He smiled against her hips, his lips brushing against the buttons on her breeches. He tugged one between his teeth, then looked up at her. “Yes? Or no?”

She was biting her lower lip so hard that she would leave a mark. “Yes,” she whispered.

His heart thundered in his chest. Surrender. He felt it as she relaxed back onto the sofa. Felt it as he reached for the buttons on her pants.

A sharp rap sounded at the door. “Sir?” Doyle called.

Garrett looked up, breathing hard. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me.”

Perry jerked the two halves of her shirt together and rolled onto her side, her cheeks turning a furious pink. “Damnation!”

“Stay there,” he growled, planting another kiss on her startled mouth, far too tempted to linger. He looked at her—then at the door. “What the hell is wrong?”

The guild had better be on bloody fire.

“You’ve a caller, sir,” Doyle replied. “The Duke of Moncrieff.”

“Again?” What rotten timing. “Tell him I’ll be a moment.” He needed to straighten his shirt and stifle the raging cock-stand in his pants. He shot Perry a frustrated look, but the expression on her face froze him. “Perry?”

She seemed to shake off the fugue that had overtaken her. Gave him a weak smile.

“Duty calls,” he said dryly. “Time to see what His Grace wants this time.”

“Garrett”—she caught his arm—“wait.”

“Later.” He bent and kissed her, capturing the protest on her lips. Perry’s fist curled in his shirt, holding him there. “There is definitely going to be a later. I won’t have this rushed—”

“Wait,” she blurted. “I need to talk to you. About the case. About the…the duke.”

“Can it wait?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Please sit.” Definitely nervous. “I meant to talk to you. I think…I think I know who the killer is.”

Seventeen

There was no other way to tell him.

“I said once that this case was personal,” Perry blurted out, dragging her knees up in front of herself and locking her arms around them. Her whole body felt shivery, tingling with the echo of his touch. But the thought of what she was going to tell him cut straight through the lust. “I told you it was because it reminded me of what had happened to me. I lied.”

His gaze shot to hers. Intense. “I’m listening.”

“I thought that I’d killed the man who infected me with the craving,” she said carefully. “But I’m beginning to wonder… I don’t think he died. I think he’s still alive, and I think he’s the same man who kidnapped Ava and Alice, and killed those girls.”

“Why would you say that?”

Good. Let them stick to facts. That was something she could manage to deal with. “The laboratory under the draining factory. It’s virtually the same as the one he trapped me in years ago. The same smell, the same instruments… He was exploring the effects of the craving virus on healing—exploring just how much damage it could heal. And then, of course, there are these rumors about that monster prowling the mists of the East End—of Steel Jaw. Garrett, I cut half his face off. It was…hanging.” She swallowed hard, pushing away the memories. “His name was Hague, and he was a scientist who performed illegal experiments on women. I think Hague is Steel Jaw. And I think he’s also masquerading as Sykes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this? How could you think to leave without letting me know such a thing?”

“I was going to send a letter.” She saw his expression. “Garrett, he broke me,” she whispered. “I’m frightened and I’m trying not to be, but I…I can’t. You don’t know what…” An icy shiver ran down her spine, her gut locking tight. “It makes me feel ill when I think of what he did to me. I can’t breathe at times. I have these…these moments of hysteria—you saw what I was like at the factory.

“It hasn’t been so bad of late, because I thought he was dead. But now, now that he might not be… Others will be hurt. I just wanted to get away from here.” She buried her face in her hands. “Even now, he’s stripping me of my self. He makes me less, every time I think of him. I want to be brave. I want to hunt him down and get justice for what he did—what he’s still doing. But I don’t know if I have it in me.”

And that was the horrible, shaming truth. Everything that she’d fought for in the last nine years was a sham. Every time she’d forced herself to enter the dark tunnels of Undertown or to track down some killer, she’d thought that she faced some inner demon. But it was a lie. The moment Moncrieff reentered her life—bringing that monster back into it—she became nothing more than a victim.

Warm hands covered hers and then Garrett slid his arms around her, tucking her in tight against his body. Perry couldn’t move. Her whole body locked up tight as her shoulders shook.

“I’m frightened,” she whispered. “I’m so frightened and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“There are many different types of courage, Perry. Sometimes simply surviving is the bravest thing a person can do,” he murmured, hand splaying over her back and rubbing. “To reforge a life after such trauma. You’re not a coward for being frightened. Indeed, you’d be a fool if you weren’t, for you know firsthand the horror of the situation.” His voice dropped an octave. “And you came back, knowing what he did to you. Knowing you might have to face him again. If anything, I admire the hell out of you.”

The words stole through her, warming something deep within.

“My mother survived,” he continued, “when my father forsook her, and did what was necessary to feed both herself and me. That too is bravery, in its own way. She taught me that the man with the biggest fists or the best skills in a knife fight isn’t always the strongest or the bravest. It’s those who survive the worst life can throw at them and keep on fighting.”

“But what if I face Hague and freeze?” Her head lifted from his shoulder. “What if I can’t breathe again? What if—”

“Then we deal with such when we face it,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his hand. “But I don’t think you’re going to panic when you come face-to-face with him, Perry. And if you do, then I will be there to help you breathe. I promise. Now what did you want to tell me about the duke?”

A part of her was still hoping that she could protect him from this. “Perhaps… I just have a suspicion he’s involved.”

“Because of what happened to his thrall? Octavia?”

Strange to hear those words from his lips. “Yes. Because of what he did to Octavia.”

Garrett stared at the window, his chiseled profile stained by the afternoon light. It bleached the tips of his chestnut lashes, highlighting the blue of his eyes. “I think he’s up to something too. He’s tasked me with finding Octavia. He doesn’t think she’s dead.”

