Mission_Improper

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by Bec McMaster

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."

  That was interesting, but also not exactly what

  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."

  She leaned toward him and there was a heat

  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

 

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