Dukes Are Forever (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 5)

by Bec McMaster

  She'd never seen anything like it, but Malloryn had produced an entire array of gadgets and devices to assist in her endeavors. He'd clipped a listening device just inside her bodice, through which he—and several of his so-called Rogues—could hear everything that was said in her vicinity, even if they were a hundred yards away.

  She wouldn't be able to communicate with them, but they'd know if she found herself in trouble.

  "I was angry with you," she replied, glancing to where his Rogues were fitting themselves out for a stealth mission.

  They'd set up their surveillance base on a rooftop several houses over from Angel's Fall. He'd even brought the butler, who was tuning the radio phonograph through which they'd be able to listen.

  "You weren't angry," Malloryn murmured. "I've seen you angry before. You throw things."

  "That was one time."

  "It was memorable." His eyes crinkled with humor.

  "You're going to remind me of that frequently, aren't you?"

  "Forever."

  If we have forever.

  She bit her lip as she examined his face. His concentration was absolute, allowing her unrestricted access to his thoughts and emotions.

  "About what I said yesterday in front of everyone—"

  "You don't have to explain." Adele cut him off swiftly. "We were barely on speaking terms a week ago, so I never…. Love is not something I've ever anticipated. People of our class generally don't find it, and marriages are built on far less presumptive measures."

  "Like honesty?" he murmured, looking down into her upturned face. "I shouldn't have said it. I haven't been sleeping well of late, but that's no excuse. Sometimes.... They push me too far. There was a bet leading up to our wedding about whether we would make it to the altar or not."

  "Who won?"

  Malloryn suddenly looked tired. "I did. Considering our aborted first attempt, nobody knows the precise time and location of the actual ceremony."

  "Should I expect to be interrogated about it?" she murmured.

  "I don't think anyone would have the balls."

  "I think your friend Byrnes would."

  "He's not my friend."

  Adele arched a brow. He seemed a different man around his Company of Rogues, and though the banter clearly drove him crazy, it also seemed to anchor him somehow. "If he does ask, I'll lie."

  "You'd do that? For me?" The barest of smiles touched his mouth.

  "You did just apologize."

  "Truce?" Malloryn murmured.

  Adele gave a careless shrug, but he stopped it with the faintest brush of his fingers against your cheek. "There is one last thing I wanted to talk to you about. I saw your expression when I introduced Mrs. Herbert."

  "Well, yes. I wasn't expecting my maid to be spying on me."

  "If it's any consolation, I put her into place to protect you," he pointed out.

  "And you haven't used her services to keep an eye on me in the last week, when you thought me working for the enemy?"

  He didn't bother to reply.

  She knew the answer, and his face said it all.

  Adele breathed out a laugh. "Look at the pair of us. How are we going to make this marriage work?"

  "I don't know, Adele. I don't know. I cannot even promise you complete honesty," he admitted. "I know too many dangerous things—things that could get you killed if someone thought you knew them too."

  "I don't expect you to blather in my ear about council secrets and the state of the realm," she said crossly. "I understand you cannot. But… I would appreciate it if you would not outright lie to me. If you cannot tell me something, then simply say that. And warn me the next time you intend to produce some spy in my household. Please."

  "My apologies. I'm not used to this."

  "This?"

  "Being married," he admitted, "in anything other than name. Or sharing my thoughts with others."

  Adele looked him directly in the eye. "Your Rogues all jump to attention when you bark at them, but I am not a Rogue, Malloryn. I expect—"

  "Technically…." He trailed off.

  "Technically, what?"

  "They voted you in yesterday."

  Oh. The idea took her aback, and she felt a flush of what could possibly be described as joy. "But you…. I thought you didn't want me involved?"

  "Did you think I had any sort of say on things around here?"

  "I think you're trying to distract me," she pointed out.

  "Adele." Malloryn straightened, looking decidedly deadly tonight in black leather. There was no sign of the icily controlled duke she'd thought she'd married. "I'm sorry for the way this played out. I'm sorry I deceived you. If I hadn't thought you were working for my enemy I would never have—"

  "Touched me," she whispered.

