Pushing past, she tilted an eyebrow at Debney, "So
much for your idea that he saw you as some kind of
threat. I'm going to mingle."
THE TARGET WAS Ulbricht's study.
Leaving Debney in the ballroom—with strict
instructions to stay there in plain sight—Ingrid
ghosted up the stairs in search of the ladies’
retiring rooms. After she’d powdered her nose she
returned to the hallway, and then darted away from
the ballroom deeper into the depths of the manor
house.
"Where are you, Byrnes?"
" Come and find me," he whispered back. " If
you can."
So be it. Ingrid breathed in deeply. Blue
bloods had no personal scent, but she knew what
type of cologne he was wearing tonight, and...
there.... A trace of it.
Shadows darkened the halls. There were few
lights here, merely fireflies of fuzzy goldenness
burning at certain distances along the hall. Ingrid
stalked Byrnes's trail, smiling a little with
anticipation as the smoky, lemon verbena scent of
his cologne grew stronger.
It was darker here and there were no lights at
all. The sounds of the party grew muted. Ingrid
thought she heard a rustle, and then—
A hand darted out of the shadows, curling
around her wrist and drawing her into an alcove by
the window. Byrnes snapped the curtains closed
with a flick of his hands, pressing her back against
the glass of the window. There were books
scattered on the low padded bench, inviting a
passer-by to sit and rest for a moment, but there
was no resting here. Something had caught his
attention. Ingrid arched a brow, but he clapped a
hand over her mouth, his hard body pressed against
hers. She could feel the whisper of his breath
against her cheek, and that old thrill went through
her. That attraction that she simply couldn't fight.
The second he realized she wasn't going to make a
noise, he withdrew his hand, pressing one finger
against his lips for quiet.
Seconds later she heard it: a pair of footsteps
rustling against the rug in the hallway. Tilting her
head to the side, she caught a hint of cologne that
she recognized, and something else... a scent that
made her mouth twist in distaste.
Ulbricht, and someone else.
"Are the preparations all in order?" Ulbricht
murmured, and fabric rustled as she shifted.
Byrnes's hand came to rest on her hip, a gentle
caress that startled her. Ingrid glanced up from
beneath her lashes. She was fairly certain that this
was gentlest touch he'd ever laid upon her.
Focus, she told herself sharply.
"Lady Zero is seeing to it now," came the low,
terse reply. "What I wouldn't give to see the look
on his face when he realizes what is in store for
him."
"The Sons of Gilead need to know what
happens when one of their own crosses the group."
Ulbricht's words were crisp with satisfaction.
"Yes," said the other voice, amused now, "we
cannot have any of them thinking for themselves,
can we?"
"You almost sound as though you admire him
for his defiance."
"The sheep irritate me. He would have made
a good addition to our elite order. The rest of them
are pawns, to be pushed wherever the Rising Sons
deem worthy, with barely a thought in their heads
beyond how much they would like a return to the
act of taking thralls, or blood-slaves. None of them
think beyond their own immediate world and
needs."
Ulbricht sneered. "That's what makes the
SOG so useful. Their loud, bleating voices hide
what's really going on behind the scenes. They'll
keep Malloryn's attention long enough for us to do
what really needs doing."
"Do you think so?" mused the stranger.
"Malloryn's no fool."
"I'm not afraid of Malloryn. He'll get what's
coming to him for betraying his own class."
Ulbricht sounded disgusted. "But enough of this.
We shouldn't be seen together."
Ingrid looked at Byrnes. Both of them were
barely breathing.
"I'll meet you at the grotto, once this entire
unsavory business is concluded," Ulbricht said,
and began to stride away from them, judging by the
sound of it.
"If you're not afraid of Malloryn," murmured
the stranger to himself, "then you're the fool,
Ulbricht."
His footsteps also vanished into the distance,
and Ingrid let out the breath she'd been holding.
She didn't dare move—to be caught after that
revelatory little conversation would be disaster.
But... there was something about being held in
the warm darkness of the manor, silent behind their
curtains, that made her nervous. Move, and they
might be caught. Stay, and she would become
victim to the heated lure between her body and
Byrnes's.
It was already starting. His breath against her
throat; his hands resting easily on her hips, as if
they belonged there. Their hearts pounded in the
heavy stillness of the night, shockingly loud to her
ears. Byrnes listened to the sound of echoing
footfalls, intent and focused, but as her face slowly
tilted towards his, he looked down, blue eyes
gleaming in the faint moonlight as his own
awareness flared to life.
