of her, slamming one hand against the wet glass wall of the orangery. Perry flinched back but he trapped her, reaching out with the other hand to lock her in. Rain slid down his wrist, inside the sleeve of his coat. It didn’t matter. He was wet through. Wet and furious and aching so badly for her to give him just one hint that she’d ever given a damn about him.

  Perry pressed herself back against the glass, her head turned slightly to the side. And he realized that she was waiting for something…a blow perhaps, or harsh words… Garrett froze. What had happened—the slap—that wasn’t Perry. If she’d wanted to hit him, she’d have balled her fist and planted him one straight in the face. The slap was a reaction, something she might have done years ago, before she learned how to hit. Instinct. To push him away. Make him stop. Make the words stop.

  He reached up, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. Perry shivered, closing her eyes as if she couldn’t meet his gaze. Nothing made sense. He ran his fingertips down over her wet skin, tracing her lips.

  “I shouldn’t have hit you,” she whispered, finally looking up. “I’m sorry.”

  Something he’d said had struck a nerve. Garrett searched her gaze, trying to push through the anger and the hurt. When she was frightened or scared, she attacked. And he had pushed her somehow.

  Ten years ago she’d run from the duke. Why? Something had happened, something awful and frightening enough that she’d never returned home.

  And now she was back in the very place she’d run from.

  That didn’t make sense.

  “Why return to him?” Pieces started tumbling into place like clockwork. The duke coming into the guild and asking Garrett to look for her. Perry’s reaction at the time hadn’t spoken of a woman desperate to return to a man who’d once been her lover. No, that was fear, leaving her frozen and trembling on the stairs as she tried to make herself unnoticeable. He saw it now. “What did he threaten to do to you?”

  “Nothing,” Perry snapped, bringing her arms up inside his and knocking them aside. A dark, desperate glint echoed in her eyes. “I’ve simply agreed to fulfill my thrall contract.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She stepped closer, glaring into his eyes. “The duke didn’t threaten me. I choose this of my own free will. I was born to this life. Perhaps I want to go back.”

  Garrett glared back, searching for anything to tell him the truth. Now she was fighting. Which meant he had her cornered. “You always try to pick a fight when you’re upset.”

  “I’m not fighting you,” she shot back. “I’m telling you what is going to happen.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Damn you, Garrett.” She pushed at his chest, without much success. One fist hit him above the lungs, then another, pounding at him, pushing, even when he caught her wrists and held them trapped there, the wet silk of her gloves gripping his fingers.

  Slowly the aggression eased from her. Her shoulders fell, a quiver running through her lower lip. She looked so lost in that moment, as if she barely had the strength to fight. “How many times do I have to tell you what I’ve decided?”

  He wanted to be her strength in that moment. To hold her up when she was so clearly struggling. Garrett smoothed his thumb across her cheek, tilting her face to his. He was so certain now. “You could tell me a hundred times. A thousand. It doesn’t matter, Perry. I’m not leaving you behind. I’m not letting you slip through my fingers, not this time.” His hand slid around the back of her neck, cradling her scalp and drawing her closer to him. “All this time, you were there. And I never saw you. I never knew. But now I do.”

  Perry froze, looking up at him hopelessly. “I can’t do this.” The words were a whisper. “We can’t.”

  “I will give you everything.”

  And still it wasn’t enough. He saw the longing in her eyes. For a moment, a droplet of water slid down her cheek, almost as if she’d shed a tear herself. Then she shook her head.

  “I can’t.”

  “I would sacrifice everything to be with you,” he told her. “Everything.”

  “But I won’t.”

  Garrett searched her gaze. A horrible suspicion fell into place. The only reason she could be doing this. His entire body froze, stillness leaching through him. No. “He didn’t threaten you, did he? He threatened me.”

  Perry shook her head vehemently, but the diamond glitter of her eyes was its own truth. “Garrett—”

  The darkness swirled within him, a vortex of sudden fury. “I’ll kill him.”

  “No!” This time she was adamant. Fear flickered in her eyes as she tried to catch his wrist. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish!”

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” He held his fist up, out of reach, and she tried again. Caught it.

  “Garrett—”

  “You say you won’t sacrifice everything. That makes me wonder where you’d draw the line, and I know you, Perry. I know the one thing you’d never sacrifice. Me. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what he threatened you with.”

  She swallowed. And reached for him with her other hand. “He’ll destroy you—”

  The confirmation shook him. No. Not this. He looked past her, into the depths of the orangery. That fucking bastard. Trapping her like this, using Garrett himself to force her back into a situation she’d fled from. He’d rip the duke’s goddamned heart from his chest—

  Perry shoved at him. “No!” she whispered harshly. “No!” Hitting him with her fists, forcing him to step back, out of the orangery, which he hadn’t realized he’d entered.

  Garrett caught her wrists and she twisted, fighting him, her own desperation bleeding across her face. “Don’t undo this. You can’t beat him. No o
ne can. He’s a duke.”

  “I don’t care if he’s the king!” he snapped.

  “He’s the greatest bladesman in England. You barely know one end of a sword from the other!”

  “I’m not going to bloody duel him,” Garrett snarled. “And I can work out which end’s the pointy one. I’m going to shove it up his ducal—”

  Perry’s hands fisted in his collar, a determined expression crossing her face. She was surprisingly strong. “I won’t let you do this.”

  Garrett cupped her face, stroked her cheeks, her lips, wetness gliding beneath his thumbs. “You made your choice. I’m making mine.”

  “Let me go, Garrett. Please.”

  Rain dripped down the windows, splashing across both their faces. A single drop gathered on the top of her lip. He wanted to lick it off, to taste it.

  “Never,” he said, sliding his hand around to cup the back of her head.

  His mouth met hers, claiming it. A fierce, undeniable urge to protect swept through him, focusing solely on the woman in his arms. She’d done this for him. Because she loved him. Even if she’d never said the words, she didn’t need to. Even if he hated the cause, he couldn’t stop himself from crushing her against his chest and squeezing her tightly.

  His hands cradled her face as he pressed her back against the rough brick wall of the house. Perry’s fingers clenched in his coat, a breathy little mewl sounding in her throat. Her mouth was hot sin. She kept nothing back, kissing him as if her life depended on it, kissing him as if the world was going to end and they only had minutes left, seconds…

  Everything that stood between them washed away in the pouring rain. All of the doubts he’d had. Whether this would ruin their friendship, whether he could stop the inevitable spiral of the craving… It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this. Right here. Her mouth on his, tongue darting against his own, her hips undulating against him as he sank a hand into the flesh of her arse and hauled her tight against him. Kissing her, drowning in her…

  It wasn’t enough. Somehow he had a hand clenched in the wet silk of her skirts, dragging them up her thighs. Perry threw her head back as Garrett ran his lips down her throat. Her pulse kicked against his lips and he didn’t dare linger, need lighting him on fire as he kissed his way down her wet skin, licking the water from her breasts.