From London, With Love (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 6)

by Bec McMaster

  She had. In the hopes that she could take tea with Gideon before she broached such a sensitive subject. Goodness. She’d almost forgotten.

  “Thank you, Clara,” she said, gesturing to the smaller table by the fireplace. “You may set it down there, please.”

  Gideon stared out the window as the housemaid fiddled with the tea setting. She couldn’t read the firm set of his shoulders, but she envied him the ability to hide his face. She was certain hers bore the stain of her recent activities.

  The queen cleared her throat. “That will do, thank you, Clara.”

  She waited until the maid had curtsied and closed the door behind her, before turning back to Gideon. “Will you not look at me?”

  He slowly turned around, clasping his hands in front of him. “It was not you I was trying to avoid.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he growled, tugging at his necktie. “You’ve left me quite undone.”

  A laugh escaped her as she began to gather his meaning.

  And what a wonder that was—that she could find amusement in such a state of affairs, when she’d only ever seen a man’s attentions as something to be endured. This situation with Gideon was completely confusing.

  “Come here,” she whispered. “Kiss me again. And this time, don’t stop.”

  “But your tea will grow cold,” he teased.

  “Gideon,” she growled.

  He laughed and strode toward her. “As you wish, my queen.”

  Chapter 6

  “Well?” the Duke of Malloryn asked as he and Gemma took tea.

  Clara smoothed her skirts as she took her seat, shooting him a chastening look. “I thought I was placed within Her Majesty’s household in order to prevent an assassination?”

  “Yes, yes,” he said, waving a hand. Clara Herbert was one of his best spies. A true chameleon with a nondescript face and manners, she could blend into almost any background. He’d recalled her and Herbert from Bath the second the queen was poisoned. “Let’s not pretend that was the only reason.”

  “It is possible Her Majesty and Sir Gideon were having an intimate conversation when I entered.”

  “A conversation?”

  Clara returned his glare with a steady gaze. “They were three feet apart, though I suspect they were closer before I entered. The queen was breathless, her skirts a little creased, and her lips reddened. There was no sign of her usual equilibrium and her gaze kept straying to Sir Gideon’s back. He turned away from me the moment I entered, perhaps encumbered by something he couldn’t quite hide. Either they were having a heated discussion, Your Grace, or they were embracing. And I suspect Sir Gideon enjoyed it.”

  Good grief. “You’ve been spending too much time with Gemma.”

  Gemma snorted, stirring her tea with a finger. “If she’d been spending too much time with me, she’d have been blunter. Sir Gideon had a cockstand on him the size of Africa, I’ll wager.”

  Malloryn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you for that image, Gemma.”

  “My pleasure, Malloryn.”

  He ignored her. Arguing with any of the Rogues, he’d discovered, was like trying to herd cats. “Thank you, Clara.”

  She curtsied, then dismissed herself.

  Gemma set her teacup on its saucer. “Perhaps you should simply suggest the queen marry him, Malloryn. I daresay there’s no need for these elaborate games. She seems quite fond of him, from what I’ve seen.”

  He peered down his nose at her. “Have you ever tried to make the queen do something you suggested? Headstrong does not quite cover it.”

  “Perhaps she is tired of being pushed and pulled in every which direction by the men who’ve tried to steal her power.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I have never tried to steal her power. I have only ever tried to protect her and the throne.”

  “Protect her? Or control her?”

  His mouth gaped open.

  Gemma shook her head, pushing to her feet. “I love you, Malloryn, but you grew up in a world where you were a male born into an aristocratic blue blood house, and hence had all the power in the realm. I understand why you fight for the oppressed, but you have never been one of them. You can see their struggles, but have never personally felt them. And the queen, for all her power, has.

  “Perhaps you don’t try to steal her power, but you certainly try to control it. And while you may argue that you’re the type of man who tries to control everything, when it comes to the queen, what makes you any different than any of the others?”

  The heat blanched from his skin.

  He was not—

  He did not mean—

  Gemma leaned down to kiss his cheek. “To truly serve your queen, perhaps you need to start listening to her and not presuming you know best.”

  Gemma’s words stayed with him throughout the day, until Malloryn was almost pacing with frustration whilst Adele attended her toilette. They were due at the opera within the hour, but he could barely think of anything else.

  “Do you think I am too controlling?” he asked.

  Adele looked up from where she was rolling a stocking up her leg. In most instances, he’d have been focused on removing it right now, but not even she could distract him. “In what way? In an ‘I am the Duke of Malloryn and I know best kind of way?’ Or in an ‘I am the Duke of Malloryn and I am trying to protect the people around me kind of way?’” She cocked her head on an angle. “Sometimes they both seem a little similar, if one is being honest.”

  Malloryn sank onto the bed and repeated what Gemma had said to him, feeling again the horror of shame. “I mean well—”

  “I know,” she said blandly.

  “And I’ve only tried to….” To help. To steer.

  Adele listened to him, her blue eyes unblinking, and then she sighed. “You have good intentions, my love, but sometimes intentions aren’t good enough. Do you try to control the queen? Sometimes. Why do you think she always pushes back against you?”

