by Bec McMaster
Adele rolled onto her back, as if surprised. "How you feel about me?"
He traced the curve of her lower lip. "You are an amazing woman and I see it every day. And I want it. I want you. I want to make something of our marriage. I want…. I want a child with you. A future. Even as I dare not take it. To reach for it is to risk losing it, and I don't know if I can bear its loss. Not again. I have lost enough."
"Catherine," she whispered.
He bowed his head. "Catherine, yes. But more than that: Everything. Myself. My father. The concept of love. The very core of who I was, who my mother raised me to be. I feel as though I somehow destroyed myself. Not Balfour." His mouth tasted like ash. "Me."
"I don't understand."
"There was a child," he whispered. "In a way, it's what started this entire mess. I was careless and Catherine found herself in a delicate way. It was the one thing Balfour could not tolerate. If I had walked away from Catherine, then she would still be alive. My father would still be alive. But I could not, because I was too proud. I challenged Balfour directly, again and again, because I could not be patient. If I blamed Balfour for Catherine's death, then I did not have to confront the part I played in it."
Adele's eyes were very big and round. "You didn't pull the trigger."
"I may as well have. It should have been me. He was pointing the pistol at me, and Catherine begged for my life. It was the last thing he could tolerate." His mouth felt dry. "She died because she tried to save me. She died because she loved me."
A warm hand cupped his cheek. "She didn't die because she loved you, Malloryn. She died because Balfour chose to shoot her, because he could not tolerate another man owning a piece of her, even if it was just her heart. She died because an oppressive society took away her choices. She was given as chattel to a man who used her for blood. Sold, as if she was virtually livestock." Adele's hand slid behind his neck, and she drew him down onto the bed beside her. "Perhaps her love for you was the one defiance she was allowed. Perhaps it was the thing that kept her warm at night, that made her smile, even at the end. Perhaps that child was her joy, even if she didn't live long enough to hold it in her arms. Honor that memory, if nothing else. Honor her love. Don't let Balfour take that away from you."
"It's not memories I'm afraid to lose," he slowly admitted, brushing his thumb across Adele's mouth. She didn't understand. He'd fought so hard to hide it from her. "Not this time."
It's you.
Adele's breath caught.
"I swore on Catherine's grave that I would never love another woman. I would never dare." He brushed the strands of hair that clung to her damp cheeks out of the way, a breathless feeling filling him. "And I'm afraid I'm breaking that promise every time I look at you."
The clock on the mantle ticked in the silence as a hundred thoughts raced through those green eyes. Shock, mostly. Doubt. Wariness. Need.
And a furious desire for what he spoke of.
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispered, brushing the back of his knuckles down her cheek. "I shouldn't let thoughts of you consume me. I shouldn't seek you out, even for a moment, because it makes me feel alive. I shouldn't remember what it feels like to live. I should lock myself away in the Duke of Malloryn's mantle and pretend that Auvry no longer exists, that you don't tempt him in so many ways. Because you are his equal and he knows it. Because he wants a child with you, but he does not dare, because he's not certain if he could survive its loss. He's not certain if he could survive your loss, if he lets himself care. And he's not certain if he's going to win."
He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume. Adele's heart pounded through her chest, and he felt it echo against his own.
"My love is a terrible thing. I would not wish it upon my worst enemy," he whispered. "And so, the Duke of Malloryn does not dare love you."
"Then he is a fool," she breathed, "for his wife would give him the world, if he dared."
Adele turned her face to his and captured his mouth, and then he was pressing into her, trying to steal the promise that beckoned on her tongue. Shuddering beneath the stroke of her hands up his back and spine, as if her very touch had the power to destroy him.
Mine, said the dark, forbidden part of his soul he kept locked away.
And just this once, he let it loose.
Let himself dream of what they could conjure between them, if they both allowed themselves. A future where no shadow loomed over them. A future where he did dare. Where he could grant her all that her heart desired.
