You Only Love Twice (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 3)

by Bec McMaster

  "No." He didn't want to talk about it.

  "Someone made you bleed. I'd like to meet the man who got the drop on you."

  "It was Malloryn and his friends."

  He watched Silas choke on his smile, swearing under his breath. "Jesus. You had a run-in with ol' ice britches himself? He still walkin'?"

  Obsidian released a tense breath, glancing across the tavern. "There was some interference."

  "Miss Townsend," Silas said knowingly.

  "She didn't want me to kill her friends."

  "And since when do you take orders from a piece of skirt?" Silas held his hands up sharply when Obsidian's glare turned icy. "'Pologies. She's got you twisted up in knots again, ain't she?"

  "Again?"

  Silas looked grim. "This ain't the first time, mate. You were smitten with her in Russia."

  "Before I shot her," he stated very carefully.

  Silence.

  "I’ve got to be honest with you, mate." Silas's lips thinned. "I ain't here of my own reckonin'. Ghost told me to track you down."

  Instantly, he stilled.

  "Why?" Obsidian let the hilt of his favorite blade slip from his sleeve into his hand.

  "Guess he thought I might be the only one to survive an encounter with the Wraith. Wanted me to pass on a little message."

  "Don't call me that."

  "No?" Silas drummed his fingers on the table. "Are you going to use the knife?"

  Of course he'd noticed.

  "Do I have reason to? Brother?" he returned, just as softly.

  Silas glanced down, as if in thought, but Obsidian could see his hand shifting. He wasn't the only one who carried a knife up his sleeve.

  "Anything else I can get you, sirs?"

  The barmaid was suddenly there, and neither of them had noticed her coming. Obsidian sat back in his chair as she leaned forward to mop up the ring of beer on the table that some previous resident had left. She thunked a foaming tankard of ale in front of Silas. "The special of the day's the mutton stew, though I recommend the shepherd's pie."

  "No, thank you," Obsidian said, not taking his gaze off his closest friend. "I don't think we're interested in eating."

  "As you wish." The barmaid dried her hands on her apron with a saucy look in Silas's direction, before moving to the next table.

  "What sort of message does Ghost want you to deliver?"

  "Not the bloody kind," Silas said. "If I ever got that instruction, you wouldn't see hide nor hair of me ever again. I know who wins an encounter between the likes of us. I'd be on the nearest airship to the Americas before you could so much as sneeze."

  "The message?"

  Silas sighed. "He wants you to come in for reconditionin'. Said she's clearly been twistin' your head again. He could forgive that."

  "Ghost forgives nothing."

  "Aye, but he knows he needs you. Balfour's twistin' the thumbscrews, and nobody else has got your skills."

  True. Obsidian rubbed at his mouth as Silas took a mouthful of his ale.

  While a blue blood could still enjoy food and drink in moderate proportions, the dhampir struggled to consume food they'd once found pleasurable. Silas forced it down.

  "And what else is he going to insist upon?"

  "You know the price."

  Gemma's life.

  "No," he said, so softly Silas shivered. "If he touches one hair on her head, I will kill him. Brother or not. Balfour or not." He leaned toward Silas, staring his brother in the eye. "Tell him if he thinks I cannot get to him, then he is mistaken. If he hurts her, then the last thing he will ever see is my knife. Or better yet... he will never see me coming at all."

  Silas eased out a breath. "You're one intense bastard when you want to be. I think my balls just shriveled up a wee bit. But I'll tell him you said that. I think I might enjoy watchin' him go a little paler round the gills. Now he's got his crew of sycophants, he's been gettin' a little too big for his boots."

  Obsidian traced the wet ring Silas's mug had left behind. In the space of a few days, Gemma had torn his life apart. There was no place for him at her side, and yet... what else did he have? "If he wishes me to come in, then I will consider it. And my price is Gemma's life."

  He couldn't keep watching over her like this.

  Sooner or later one of his brethren would slip past him, and then he would lose her for good.