They stared at each other.
Hard fingers turned soft on her waist.
Byrnes’s piercing gaze shuttered beneath a sweep
of thick black lashes, and his mouth rested a
hairsbreadth away from her temple. It would have
been easy to push him away if he'd simply moved
toward her, but he didn't. She was growing all too
aware of the softening flex of her own hands
against his chest, thumbs caressing the hard planes
of his pectorals beneath his shirt, tempted to do
more, to explore. This gentleness both tempted and
confused her.
Their last case had been a haze of arguments,
and that one heated kiss when passion had finally
overtaken him and he'd thrust her against the wall
behind the theatre, taking what they both wanted.
Seduction had never owned any part in it.
"If you keep looking at me like that, Ingrid,
then we're not going to see the inside of Ulbricht's
study at all," Byrnes whispered. His voice told her
that the thought wouldn't bother him too much, even
as their responsibilities pressed down upon them
both.
Ingrid let go of the breath she'd been holding.
She'd always been attracted to him. That wasn't the
problem. "I believe the hallway sounds empty.
Let's go."
A hand caught her wrist, and Ingrid glanced
up.
"Later," Byrnes insisted, and his eyes had
darkened from that compelling blue to the pure,
sweeping darkness of a
blue blood's hunger.
Ingrid shook his hand free. "You and I aren't a
good combination. We mix like potassium and
water."
His teeth gleamed as he smiled. "Explosive?"
Pressing closer, he nuzzled the edge of her ear, and
a thrill went right through her. "You and I... It
would be a night to remember. That's not always
such a terrible thing, Ingrid."
"It is when one considers the debris left
behind." Like her own shattered heart. She'd
always been too intrigued by him, and knew
herself well enough to know that this—what lay
between them—was not the same as the handful of
liaisons that she'd had in the past to assuage her
loneliness.
Byrnes’s gaze grew heavy-lidded and sleepy
as he looked at her, and the speculation there was
enough to make her wary. If he looked too hard at
her, perhaps he might see something she thought
best kept hidden.
Stupid bloody heart. Longing for something
that was best kept at arm's length.
Ingrid let out an unsteady breath and slipped
through the curtains in a swish of skirts. Byrnes
trailed on her heels, but she knew that discussion
had simply been set aside, not finished.
“This one,” Byrnes noted, trying a handle.
Locked.
It took a swift jiggle with the lock pick that
she'd hidden in her bodice to get through the latch.
Byrnes remained a cool presence at her back as
she slowly turned the handle and peered inside.
Ulbricht's study. Success. Within seconds, they
Perfectly in unison, silently understanding every
look they gave each other. A twitch of his brow
indicated that the desk was hers, and Ingrid
complied.
This... this was what it could be like between
them, if they truly worked together. Byrnes moved
immediately to the bookshelf, sliding books out,
and rifling through them.
If only she could trust his pride and his ability
to let her in.
"Ulbricht has guards on rotation, disguised as
footmen," Byrnes whispered abstractedly, his focus
completely on the mission now, as if by promising
her a “later” he'd been able to entirely
compartmentalize his lust. "I've been timing their
routes. We've got ten minutes...." Glancing at his
pocket watch, he amended, "Closer to nine now."
Ingrid let out another breath, and with it the
last of her own fragmented thoughts. Time to focus.
"Do you think there'll be anything incriminating
here?" Piles of paper were neatly shuffled into
place on the desk, which gleamed. Ulbricht had
fastidious tendencies.
"The problem with the Echelon is that they
firmly believe that they're sitting on a throne on top
of the world, and that the rest of us are mindless,
spineless cattle who couldn't do anything, even if
we dared break into their manors and find
evidence. I've only ever encountered one blue
blood lord who has absolutely nothing of interest
in his study, and that's Malloryn."
"You broke into Malloryn's study?"
Byrnes gave her a faint frown; a warning to
keep her voice down. "I wanted to know more
about this covert operation he's running."
"And?"
"Nothing," he responded gruffly, finished with
the bookshelf and beginning to search for hidden
drawers in the cabinetry. "Though he did have
certain traps in place for the unwary, which is
interesting. Almost as though he expected someone
to go through his things. He's got all the important
information hidden away somewhere, and his study
at Baker Street is a complete sham, well stocked
with treatises on livestock rearing, the best way to
feed
cows,
Bio-mechanics,
and
welding
temperature suggestions for creating mech limbs.
