Shadowdance (Darkest London 4)

Too much time was wasted reaching her again, inserting the key, and turning it. Sweating and shaking, Jack sat back as the heart began to start, and her body closed. But nothing else happened.

“Mary.” He gave her a gentle shake, but she remained silent and staring. Her eyes void of life. “Merrily, wake up. Wake up.”

Still nothing.

“Fuck.” Tearing at his flesh, Jack held his wrist over her parted lips. Blood poured into her mouth, but it merely ran over her lips and down her cheek. She was gone.

He’d destroyed everyone who had hurt him. And it meant nothing. Not without her.

Mary. She’d died for him.

Chapter Thirty-Six

She was in Nowhere. Mary would rather call it Hell. Attached as she was to Amaros’s soul, she had known she would be dragged with him. It was not a physical place, but one of spirit. No fields of ice or lakes of fire. There was simply sensation and reflection. Every deed, experience, regret, every small secret part of her soul reflected back at her. She felt it all magnified to such a degree that her soul yearned to shatter, if only to end the overwhelming barrage of emotions.

Hell indeed. But for Amaros it was agony.

The instant they entered Nowhere, his terror and suffering rippled through her like the recoil of a gun. But while Hell wanted him, began to feed on his soul with greedy pulls, it seemed to know this was not Mary’s place. Their souls divided once more. And she was cast out of Nowhere.

With dizzying speed she hurtled through the dark void and then slammed into her body with so much force that she lurched upward.

Air rushed into her lungs on a great gasp. Her eyes focused. Jack Talent scowled down at her.

And wasn’t that a lovely sight.

His blazing green gaze traveled over her face, and then, with a sob, he hauled her close. “Piss and shit and buggering, bloody, f**king hell, Mary. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

He buried his face in her hair as his thick arms tightened around her, and his ribald litany continued.

She snuggled in closer, letting him curse, letting him pet and kiss her. Because Jack Talent, in all his imperfect glory, made her perfectly happy.

Something stirred from without. Holly could feel it as much as she heard it. So could her fellow prisoners. The quick, clipped sound of the approaching footsteps sounded nothing like those of her jailers. And though every inch of her was battered, she hauled herself to her feet and pressed her face to the bars of her cell, straining to see what she could.

Across the way a pair of dark, glittering eyes peered out from behind thick glass. Watching. Waiting.

Holly looked away. At her side Thorne lay still and quiet. Too quiet. Were it not for the slow, even breaths he took every few seconds, she’d have believed he was dead.

At the turn of the lock upon the outer doors, her icy fingers gripped the bars tighter.

As if flowing on a wave, the sound of her fellow prisoners beginning to move filled the cellar. Locks clattered, a man’s murmur of reassurance following. A giddy sort of hope grew within Holly. And then he was there. Jack Talent. Holly reared back, her nerves destroyed.

“Easy now,” he said softly. “You’re safe.” As if he knew exactly how frayed and open she felt. He glanced at Thorne and horror darkened his face. Uttering a ripe curse, he opened the door and hurried to him.

Then Mary Chase appeared. On a sob Holly flew into her friend’s arms, and Mary held her fast.

“It’s all over now, dearest.”

Mary and Holly went to help with Thorne when a commotion broke out in the cell across the way. A violent darkness swarmed there, and the unsuspecting man who’d been opening the glass cell leapt back with a yelp as a hundred spiders scurried past and out the door.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Mary woke to find the space next to her empty. Cool, rumpled sheets told her that Jack had been gone for some time. Pushing her hair back from her face, she sat up, and the sound of crinkling paper alerted her to his note.

In true Jack Talent fashion, it was brief, though the words were surprisingly formal.

I apologize for my absence. I had to see about a matter of great importance. Would you do me the honor of meeting me at headquarters at four o’clock?

Yours,

J

Mary let the note fall to the bed. What matter was so very important that he could not wake her?

Her curiosity stirred higher when, having dressed and ventured downstairs, she encountered Jack’s day housekeeper, who brought her a fine breakfast and news that Mr. Talent had sent for a few of Mary’s gowns in order that she be properly attired. Indeed?

