My Lady Quicksilver

Twenty-four

Lynch scratched out several words with the pen, then his eyes slowly lifted. The candle flame in front of him danced as if someone had opened a door somewhere.

Putting the pen down, he rubbed at the tired line between his brows and glanced at the clock on the mantel. Three in the morning. There was no point trying to sleep. He needed to put his affairs in order and see that certain events took place as he willed them.

A slight whisper of sound.

He cocked his head. Silence. Still, the unnerving sensation of a presence filled the room, itching over his skin. Lynch shoved to his feet and crossed toward his bedroom on quiet feet, the candle in hand.

Turning the handle, he edged it open. The curtains to his bedroom fluttered in the breeze, the window cracked halfway. Before he even took a step into the room he knew; he could scent her, clean and fresh, stained with the faint sickly sweet scent of the orbs. And then he could see her, moonlight gilding that porcelain skin with a loving touch.

Rosa.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered harshly, bringing the candle up.

Rosa lifted her chin, staring at him as if she herself didn’t know. Long tendrils of coppery hair clung to her shoulders and hung around her tearstained face, the torn scraps of the gorgeous dress she’d worn still clinging to her legs. With her red hair and pale skin, she wasn’t the type of woman made for crying, but there was something about the defiance in her eyes that made his breath catch. “I wanted… I needed to speak to you.”

Lynch swallowed the hard ball of emotion in his throat and strode past her to the window, placing the candle on the tallboy beside his bed. “I believe everything that needed saying was said.” He peered out, hunting the shadows for hidden eyes. “Do you think I let you escape for nothing? Damn it, woman, I have no doubt Balfour has eyes on the guild. He’ll be expecting me to do something tonight.”

Slamming the window shut, he drew the curtains across with a harsh jerk and took a steadying breath. Hell, he hadn’t expected her here. His fingers trembled slightly on the curtains. A part of him didn’t want to face her.

“Why tonight?” she asked. A note of doubt crept into her voice. “Did he threaten you? What did he say?” The rustle of skirts swept closer. Then stopped. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Would she care? His fingers tightened on the sill, then he slowly pushed away and looked at her.

A faint flush of color crept up her cheeks and her gaze dropped. Toying with the tips of her gloves, her shoulders slightly hunched, she managed to draw in a deep breath. “You shouldn’t have let him live.” Quiet words. “If you’d let me go, I could have—”

“Gotten yourself killed,” he replied, with just a touch too much vigor. Hell, if she knew what she was doing to him… His hungry gaze ran over her slender figure and despite himself, his body yearned for her. Just one touch. He knew if he went to her, she’d turn her face up to his eagerly, but would it mean anything? He didn’t know. He’d thought himself a great judge of character once, but now she’d shattered his perceptions with the web of lies she’d woven. He couldn’t see the truth anymore and it made him doubt each and every one of her actions.

“Why did you come here tonight?”

Rosa shrank a little, as if the weight of his gaze drove her shoulders down. “I wanted to say…I’m sorry.” That last was a whisper. “I couldn’t—I had to see you.”

Running his hand over the back of his neck, he crossed to the liquor decanter and poured himself a generous glass of blud-wein. Hell.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I know you won’t believe me. I can’t blame you for that, but I wish—I need you to know that I never meant any of this to happen.” She took a step closer, her skirts swishing. “I’m not good at this. I never have been. It was easier when I was Mercury, easier…as Mrs. Marberry.”

“Easier to lie?” he asked, tossing back the blud-wein.

“It wasn’t all a lie.”

Lynch put the glass down with a ringing sound. He turned—and then wished he hadn’t. Those vulnerable eyes burned him. He wanted to believe her. Gods, he hungered for it.

Just let go, whispered his darker side. Take what she’s offering. You’ll never get another chance.

And a part of him hated her for that, for the fact that his heart and body still wanted what it wanted, regardless of her betrayal.

“You should go.”

His quiet words lifted her head so sharply he might as well have slapped her. Determination stared back at him. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t. I know that I lied to you. I know you’ll never forgive me, but please, what I felt for you—”

He couldn’t stomach it anymore. Turning away, he crossed to the grate and stared into the ashes. Her letter was still there, a forlorn crumpled note in the powdery fine ash. “It meant nothing. I’ll forget it.” His own lie. “And no doubt you will too.”

“That’s not true.”

Lynch glanced over his shoulder darkly. “Isn’t it? Which part?”

“All of it. You want me. I know you do—”

He turned then. His body was as tight as a fucking violin string. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

“I can make you want me,” she declared, giving a little shimmy that slipped her capped sleeves over her shoulders. Her bodice softened, her plump breasts threatening to spill. “You wanted me once.”

