Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,65

Whitechapel district can she escape the long reach of the Duke of Vickers. But seeking refuge there will put her straight into the hands of Blade, legendary master of the rookeries. No one would dare cross him, but what price would he demand to keep her safe?

Ever since Vickers infected him with the craving, Blade has been quicker, stronger, almost immortal—and terrified of losing control of the monster within. Honoria could be his perfect revenge against the duke…or the salvation he never dared to dream of.

“Kiss of Steel is an enthralling debut with rich steampunk and vampire elements, and a leading man as wicked as he is irresistible. McMaster has crafted a hero and heroine who are intellectual and emotional equals; their love affair is heart-wrenching, redemptive and stirringly passionate.” – RT Book Reviews for KISS OF STEEL

If you make a deal with the Devil, you’d better be able to pay…

“’ow much do you want?”

Honoria had done the sums in her head. But it was best to start higher and bargain her way lower. “Thirty pounds a month,” she said boldly.

A high price for just her blood. A high price for the use of her body too. Perhaps her soul might cost as much.

“Done,” Blade said. He stood and paced towards a painting. Behind it was a safe, with careless piles of coins. If it belonged to anyone else, they wouldn’t dare keep so much money together, but nobody in Whitechapel was foolish enough to steal from the Devil himself.

“That’s all? I thought…” She trailed off. No need to invite him to lower the price. “How many times a week would you require my services?” A thought occurred. “Only my blood.”

Blade counted out the money. Honoria licked her lips, trying not to stare at it. As soon as he put it in her hand she would owe him, but a part of her mind raced. Thirty pounds. Rent, medication, enough for a good doctor and food… So much food! New gloves for Lena, new thread for her stockings – goodness, perhaps even new stockings if she dared – and a thick, heavy coat for Charlie, not that he’d be going outside.

How quickly she had become so mercenary. A year ago, she’d looked down upon such women as sold themselves on the streets. Now she was no better than they. Hunger and poverty could drive a person to abandon all of their morals.

“I know.” Blade turned and held up the small pouch. It fell into her hands with a heavy jingle. He sank back into the armchair, tugging his gold cheroot case out of his pocket. “We’ll discuss that later.”

She jerked her gaze up from the pouch of money in her hands. “No. I’d prefer to discuss it now. Or I’ll leave this here and owe you nothing.”

Blade ran a cheroot through his fingers, flipping it over and under, like a sleight-of-hand artist. “Once every three weeks.”

“So far apart?” Her eyebrows shot up. That was certainly reasonable. She put the heavy pouch down on the table. Started tugging at her shawl. Her fingers wouldn’t work properly.

“Takes the body a while to renew the blood,” he shrugged. “A lesson I learned o’er many years.” His gaze narrowed on her hands. “What are you doin’?”

“I would prefer the marks not to be visible. I still intend to seek employment.” She knew what that meant. There were very few veins that would give him what he needed. And neither her sleeves nor neckline concealed her adequately enough. The shawl finally came free. She folded it neatly and put it down. Her hands were shaking.

“’Onoria. Look at me.”

To look at him would undo her. She slipped her shoes off and crossed toward him, her stockinged feet sinking into the thick carpets. To have his mouth on her skin… She shook the thought off with a shiver. Such an intimacy had never occurred to her. A hot little flush swept through her lower belly.

“What are you doin’?” he asked, voice low and rough.

His booted feet were crossed. Leather strained over his thighs and his fingers dug into the armrests as though to restrain himself.

“We have a deal,” she reminded him, lifting her skirts delicately and putting her foot up on the cushion. The hard muscle of his thigh rested against her ankle. His fingers went white with sudden strain.

“Honoria.”

“You seem to have recovered your ‘h’s’,” she said, sliding her skirts up. There was a lump in her throat. Her hands trembled, but obeyed her will. The threadbare wool at her ankle was revealed. Then higher. Her calves. Her knee. She slid her skirts all the way up, revealing the faded pink ribbon of her garters. Heat flushed through her cheeks. What a shame that she couldn’t be wearing better undergarments, like the fine painted silk stockings she’d once owned.

Blade sucked in a breath. “Put your skirts back down.”

“I made a deal,” she repeated firmly and started working on the ribbons that held her stocking in place.

His hand caught hers. Cool fingers against her own, the very fingertips touching her inner thigh.

Honoria couldn’t help herself. She looked up. And nearly fell forward, into the burning depths of his black gaze. The hunger roared within him, a bottomless chasm that could never be fully sated.

Her breath hitched.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Bec McMaster lives in a small town in Australia and grew up with her nose in a book. A member of RWA, she writes sexy, dark paranormals and steampunk romance. When not writing, reading, or poring over travel brochures, she loves spending time with her very own hero or daydreaming about new worlds. To find out more about her London Steampunk series, visit http://www.becmcmaster.com/

DISCOVER OTHER TITLES BY BEC MCMASTER AT:

Kiss of Steel – http://www.becmcmaster.com/books/

Heart of Iron – http://www.becmcmaster.com/books/

CONNECT WITH ME ONLINE AT:

Twitter: @BecMcMaster

Facebook: www.facebook.com/BecMcMaster

Table of Contents

Tarnished Knight

Lena's Decision

Glossary

About the Author

Connect with the Author