  Something flickered through the depths of his gray eyes, though she'd always had trouble deciphering which precise emotion he felt.

  If he felt anything at all.

  "That's not entirely certain," he finally said. "I wasn't lying the other night when I said you were beautiful. Or when I said sometimes I think about kissing you. And you vex me constantly. Especially of late. One of us would have broken sooner or later, and exploded. And then I think we'd have ended up in bed either way."

  An apology—and a compliment—was the last thing she'd expected. Adele wet her lips. "I'm sorry I began our marriage the way I did. I lied to you and the Echelon, and I forced you to marry me. It wasn't.... I didn't do it deliberately. Or it was, but not... premeditated."

  "I know." His eyes hooded. "You've hinted in the past that someone hurt you and you saw me as your way out."

  "You didn't believe me."

  "I didn't want to believe you."

  A small smile burst over her mouth. "You're starting to make me nervous, Malloryn. All these nice things you're saying. Apologies. Peace. Are you worried you'll have me on your conscience if this all goes wrong?"

  "No." His expression hardened. "Because nothing is going to go wrong. Clara will be accompanying you, and she's an expert at hand-to-hand combat. You know what you must do?"

  Adele rolled her eyes as the intimacy of the previous moment evaporated.

  "I show my invitation. I giggle. I flirt. I do nothing to make Devoncourt suspicious. You're going to be listening in, so my role is to act the wide-eyed ingénue and see what he'll say to me. I'm to identify any lords I recognize, and see what they want me to do in regards to you. And then I'm going to have a violent reaction to the champagne and be forced to withdraw early."

  "And don't go anywhere alone with Devoncourt."

  "What if he expects a kiss?"

  "Then play coy."

  "I've been playing coy with him for months. He's just invited me to a secret masquerade. You yourself said how dangerous this is if he discovers I'm playing him false."

  There. The faint tic of the muscle in his jaw.

  "It's just a kiss," Adele whispered, though she couldn't let him know she didn't give a damn whether Devoncourt kissed her or not. No. She wanted to know if her husband would even care. "How else am I to wrangle the truth out of him? I can hardly wrap him around my little finger in public."

  "Adele." A growl.

  "And you've been kind enough to teach me how little I knew of kissing. I'm sure I've mastered the art by now. He won't know what's hit him."

  "I wasn't aware you were planning to go in there to kiss him."

  "Well, I can hardly arm wrestle him into submission. Or tie him to a chair and question him. How did you think I was going to try and get answers from him?"

  Silence.

  A thick, weighted silence.

  She couldn't resist torturing him a little more. "Don't worry, Malloryn. He's kept it fairly chaste until now. I'm sure he'll suffer in comparison to your expert ministrations."

  "I don't know why I let you talk me into this."

  "Do you know what I think?" Adele whispered.

  "What?"

  His face was so close to hers, sh
e could almost taste his breath against her lips. Byrnes, Ingrid, Herbert, and Clara hovered nearby, but the pair of them might as well have been alone for the way the air thickened around them.

  "I think," she said, tilting her lips almost to his in a taunt, "that you don't want me anywhere near Devoncourt. And it's got nothing to do with him being an ex-Falcon."

  "Do you know what I think?" He banked the smoldering heat in his eyes with pure willpower, but the look he gave her was no less dangerous.

  "What?"

  "I think we're no longer talking about Devoncourt kissing you. Are we? Do you want me to kiss you, Adele?"

  There. There it was.

  He hadn't touched her since the other day in the study.

  She shrugged. "We're on a rooftop. I'm about to embark on a dangerous mission. It hardly seems the time or place."

  "When it comes to kissing you, it's never the time or place."

  "Admit it. The idea of me kissing Devoncourt bothers you."

  Malloryn's eyes darkened with heat as his fist curled in a handful of her skirts. "Is that what you want of me? To admit I'm jealous?"

  Yes.

  "I don't think I have to be," he purred.

