knew something. Or maybe the partygoers were
arguing against the status quo."
"I did a little digging. Carrington was a vocal
supporter of the prince consort before the queen
overthrew him. His finances took a blow thanks to
the revolution. I'd imagine that if this SOG does
have something to do with the disappearances, then
he'd be a prime candidate for one of their
members."
"Go on."
"So why attack a group of people belonging to
their own class? And what would a group of
disaffected lords be doing tramping through
sewers? How would they even know what was
down there?"
Byrnes frowned. "You're blowing holes in my
theory."
"It's a nice theory." She shrugged. "And
deserves looking into. Maybe the black flag
symbol is purely coincidence... but maybe it's not.
We just have to put the pieces together. Which is
why you need me."
His back straightened. "Miller—"
"The party should reveal more about this
mysterious SOG." Ingrid crossed toward the
screen, snagging her shirt and protective
overcorset off the edge of a chair.
"And I'll tell you everything you need to know
—"
"I'm coming, Byrnes."
"No, you're not." He stood, tucking the
invitation firmly within his pocket. "You didn't get
a chance to read the fine print, but I'm not telling
you when or where. I might be able to slip beneath
their notice, Miller, but you're very clearly
verwulfen. As far as they're concerned you're an
animal, and far beneath their notice. You'll stand
out like a sore thumb, and contrary to popular
opinion..." He held up a finger to stall her protests.
"I don't want you getting hurt because some blue
blood lords decide they want to play games with
you."
She glared at him over the screen, because he
was mostly right. "I'll think of a way."
"As for today," he continued, as though she
hadn't spoken, "I'm planning on informing the
Moore family of Imogen's passing, and seeing if
they know anything more about Carrington, or this
Ulbricht fellow. What are your plans?"
"I'd love to tell you, but then I'd have to kill
you." With a smirk over the top of the screen, she
dropped the robe. His eyes turned flat, his nostrils
flaring as she slipped into her shortened chemise.
"May the best agent win, Byrnes."
After all, two could play this game, and Ingrid
was weary of his lone wolf attitude. "Now get out,
and let me wash and dress."
"I could stay," he replied with a half-amused
smile. "Button up those hard to reach places for
you."
"I could also rip your arm out of its socket,"
she told him mildly. "But I'm not going to. Though I
am tempted."
Byrnes wisely beat a strategic retreat as
Ingrid set to thinking. Just because he didn't want
her along on this mission into Ulbricht's home
didn't mean that she couldn't be there.
SIX
THE SUMMONS TO Debney's house appeared
early that afternoon. Curious, but not entirely
surprised, Byrnes complied.
"Change of heart?" he called, appearing in
Debney's study where the lord was scribbling
something furiously on a piece of paper.
Debney started, spattering ink across the page
he'd been working upon. "Can you not use the front
door, like everyone else?"
"The point is subterfuge," Byrnes replied,
resting his hip against the desk and trying to see
what his half brother had been writing. "I don't
particularly want anybody seeing me waltz in and
out, and neither should you. I'm a known
Nighthawk, and you're a very convenient source of
information. You look like hell."
"Thank you." Debney pushed away from his
desk, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "I'm not
entirely certain whether I've been manipulated, or
whether I've had an attack of conscience."
"Oh?"
"I'm coming to the house party."
he'd planned. Debney would be cannon fodder at
best, and if Byrnes was to work at optimum, then
he couldn't be watching over his shoulder all the
time, trying to keep an eye on his wayward brother.
"If you don't wish to go, then you don't have to. I
don't need you, Debney."
"No, but I do," came a sultry voice from the
door, and then, with a swish of skirts, Ingrid
appeared.
Like hell. "I don't—" And then his mind
stopped working as he saw her for the first time.
The tall, lean huntress had vanished, replaced
by a woman in a flattering black jacket, open over
a dove-gray corset and bustle that swept up on one
side to reveal the midnight-blue sweep of skirts
beneath. There were bows. Ribbons. Frills. A hat
cocked on top of a mass of gorgeous, polished
honey-brown curls. She was even carrying a
white-and-blue-striped parasol, though the design
looked almost like something Ava had created.
Their eyes met. She was wearing that intense
expression—almost as if he were prey at that
moment—the one that made his hackles rise.
Ingrid's slow smile was dangerous.
The French had a word for it: la femme
fatale.