  "I will come in. I will accept his orders. I will play my part. But Gemma is not to be touched. He needs to rescind the assassination order."

  "You want to tell Ghost what he is or ain't to do?"

  Something stirred within Obsidian. He'd spent too many years bowing to Ghost's will because he simply didn't care enough to fight him.

  Now he cared.

  "Yes."

  "Well, now. I guess this means we know where you stand on the Gemma Townsend issue." Silas peered into his glass as if it contained the mysteries of the universe. "I watched him torture the memory of her out of your mind after Russia. Ghost was furious your loyalty had been swayed. You would scream, again and again, as he put you under and reprogrammed you. You forgot her. Became naught more that Ghost's pet assassin.

  "And now here she is, walkin' back into your life, and it's like I'm watchin' something come alive within you. And I can't help but wonder... what would it be like to know that sense of loyalty to someone? Stronger than what we forged in the Cremorne Institute. Unbreakable."

  Taking a deep breath, Silas carefully placed both hands on the top of the table. "Just tell me one thing... Is she worth it?"

  Obsidian had no answer to that. His and Gemma's relationship had always been a thing fraught with danger. There'd been moments of lust between them, fragments of... quiet times where he could remember her kissing him, and feeling as if the entire world lay in his grasp.

  So much had been lost. No, stolen from him.

  He didn't know if there was an us or a them. All he knew was he had to save her.

  But he tried to put the concept into words for his oldest friend.

  "We've had no peace. We've never had a chance to be. She is pain, and suffering, and torment to me, but she is also hope, and light, and laughter. Perhaps we'll never have that peace. Or a chance to discover if there could ever be more. But is the cost of my life worth the price of hers? Yes. I think I would die for her, and there would be no bitterness earned in pursuing such oblivion. As long as she lived. As long as I knew she was still out there, safe. I would pay any price for her."

  "Let us hope it don't come to that," Silas murmured. "You're the only bastard I actually give a damn about."

  "You're only saying that because you want to stay in my good graces."

  Silas tipped the tankard of ale toward him. "There's that too, you mad bugger."

  Chapter 17

  Gemma rapped on the door to Malloryn's private chambers at the Hamilton residence in Kensington. "You sent for me?"

  There'd been a message waiting with Herbert that morning when she hauled herself out of bed and downstairs for some very much needed tea. Her one consolation was that Ava and Ingrid were in a similar condition.

  Inside the room, she saw the duke examining his choice of cufflinks as his valet watched on. Malloryn's icy gaze flickered to her, and then he turned to his valet. "A moment, Edwards. Perhaps you can see if the bride needs anything."

  The valet vanished and Gemma shut the door behind her.

  The ceremony was to take place in the formal chambers of the Hamilton house. In light of the threat against the queen, it wasn't ideal, but it had been too late to make other arrangements.

  Malloryn shot her a cool look. "The guests should be arriving shortly. I'm sure Ingrid and Ava filled you in on events last night?"

  The queen would be in attendance today, and while the Company of Rogues had been busy while she'd been gone, they'd made no headway on the Chameleon issue.

  "She has, though I was under the impression I was no longer working the Chameleon case."

  He ig
nored the bite to her voice. "Are you recovered?"

  The request took her aback. She hadn't even been entirely certain she was still on the guest list. "Yes."

  "Good." He peered at himself in the mirror, his expression blank as he fiddled with his right cufflink. "I need you to be focused today, Gemma. While I'm not certain whether to return you to the field to face your ex-lover again, I would like you to assist with the queen's safety. You would see any threat coming long before the rest of her guards."

  A truce then.

  Despite her aching head, there was a clarity within her this morning she hadn't owned the night before.

  And as much as Malloryn drove her crazy, she did care for him. Perhaps more than he allowed anyone else to do.

  "Here," she murmured, crossing over to him. "You're butchering this."

  Malloryn gave himself and his cufflinks over to her.