She was still perturbed, hours later, when she arrived at headquarters wearing her best day dress—for Jack had only selected her most formal gowns—a sleek creation with a pale-bronze silk bodice and overskirt and a rippling underskirt of deep, luscious wine satin.

Her trepidation only heightened when Inspector Lane met her instead of Jack. Where was the blasted man?

Her instincts screamed that something was afoot.

“Mistress Chase,” said Lane, “you look lovely.” He offered her his arm. “If you would come with me?” His blue-grey eyes twinkled. “And before you ask, I’m not at liberty to divulge any information. Master Talent’s orders.”

“Since when do you take orders from Jack?” she asked, as they made their way up a narrow spiral staircase.

Lane grinned, and the scars along his face wrinkled. “Since he asked me to return a well-earned favor.”

Without another word he led her through Holly Evernight’s laboratory. The lofty space was abandoned and too quiet, and the click of her heels echoed against the marble.

With the bearing of a duke’s son, Lane stopped at a pair of massive doors hung on rollers, and pushed one wide.

Sunlight poured through the glass ceiling and bathed Holly’s dirigible with brilliant white winter light. Standing at the prow, his form just visible behind the wide glass windows, was Jack.

Mary began to smile, her heart whirring just a bit faster.

Seeing her, he moved away from the window and emerged a moment later to deftly descend the dirigible’s ladder. Mary barely noticed Inspector Lane stepping away. Her attention was on the man walking toward her.

And then Jack was there. Neither of them spoke, Mary because he’d struck her dumb. The man who stood before her was the Jack Talent of old, impeccably dressed and groomed, so very stiff with formality, and yet he was also the Jack she’d become close to, large and vibrating with strength and energy. He was utterly gorgeous.

He wore a charcoal-grey morning suit that hugged the broad strokes of his torso like a second skin. The cutaway coat emphasized his strong thighs and long legs, encased in dove-grey trousers. A smoky-green silk tie was knotted beneath his pristine white collar, the contrasting hues emphasizing the color of his eyes and the golden tone of his skin.

“Well, look at you,” she finally managed.

A tinge of color washed over his broad cheeks. “It was past time.” His voice was subdued, almost hesitant, and Mary wondered again what he was about this day.

Jack took another step, then planted his feet and linked his hands behind him. Such a stiff pose, yet his eyes roamed over her with a kind of hunger that made her flush. Why wouldn’t he embrace her? He stood as though he were afraid of her, but looked at her as if she were the only person in the room. Mary did not know what to make of this change. Nor did she know how to act in the face of it.

“You are beautiful,” he blurted out, then took a deep breath. “Truly.”

“Thank you.” It almost came out as a question because she still could not fathom what reason he had to be nervous.

Gently, as though she might break, he took her hand, engulfing it in his big, warm one. “Come for a ride with me?”

A flush of pleasure washed through her. “Up? In the air?”

He grinned, that brilliant, glorious grin that made her knees weak every time she saw it. “That is the idea.” He tugged her forward.

Excitement mounted as Mary climbed the ladder into the dirigible’s cabin. Smelling of polished wood and motor oil, the cabin gleamed in the sunlight. It was an open space with large windows on three sides. A group of armchairs had been bolted to either side of the cabin floor, each chair facing a window. To the fore, a wall cut the pilot’s booth off from the main cabin, and the door to it lay closed.

“Do you know how to pilot this thing?” she asked Jack, who stepped in beside her.

“No need to.” Jack reached out and grabbed a brass cone that came out of the wall. He spun a small lever next to it, and the air crackled with sound. “All set back here, Charlie,” he said into the cone.

Before she could question, a great shudder ran through the craft as the engines roared to life. The cabin vibrated, and Mary took a step nearer to Jack. Laughing softly, he cradled her close and drew her to the window. “Look,” he whispered. Below, Inspector Lane was now at the control box. He fiddled with the dials and knobs, and a loud clattering followed.

Mary and Jack craned their necks to see the massive iron chain dangling from the hangar wall start to move. Far above them the glass-paneled roof pulled back.

