Shadowdance (Darkest London 4)

Cold fear had her jerking her head to the side. Awkwardly he followed, but when she wrenched her head the other way he stilled. A ribald curse broke from him before he stopped and pressed his forehead against the wall beside her. A second later his fist smashed into the stone. Mary twitched, but held steady. He was all around her, his big body boxing her in, no longer touching her but an effective cage nonetheless. Every heavy breath he took sent his chest brushing against hers as they stood, neither of them willing to move.

“So only he can touch you.” Beneath the sharp lash of his anger was the sound of frustration, perhaps disappointment. It shocked her but not enough to stay her bitter response.

“He did not seek to mock me with his touch. You do.”

Talent leaned back. His expression was a hard mask. But his grip claimed her waist once more, steady and calm. “You have no notion what I seek.”

She turned, her cheek meeting the cool stone. She could not face him. Not so close on the heels of her humiliation. And she knew damn well that he’d sought to put her in her place now. The knowledge made her final shot cold. “No,” she snapped. “Because you trust no one, do you?”

“No.”

Not one second of hesitation. Mary scoffed. “And yet you’d take all my secrets if you could. Would you not, Master Talent?”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed down the urge to tug Chase back to him. The scent of her arousal surrounded him, darkly sweet like hot syrup. A miracle and a torment. God, he wanted to lick her up, drown in her rich fragrance. But he was not a fool. She made it clear his kiss was not welcome. Jack knew perfectly well that arousal could occur without consent. And he would never take what wasn’t offered.

Damn it, but the memory of what he’d done last night burned so hot within that his aching cods drew up tight, begging for release. Jesus, he’d been a fool. Thought he’d teach her a lesson, had he? When all he’d done was engage in the most erotic act of his life, with her. Yet she hadn’t touched him. He wanted that touch. Did he want her secrets as well?

“Yes.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, settling directly behind her. “I’d take them from you.” His lips skimmed along the crown of her head, and a shiver worked deep within his belly.

She shivered too. It should have been a triumph, but it wasn’t. Not when he feared it just might be from disgust. She knew what had been done to him, after all. Did she think him less of a man now? Today she had run from him as if she might never look him in the eye again. It had set off a boiling rage. Because he knew that day would soon come. They were too close now. Eventually he’d have to tell her everything, of what he’d done to her and why.

“I deserve something,” he murmured, distracted by the scent of her. Mary. Mary Chase. The one woman he couldn’t have. Not when she finally learned the full truth about him.

Her quick breath sounded in the silence, and she responded with clipped anger. “What do you want?”

Everything. To be another man. A better man.

She’d watched him take his pleasure, her ghostly form hovering close, her eyes wide, her lips parted softly as if she wondered what it would feel like to touch him. Or perhaps it truly was horror she’d felt. He hadn’t held back as a gentleman might. He’d been raw, unfettered, when he took himself in hand and thought of her. Those lips taking over the job of his hand, sweetly sucking him off. God, he wished it had been so, and not simply a fancy of his desperate imagination.

Jack struggled to regain control of his breathing, to regain control of himself. The pads of his fingers burned hot against the satin hugging her waist. “How—” His voice broke, weak and hungry. He hated the sound. He tried again, stronger this time. “How did you find me?”

The intricate knot of her coiffure brushed his lips as she turned her head slightly, and another heady rush of her scent filled his senses. Jack gritted his teeth. Control. Control.

“You won’t like it,” she said.

So soft, that voice of hers. Would her skin be thus? Would it be hot silk? Or cool satin?

“No,” he agreed. “I won’t.” His fingers twitched along her bodice, grasping, then resisting. “Tell me anyway.”

Her sides lifted on a sigh. “You know my scent. Well, I know your soul.”

Everything in him went still and quiet. “Know it?” His heart began to beat again, a hard, insistent thud.

She faced forward, but being taller, he could see the smooth curve of her cheek and the gilded tips of her thick lashes. “When you were lost to us before…”

Us. As if he was connected to her.