Perry could barely hear for the sudden roar of her heartbeat in her ears. “He wants you to find Octavia?”

“Thinks she ran away from him. I’m not certain if I believe him or not. I only know that something strange happened with that case. There’s virtually nothing in the case file.”

But the duke had looked at her. Looked right at her, then away. Only that one jest he’d made, about her taking the name of the peregrine, her family’s House sigil, gave any hint that he’d recognized her.

Then Garrett’s words penetrated. Nothing in the case file. The only person who had the authority to do that was Lynch.

He’d known all along who she was.

Perry slid off his lap. “What are you going to do?”

Garrett straightened, tidying his coat and breeches with a rueful glance at her. “I’m going to see what he wants this time. No doubt a progress report. He was adamant I devote my time and attention to this, rather than the Keller-Fortescue case.”

“And your intentions?”

“The duke can kiss me arse,” he replied with a devilish gleam in his eyes and that roughened Bethnal accent reemerging for a second. She liked the way the words sounded. His tone was warmer in its natural state. Not as crisp and precise, as if he had to say each word carefully to ensure its accuracy.

Garrett leaned one knee on the sofa and bent down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “If only because of his appalling sense of timing.”

The taste of his lips warmed against her, his tongue sliding over hers in a teasing thrust. Slowly the back of his hand brushed against her shirt, rasping over her taut nipple. The knot in her abdomen tightened with an ache that desperately wanted her to reach up and drag his weight down upon her. To feel every hard inch of his body on hers, pressing her into the soft cushions of the sofa. She slid her hands into his hair, dragging him down, his tongue spearing into her mouth as she tumbled against the back of the sofa.

She needed this so much right now. Something to take away the panic, the fear. To remind her that she wasn’t alone.

And he gave it to her, his own movements just a little desperate.

Hot. Hard. Drugging. She’d never been so aware of her body, every nerve ending tingling beneath her skin as his elegant fingers curled over her breast, palming the aching flesh. More. The angle of their position denied her, no matter how much she arched against him. She needed to ride her h*ps against his, to feel the heavy surge of his erection between her thighs.

Garrett dragged his mouth aside with a groan, breathing hard against her neck. Cool breath shivered over her skin and then he wrenched away from her, mouth parted, gasping, the fierceness of his hunger staring back at her with predator eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Something flickered through his gaze. Heat and need, a shiver of the darkness within. His lashes lowered, palm splaying over her breast, cupping it through the thin lawn of her shirt. “I’m trying to be dutiful.”

Let the duke wait. For the first time in years, she felt nothing more than a flash of heated irritation at the thought of him. Damn him. Her fist curled in Garrett’s shirt and she reached for him—

“Later, my love,” he breathed harshly, drawing away from her. “Bloody hell. I’d almost managed to forget what we were up to before we were rudely interrupted. Almost. Now you’ve given me a cock-stand again.”

“I could take care of that,” she replied in a smoky voice that stiffened every muscle in his body.

Garrett stood in front of her, staring down at her with the kind of look that heated her through. He swallowed. “How?”

Leather glided beneath her palms as she slid her hands up his thighs, shifting her h*ps to the edge of the sofa. In that moment, fear was a distant memory. She liked herself like this, liked being bold and reckless. The way he looked at her made her feel distinctly feminine in a way she’d never particularly wanted to be before. But this… For the first time she understood what it was like to feel comfortable in her own skin. For a man to want her with no expectations, no demands that she change and be more like the standard vision of femininity.

Perry pressed her lips against the leather straining over his muscled thighs. Higher. Looking up at him and letting him see exactly what she intended.

Garrett sucked in a breath and caught her wrists. “Fuck.”

Someone hammered at the door again. “Sir?” Doyle called. “Are you coming?”

Garrett threw a glance over his shoulder. She could sense him weakening, trying to decide which need to satisfy. “I’m bloody trying to,” he muttered, letting go of her wrists and stepping back out of reach. “If someone would stop interrupting us.”

Perry laughed under her breath.

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back. Thinking. “I shall see the duke. Then I have something important I must attend to in the city. Shall we meet here at five?”

Perry also had matters to attend to. She nodded, tipping her chin up and staring into those hot blue eyes. The smile melted off her lips, the languid warmth washing out of her as the danger of the situation struck her. As much as she wanted Garrett, she had the feeling she’d never be entirely free of the Moncrieff. Unless…perhaps she should confront him? Find out what he wanted?

The thought stilled her. She’d been running for so long now that the idea of confronting the duke had never occurred to her. But if she didn’t, these stolen nights with Garrett would always be overshadowed by him. And she was tired of hiding, of running, of being afraid.

“You’ll be careful?”

“Always.” Garrett shot her a wicked smile as he backed toward the door. “You have a promise to fulfill, and I intend to make you keep it.”

***

Garrett paced Lynch’s parlor, watching the clock tick steadily through the half hour. He’d expected to wait—or to be turned away at the door—but the time still dragged at him. Moncrieff had lectured him for almost an hour on the lack of progress with the Morrow case until Garrett had abruptly escorted him to the door. Now this. Another waste of time perhaps, but he couldn’t be certain. Fingers flexing, he cursed under his breath.

Footsteps suddenly echoed on the stairs in the foyer. Lynch. Garrett recognized that brisk step immediately, a hard lump forming in his throat.

The double doors swung open, the man himself outlined in the haze of light from the foyer. Lynch wore stark black from head to toe, except for the white cravat at his throat. No doubt he was on his way to some Echelon function.