Part 7 (1/2)
That meant the literal fate of millions could rest on London. It almost made her laugh. She was no one special. Just a well-bred widow who happened to love languages. She had been taught from birth that she should bring honor to her family, a quiet adornment who softened the hard edges of the world. But who had taught her this? Her father. An Heir of Albion. But she could stop him and the Heirs. If she chose.
”And that is why you brought me here here,” she said, waving toward the caique. ”Because it is my translation that will guide them.”
”Yes.” Day came closer, until he stood not a foot away. They stared at one another. Even in the midst of this chaos, London felt it anew, the insistent pull that drew her toward him, itself a kind of spell or charm that possessed no countermeasure. When he reached for her, she did not pull back. And when his fingers lightly brushed over her cheek, the softest, barest touch, she let her eyes close for a moment. Solace. Support. She found them with him in this newly minted world. ”The Blades need you, London,” he said quietly.
She did pull away, then, turning from him and walking to the rail. A clear and endless night on every side. Water and sky both black and s.h.i.+mmering with stars. She wanted to be swallowed up in the blackness, to disappear, weighted down with secrets. Somewhere out there were her father, Fraser, Chernock. All of them were Heirs of Albion. How long would it take before they realized she was missing? And when they did, what would happen then?
”I don't know what you think I can do for you,” London said, still looking out at the sea.
”Join us,” he said from close behind her. ”Join our fight.”
London managed a strangled laugh. ”How funny you are, Mr. Day. In case you had not noticed, I'm not much of a fighter. I posed not the smallest obstacle when you took me from my cabin.”
”We'll teach you to defend yourself-”
”And I haven't any magical ability.”
”Athena is a rarity in the Blades. We hold to a creed whereby none can wield magic that isn't ours by right or gift. She's born into a long line of witches. And I,” he said, standing nearer so that she was bathed in the warmth of his body, ”am just a man.”
With an indrawn breath, London suddenly realized she was wearing only her nightclothes, and nothing underneath them. Only now, with him so close, did she become aware of this, how bare she really was. He might not have possessed true magic, but he commanded his own kind of sorcery over her.
She faced him and had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes. She breathed, ”What you ask of me is impossible. I cannot simply turn my back on my father, my family, everything I have ever known. I must give my father a chance to refute these allegations.”
Day opened his mouth as if to argue, but Athena's voice cut in. ”Bennett, we shall not force her. A Blade must always use their own will and never impose theirs on anyone else. So stop looming over the woman and let her think.”
”I'm looming?” he asked London.
”Yes,” she answered. ”Please. I need a bit of...air.”
Surprisingly, he complied, though a wry smile curved his mouth. ”I am your servant, Mrs. Harcourt. Tell me what you desire, and I'll do everything I can to satisfy you.”
Athena made a choked sound of exasperated laughter. Even though she and London appeared about the same age, there was a worldliness about the Greek woman that London could never hope to emulate. No doubt, London seemed very foolish to Athena where Bennett Day was concerned, like a smitten schoolgirl dizzy over her first compliment. But London could prove that she was not a child, and had not been one for a long time. Tonight had aged her by decades.
”Take me back to my father,” she said.
A shout from the small Greek sailor-London now understood he was the captain-caught everyone's attention. He yelled orders at his men, who ran to obey, and hurried to the wheel.
”You see?” Day said over the shouting. ”All you have to do is ask and I make your wish come true.” He pointed off the port side, where London could just begin to see white columns of smoke heading toward them. ”Here's your father now.”
The lanterns on the boom flickered out with a wave of Athena's hand. All was darkness. Yet Kallas and his men knew the boat, knew the night, and ran to adjust their course without stumbling. They communicated in whispers. The Heirs' s.h.i.+p had the advantage of steam, however, knifing quickly toward them. Bennett understood little of sailing, and could only shoulder a rifle and tuck a revolver into his belt, should things come to close combat.
”Where's our fog, Athena?” he asked.
Athena looked up from loading a revolver, a difficult task in the dark. ”I have never before used the Mist of Thetis. I could not hold the spell for long.”
