From London, With Love (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy Book 6)

by Bec McMaster

  Mina greeted her with a smile and clasped both of her hands. In private they may once have shared a hug, but she still hadn’t quite forgiven her friend.

  “Ready to open the exhibition?”

  “The question remains: Are you?” Alexandra arched a brow. “You’re rarely out of bed by this time of the day.”

  “Unfortunately, Madeleine doesn’t quite seem to understand her parents’ nocturnal habits,” Mina sighed. “Her craving virus levels are so low the sun doesn’t yet bother her, which means her parents must face the day at a rather appalling time.”

  It stole a laugh from her. “She’s with her father?”

  “He’s taking her to the zoo.” Mina snorted. “I can’t wait to hear what adventures they have. The last time he took her out for the day, I came home to find him snoring in the library with a book over his face.”

  “I’m sure he’ll have more fun than we shall,” Alexandra grumbled. “My goddaughter is eminently more interesting than an exhibition on the Advances of the Steam Age.”

  “Now, now,” Mina chided. “Who does not wish to see the latest design in dreadnoughts?”

  Alexandra sent her friend a stern look.

  “Besides,” Mina cooed, “I do believe you’re going to be the center of attention, my dear. There are at least three of your potential suitors in attendance.”

  “I shall carry my smelling salts in case the excitement of their company overwhelms me.”

  Alexandra gathered her skirts to climb into the carriage, then paused when she saw Malloryn appear like a blighted raven. She paused, insisting Mina go ahead of her.

  “Ah, my Master of Shadows.”

  “My queen.”

  “Anything I should be aware of?” she asked as Malloryn handed her into the carriage.

  “The papers are filled with talk of Lady Rachinger’s latest findings about the craving virus,” he replied, as he handed her a newspaper. “She presented her scientific paper yesterday at the Royal Academy, and a journalist caught wind of it.”

  “The life expectancies treatise that she presented to the council three months ago?”

  “Yes. I’ve had more invitations to dine with our foreign emissaries than you have. They all want to know what it means.”

  Mina leaned forward from the carriage. “Of course, they do, Malloryn. Most blue bloods in England leapt at the chance to use Lady Rachinger’s “cure” to stave off the ill effects of the Fade. Several other countries took note. Now, they’re concerned that it’s going to decrease their mortality.”

  Alexandra shook out the paper. She rather liked Sir Henry’s serious, intelligent wife. Lady Honoria spent her days studying the effects of her findings on the craving cure, and her latest discovery was creating quite the stir.

  Several years ago, she’d been experimenting with her husband’s increasing CV levels when she’d realized that by drinking her vaccinated blood, his CV levels decreased to a manageable state. It had been quite the coup, until she’d recently revealed that along with the decrease in the virus’s bloodthirsty hold, it also decreased a blue blood’s strength, speed, and longevity.

  Lady Rachinger had concluded that her husband might only live as long as she would.

  “One cannot live forever,” Alexandra murmured, then caught Malloryn’s eye. “And no doubt it’s a great relief to know you may not outlive your pretty young wife, after all.”

  The duke sighed. “My CV levels were never absurdly high to begin with, so I’ve not yet begun a regime of drinking the blood from the vaccinated.”

  “But you will?” She wasn’t entirely certain of his answer. To see the Duke of Malloryn succumb to his feelings for his wife had been highly amusing—and unexpected. But his downfall was so recent. What would win? Love? Or power and the ability to live well beyond human years?

  “I will,” he replied with little aplomb. “I’ve spent far too many years without Adele in my life. And now I’ve had a taste of what it can be like, I would not wish to live without her. What is immortality but the chance to live a long, lonely life as you watch your wife, children, and grandchildren pass before your eyes? I would prefer to live one life in full.”

  The queen hid a smile. “How romantic, Malloryn. I would never have expected it of you.”