  To hear it from Gemma was bad enough, but Adele wasn’t trying to even pull her punches.

  “Sometimes, I think she walks into council chambers prepared to fight you before you even open your mouth,” she continued. “If you think her headstrong, then perhaps you’re to blame for creating such a drive within her.”

  He collapsed back on the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I’m tired of fighting with her. And the worst thing is, I wish she trusted me more, but perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m to blame for nurturing that distrust. I’ve pushed her too hard in the past. And now, arranging this little coup, pushing her into marriage—”

  A knee slid into the mattress on his right side, and then Adele crawled over him, seating herself in his lap. She captured his hands, dragging them from his face and holding them in her lap.

  “What do I do?” he asked. “We’re at a crucial juncture in rebuilding our nation. If I step back and grant her the freedom she clearly wishes, am I throwing her to the wolves? What if it all goes wrong? Somebody is already trying to kill her.”

  Adele kissed his palms, one after the other. “If the queen desires to rule without being challenged by her councilors, then perhaps you should grant her the leniency to do so. But firstly, I think you should apologize to her.”

  He scowled. “You know I hate that word.”

  Adele shot him a dazzling smile. “You might be surprised to see how far groveling will get you. It works with me, does it not?”

  “I don’t think the queen will appreciate it quite as much as you do.”

  “I should hope not. You are mine, after all.” Adele leaned forward, resting her weight on the palms of his hands. He curled them back against his chest.

  A loud sigh escaped him. “Apologize. Very well.”

  “And soon,” she pointed out.

  Chapter 7

  The clock on the mantel in her drawing room struck twelve.

  The queen stared into the banked embers in her grate, clenching and unclenching her
hands as she waited. What was she doing? What had she been thinking to even broach such a proposal with Gideon?

  She pressed her fingers to her lips. If she concentrated she could still feel her lips tingling. That. That was why it had to be him.

  A sharp rap sounded on the paneling of the wall, and she swiftly crossed to one of the tapestries and unlocked the hidden door.

  A cloaked figure stepped through, towering over her. Then Gideon brushed the hood of his cloak back, revealing the stern, aquiline nose she adored so much and the rasp of the evening’s growth of stubble on his chin. His dark hair was damp, as if he’d come directly from his bath, but he hadn’t shaved.

  “Are you going to let me in?” he asked, in his deep voice.

  Alexandra realized she was staring and hastily stepped out of his way so he could shut the paneling behind him.

  And then they were alone in the room together, with her proposition hanging in the air between them.

  “What do you want of me?”

  All her experience in the marital bed had been rough and rushed and driven purely by the interests of her husband. But she’d seen Mina glowing with happiness every time she looked at her husband, and from the saucy on dits Mina had shared, she’d managed to gather that the bedding was more than pleasant for her friend.

  A part of her couldn’t even fathom such a thing—but then she remembered the soft lushness of Gideon’s kiss.

  Pleasant, yes.

  Far more than pleasant, if she was being honest.

  “I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, straightening her shoulders. “My experiences have not been… kind. I can barely stand to be touched. That. That is what I want. To know if there is a part of me that can enjoy the experience. To no longer be afraid of being touched. And I’m not afraid. Not of you.”

  “Just how far do you intend for me to take this?” he asked softly.

  Alexandra almost choked on her cordial. “I don’t know.”

  He nodded slowly. Thoughtfully. Then began to slip his cloak off. “I see.”

  She considered the gossip she’d heard from Mina. “I do not think it would be wise to engage in lovemaking. I will not risk a child. I have heard, however, that there are ways….”

  He dropped the cloak on the nearest chair and began to remove his gloves. “French letters, yes. Though I will be honest and admit they’re not always successful.”

  A tremor of nerves ran through her, as he tossed his gloves carelessly on the chair behind him. “What are you doing?”

  Gideon paused. Looked up.

  And the world dropped away from her as she fell into those dark, dark eyes.

  “Getting comfortable,” he said, the heavy timbre of his voice dropping to depths she’d not even known he could reach.

  There was something sensual about the way he said it. And then he moved to his coat. One button. Two. All the way down. Beneath it, he wore a charcoal gray wool waistcoat and a shirt and tie, but the way his fingers stroked over each button made it feel indecently intimate.

  “Alexa?” he said, and she realized he’d repeated it twice.

  Alexandra blinked. “Yes?”

  “And tonight? What do you wish of me tonight?”

  Good grief. This was happening. Nothing, she wanted to cry. I was wrong, this is too much….

  But he slipped the coat from his shoulders and she forgot what she’d been going to say.

  Gideon was unlike every other man of her acquaintance. Though Malloryn was taller, Gideon dwarfed him through the shoulders. His chest strained at his waistcoat, and as he slipped his hands in his pockets and stared back at her, the wool of his pants tightened over those powerful thighs.

  Everything. I want everything.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Where do you wish to start?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, so the two halves of her conflicted conscience could meet in the middle.

  “A kiss,” he murmured.

  “I’ve had a kiss.”