  Sliding a hand around her nape, he hauled her mouth to his.

  Adele gasped, and the slight parting of her lips gave him the opening he needed. The hot, slick glide of his tongue stroked hers possessively. She could feel that touch in other areas, her nipples hardening as his other hand splayed over her bottom and ground her hips against his.

  All those cool, arrogant looks he gave her....

  The careless quirk of his brow....

  It melted away in a firestorm of heat as Malloryn kissed her as if this was their last moment on this mortal coil. She'd always thought him cold and dispassionate, but the second he put his hands on her the mask melted away, leaving her with the man beneath.

  Her back met the wall, the pitted brickwork pricking at her spine. But all else was forgotten as she felt the demanding press of Malloryn's erection grinding against her belly. And suddenly she was back in his study, splayed across his desk as he took her with passion and fury.

  Heat slicked between her thighs, and somehow she slid her hand beneath his coat, working it down between them.

  His mouth softened as he captured her hand before she could enclose it around his erection. A nip at her lower lip. Then another, as he eased the fury of the kiss. The faintest of laughs escaped him.

  Malloryn tore his mouth from hers, breathing hard.

  "Now, now, Adele. You're going to blow your cover if any of the Echelon see me fucking you here, on a rooftop opposite Angel's Fall."

  Adele wilted in his arms, resting her forehead against his chest, her fist curled in his shirt. Good God. He'd stolen her breath. Stolen her wits. Left her shaking and ruined, her mouth blistered with the mark of his.

  Her only consolation was the fact she wasn't the only one undone.

  She could feel the tension in his body; the hard press of his hips to hers. And there was the throbbing pressure of that hard length grinding into her hips. No matter what he told her, a part of him wanted to toss up her skirts right here, right now; she'd stake her life on it.

  Adele looked up challengingly. "Was there a point to that? Beyond acting like a possessive devil? You only proved my argument."

  "Go to him with the taste of my kiss on your lips," Malloryn whispered in her ear, and a shiver ran through her. "Do what you must to maintain your ruse. But be careful. And call for me if you need me."

  The flicker of disappointment lit within her. She didn't want permission. She'd wanted him to say no. "So you don't care if he kisses me?"

  Stepping back, he traced his thumb across her swollen mouth and cast her a well-satisfied smile. "Devoncourt could kiss you a thousand times, Adele. I don't think there's anything for me to worry about, is there?"

  Damn him.

  "This isn't over," she warned.

  She'd never seen that sort of smile on his face as he backed away. The years sloughed off him, leaving him winking at her with a remarkably boyish twinkle in his eyes. "It's just a kiss, Adele."

  Chapter 17

  "You came."

  Adele took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and sipped it, the bubbles tickling her dry throat as she examined the darkened room. Angel's Fall had been built in a newly restored church, and the watchful eyes of stained glass angels looked down upon the gaming tables as their denizens committed to sin. "You doubted me?"

  Devoncourt leaned closer, his mouth curling into a satisfied little smile. He'd found her the second she entered. "You've been a touch inconsistent in the past, my dear."

  "Is that not a lady's whim?"

  A kiss to the back of her hand. "I never quite know what you're thinking, cherub. I must admit there's a certain sort of challenge involved in bringing you to heel."

  Cherub.

  Ugh.

  For once, she was quite grateful for the way Malloryn had never used such sickly sweet words on her.

  He didn't need to.

  Just the way he said her name made her shiver a little.

  "Adele."

  As if there was a wealth of meaning in the word. A challenge. A certain sort of possessive claim.

  "If you think you're going to 'bring me to heel,' then I beg you, pray think again," she said, rapping Devoncourt's knuckles with her fan. "I belong only to myself, and I don't think I like your assumptions."

  "Forgive me," he said smoothly, backing away with tempting smile. "Hopefully what I show you tonight will make up for my appalling lack of manners."

  Blond, foppish Devoncourt, with his devastating blue eyes and wicked smile. A part of her couldn't quite believe he was one of Lord Balfour's most feared assassins.