  “If it’s any consolation, a year ago I would have agreed with you.” He closed the carriage door. “A marriage for the sake of duty is all well and good, but when one finds affection, loyalty, and a true meeting of the minds, one can be free to be their best self.”

  “Ah, I see.” She stilled. “This is supposed to be the part where you give me a hint as to where to settle my affections?”

  Malloryn cocked his head. “I think your affections quite fixed, are they not?”

  A shock of heat thrilled through her.

  He couldn’t know, could he?

  The duke’s smile widened as if she’d betrayed herself. “Give my regards to Prince Ivan. He did mention that he’d be awaiting you at the exhibition.”

  Malloryn was correct.

  The prince lay in wait the second she cut the ribbon and pronounced the exhibition open to the viewing public—which, of course, meant the elite, or at least, it did for the first day.

  Alexandra tried to enjoy herself.

  The exhibitions were indeed intriguing. Inventors from across the globe had come to try their hand at the exhibition’s prize, which she’d set herself. The Queen’s Purse. And possibly patronage from the royal house. This might have been the inaugural exhibition of its type, but she hoped to continue the tradition. It had been the product of both her and Sir Gideon’s imaginations, a scheme drummed up beneath gaslight as they played chess.

  Blue bloods had ruled too much of Europe thus far.

  She wanted the human members of her realm to have a chance to compete with them on an even scale, and where better than the mechanical arts?

  It was also a chance to push the boundaries of technology and encourage the young scientists of the empire—as well as those from abroad. She wanted her empire to be considered a world leader, and in the wake of the upheaval of the revolution, this had seemed a perfect way to flaunt Britain’s might.

  “And which exhibitor has caught your interest?” the prince murmured as they strolled through the galleries, ahead of a pack of his cohorts.

  She glanced around. “There are too many to name just one. Which exhibit interests you?” she asked politely, to see if his choices could give her some insight into his character.

  He immediately brightened. “The Scandinavian kraken submersibles. Though my interest may have something to do with their latest designs and the way the patrol the Baltic Sea. There have been several encounters with Russian ships.”

  “Ah, so you seek further insights into their strengths and weaknesses.”

  He shrugged. “Our peoples prepare for the renewal of the Treaty of Stockholm this summer. The terms of the treaty were originally set one hundred years ago, and this is the first time we have had a chance to renegotiate them. It may be… an interesting time.”

  “The Scandinavians are allies of Britain,” she reminded him. “They are our good friends.”

  “Then perhaps Russia needs to become your ally too? Perhaps we also could be your friends?”

  “Perhaps. Is that why you’re here, Prince Ivan? To further the interests of your people? Is it duty that drives your presence?” she teased.

  “Duty that insisted I come, though I will concede to being pleasantly surprised.” He smiled at her. “Duty has never seemed so enjoyable before.”

  Prince Ivan lifted a hand, capturing her cheek in his leather-clad palm.

  Alexandra froze.

  Not only was it the height of presumption and discourtesy, but she couldn’t say a thing. Her body simply stiffened, the way it always had when her husband loomed over her. She was shutting down like an automaton, her circuits awry, the noise turning into a fierce babble around her.

  Prince Ivan’s nostrils fl
ared, as if sensing prey. He lowered his hand. “I have offended you.”

  Relief burst over her like a cascade, and suddenly sound rushed back into her ears. “Offended, no? Presumed, yes.”

  She stepped away, and he let his hand drop, a faint, perplexed indent between his brows.

  “Pray excuse me,” she said, turning to walk away before he could reply. She almost slammed into one of his companions—the Grand Duchess Xenia Nikolaevna—before staggering away from the voluptuous blonde with a stammered apology.

  It was only when she was in the privacy of the hallway that she allowed herself to relax.

  She was perspiring so badly, she felt as though she’d run all the way to Windsor and back.

  Alexandra looked down at her clenched fists.

  Prince Ivan had barely touched her.

  He hadn’t meant to offend her in any way, he had simply been attempting to… to court her. And she’d frozen like a deer sensing the hunter’s rifle locking upon her.