Byrnes' eyes narrowed, and he belatedly
realized his mouth was hanging open. "No," he
said, turning and placing his hands flatly on the
desktop, as he captured Debney's gaze. "I don't
know how she managed to convince you to do this,
but it's not going ahead. We stick with my plan."
"Which includes you waltzing through the
doors at Lord Ulbricht's estate and pretending to
hobnob with the Echelon?" Ingrid snorted, crossing
her arms under her breasts. "Even the blindest
member of the Echelon would spot you for a wolf
in their midst the second you appeared. You
wouldn't pull it off."
"And you would?" A vein ticked in his
temple. She was doing this on purpose, using her
stance to turn her bust to best example. If she
wasn't careful she was going to spill out of that
dress.
And he was having trouble looking her in the
eye.
"Debney looks the part," she said. "The
invitation is in his name, and quite frankly, unless
he wants Malloryn on his heels, then he needs to
comply with this case."
"You threatened him?"
"I reminded him of the consequences. There's
a reward, in case you haven't being paying
attention."
And Debney needed money.
"You'll get him killed," Byrnes growled.
"That's why I'm going." Walking smoothly, she
trailed her fingers along the desk, stalking behind
Debney. "I can keep an eye on him to protect him,
while you'
re sneaking around the estate. It's
perfect."
If a blue blood could sweat, Debney looked
like he'd be doing it. "Wasn't my idea."
Byrnes didn't take his gaze off her. "Oh, I
guessed that. I should never have told you."
" Au contraire, you should have told me from
the start, and we could have come up with a
feasible plan together. I might have allowed you to
work my case." Ingrid leaned over the desk. "As it
is, I might still allow you to join us. Someone
needs to play valet."
Might? Might? Byrnes rested his knuckles on
the mahogany and loomed closer until her breath
brushed his cheek. "I thought you were chasing up
that theory about the Doeppler orbs."
"Jack's still looking into it for me. Results
should be due in around twenty-four hours, and oh,
look, I seem to have the time to fit in a side
excursion."
"No."
"Give me one good reason," Ingrid countered,
her voice thickening and the bronze rings around
her pupils flaring.
Usually a good time for any sane man to run.
Verwulfen were rash, passionate creatures, and
he'd since learned that Ingrid was dangerous when
her verwulfen nature was roused. "Because I said
so."
in her eyes that indicated she was one second away
from pouncing upon him.
He crossed his arms over his chest. Oh yes,
my dear. Anytime you're ready, I can take you.
Debney cleared his throat. "Just in case
anyone is interested in my opinion, I've decided
that I'm only going if Ingrid goes, and I'm the one
with the invitation. She can pretend to be my
mistress."
Ingrid brushed a piece of nonexistent fluff off
her sleeve.
"Be reasonable, Caleb." Debney's expression
was long-suffering. "It's a better idea than your
own. You've only got your back up because
someone else came up with it. And I'm not going to
risk my hide without at least two people to watch
my back."
"I can circle the ballroom while you're
skulking about Ulbricht's study," Ingrid countered.
"Three sets of eyes, instead of one."
Maneuvring him like a chess piece. "I'm not
Debney. You'll need to work harder than that to
convince me."
"What makes you think I need to convince
you?"
"The fact that you're trying."
"How about this, then? First challenge,"
Ingrid said softly, meeting his gaze. "Prove to me
that you're worth the risk. Prove to me that you can
compromise when you need to. I'm not interested
in... selfishness, Caleb."
Every muscle in his body locked into stone.
She was accepting his dare. But— No! Not like
this. "Miller."
"You won't get another chance." Those dark
lashes fluttered down, obscuring her amber gaze.
He stood arrested. Frustration clashed with
sheer want. If he didn't submit, then she'd no doubt
never let him so much as touch her. Oh, she'd
trapped him so neatly. He was furious. And
aroused. "The prize had better be worth it."
"I'll let you know what I'll consider." Ingrid's
smile held satisfaction: his statement was pure
capitulation. Pushing away from the desk, she took
her seat in the corner, crossing her legs.
God. Damn. It.
Debney coughed, reminding them off his
presence. "So we're all going, then?"
Byrnes gave a curt nod. "Let me go get my
things and send for the dirigible. My lord." He shot
one last glare at Ingrid as he strode from the room.
Patience. Just a little patience, and she could
be his.
THEY BORROWED the dirigible from the
Nighthawks Guild, though Ingrid wasn't entirely
certain whether borrowed was the precise term to
use.
Byrnes ushered them aboard a little too
swiftly, and insisted on speaking to the captain
privately, dropping his voice just low enough to
make it difficult for her to hear.