All that he might desire.
Her hands went to his shirt, and somehow she had it undone. Then there was nothing but skin beneath her touch as she stripped him bare. Hot little hands wreaking havoc on his cock as he thrust into her palms, begging her for more. The drag of her nightgown as he tore it up over her head, barely breaking the fusion of their mouths to cast it aside.
Naked flesh beneath his.
The pounding of both their hearts.
And need.
Fierce, furious need.
He used teeth and tongue to bring her to the brink, and raptured in the shuddering of her body as she cried out in pleasure. He could spend a hundred nights in her arms, just like this.
A thousand.
Then he was crawling up her body, the hunger demanding that he claim her, as he kissed his way up her throat.
Adele's hips arched beneath him, and he could barely deny the ache of his cock or the slickness of her body. There was no finesse as he drove himself inside her. Merely a meshing of tongues, and bodies and breath.
Hard and furious and desperate. It felt as if he came alive, for the first time in years, as he held nothing of himself back.
And Adele was just as demanding, her nails digging into his spine as he rocked within her, the bedhead hammering the wall. He could feel her clinging to him as if to stake her claim upon him. Fusing their palms together, he pinned her wrists to the bed, meeting those glazed green eyes.
"I knew you were trouble the moment you ran into my arms," he whispered, fucking slowly within her. "You ruin me, but it feels as though there is redemption in ruin." Malloryn bit his lip as her body clenched around his. Sweet Jesus, she was close. "And I want nothing more than to let it consume me."
Adele threw her head back, coming with a soft cry.
He rode her through the aftermath, watching each and every unshuttered emotion cross her pretty face. And somehow, within that moment, he felt himself reborn like a phoenix.
Mine. Forever mine.
He came with a soft cry, collapsing down into the warmth of her arms, and burying himself there. Shuddering, he clung to her, feeling her chest lift with each surge of breath, her heart pounding beneath his.
Hands slid through his hair, her fingers massaging his temples, as he kissed her chin, her jaw, her lips. He eased his weight off her, though he didn't remove himself entirely. He wanted to stay within her body as long as possible.
"We're not going to lose," she finally whispered.
He bit her fingers. "You give me hope."
"I won't let him hurt you."
Malloryn shut his eyes. "I'm the one who's supposed to be protecting you."
"And you have," Adele admitted. "Trapping you into marriage was the best mistake I ever made."
He couldn't help laughing. "I wish I could go back to that moment and tell myself not to be so bloody stubborn. We've wasted too much time."
"Well, you'll just have to promise me forever, so we can make up for it," she replied archly.
"Make up for it, huh?" He nuzzled at her throat, enraptured by the kick of her pulse against his lips. His cock was hardening again, and he felt the urge to explore her body. To revel in the simple affection of her touch. "You are very demanding."
"I'm a duchess, didn't you know?"
"My duchess." My hopes. My dream. Rocking against her, he felt her breath catch again.
"Didn't you call a meeting?" she whispered.
"The Rogues can wait. It will give them something to bloody gossip about. Besides, Charlie's not back yet."
And Adele laughed as he palmed her breast and bent his head to her nipple, the sound piercing straight through his heart.
Surrendering to his fate had never felt more right.
Dawn bloomed, bringing with it the hope of a new day.
And a certain sort of focus and determination Adele hadn't seen on her husband's face in weeks.
"Mowbray practically confirmed the metaljackets are the key to Balfour's attack," Malloryn began, the second all the Rogues were gathered around the table.
Adele frowned. "There are barely two legions of them left. The queen had most of them destroyed after she overthrew her husband, and maintained only an elite ceremonial guard."
"Jack?" Malloryn turned to the masked man who spent most of his days tinkering with his devices down in the cellars.