  Gemma swiftly did them up, and then straightened the shoulders of the black velvet coat he wore. Every inch of him looked dangerous and dashing. His close-cropped dark auburn hair gleamed in the gaslight, and his usual assortment of rings splayed across his fingers. All eyes would see a man who held an incredible amount of power, and wielded it with a dispassionate hand, but they'd never realize how loyal and true he was to those he considered his.

  "Perfect. You look perfect," she said with some satisfaction, for he'd tasked her months ago with choosing his wardrobe for the occasion.

  "How is Isabella this morning?" he murmured.

  "Do you really want to know?"

  For the first time, Malloryn looked uncomfortable. "She's barely speaking to me. We quarreled."

  "I know."

  "About the wedding."

  "I know."

  Malloryn met her gaze, looking utterly perplexed. "She knew going into this there would never be anything between us. It's the only reason I let her seduce me. I shouldn't have. I knew better than to mix business with pleasure, but I thought she understood that."

  "Oh, Malloryn." Gemma sighed and tugged his coat closed, starting on the buttons on his chest. "Despite your omnipotence, you have absolutely no idea about women's hearts, do you?"

  "I don't want to hurt her, but... there's not.... I don't—"

  "I know." Gemma stepped back, brushing lint off his sleeve. "Your heart died with Catherine. Isabella knew better. She's told me as much a hundred times, but it doesn't negate the fact that deep in her heart she felt something for you. She knows you have to marry Miss Hamilton, and perhaps... perhaps it’s best this ends now, before she gets her heart well and truly broken."

  Logically it made sense, but her heart ached for her friend. She'd barely seen Isabella since she returned, so caught up in her own heartbreak she had scarcely given the other woman a thought. She'd try and find her tonight, once this was all over, and see if Isabella needed a shoulder to cry on.

  "Go and get married," Gemma said, turning toward the door. "And be kind to your future wife, because despite the fact Miss Hamilton manipulated you into this wedding, she has a heart too."

  "One would beg to differ." His voice roughened. "Which is the only reason I'm going through with this. I would never say this to her face, but in a way Adele suits my purposes. She's callous and cold, and she will never desire more from me than I am prepared to give."

  Gemma shook her head. He'd never learn.

  "Gemma?"

  She paused with one hand on the door.

  "I may have spoken hastily last night." Malloryn shifted his cravat, as if it were suddenly choking him. "It's not that I don't understand. You never knew who your parents were—Balfour took you off the streets and trained you to be a weapon, but the second I saw you, I knew there was more to you than that. There was too much compassion within you to survive as one of Balfour's Falcons. He thought it a weakness, but I saw more. Your sense of empathy was the one thing that allowed me to lure you away from him. It's what makes you so valuable to me, for I know you believe in the cause we're undertaking. I know you want to see a better London, and that gives you incentive to fight harder than any of the others I could have chosen for this role.

  "It's your greatest strength—but it's also your downfall." He cleared his throat. "I won't pretend I understand it, but I know Obsidian means more to you than I can imagine. I just hope you mean enough to him."

  She looked away. "I know there's no future between us."

  There couldn't be.

  Not with Dmitri on one side of the line, and her on the other.

  "I hope there is," Malloryn murmured. "Because you're not like me, and... as much as I complain about it at times, there is a certain optimistic part of me that would like to see you happy. You deserve happiness."

  "Are you actually saying there's a secret little romantic part of you?"

  "Heaven forbid. Maybe I'm nervous. I'm babbling. Now go." He gestured to the door, his entire demeanor changing as if he'd let down his defenses and found it too overbearing to continue. Strictly business once more. "I want you to keep a close eye on the queen today. You're the last line of defense, Gemma. I've got enough guards on hand to fight off the entire army of New Catalan, but as we well know, that hasn't stopped him in the past, and you know him best."

  Him.

  The Chameleon.

  "You think he'll strike today?"

  "It's the first time she's been out of the Tower in a week," Malloryn replied grimly. "I tried to talk her out of it, but she insisted."

  Gemma had seen the guest list. Half the Echelon was to be in attendance. Numerous opportunities for anyone to get close to the queen.

