Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

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

  were both inside, moving like stealthy shadows.

  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.

  Though how could we have predicted that he

  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