… I needed a way to find you. I thought of you, sank into the chair you favored, and found the essence of you.” Another deep breath. “I connected with a link to your soul. It brought me to you.”

All the frozen muscles in his body contracted with a painful clench, and his heart stopped for one raw moment.

“That connection,” she said softly, “can never be broken.” Her slender throat worked on a swallow. “I can always find you now.”

His shoulders trembled with the force of restraint. Even so, his head fell forward. Her hair was cool, soft, and held the fragrance of ambergris and figs. “You’re right,” he said as his palm smoothed along her waist, noting the way she shivered, making him shiver in return. “I don’t like it.”

Control.

His h*ps touched her bustle. So much fabric he couldn’t feel her. And she couldn’t feel the strain of his erection against his trousers. “I hate it,” he whispered. Liar.

She shuddered, her arm twitching. But she said nothing, nor did she move away.

“Can you see—” His breath hitched with rage over his vulnerability. “What do you see?”

The way she tensed told him she understood the question perfectly. When she did not speak, he clenched her waist and pressed his mouth into the tender skin of her temple. Warm, she felt warm. Sweat dampened her hair.

“Tell me,” he said.

Her cheek moved as she licked her lower lip. He nearly groaned but did not waver. “What do you see?”

“Pain.” The word shot from her lips. “Rage, fear.” She gasped. Jack eased his hold but wouldn’t let go. Her back touched his chest as she breathed. “And hurt.” Her voice was so small then. As if she didn’t want him to hear it. But he did. When she spoke again, the sound rang in the pained silence. “But the greatest component, the one that has never changed, is obstinacy.” Her silken hair dragged across his face as she turned her head slightly, not looking at him but making sure she was heard. “Your will is the strongest I’ve ever seen.”

He closed his eyes to fight the burn there. He needed to tell her everything. And then she’d be gone forever. Neither of them moved until he forced himself to speak. “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

And then he fled. It wasn’t until later that he even wondered why she’d been spying on him.

Chapter Seventeen

Crisp air kissed Jack’s cheeks as he walked down a wide avenue that led into Mayfair. Darkness did not live here, but light. Clean houses lined up in a row, each black iron gate protecting a manicured front garden from unwanted visitors. Walking cleared Jack’s head and slowed his pulse.

Upon reflection, he was grateful that Chase had discovered him en déshabillé, as it were, instead of a quarter hour before. Likely she’d never have looked him in the eye again if she’d witnessed him tearing into Mercer Dawn. Jack scowled down at his dusty boots. It wasn’t Chase’s, or anyone else’s, business how he dealt with his pain. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, mate,” he muttered.

“Talking to yourself, Mr. Talent?” Lucien Stone stepped in front of him, blocking the narrow walkway.

Ever the dandy, Stone wore a dove-grey cashmere overcoat trimmed in ermine, and a grey silk top hat that would have better served as evening wear. Not that Jack would tell him so.

“What the devil do you want?” Jack was in no mood to trade quips with the sod.

Stone’s jewel-covered fingers tightened on his walking stick. “Mary Chase was nearly crushed by a freight car last night.”

Tell him something that he didn’t know. “You know, Stone, it occurs to me that you’re privy to everything that goes on in this city.”

Stone gave him a magnanimous nod.

“Which makes me wonder,” Jack went on, “why the bloody hell you don’t help out more? Oh, but I forgot, you let others do the dirty work while you hide away on your little boat.”

A sneer twisted Stone’s perfect features. “Careful, boy. I could kill you as easy as breathing.”

“Then do it,” Jack said. “Or sod off.” He moved to push past when Stone stepped forward.

It was the last straw. He slammed Stone into a garden wall. Stone’s teeth clacked, though he did not fight back, only glared with his glowing jade eyes. Jack pinned him, his forearm crushing the GIM’s windpipe. “Get the f**k out of my way.”