  "This is aimed at you," she said. "He wanted you to know he's going to try. If it's going to happen, then today is the perfect day for it."

  Malloryn grimaced. "The thought crossed my mind."

  "Have you warned your fiancée?"

  Malloryn blinked.

  "You do realize she has a right to know a dangerous assassin may just ruin the wedding."

  "I honestly hadn't given her a thought."

  Poor Miss Hamilton. This marriage was probably going to be worse than she'd expected.

  "Go and warn her," Gemma said, grabbing his arm and lacing her arm through it. "It's the right thing to do."

  "I think I'd rather chew nails."

  "You have to beard the dragon in her bedchamber at some stage."

  He gave her a chilling look. "Miss Hamilton's bedchamber and my presence shall never meet. I know you're hoping for something more to this, Gemma, but I think your recent captivity has rotted your brain. Now go and find the queen."

  That sounded more like the Malloryn she knew.

  "Only if you warn Miss Hamilton. The queen shall be safe as houses. I won't fail you," she promised.

  Malloryn gave her an odd look as he escorted her to the door. "You never have."

  But Gemma couldn't help thinking of Russia.

  Malloryn paused before the half-open door with his hand raised to knock. Movement shifted inside, but none of it the sounds associated with what he'd have expected of a happy bride preparing for her moment of victory. Indeed, there was a definite hush over the room.

  Curse Gemma for making him do this.

  "You look beautiful, miss," said a soft, gentle voice.

  "Do I?" This was even quieter, almost toneless. "Perhaps I'll steal my husband's heart when he sees me in this dress." A soft laugh. "If he had one, that is."

  "Yes, miss."

  A sigh. Malloryn shifted slightly so he could see. Adele stared in her cheval mirror, wearing a gown of blushing pink that set off the creamy perfection of her skin. She didn't look like a happy bride. Indeed, her face was expressionless and her eyes looked tired. Someone had gathered all that blonde hair back into a neat chignon, with her veil clasped just beneath it. The effect was stirring. Innocent. Despite his feelings on the marriage, he couldn't deny Adele was stunningly beautiful.

  For a viper.

  "Has my mother come down yet?" Adele asked.

  The m
aid paused. "Not yet, miss. I'm sure she will."

  "That makes one of us," Adele murmured under her breath. "Thank you, Emily. I daresay I won't be returning to this miserable place after the wedding, but you've been my one spot of brightness in this household. I've left a small favor for you in the envelope on my nightstand, along with a reference just in case. Make sure you gather it before my mother sees it."

  "Miss, you're too kind." Emily bobbed a curtsy, and for a moment looked like she was going to cry. "It will be all right. You'll see. You'll be a duchess soon."

  Adele's head bowed. "We shall see."

  She almost looked sad. A moment of unease shivered down the back of Malloryn's neck, but the maid had turned and was halfway to the door when she spotted him.

  "Your Grace!" she blurted.

  Malloryn slipped inside, noting his fiancée's startled glance as the maid made her escape. She even shut the door behind them, a gross mistake of decency—if not for the fact he was already well and truly trapped. At least this conversation could be had in private.

  "Malloryn." Adele turned, her vast array of skirts slowly changing direction with her. "Isn't it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?"

  "I didn't think it would make a difference." It wasn't as though this was a real marriage, after all. But he didn't call it a sham to her face. Malloryn looked her up and down, and to his surprise Adele actually held her breath. That stopped him in his tracks as he remembered what she'd said about stealing his heart. A jest, of course, for both of them knew the truth behind this mockery, but for the first time he simply examined her, rather than dismissing her.

  Sunlight streamed through the window, turning her hair radiant with gilt. The neckline was demure, with full-length sleeves complete with little pearl buttons. For a moment, a part of him almost stirred, tempted to unwrap this little present someone had given him. Perhaps that was what made him the angriest about this entire situation: despite his feelings on the matter, he wanted her. Wanted to discover each and every inch, even as he knew he could not. After all, he himself had set the terms for this marriage. He would do his duty, but he owed her nothing else.

  He refused to owe her anything else.