“Whether I want you or not, it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t even know who you are!” he snapped. “I thought that I loved a woman, but she didn’t exist. I’ve had enough of betrayal to last me a lifetime.”

Rosa flinched. But she didn’t back down. Instead, her fingers went to the bodice and the little row of buttons that ran down the front of her finely tailored corset-dress. The light gleamed off the metal of her left hand; she’d taken her gloves off, no doubt to force him to admit to himself that she wasn’t Mrs. Marberry.

“You want to know me?” Rosa asked. “Then so be it. I was a thief. On the streets as a child. Then Balfour’s spy and later…later his assassin. I let my husband die because I couldn’t save him in time and I can’t tell my brothers how much I love them because I never have the words. Not when it means something.” Licking dry lips, she continued, “I’m not good, I’m not kind, I don’t seem to be able to feel such things that other people do—as if I can lock a box inside my mind and hide all of the…emotions inside it. But I can’t do that now. Not with you. I hate feeling like this. I hate being so uncertain. I hate the guilt, knowing that I was wrong, that I should have told you.” She struggled with a button, fingers trembling, cursing under her breath. “I don’t know what to say. All I have is this, to show you—”

“I’m not your husband,” he said, a brutal reminder of the one man she had loved. “You might have fooled him, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

Another arrow in the dark. Her skin blanched, still her trembling fingers began tugging at the little row of buttons. And no matter what he said, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“You’re right. That was the mistake I made. Pretending to be someone that I’m not. Twice.” Uncertainty stilled her fingers. “I loved him, but…he didn’t know me. Not until the end, when Balfour told him what I was, what I’d done.” Sorrow shadowed her eyes. “I couldn’t go to him. I never got that chance. That’s why I’m here now.” She stiffened, as if waiting for a blow. “You said that your heart belonged to me, but you never truly knew me. All the…the ugliness… Now you do. And…if you want me to go, to truly go away, all you have to do is tell me that you don’t love me. Tell me that I’m not the woman you cared for. That there’s nothing in me that you could ever love.”

Her whisper cut him, her fingers trembling on the next button as she stared at him and waited for the guillotine to fall.

He couldn’t do it. He wanted so much to believe her. He wanted her too much.

Two steps and Lynch was in front of her, his hands reaching for her face. Cursing himself. Cursing the weakness in him that made him desperately long for her words to be true. The silk of her hair slid around his hand as he cradled the base of her skull and then her mouth met his and he was lost.

“God,” he whispered, yanking her hard against him. “Rosa—I wish—” Her tongue, hot and wet. Her hands grabbing him by the shirt so that he couldn’t get away. “I wish I could give you forever.”

“I’ll take tonight.”

Then her mouth met his and all thought scattered, except for the desperate desire to have her.

For a second Rosalind thought she’d failed, that he would turn away, not want her. But even as her lungs deflated he was moving toward her, his mouth swooping down to capture hers. The kiss was hard, desperate. For the first time, nothing lay between them and she couldn’t stop herself from clutching at him, her heart thundering in her ears and hope rearing its head.

He wanted her. Despite what she’d done. Despite her lies, the betrayal… Knowing everything that he knew about her, he still wanted her. This was what she’d never gotten a chance to see in Nate’s eyes. Instead, he’d died before she could dare ask if he could ever forgive her.

Forgiveness might not be so swiftly earned, not with Lynch. She’d hurt him so badly… But at least this was a start. At least he hadn’t thrown her out the window like she probably deserved.

Rosalind drew back for a breath, gasping, her fingers darting under his shirt. Greedy. So greedy for his skin, his body… To show him how she felt when she couldn’t find the words. He slid a hand through her hair, tilting her head back, and then his cool lips were running down her throat, the feel of it echoing between her thighs. Her back hit the wall, his other hand cupping her lush bottom and then she could feel the hard edge of his cock pressing against her stomach.

Grabbing the back of her thigh, he dragged her knee up, pressing hotly between her legs. Rosalind moaned, her nails sinking into the smooth skin of his back, trailing up the long, lean muscles. Somehow, her hand found his, then she was pressing it lower, over her abdomen and down, hot desire racing through her veins.

A soft gasp as he found her, wet and ready, his fingers sliding between the slit in her drawers. Her gasp or his, she didn’t know. Her head dropped back, nails digging into him as she bit her lip. He knew exactly where to touch her, exactly how to make her scream. But then this was the only thing she had never lied to him about. He knew her here. Knew every little place to stroke to drive her crazy.

