hefted it against her chest. “All right, then. March on, constable.”
There was no point in looking for the person who’d stolen the tires. No one in this area would have seen anything at all tonight.
Unless, of course, the newssheets caught wind of Inspector Wentworth’s predicament. Then everyone would have seen her. So Mina began to walk, and wondered whether the story of her trek through St. Olave would appear in the next morning’s news, or if an entire day would pass before it showed up.
* * *
It was almost midnight when Mina’s cab returned her home. Rhys wasn’t just waiting up—he came out onto the front steps, waved aside the footman and opened the steamcoach door for her. Not something a duke would do. Not the normal sort of duke, at least.
But he would never be that. A normal duke did not begin life in a crèche, and then as a slave sold in the Ivory Market’s skin trade. A normal duke did not mutiny aboard an English vessel, taking the ship for his own and using it in an eight-year run of piracy. A normal duke did not blow up a Horde tower in a fit of anger and spark a revolution that destroyed half a city.
His big hand closed over hers. A single touch, and anticipation tightened her skin, shortened her breath. Mina didn’t know if a normal duke could have had the same effect on her; so far, only Rhys did.
His dark gaze slid from her head to the tips of her boots. “You’re all right?”
“Yes.”
“Any leads?”
“No. Aside from Prescott, no one saw anything. So we’ve called it a night, and will begin again early tomorrow.” As she spoke, the intensity of his gaze deepened. Mina’s heart pounded. “I need to change my clothing, wash off this smell.”
“Smell?” He leaned forward, bent his head toward her neck, inhaled. Humor warmed his voice. “Have you been swimming in the Thames?”
Even through her laughter, need began to build, a hot quiver in her stomach. Her breath stilled as his lips opened against her throat.
“I would have you even if you’d been rolling with pigs,” he said softly, before raising his head and pressing a sweet kiss to her mouth that stopped her laugh.
Oh. How did she melt so easily? Mina clung to his biceps, lifting to her toes to deepen the incredible sensation of his mouth against hers. Who cared what the cab driver might see and report this kiss to the newssheets? Who cared that the footman would pretend to see nothing at all? Here in his arms, it mattered not a whit what anyone else did or didn’t see. There was nothing in the world clearer to Mina, more solid, than her love for this man.
Even if he didn’t have a smooth way with words. She tucked her hand into his elbow as they climbed the steps to the entrance. “Rolling with pigs, truly? That’s not worse than the Thames. I suddenly doubt your devotion.”
“You’ve caught me out. In truth, I’d throw a bucket of water at you first.”
“And if it was water from the Thames?”
“You still couldn’t smell worse than the Terror ’s crew, two months away from any bath.”
“But you didn’t bed them.”
“They wouldn’t have me. My odor wasn’t any better. So I settled for a wife who smells like bilgewater.” His grin appeared when she laughed, then softened as he took another long look at her. “Have you had a chance to eat?”
“We stopped by Newberry’s flat for our dinner, but wine would be welcome,” she admitted. After his horrifying loss of sense when they’d once been drunk together, Rhys never took any alcohol, but Mina enjoyed a glass to smooth the edges of a long day. “So would enough warm water that I can wash my hair.”
Rhys relayed that to the housekeeper as soon as they passed through the door, and a moment later, maids were scurrying to comply. He turned to face Mina, his gaze meeting hers before he stepped away. “I’ll bring the wine up to you.”
That also wasn’t something a duke did, but Mina understood that he didn’t want to be
There was no point in looking for the person who’d stolen the tires. No one in this area would have seen anything at all tonight.
Unless, of course, the newssheets caught wind of Inspector Wentworth’s predicament. Then everyone would have seen her. So Mina began to walk, and wondered whether the story of her trek through St. Olave would appear in the next morning’s news, or if an entire day would pass before it showed up.
* * *
It was almost midnight when Mina’s cab returned her home. Rhys wasn’t just waiting up—he came out onto the front steps, waved aside the footman and opened the steamcoach door for her. Not something a duke would do. Not the normal sort of duke, at least.
But he would never be that. A normal duke did not begin life in a crèche, and then as a slave sold in the Ivory Market’s skin trade. A normal duke did not mutiny aboard an English vessel, taking the ship for his own and using it in an eight-year run of piracy. A normal duke did not blow up a Horde tower in a fit of anger and spark a revolution that destroyed half a city.
His big hand closed over hers. A single touch, and anticipation tightened her skin, shortened her breath. Mina didn’t know if a normal duke could have had the same effect on her; so far, only Rhys did.
His dark gaze slid from her head to the tips of her boots. “You’re all right?”
“Yes.”
“Any leads?”
“No. Aside from Prescott, no one saw anything. So we’ve called it a night, and will begin again early tomorrow.” As she spoke, the intensity of his gaze deepened. Mina’s heart pounded. “I need to change my clothing, wash off this smell.”
“Smell?” He leaned forward, bent his head toward her neck, inhaled. Humor warmed his voice. “Have you been swimming in the Thames?”
Even through her laughter, need began to build, a hot quiver in her stomach. Her breath stilled as his lips opened against her throat.
“I would have you even if you’d been rolling with pigs,” he said softly, before raising his head and pressing a sweet kiss to her mouth that stopped her laugh.
Oh. How did she melt so easily? Mina clung to his biceps, lifting to her toes to deepen the incredible sensation of his mouth against hers. Who cared what the cab driver might see and report this kiss to the newssheets? Who cared that the footman would pretend to see nothing at all? Here in his arms, it mattered not a whit what anyone else did or didn’t see. There was nothing in the world clearer to Mina, more solid, than her love for this man.
Even if he didn’t have a smooth way with words. She tucked her hand into his elbow as they climbed the steps to the entrance. “Rolling with pigs, truly? That’s not worse than the Thames. I suddenly doubt your devotion.”
“You’ve caught me out. In truth, I’d throw a bucket of water at you first.”
“And if it was water from the Thames?”
“You still couldn’t smell worse than the Terror ’s crew, two months away from any bath.”
“But you didn’t bed them.”
“They wouldn’t have me. My odor wasn’t any better. So I settled for a wife who smells like bilgewater.” His grin appeared when she laughed, then softened as he took another long look at her. “Have you had a chance to eat?”
“We stopped by Newberry’s flat for our dinner, but wine would be welcome,” she admitted. After his horrifying loss of sense when they’d once been drunk together, Rhys never took any alcohol, but Mina enjoyed a glass to smooth the edges of a long day. “So would enough warm water that I can wash my hair.”
Rhys relayed that to the housekeeper as soon as they passed through the door, and a moment later, maids were scurrying to comply. He turned to face Mina, his gaze meeting hers before he stepped away. “I’ll bring the wine up to you.”
That also wasn’t something a duke did, but Mina understood that he didn’t want to be
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