  But perhaps that was the point.

  He had the easy manner of a charming scoundrel, a way of soothing a nervous young lady's fears when it came to blue blood lords. Nobody would expect a knife to the throat, not from him.

  "This is my companion, Clara," she said, gesturing to her former maid.

  "So pleased to meet you, my lord," Clara said, sounding almost breathless with excitement as she dipped into an elegant curtsy. From maid to lady with but a simple change of clothes.

  "Does she have a last name?" Devoncourt didn't look happy with the turn of events.

  "She does, but is this not a masquerade? Nobody knows anybody else's identity. I thought that was part of the fun?"

  "The invitation was for one."

  Adele drew back, as if a little shocked by his curt tone. "Yes, but I cannot simply gad about London unchaperoned. This is a dangerous part of town, my lord. She won't breathe a word of what she sees here, I promise. She just.... I'm not the only one who wants to escape my world. All we wanted was a night of fun."

  "I promise I won't get in the way," Clara said, with a flutter of her fan. "Adele said there might be dancing."

  With her neat brown chignon and the dashing cut of her gown, Clara looked like she was ready to kick her heels up.

  "Fine. This way," Devoncourt murmured, flicking his fingers at a nearby fellow in a plain back mask. "Perhaps my friend may entertain yours?"

  Adele glanced over her shoulder. Clara placated her with a smile, graciously accepting the stranger's embrace as he swept her into a fast-paced waltz.

  "You're unhappy with me," Adele said.

  "No, I'm just.... I don't like surprises."

  "I promise I'll make it up to you," she breathed, and then glanced around the glittering chamber. Dozens of masked men filled the space, as well as several scantily clad women.

  It seemed like a mockery of a ball.

  But no debutante wore her gown cut so low, and several of the women wore watered silk that clung to every curve in an indecent way. One had a golden leash about her throat, which was lashed to the wrist of a portly gentleman who looked like Lord Brummel.

  Devoncourt intercepted a footman and took two glasses from his tray.
"Here."

  Adele clinked her half-full glass against his in chastisement. "I've barely finished this one."

  "Then drink up." He seemed to have cast off his surliness like a cloak. "I want to celebrate."

  Adele paused. Then she tipped the glass to her lips and drained it. "What are we celebrating?"

  "You. Me." He smoothly replaced her empty glass with his full one. "That fact your husband isn't here."

  Adele made herself laugh. "Well, I could hardly bring him, could I? Malloryn has such a dampening effect upon a gathering. It's the supercilious way he peers down his nose at you, I think."

  A little part of her enjoyed the fact her husband would be listening to every word.

  "And where is he tonight?" Devoncourt murmured, slipping one hand onto the small of her back as he guided her into the edges of the ballroom.

  "Malloryn? Why the hell would I know? You were the one who reminded me he wasn't spending his nights at home." She let her smile thin. "Or his days."

  "It bothers you."

  "Of course not." But she looked away sharply. "I don't want to speak about him. Not tonight. Tell me about this place. It's so exclusive I hear even Lord Buxton was denied membership. He's as rich as Croesus. I cannot believe he was turned away."

  A flicker of frustration darkened Devoncourt's brow. "Unfortunately, you cannot merely buy your entrée."

  "No?" She feigned surprise. "That must ruffle some feathers."

  "Oh, it does."

  "What are the requirements for membership, then? Can ladies join?"

  "Unfortunately, it's strictly a gentleman's club. Members may invite those of the opposite sex for the night, but only blue bloods are initiated."

  "Like the Echelon in its peak?"

  Women had been mere chattel when the prince consort reigned; denied the Blood Rites where a nobleman's son was judged by his peers and found worthy of receiving the craving virus, and thus near immortality.

  "Similar. Angel's Fall provides a place to play for those who find themselves reduced in status."

  Her ears pricked.

  She was right.

  The members of Angel's Fall were all blue blood nobles who longed for a return to the old ways. The perfect recruitment ground for the Rising Sons. And if they were lucky, there would be membership rolls listing the current members.