  “Oh, Alexa.” For the first time tonight, he smiled. “That was barely a kiss before we were so rudely interrupted.” Stepping closer, he paused barely two inches away from her, looking down. “Tonight we won’t be interrupted. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  The scent of his cologne swirled through her. Gideon. This was Gideon. And something seemed to click in her mind. She knew this man. She’d spent years trying not to glance at the careful way his hands moved and the fine flex of his shoulders within his coat. She’d spent years with her fingers itching to sink through the dark strands of his hair, always cut too long. For the first time, she had permission to take what she wanted from him.

  “Yes,” she said, tipping her chin up firmly so she could look him in the eye. “Though you don’t make the rules here. I do.”

  The faintest of smiles touched his mouth. “You like to be in control.”

  I need to be in control. But she didn’t say it. She’d spent years as a pawn, both her body and mind manipulated by others. She would never submit again.

  “What are your rules?”

  “A kiss,” she said. “Tonight. And I want to touch you.” Daring herself, she reached out and brushed her fingertips across his waistcoat. “I want to see you.”

  “As you wish.” Reaching out, he rested his fingertips under her chin and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. “A kiss, then.”

  The soft rasp of his lips across hers sent a shiver through her. Alexandra closed her eyes and leaned into the caress, savoring the sensation of it. Soft. Gentle. Ridiculously gentle. She wanted more, but the second she pushed into the embrace, he captured her wrists and leaned back.

  “Oh, no.” His eyes were alight with some sense of devilry she’d never seen him wear before. “That was merely another taste. You haven’t earned your kiss yet.”

  “Earned it?”

  Gideon stalked past her, pausing by the fireplace to take up the snifter of cordial she’d had poured and tossing it back. Giving her a challenging look, he tugged at the tie around his throat, and then slid it loose. The buttons at his throat gave, and then he began to work on the ones at his wrists.

  “Come here,” he said.

  He eased back on the daybed, slinging one arm along the back of it.

  “I thought I was the one giving the orders,” she replied, though she was intrigued. This was a side to Gideon she’d never known existed.

  Gentle, yes. But firm. Determined. He was the rock who never yielded. She should have guessed he’d take command in his own quiet manner.

  “Not in here,” Gideon replied, his voice roughening just a little. “You make the rules, but I give the orders.”

  Alexandra sipped the brandy that remained for her. A part of her liked the insolent way Gideon lounged against the chair, the way he tilted his face back to watch her, exposing his throat. She had never touched; only been touched. And her fingers itched to explore.

  In the end, it was her decision, and her decision alone.

  The silk of her skirts swished around her ankles as she slinked toward him. Tension betrayed itself in the tensing muscles of his thighs, and then slight creases that formed at the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t move.

  Barely even breathed.

  Every step she took felt like she crossed a field strewn with explosives, until finally, finally, she stood before him.

  “And now?” she whispered.

  “Sit on my lap,” he said.

  Queens didn’t perch on laps, she told him with a haughty arch of her brow.

  “You’re not my queen right now,” he replied, “you’re just a woman. And I’m just a man.”

  So be it. Sweeping her skirts out of the way, she perched herself gingerly on his thighs. Gideon’s fingers took the glass from her and rolled the cordial back and forth, his eyes dipping to her neckline, but he made no move to touch her.

  How utterly vexing.

  “
Are you going to make me beg at every step of the way?” she demanded.

  “I don’t intend to make you beg at all,” he promised, capturing the fingers of one hand between his. “I’m the supplicant here, Alexandra. Not you.”

  “Then what—?” What next? It chafed her pride to be so at odds and ends here, uncertain of the next step and forced to rely upon his dictation.

  Gideon seemed to understand.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked, lifting her cordial to his lips and watching her.

  The question flummoxed her.

  “I want to kiss you again,” she whispered, for she quite liked kissing. As long as it was him. “And not that foolishness of a kiss you just gave me.”

  He drained the glass and then set it aside. “Then kiss me. Do as you will.”

  Alexandra leaned down, cupping her palm against his cheek and the burr of prickles there. She captured his mouth, sighing into the taste of him. Gideon arched his throat, eating at her mouth with slow, lazy strokes.

  Their tongues lashed together, and a small moan escaped her.

  Goodness.

  Something pressed against her hip, hard and indignant. It took her a moment to realize what it was, and she jerked back in surprise.

  “I won’t apologize for that,” he said stiffly. “I’m only a man, Alexandra. I can’t deny my attraction to you.”

  “It’s not as though I’ve never encountered an erection before,” she replied tartly, squirming a little. “Though I will admit, never quite of this… substance.”

  She glanced down curiously.

  “Do you want to touch me? There?” he growled.

  Alexandra looked up.

  Why not?

  Their gazes locked and she slid her hand between them, encouraged by the way he swallowed.

  The brutish bulge within his breeches flexed as she worked his buttons. Every inch of him stilled, and a soft little sigh escaped him.

  “Fuck,” he whispered as her fingertips grazed the silky head of his erection.

  She couldn’t help herself. A giggle escaped her. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you curse like that, Gideon. What terrible language.”