Jack’s lips grazed her ear. “Off we go.”

The craft lurched, and Jack braced them. Mary’s insides dipped. She clutched Jack tighter and looked out.

“Scared?” he whispered, a note of concern in his eyes.

“No.” Mary grinned. “Thrilled.”

They laughed together as the airship rose, up, up, up. London seemed to sink away, falling farther and farther below. A lovely illusion. And beneath her feet, the wondrous ship swayed and surged, a thrilling combination of power and buoyancy.

“You said you wanted to know how it felt to fly,” Jack said to her as the craft turned east and billowy clouds, pierced by sunbeams, rolled past.

“Jack…” She cupped his cheek. “It is perfect.”

A flush worked across his skin, and his lashes lowered. Strangely bashful, he studied the floor before him. “Your scent,” he said abruptly. “Your voice. Your humor. Your kindness.” He glanced at her, then away. “Your smile.” Taking a short breath, he faced her, his shoulders back and square. “In that order.”

Mary blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”

His flush grew. “Damn…” Jack’s mouth firmed. “Those are the things I first fell in love with about you. When we met that night on Lucien’s barge.”

“Oh… well.” A lovely warmth spread over her skin as she stared up at him.

“But what captured my heart”—he swallowed quickly, his eyes not quite meeting hers—“what stole my soul, was your mind. That sharp, twisted, utterly lovely mind.”

He looked at her then, brows raised a bit, his expression soft. “I didn’t want you to think it was merely physical, you see.”

She did see, and the warmth in her bloomed bright. He opened his mouth to speak but she beat him to it.

“Am I not allowed to give my list as well?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Jack shifted his weight, bringing his hands back before him like a pupil facing a headmaster.

Mary’s lips wanted to twitch, but she kept her expression neutral. “The impeccable cut of your suit. Your gorgeous eyes.” He flushed at that. “Your voice, smooth as cream sherry. Your wit. And your smile, like the sun on the sea.”

Jack cleared his throat, a gruff male sound that made her smile.

“But what captured my heart, stole my soul, was the dark, twisted, ridiculously blunt”—he scowled, though humor lit his eyes—“wonderfully loyal man inside that delicious package.”

“Mary…” He took her hand and led her to a chair. As she sat he made that nervous sound again, his skin ruddy against his white collar. When he sat in the chair opposite her, his spine was stiff. Behind him, framed by the windows, endless blue sky opened up. Large blocks of sunlight drifted across the floor and landed upon his shoulders. Hints of bronze glinted in his dark hair as he bent his head and stared at his hands. “The thing is, we’re not like other people.”

She nodded, still at sea with this whole strange conversation.

“We’ll live forever,” he went on, his color high and his voice growing increasingly strained. “Societal laws don’t truly touch us.” Jack’s head jerked to the side as if he found his collar too tight. “You and I… we might go on just as we are now, and be content.”

Mary’s heart clicked. What was he trying to say? But before she could ask, he was moving. Her breath caught as he knelt before her, taking her hands in his own. His fingers were ice-cold and trembling along with his voice. “The thing is,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on their hands, “while I’ll have you any way you let me, for however long as I can, I want—”

He took an audible breath and then raised his gaze to hers, and Mary’s throat closed. The whole of his soul was reflected in the green depths of his eyes. Utterly, perfectly beautiful.

“I want the pomp and circumstance. I want to vow before our friends and family that I shall love and protect you. I want the world to know that you are mine and I am yours. So then…” He licked his lips and quickly hurried on. “Mary Chase, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife? I know that I’m not—”

She grabbed hold of him and kissed him silent.

“Yes,” she said against his lips. “Yes to all of it.”

And he fell into the kiss, his mouth desperate, his tense body letting go with a shudder.

“Thank God,” he breathed, then kissed her again, quick, loving kisses that had her laughing. But he soon jerked back. “Damn it…” Jack let her go and fumbled about in his coat. “I knew I’d get it wrong.” His ears grew red as he pulled a gold ring from his pocket.