Page 76 of Heart of Iron
A strange light came into her eyes.She was picturing it.Picturing Colchester’s head exploding as the smoke from the pistol cleared.“Teach me,” she demanded.
Will faced the yard.It was brick, the walls that enclosed it almost eight feet high.Puss, the enormous mangy cat that considered Blade his servant, strolled along the wall, keeping an ugly green eye on them.
Ivy clung to two of the walls and a scrolled iron gate cut into the brick.Little pots of herbs and flowers gave it a sense of warmth, signs of Esme trying to turn the warren into some semblance of a home.
He rolled a wine barrel up against the far wall, then fetched one of the old milk bottles that Esme had set out for collecting.“Here,” he said, setting it on top of the barrel.“We’ll practice with this.”
“But won’t people worry?”
“In the rookery?”He cocked a brow.“People hear gunshot at the warren and they’ll turn and walk the other way.Fast.Just in case they get caught up in whatever mess they think’s spillin’ over.”
Lena aimed the pistol wildly in the direction of the barrel.“How do we start?”
“With bullets,” he said, unable to take his gaze off her.He’d put that smile on her face.Chased the shadows from her eyes.Reaching into his pocket, he produced a handful.“And by learnin’ each part of the pistol’s mechanisms.”
The wild light in her eyes was intoxicating.He fumbled with the bullets and placed one in her outstretched palm.She was oblivious to his breathlessness, peering at the pistol as though wondering what to do with it.He’d never seen her like this outside of the bedroom last night.So alive.So passionate.Almost exuberant with delight.
Fearless.
He wanted to keep that look in her eyes forever.Colchester had threatened to snuff it out, but he wouldn’t let the man.He’d kill him first.
Lena felt his stare and looked up.The glow faded a little.“What is it?”
Not yet forgiven.Perhaps he never would be.Will sucked in a breath and gestured at the pistol.“You’re holding it wrong.Here.Let me show you.”
He’d protect her.Or teach her to protect herself.
From Colchester.
From the world.
From himself.
***
Honoria swept her skirts to the side and nestled in her husband’s lap.Blade leaned back in the armchair, watching her with a knowing look in his eye.
“What ’ave you got planned?”he muttered, a smile curling his lips.
“Nothing,” she replied, toying with his collar.Running a finger down his shirt, she tried to look innocent as the texture changed from silk to the rougher velvet of his waistcoat.He’d never outgrown his love of gaudy materials, despite her guiding influence.And she found she quite liked it.Where once the embroidered red waistcoat would have made her lift an eyebrow in sheer bewilderment that someone could truly wear such a thing, now it was as familiar to her as the sight of his face.
And the texture of it, the feel of the velvet and the roughened threads of embroidery against her skin… That was something she’d grown far too fond of.
“Really?”he drawled, snagging her wrist.“I know when that devious little mind’s tickin’.I can practic’ly hear the cogs—”
An explosion of sound shattered the silence.
Honoria tumbled into the armchair as Blade leaped for the window, her foot striking the tea service and sending a cup tumbling.It smashed, porcelain shattering across the floor.
“What is it?”she cried, her slippers crunching on the pieces as she sat up.“Are we under attack?”
Blade yanked aside the curtain of her laboratory’s window, his face grim and his hand straying to one of the razors he carried at his belt.Then he leaned closer to the glass, a frown dawning.“Bloody ’ell.”
Another gunshot sounded.Honoria jerked to her feet and hurried to his side.His stance relaxed, calming the erratic beat of her heart.If Blade wasn’t concerned, then neither was she.She trusted his instincts implicitly.
“What?”She lifted on her toes, trying to see.The window ledge hindered her, pressing into her waist.One too many crumpets of late, she suspected.After the months she’d spent starving herself to feed Lena and Charlie, Blade had taken it upon himself to fatten her up, to good effect.He hated the thought that she’d once been one step removed from selling her blood to the Drainers on the street out of sheer desperation.
With an amused smile, he directed her gaze to the yard below.“Your sister’s tryin’ to murder a milk bottle.I suspect it’ll survive some’ow.”