Stone grabbed hold of Jack’s wrist. Instantly, agonizing pain shot through his arm and down his side. Jack gritted his teeth as Stone pushed him off and leaned in close. “No.”

They stared at each other, each breathing hard in agitation. Jack stood a few inches taller, but Stone didn’t back down.

“Now that you are unfortunately partnered with Mary,” Lucien said, as he adjusted his lapels, “do not think to go back on your word.”

Jack clenched his fists to keep from pummeling Stone. “Wouldn’t cast you in a flattering light, would it?”

“Nor you.” Stone smoothed back a lock of his dark hair. “If you have an ounce of care for that woman, you’ll keep your mouth shut. For if she should learn—”

“She’d hate you too,” Jack interjected through his locked jaw.

“Not as much as she’d hate you.” Stone’s pitiless gaze held. “I’ll not have her unnecessarily hurt.”

“You ought to have thought of that before you laid out our little agreement.” Fucking bastard. Blackmail was more like it. Jack had had enough of it. Of everything.

Stone read this well, for he narrowed his gaze. “And should your family learn that you were with the Nex, have been for all these years?”

“Shut your f**king GIM mouth.” Hate coursed through Jack like hellfire. “You have no idea who or what I am—”

“And yet you’ve kept your f**king shifter mouth shut all these years, no?” Stone’s smile was tight. “So I’m thinking there is more than a kernel of truth to what I know.”

Jack’s shoulders met the rough wall behind him with a thud. Stone had him. For years he’d had his number. When Jack could speak, the wrong words emerged. “You have her. Always have. What more do you want?”

A wrinkle formed between Stone’s brows. “I want her safe.”

Jack laughed, hard and ugly. “Too late for that, mate.”

“Because of you.” Stone punched the center of Jack’s chest, where it felt hollow. The hollow feeling spread, and he couldn’t bring himself to punch back. Stone took the advantage. “You want to protect her, as I do? Then stay away from her as I told you to do.” He took a step, and they were nose to nose. “Before you destroy her just as you do everything around you.”

For Mary, a Sunday roast was a lovely event that she, the only child of a woman who liked nothing better than to sleep away that particular day, would never experience. She wasn’t even certain when or where she’d heard of this mythical moment during which families got together to eat a grand feast and simply enjoy each other’s company. Perhaps she’d followed the scent of roast beef and pudding in the air one crisp autumn day to press her nose against a window. Or perhaps her nanny had espoused its glories. She didn’t remember. It was simply a clear picture left in her mind, one of happiness, warmth, and light.

Whatever the case, when Inspector Lane sought her out after Talent left her, and extended an invitation for Sunday lunch, Mary accepted. More out of shock than anything else.

“Excellent.” Lane’s eyes crinkled kindly at the corners. He touched her arm, a solicitous gesture that spoke of friendship and camaraderie, and yet Mary stiffened. Lane curbed the move but the damage was done. He’d noticed and was clearly chagrined. Mary cursed herself. She hadn’t meant to react; she was very fond of Inspector Lane. But the unexpected touch of a man’s hand had set off the immediate instinct of defense.

The air grew thick and awkward between them. More so when Inspector Lane merely gave her a soft smile. “I consider this visit progress, Mistress Chase.” He spoke so affably that one might never have known she’d insulted him. Mary inwardly cringed as they began to walk down the hall, and he continued speaking as though nothing odd had occurred. “Soon we shall have you attending every Sunday.”

“Let us not be hasty, Inspector.” She wanted to smile, though, for his desire to include her in his family warmed that small, cold place that always felt like an outsider.

“Now, now, Mistress Chase,” Lane admonished, “I shall not be dissuaded. Mrs. Lane considers you one of us, and quite rightly.” He opened the outer doors for her and ushered her through, careful not to actually touch her. “Without your assistance, I might have lost my family.” Lane’s handsome and scarred face darkened for but a brief moment. He brightened again. “So as you can see,” he went on as if she understood him perfectly, which she did, “your presence is quite important.”