  “I hate you,” she whispered to her long-dead husband. “And I will not allow you to haunt me now. I will forget you. I swear I will.”

  She was the queen. She would not run from her duty.

  But she was wise enough to admit that this one time, she might need help to do so.

  A knock came at the door of Alexandra’s antechambers.

  “Come in,” she called, a flutter of nerves assaulting her. Turning, she swiftly poured two glasses of cordial, almost knocking one of them over in her haste. Damn it. This entire plan had seemed a good idea at the time, but now the moment had arrived, she couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed.

  She was a woman. A queen. Married once, and then widowed. It wasn’t as though she was some lily-livered virgin who’d never encountered a man.

  Yes, whispered her conscience, but this is different, and you know it is.

  Sir Gideon entered, his dark eyes finding hers instantly. He was such a tall, imposing figure with his broad shoulders and well-trimmed physique. At first, she’d found him a little intimidating, for he was prone to stern looks and rarely smiled. But she’d soon grown used to his well-measured voice and the gentle way he could steer an argument without even raising his tone.

  He was the sort of man who was polite to all her servants, even when he didn’t realize she was watching—and she had watched him often, from the secrecy of the chambers that had once riddled the Ivory Tower. She’d seen him placate a housemaid who’d spilled an entire bucket of mop water on his elegant shoes with a gentle smile that eased the girl’s tears, and he’d been the first to wade into a carriage accident when it occurred right in front of him, working without care for his attire or even personal injury. When it became clear the lead horse would never draw a carriage again, he’d bought it and put it out to pasture.

  Kindness. It had been such a rarity in her life that she’d found herself perplexed by it at first, until she realized that was just the sort of man he was.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, noting the spilled cordial and the way she stared.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t do it. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.” Swishing toward the windows, she curled her fingers into a fist in her gloves. What a fool she’d been.

  “Alexandra,” he chided.

  “I was just…. I was thinking of this entire bloody affair,” she bit out. “There’s barely a week left of the exhibition. And Malloryn will expect an answer, and I-I don’t have one. I don’t care for any of them.”

  Silence fell like a lash.

  She spun around. “Say something.”

  Gideon lowered his eyes. “You don’t have to choose a suitor this week. Malloryn can’t force your hand. There is time, Alexandra.”

  Her name. On his lips.

  Only here, in the privacy of her chambers.

  She closed her eyes, lingering in the sound of her name. “If not now, then when? Nothing will change. Not this year. Not the next. I will always find some excuse.”

  “If you don’t care to take a husband, then I will back you in the council meetings,” he told her firmly.

  “No.” Alexandra shook her head. “You don’t understand. Malloryn makes sense. I don’t like it. I don’t want to take a husband, but he is right. I didn’t fight this entire bloody civil war just to risk instability because of my cursed feelings. I am queen. And I need to produce an heir for my country. But I… I don’t know if I can.”

  Though Manderlay had kissed her, the only man who had ever bedded her had been her husband.

  Gideon coughed into his hand. “Perhaps this is a conversation you should be having with your physician.”

  Alexandra swallowed the lump in her throat. She had stared down every blue blood in the Echelon. She could do this. “It doesn’t stem from a physical inability. I need… help.”

  “Help? Of course, Alexandra. Anything that is within my power to give.” Concern touched his voice, and she could sense him pausing behind her, always that bloody infernal foot of space between them.

  Alexandra bowed her head, praying for strength. “I need for you to kiss me,” she whispered.

  And… nothing.

  Nothing came. No answer. Not even a sucked in gasp of breath.

  The ensuing silence lingered for so long, that a sudden spark cracking in the grate startled them both.

  It broke her from her silence.

  “Forget that I asked,” she said, turning abruptly and sweeping toward the door.

  Or, at least, that was her intention.