Terrifically boring stuff, I kid you not. One would
almost suspect him of having some private joke on
the rest of the world."
"Or certain spies."
Ingrid sorted through the papers, trying to
keep them in their rightful place. Receipts, stock
movements, a pile of newspaper clippings
featuring incidents where blue blood lords had
been stoned in the streets, or executed. She turned
her attention to those, pausing for a moment. Not
proof of anything, but an interest in the poor
hamstrung blue bloods' plight. Clearly where
Ulbricht's sympathies lay.
Ingrid lifted a newspaper clipping of the
queen's birthday celebrations, frowning as she saw
the way someone had stabbed a pair of holes
through Queen Alexandra's eyes. "He hates her,"
she whispered, easing her thumb against the
newsprint. "Ulbricht hates the queen."
Byrnes had been running his fingers over the
inside of a previously locked cabinet, when he
rattled a hidden latch. "Got something," he
whispered, and set to work unearthing the small
drawer.
"What is it?"
Byrnes withdrew a slim folder from the
hidden compartment that he'd unearthed.
"Insurance," Byrnes read off the top of the
folder.
"Insurance against what?"
"Subject X," he murmured, reading the
document within the folder. "Hmm, something
something
formula...
bloodthirsty...
rampage
through asylum.... Here we are: 'The debacle with
Subject X has created instability at the facility.
would escape his cell and lay waste to so many of
the staff? All evidence indicates that he was
responding
well
to
the
elixir,
and
his
transformation appeared to be almost complete.
Erasmus suspects he has formed an attachment with
the Byerly girl, the one who nurses him, so he
instructed her to work in another of the wings so as
not to distract X. It is believed that the board
members will vote for foreclosure of the asylum,
possibly destruction of the specimens. I cannot
imagine the Duke of—'" He flipped the piece of
paper over. "Hmm. That's strange. I wonder if the
rest of it slipped out."
"What does that have to do with Ulbricht?"
"I don't know." Setting the folder down, he
began hunting through the cabinet with more focus.
"But it's caught my interest. Perhaps thanks to the
part about 'bloodthirsty rampage' and the hidden
compartment. We do have a ravaged body on our
hands, after all, and nobody hides something unless
it's important."
"Focus, Byrnes. We want information on the
SOG. Not scientific experiments." Ingrid continued
her sweep of the room, findi
ng a curled up piece of
parchment in the fireplace.
Unrolling it revealed several symbols. None
of the letters made sense—some sort of odd
language, possibly a code, but.... "I've seen this
symbol before," she said, tapping the picture.
"Tattooed on the inside of Ulbricht's wrist."
Byrnes glanced over, eyes narrowing at the
half sun symbol. "I've seen it tonight too, though I
cannot remember where. I didn't take much notice
of it."
"A half sun," Ingrid murmured, then her eyes
lit up. "Or the Rising Sons?"
"What do they have to do with the Sons of
Gilead?"
"You heard Ulbricht and his crony in the hall.
I think the Sons of Gilead were created to cover
the fact that the real faction—these Rising Sons—
are up to something. The SOG might think
themselves important, but I'd be surprised if they
knew just what they were being used for. It's all
been talk of recruitment drives and funding down
in the ballroom."
"And the Rising Sons? What's their purpose?"
"Anarchy," she whispered, staring into
nothing and seeing that photo of the queen with her
eyes stabbed out. "They're up to something, some
plot against the queen and Malloryn, and we need
to discover what it is before it gets too late."
Ingrid folded the small piece of coded letter,
then slipped it inside her corset. Silence strained
the air. "What?" she asked, arching a brow and
looking up. "I might as well use what I have."
A faint smile played about Byrnes's lips. "I
didn't say anything."
"Jack can decode it for me when we return. If
it wasn't important, then I think it would be written
in plain English."
"Agreed." Byrnes suddenly cocked his head
on the side, holding a stalling hand up, and
pressing the other one to his earpiece with a frown.
Then he was moving in a flurry toward the door.
"Debney," he shot over his shoulder. "They've got
Debney." A frown drew his brows together.
"Ulbricht's there. Something about betraying their
sons? Or their—"
His face suddenly paled, and Byrnes pressed
the communicator even tighter to his ear. Then he
was off, moving toward the door. "He's
screaming."
EIGHT
"DAMN IT!" Byrnes paused in the gardens,
scenting the air.
There'd been no sign of Debney in the
ballroom. Frustration burned through him. He'd
been following Debney's cologne trail but it had
suddenly vanished as he walked into a scent bomb