"Her Grace is quite correct. The populace disapproved of the metaljacket legions, and rightly so, considering they were once used to crush any dissenters. Her Highness had most of them broken down into scrap as soon as she took the throne." Jack leaned forward and sketched something on the sheet of paper in front of him with swift, brief strokes of his pencil. "What remains are the Firebird Legion and the Celestial Legion. The Firebird model is an updated, improved version of the spitfires that used to wreak havoc. Their flamethrowers no longer use Greek Fire, however.
"The Celestials are mostly ceremonial. Gold-plated and carry a saber attached to their mechanical arms. They're somewhat reminiscent of the Imperial Legion in China. Pretty and useless in a pitched battle. Too lumbering and slow, with no long-range weapons."
"Corvus said Balfour plans to tamper with the Firebirds." This from Malloryn. "He'll turn them against the queen."
"Of course he would," Byrnes drawled. "Why not set fire to everything? Everybody likes a good bonfire. It's not as though it could escape his control and burn half of London to the ground."
"I don't think he cares if half of London burns to the ground," Malloryn pointed out.
Adele watched as COR bantered back and forth about the best way to stop Balfour's latest scheme. She reached slowly for the pile of papers in front of Malloryn. The list of Rising Sons leapt out at her.
"It has to be the Prometheus Project," Gemma said, pushing forward the schematics she'd drawn from memory. "He's going to use this chip to assert control of the metaljackets."
"How does he plan to get at them though?" Kincaid mused. "I imagine they're stabled in the Ivory Tower and kept under lock and key."
"They are," Malloryn replied.
Jack frowned as he examined the schematics. "This isn't the sort of thing that can be simply removed and inserted. If Balfour's replacing the metaljackets' chips with this one in order to control them, then it would take him at least a week. He'd need a half dozen bio-mechanical engineers with a degree from the Royal Mechanical Academy, or a master smith in the least. It's not something your average blue blood lord could do. And someone would see it."
"It's complicated." Malloryn scrubbed at his mouth. "Time-consuming. Difficult. And the more difficult a plot is, the harder it is to pull off. It makes no sense."
Adele watched his mind ticking over. "Are you certain this is how he means to attack?"
Malloryn swore under his breath. "No, I'm not certain. This seems too easy for Balfour. It's practically gift wrapped."
And that was the problem.
"Devoncourt's known we had Corvus for days, and they'd be aware of the depth of his knowledge. So why would they continue with this plan if they thought we knew about it?" he demanded.
"It could be a decoy." Which, from what the Rogues had told her, sounded much more like Balfour's style. "Maybe he wants us to focus on the metaljackets?"
Malloryn started pacing, his hands clasped behind him. "So what is he hiding? What is he really planning?"
"Why wouldn't he use both metaljackets and Rising Sons?"
"He most likely will," Malloryn replied. "I expect a coup attempt, in the least. A two-pronged assault. We know who they are now, so the second they make their move I can arrest them."
"You have to convince the queen to cancel her celebrations," Gemma said. "I know you want them to make their move where you can see it coming, but you cannot control everything. One stray bullet and we lose her…."
"Convincing the queen may be easier said than done. I've practically locked down the tower," Malloryn growled, "and it's still not enough. She refuses to be cowed by the threat. Insists that the people need to see their queen hold her head high."
"This is madness, Malloryn," Gemma said. "The Ivory Tower's immense. There's not enough of us—or those Coldrush Guards we know to be loyal—to cover the damned thing."
"Then we focus on Balfour's potential targets," Malloryn countered. "You and Ingrid are going to make some excellent ladies-in-waiting."
"The queen can barely look at me after I nearly killed her," Gemma argued.
"If she wants her ball, then she will have you in her retinue. It is not negotiable."
They argued back and forth, voices growing more and more heated.
"Why not set a trap for him?" Adele suggested. It made perfect sense to her. If they couldn't counter the threat, then they could contain it.
Every head in the room swiveled to look at her.
"How do we set a trap?" Gemma asked. "What do we bait it with? Malloryn?"
"We could tie a target to his chest," Byrnes drawled.