Hard fingers sank inside her, his thumb stroking hard over the nub at the heart of all this pleasure. Rosalind couldn’t think, couldn’t see. Her body moving against his, desperate for this, to assuage the ache in her chest, and now the ache between her thighs. It rose with choking swiftness—maybe because she wanted this so much, maybe out of sheer relief that he was touching her, giving her what she needed—and then it overwhelmed her with shocking suddenness.

Her cry echoed in the room, her body convulsing around his fingers as she clung to him, trying to ride it out. Somehow this was purer and sweeter than anything she’d ever felt before, as if the purging of all that emotion that had been choking her let her body sing.

Teeth rasped over her throat, biting at the soft skin over the vein. Rosalind’s eyes shot wide, knowing what he wanted, knowing the dark hungers that drove him. But if she dared ask him to trust her, then she had to give him the same trust. He wouldn’t force this on her, wouldn’t take directly from the vein. He never had.

Her eyes widened further, fear thick in her throat at the idea that sprang to mind. She couldn’t. Could she?

The thin stiletto rasped in her hair. The more she tried not to think of it, the more she couldn’t help herself. It terrified her. To give such control to another person, even Lynch. Her heart throbbed in her chest. Lynch lifted his head, his eyes half-lidded and dazed, his cheeks flushed with desire. He’d felt her withdrawal and looked to find the cause.

Rosalind grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him, trying not to panic. She couldn’t let him go. Not now. Fingertips trailing down his chest, she felt the hard press of the hilt against the base of her skull.

“Rosa?” he asked.

She had the knife in her fingers before she could even think about it. Swallowing hard, she caught his own hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt.

Lynch froze. His smoky gray eyes met hers, heat spilling through them until they were black with fierce need. His gaze dropped to her throat, his lips parting with a little quivering jerk. He wanted it. So much. Too much.

Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe through it and she watched the harsh emotions chase each across his face. “No,” he said softly. “No, you’re frightened… I won’t—”

She dragged his hand to her throat and pressed the edge of the blade against the throbbing vein. Their eyes met. “I want you to claim me. I want to be yours.”

Another shuddering moment. Then the hot sting as the blade sliced through skin. It clattered to the floor and then his hands cupped her arse and his mouth closed over her throat as her hips nestled around his.

The surge of feeling shot straight between her legs, igniting her body. Each pull of his mouth, each hot swallow tugged on her clit as if his mouth were there instead. She came, clutching at his shoulders, crying out, her hips rubbing against his, desperate, desperate now to get him inside her… Hands sliding between them, tugging at his breeches and then he was free, the hot surge of his cock filling her hands, rubbing against her wet-slick skin. She came again, crying out, whimpering… It felt like her heartbeat sped up, beating in time to his as his mouth took her blood into his own body, his own veins.

One hard thrust. Rosalind’s eyes went wide, drugged, candlelight melting into a puddle around them. Firm hands cupped her breast, sliding the buttons free, the very same ones she’d struggled with… Then his clever fingers slid over her nipple, tugging, teasing, his hips pumping as he thrust deep within her.

A rasped curse. Then Lynch was licking at her throat to close the wound, his hips thrusting her against the wall with furious desperation. His mouth caught hers, and she could taste the coppery tang of her own blood as their tongues clashed.

Rosalind’s heart thundered in her ears. I love you. She screamed the words inside, where he couldn’t hear, her eyes flooding with heat. Why couldn’t she do this? Why was it so hard to give so much of herself? It shouldn’t be this way. He deserved so much better, but she was so afraid, afraid that a part of him would look at her and not see anything deserving of those three little words.

“God, Rosa… Need you so much…” He gasped, fingers digging into her hips, his face tightening with fierce need. “Taste…so damned good…”

She cupped his face and kissed him, feeling the pressure building within him, within her. She wanted to explode, but she had to get this out before it was too late.

“I love you,” she blurted, a harsh whisper in the gasping stillness. Not what she’d intended but…enough…

He kissed her. Hard. Capturing the words on her lips as he drove her into the patterned wallpaper. Fingers slid between them and then she was lost, crying out, anchored only by the feel of his hands on her hips as his body shuddered against her, a harsh cry torn from his own throat.

Heat spilled within her. She held him through it, his face tucked against her shoulder and her hands sliding through his hair. Gasping, trying to catch her breath again, she felt each tiny shudder as it went through him.

Hers.

She understood then why he’d longed for her blood. This was the same. Not to own him, not to bind him to her with ties he couldn’t break, but to exist in that moment where the pair of them were one. To give—and to receive.

To be claimed.

Completely and utterly.

She knew that there was still so much between them, so many damned words that hadn’t been said, but for the first time tonight, she felt a tiny little bud of hope swell in her chest. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she pressed a small kiss against his throat.

She was never going to let him go now.