Tarnished Knight - London Steampunk 01.5 by Bec McMaster

Author:Bec McMaster [McMaster, Bec]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Steampunk, Historical, PNR, SS, Novella
Published: 2013-01-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Light flickered to life as Rip struck a lucifer and crouched low, sliding the match into the lantern so the wick caught. The shadows lengthened and danced back as he focused with frightful intensity on the flame, the acrid scent of phosphorus in the air.

Esme looked around, shivering a little. It wasn’t as cold in here as outside, but she couldn’t stop the faint tremor down her spine. Dread perhaps. The sooner they spoke of this, the better.

Old furniture was stacked against the walls, a large Turkish rug covering the floor. Blade had little interest in fencing stolen goods but there were always people who needed coin desperately. He often traded coin or protection for the goods they offered. Charity here in the ‘Chapel would have earned him naught more than a sneer.

Esme shivered. Her throat felt thick with unsaid words; I didn’t mean it, I was speaking of being your thrall, I should never have kissed you, friends…just friends. All of it lies, but they were safe lies.

As she went to open her mouth, the thought spurred something hot to life in her chest. She didn’t want to be ‘just friends’ anymore, didn’t want to take everything she’d said back. It was finally out in the air between them and though she was frightened of his lack of a response, a part of her wanted to confront him about it.

“You cold?” he asked quietly. His voice had always been deeper than most men; the kind of voice that sent shivers over her skin. He rarely ever raised it, but sometimes she wished she could sense what he was feeling in it. To yell or rage, just once.

But she knew why he didn’t.

Esme nodded, her gaze settling on his throat and the corded muscle there as he swallowed. She wasn’t quite brave enough to meet his eyes. “A little,” she whispered.

Where was her courage now? Her defiant glee that the words were said? Rip took a step toward her, shrugging out of his leather coat and Esme couldn’t stop herself from taking a step back. His shirt strained over the enormous slabs of muscle that decorated his chest, heavy braces indenting his shoulders. A workman’s shirt; rough, coarse… But she knew the feel of it, the way it would abrade her skin.

As if she’d struck him, he froze.

And Esme realized that he thought she was rejecting him.

Stepping forward, she reached for his coat, twirling into it like a dancer. Rip’s hands settled on her shoulders lightly as he helped her settle it in place, then lingered. With her back to him, Esme’s heart suddenly raced. Slowly he gathered up her hair, hands so gentle she almost ached, and dragged it free of the collar. The ribbon she’d used to tie it back had loosened and Rip tugged it out, fingertips sliding through the silk of her hair.

“John?” she whispered.

“I like that,” he murmured. “I ‘ate it when you call me ‘Rip’. You’re the only one who doesn’t. The only one who sees me as John.

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