"Paint him pink," Charlie added.
Malloryn focused on her, his mouth thinning with displeasure. "If you're about to suggest yourself, I'll warn you to save your breath."
"Well, technically, not myself."
"Technically?" His voice dipped several octaves.
"We use the queen."
Chapter 32
Her Highness was not amused.
"You want me to do what?"
Malloryn stood before her in the Council Chambers, his hands clasped patiently behind his back. "I want to use you to set a trap for Balfour. And to do that, I need the real 'you' to disappear."
"So you're going to replace me with a body double?" she repeated, as if to confirm what he'd said earlier.
"While I'm certain I can lure Balfour to his doom, I'm not about to put you at risk. Especially since the realm has no heir."
If anything, Alexandra's eyes narrowed further. It was a point of long-standing contention between them. While he could understand her reticence in refusing to take a consort following her disastrous marriage, the country didn't have the luxury of it.
The rest of the Council of Dukes hastily averted their eyes.
Cowards.
"But what about my anniversary?" she demanded. "The parade? The ball? I've been planning this for nearly a year now. The people need to see—"
"And they will see a queen," he replied smoothly. "Unless…. We can make it a state funeral, if you wish? Though I'm sure Balfour will have the final say on that, not us."
Faint color mottled her cheeks.
"I cannot overemphasize the risk, Your Highness." Malloryn knew he had to push now, or risk losing her. "Balfour wants every single person in this room dead. At this point, I don't even know if he's concerned about who he will replace them with, or whether vengeance has completely consumed him. He's not acting the way he usually does."
"You think you've finally pushed him over the edge?" Rosalind Lynch asked.
"I think he's lost enough to make him dangerously unpredictable." He shot the duchess a look. "I have a half dozen threads of his schemes at my disposal, but I don't know precisely where the push is going to come from."
"So you give him a chance to make his play," Barrons mused, rubbing at his jaw. "You gift wrap him an opportunity too irresistible to pass up."
"We shall still have our parade. Our ball. But the queen will be spirited away bef
ore it's all begins. Balfour will know it's a trap, but he's always thought himself smarter than I am. He'll take the opportunity, just to prove he can. And we will be prepared for whichever thread he chooses to play."
"You're playing dangerous games, Malloryn," the queen warned.
"Aren't they all? I cannot give him the chance to slip away and escape. Not this time. This confrontation must be the end. All I need is for you to play your role."
Queen Alexandra pushed to her feet slowly, her silk skirts hissing as they fell around her ankles. "And just who did you have in mind to sit on my throne?"
The doors opened behind him, right on cue.
"Your Highness." He gestured to the woman who entered the Council Chambers behind him. "Please meet Her Highness."
The queen's mouth dropped open as she beheld the woman who entered.
Adele's bearing was as regal as any royal's as she tilted her chin toward her monarch. They'd dyed her hair yesterday to the rich, sleek brown of the queen's. A pair of colored occipital lenses—used by most of his agents at some stage—turned her green eyes the same hazel as Alexandra's. They were of a height. Of a similar build.
And Adele lived and breathed court etiquette when required.
"Forgive me, Your Highness," Adele murmured, "for my poor imitation."
It was not a poor imitation at all.
With the right powders, jewelry, and gowns, Adele could easily be mistaken for the queen unless one was particularly close or knew Alexandra well.
And if he played his cards right, Balfour would never get close enough to realize the mistake.
"Your wife?" The queen's eyebrows almost hit the roof. "Are you insane?"
"Adele volunteered," he replied.
Insisted, despite his best arguments, if he was being honest.
"Then where am I to go?" the queen demanded. "What am I to do?"
Sir Gideon Scott leaned back in his chair. "That is where I come in. I have a small country estate very few people know about. You and I are going to slip out of the tower via one of Malloryn's secret passages and vanish to the country until Balfour is brought to heel. I have a carriage awaiting you as we speak."