  “Wait.” Gideon reached out, his hand pressing against the wall, and she found herself trapped between the overwhelming press of his body and the warmth of the fireplace behind her. “I wasn’t saying no. You caught me by surprise. I had assumed you were not…. That is…. You practically fled from me last time.”

  “It wasn’t because of you,” she admitted, and it galled that she must even confess to this. The words came in a rapid spill. “When you kissed me, I was fine. I… I wanted you to kiss me. But the moment you pressed me against the wall, all I could see was him. All I could feel was the hard press of his hands—”

  She turned away, balling her fists.

  “Alexandra.” A whisper of fabric indicated he’d moved.

  She could sense him behind her. Sense the heat of his body in a way she’d never felt from her coldblooded husband.

  “I cannot marry if I can barely stand to be touched,” she admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I cannot produce an heir for the realm if the mere presence of a man in my bed makes me recoil. I can’t— You’re the only one whose kiss doesn’t make me feel ill. If you taught me how to be kissed, how to be touched, perhaps I could stand it. Perhaps I could forget him. Perhaps I could endure another marriage.”

  “Turn around,” he said.

  “Must I?” For the truth was written large upon her face, and she didn’t think she could control it, just this once.

  Gentle fingers brushed against her spine, sending a shockwave of sensation through her. “Please.”

  Alexandra turned.

  Gideon’s dark eyes swam with sorrow. She could spend hours drowning in those eyes, swimming in the depths of the man who wore them.

  If only….

  “Why didn’t you say something?” he whispered, the backs of his fingers brushing against her cheek.

  “What woman wants to admit to such shortcomings?”

  His expression hardened. “They are not your shortcomings. The fault for this lies entirely with your husband. I would kill him for you and set him on bloody fire, if he was still alive.”

  “I don’t want that,” she whispered back. “He is dead. He is gone. Rotting in the ground for all I care. I just want to forget him. I want to forget his face, his voice, his… touch. Make me forget, please.”

  Cupping her face in both hands, he tilted her lips toward his. Their eyes met, and she was reassured by the warmth and compassion she saw in his gaze.

  “I shouldn’t kiss you,” he whispered
, brushing his mouth across hers.

  “Why not?” she breathed, wilting into the gentleness of his touch.

  “Because it makes me want what I can’t have,” he admitted hoarsely.

  And then he captured the gasp on her lips.

  It stole her breath. Burned through her, as though sheer exhilaration raced through her veins. She felt like she was sixteen again, yearning for all the things she didn’t quite understand, before the prince consort had stolen away that future by forcing her into marriage.

  This. This was precisely what had happened the last time Gideon had kissed her.

  She’d almost thought it had been a trick her mind played, but no, it was real. Alexandra leaned into the embrace with a soft moan, silently begging for more.

  Each touch of his hands was gentle, and the soft, lazy trace of his tongue made her yearn for more. Alexandra pushed into the kiss, but he retreated, as if to say, if she wanted more, then she would have to be the one who took it.

  Soft fingertips traced beguiling circles on her cheeks. It was a whisper of a touch—like nothing she’d ever felt before. It tempted her as nothing else could. She wanted those roughened palms on her skin, on her hips. Stubble grazed her chin, and she wanted to feel it rasping against her sensitive breasts.

  “My queen,” he whispered, drawing back for breath, his dark eyes ablaze with need.

  She’d never tasted desire like this. “Don’t stop.”

  “We have to.”

  She captured a fistful of his hair. “I make the rules. And I say no, we don’t.” But right at that moment, some sound began to intrude into her thoughts. She drew back, her brow creasing together. “Is that…?”

  A repetitive knock on the door echoed through her chambers.

  She swiftly turned away, putting several feet of distance between them. It wouldn’t do to be caught in such a compromising situation, though a swift touch of her cheeks revealed the blazing heat of them. “Come in,” she called, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirts.

  The door opened, and one of the maids came in, laboring under the weight of a heavy tray. “My apologies, Your Majesty. You sent for tea?”