”It served our purposes well the first time,” Bennett said, jovial. ”Now we get to fight the old-fas.h.i.+oned way.” He enjoyed sc.r.a.pping with the Heirs, giving him the chance to actually lay hands with the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. But usually such fights were done without an innocent woman's life in the cross fire.
He glanced over at London Harcourt. Amidst the brisk activity of Kallas and his men, London stood alone at the rail, watching as her father's s.h.i.+p steamed closer and closer. They soon would be within firing range of the cannons.
Bennett went to her, cupping his hand over the gentle curve of her shoulder. He felt the slight start in her body when he touched her, the delicate bones and soft flesh in a minute contraction. This had to be a far cry from anything she had ever experienced. Edgeworth had bred her to be a society lady, not a seafaring adventurer. Nor was she prepared to learn that her father and brother were members of a secret and ruthlessly ambitious society trying to acquire the world's magic for their own dominating agenda. Yet, remarkably, her composure did not waiver. She stood on steady legs to face the oncoming threat.
”They're coming for me,” she said, toneless.
”We'll give 'em a good tussle.”
”This little boat against heavy guns? I may not know much about warfare, but there is no way this caique can withstand their firepower.” She turned to face him, and when she spoke, he heard the resolve fortifying her voice. ”I must get back.”
”You don't have to,” he said. ”You can stay here, with us. With me.” He tried to take her hand, but she ducked to one side and evaded him.
”Joining the Blades of the Rose is unthinkable. I will lose everything, everyone.”
”Consider what you will gain.” He couldn't fathom why he wanted her to stay so badly. ”You won't be alone.” She could provide tremendous help to the Blades, and certainly keeping her linguistic knowledge out of the Heirs' hands was a benefit, but he wasn't thinking only of strategy. He wanted her close by, close to him, a powerful sensation of need he wasn't prepared for.
”I can't,” she said. ”Don't ask me again.”
He stifled the quick, hot cut of disappointment. ”So you'll help your father. Translate the ruins for him.”
”I-”
”They are aiming the guns,” Kallas hissed in the dark.
”Let me go,” London said quickly. ”Put me in the canoe and send me over to them. They will stop their pursuit if I'm in the water.”
”I'm not going to stuff you in some b.l.o.o.d.y little boat like a mutineer,” he growled.
”I'll jump overboard, if necessary.”
Bennett swore. London had a spine of steel that even she did not seem to know about.
”She is correct,” Athena said. ”The Heirs will not give chase if she is out there.”
The night tore open as the guns fired a warning shot. Everyone on the caique fell to the deck-the two sailors screaming with panic, Kallas cursing in a dense dialect, Athena muttering prayers to sundry G.o.ddesses. Without thought, Bennett covered London's body with his own, s.h.i.+elding her. She felt very small beneath him.
Thank Ares that the Heirs chose only to fire a warning shot. The caique was far enough away that cannonb.a.l.l.s might smash into the water and not the hull, but in a few more minutes, they would be a plum ready to be crushed.
”Now,” London hissed underneath him. ”I have to leave now now.” She shoved at him, and he rolled away.
h.e.l.l and d.a.m.n, there wasn't a choice. Crouching low, Bennett hurried to the canoe leaning against the quarterdeck house. He and Kallas leaned over the rail and eased the small boat into the water. As Kallas held the boat, Bennett took London by her narrow waist and swung her over the rail.
”All right, I'm in,” she said. ”You can let go of me now.”
But he didn't.
He brought his mouth down to hers, his lips against her own. If there'd been time, he would have lingered, studying her, the soft feel of her. He would have brushed his lips over hers, slowly at first, then, unhurriedly, as she opened to him, he would have delved into her in a long, liquid exploration. Stroked the inside of her mouth, brought their tongues together, velvet to velvet. He would learn her tastes gradually, like an unfolding banquet, course by course. He would have discovered what sounds she made in the throws of a deep, endless kiss. All of these things he would have done, had they time.
There wasn't time.