"Well, I'm going to freshen up," Debney said
with a yawn. "It's at least an hour to the air docks
near Ulbricht's manor. And I'll need all of my wits
about me tonight. Are you coming?"
"In a moment," she replied, crossing her arms
over her chest. "Just... curious about something."
Debney's glance shifted between the two of
them and he made to say something, then clearly
thought better of it and scurried away.
Byrnes was definitely up to something. Close
proximity last year had given her most of his tells,
and when Byrnes smiled like that and made an
effort to be affable, he was up to no good. Charm
did not come naturally to him, as usually he saw
little point in it.
Despite her feelings about Byrnes, it was one
of the things she almost admired about him. Charm
was all well and good, but at least you knew
exactly where you stood with him. Most of the
time.
"Something amusing?" Byrnes arched an
eyebrow at her as he finished up with the captain
and sauntered over.
"A private thought. I might tell you later, if I
feel like it. I also might not." Ingrid pushed away
from the paneling she'd been leaning against. "So...
just how difficult are you going to be to work with
tonight?"
Byrnes opened a door in the passageway,
revealing a private chamber. Those blue eyes were
smoky. "I'm on my best behavior, aren't I?"
Ingrid stepped closer and slid sideways
through the door, not taking her eyes off him for a
moment. "That's because you want something."
His sudden smile took her by surprise, so
blinding in its intensity. "You always think I have
ulterior motives."
"You always do," she countered.
"Mmm." His smile softened. "Give me a
moment to get changed, and then I'll return to plot
with you." His gaze slid down over her curves.
"Unless you don't mind if I change here?"
Ingrid smiled, tilting her shoulder toward him
flirtatiously as she slipped her fingers around the
door. "Tempting, truly it is, but the last time you
ended up getting naked in front of me, it didn't end
well, did it?"
Then she shut the door in his face and went
looking for a drink.
HERS WASN'T the only transformation.
Byrnes's hair swept in a sleek line across his
forehead from the layer of pomade and gleamed in
the gaslight from the dirigible's chandelier. He'd
borrowed Debney's previous valet's set of tails,
and the black velvet coat looked almost touchable.
A crisp white bow tie completed the look,
rendering him almost tamed in appearance, though
the sleek way in which he moved gave hint to the
predator within. Anyone who mistook Byrnes for
&nb
sp; something he was not would have his teeth handed
to them.
It should help. Servants were practically
wallpaper at these events. Nobody would be
looking for a Nighthawk in the kitchens.
Ingrid sprawled in her chair, resting her chin
on her hand as she watched him pour himself a
drink. "Time to plot?"
"Time to plot," he confirmed, sinking into the
chair opposite her.
The drone of the engines throbbed through the
floor beneath her boots, and her own glass
vibrated on the small table beside her. Ingrid
downed the remaining brandy in her glass in one
swallow.
"Very well," she said, sitting forward on the
edge of the seat as she laid out the small set of
maps that she'd found earlier that day. "Airfields
are here, in the small town of Kew-on-Upton.
Ulbricht's manor is here." Her finger stabbed the
map as she set about detailing their arrival and
their escape paths should all not go according to
plan.
"It will go according to plan," Byrnes
countered. "We get in, you and Debney distract the
group and see what you can hear, while I go
sneaking about the back hallways."
"Still," she replied, "it never hurts to know
your options."
"Always so methodical, my dear."
"One of us has to be." She continued on,
detailing the layout of the manor from what she'd
learned from Debney. "Any questions?"
"I spoke to Debney about what to expect.
You'll be the center of attention," Byrnes warned,
fetching the blud-wein and the brandy. Ingrid idly
watched him move, because the man looked
damned good in black. "Four years ago verwulfen
were still outlawed and considered slaves. In
London you might have the protection of the
Reformation of Verwulfen Bill, but the group we're
joining are considered outdated even among
Echelon standards, so expect slurs and certain
jibes. I'll do my best to protect you, but you may
have to simply ignore the worst. Though you bring
an exotic element to the group, I'm not entirely
certain how they'll accept your position as
Debney's mistress."
If some blue blood lord thought he was going
to put his hands on her, then she'd disavow them of
the notion, but words and slurs were old news.
Ingrid shrugged. "If someone gets too friendly, I'll
make certain they understand the situation," she
said. "The rest is... nothing new."
After all, she'd spent nearly half her life in a
cage being spat upon and taken out only to be