Текст книги "Quicksilver"

Автор книги: Amanda Quick

Соавторы: Amanda Quick
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He fitted his hands to her waist, lifted her free of the heap of skirts and petticoats and set her back on her feet. She unfastened the remaining buttons of his shirt and flattened her palms against his bare chest. The touch of her hands made his temperature climb even higher.

“I love the feel of you,” she whispered.

She kissed his jaw and then his shoulder. Her mouth was wet and warm, thrilling all of his senses.

“I can’t take much more of that,” he warned her.

She raised her head and smiled a devastatingly mysterious smile. Her eyes were brilliant with feminine power.

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “Not for a minute. You are always in control, Owen Sweetwater.”

“That was mostly true, I think, until I met you.”

He kissed her, a short, hard kiss that was fueled by the edgy urgency crackling through him. Then he turned away and picked up her cloak. He unfurled it with a sharp, snapping movement of his hand and let it fall on the carpet in front of the fireplace. The thick woolen folds spread out and fluttered to the floor, forming a makeshift bed.

He got rid of his boots, his trousers and drawers. When he turned back to Virginia he saw that she was staring at him in consternation. At first he thought she was transfixed by his erection. He did not know whether to be flattered, amused or worried.

“Is that a knife you have strapped to your ankle?” she said, and gasped.

He looked down at the leather sheath, chagrined. She had not noticed it the first time because he had made love to her without removing his trousers.

“Sorry,” he said. “I tend to forget about it.”

“How could you possibly forget a knife strapped to your ankle?”

“I have worn it since I was a boy. All Sweetwater men do. It’s the family motto.”

She raised her brows. “Just what sort of motto would that be?”

“Talent is useful, but always keep your dagger sharp.”

“Not the usual family motto. But, then, I’m getting the impression that the Sweetwaters are not an ordinary family.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “The Sweetwaters are really a very normal sort of family.”

He unfastened the knife sheath and left it conveniently at hand. This time, when he looked at her he saw that she was, indeed, gazing at his erection.

“Is it always like that?” she asked.

His laugh came out as a groan.

“Only when I am near you,” he said.

He knelt on the cloak and drew her down onto her knees in front of him. She reached out and took him in her hands, exploring him intimately. He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenching against the surging need that pulsed through him.

“I’m desperate for you,” he said, aware that his voice was raw with need.

“You stir the most astonishing desire in me,” she whispered. “I have never known anything like it.”

“Then we are well matched.”

He tightened his arms around her and kissed her, letting her feel the full force of his need. When she sighed and sank against him, her breasts pillowed against his chest, he moved his hand between her thighs. She was damp and slick, and wonderfully full to the touch. He stroked her carefully, seeking out the sensitive hidden places.

When he inserted a finger deep inside her she cried out and dropped her forehead against his shoulder. He felt her body draw tighter. Deliberately he inserted a second finger.

She gasped. Her small, delicate muscles closed even more securely around him. She released his heavy erection and clutched his forearms.

“Now relax,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to,” she said into his shoulder. “I like it this way.”

“You’ll like it even better if you do as I say. I give you my word. Relax.”

Her narrow passage loosened almost imperceptibly. He withdrew his fingers partway.

“Now hold me as if you’ll never let me go.” He pushed back into her.

She tightened snugly around him again. Another tremor went through her. She was very wet now. He breathed in the scent of her body.

“Yes,” he said. “Like that.”

He removed his fingers partway and eased his thumb up under the taut little bud of her clitoris until she strained against him. Then he penetrated her again with his fingers.

“You are as tight as a handmade glove,” he said.

He hooked his fingers a little so that he could press them more firmly against the sensitive area just inside her hot channel. Then he slowly started to withdraw.

“No,” she gasped, and tightened abruptly, trying to keep him inside. “Don’t stop.”

“I have no intention of stopping. Relax.”

She did but just barely. She had the pattern of the dance now, and she was taking control, alternately clenching and releasing as he eased his fingers in and out of her. With each stroke he dragged his half-curled fingers against the roof of her passage, pressing harder and harder.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice rose to a faint squeak. “Yes.”

He knew she was hovering on the precipice. He felt the sudden release of the tension deep inside her and sensed the onset of the small convulsions even before she did.

Her lips parted. He covered her mouth quickly with his own to swallow the sound of her climax. Her fingers dug into his arms.

He let her ride the currents, glorying in the knowledge that he was the one who had sent her soaring. When the small tremors started to ease, he pushed her onto her back, fitted himself to her and plunged deep.

“Owen,” she managed. “Owen.”

He was beyond any coherent response, beyond the boundaries of his own control. He no longer cared.

He thrust in and out of her, his senses dazzled by the energy of their hot auras.

And then he, too, was poised on the high cliffs above the deep, mysterious waters. His release slammed through him, taking him over the edge. Virginia cried out softly again. Another rush of energy rippled through her.

It seemed to him that they fell together, their auras fused in a moment of searing intimacy. When the last of the shuddering waves faded he opened his eyes and looked down at Virginia’s flushed face. She was watching him with a strangely intent expression.

Do you feel it?he wanted to ask. Do you sense this bond between us?

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She sprawled across his damp chest. He wrapped her close, indulging his exhausted senses in her warmth and the soft, vital weight of her body.

He let himself drift into the hazy place that marked the indefinable border between the dream state and the waking state. It was a good place, a fine place. He could not remember ever having been in a better place. He wanted to stay there until morning.

THIRTY

They called him Wolf because he was as fast and as savage as any beast of prey. He had bestowed the nickname on himself while still in his teens, when he had realized that he possessed senses that the other street boys did not have. No one had dared object.

His talent had served him well. Over the years he had acquired a brutal reputation that was the envy of his colleagues. He was known and feared on the dark streets of London’s underworld.

Until recently he’d made a comfortable living taking care of problems for one of the city’s most powerful crime lords. Luttrell had appreciated his talents and paid well for his services.

But all good things must come to an end, Wolf reflected. Luttrell had been killed recently by another crime lord, Griffin Winters. Luttrell’s demise had thrown the always delicate balance of power in the underworld into disarray. To further complicate matters, Winters himself had sold off his operations and vanished. Some said he was no longer even in London. No one knew where he had gone, but one thing was certain. Until the surviving crime lords got things sorted out among themselves, hardworking men like Wolf were on their own, obliged to make their livings by hiring out their services to whatever clients came their way.

Business had not been what anyone would call brisk lately. When the small man who called himself Mr. Newton had approached him outside of a tavern last night and offered a job, Wolf had accepted without asking too many questions.

He waited now in the deep shadows of the graveyard one street over from Garnet Lane. If he had calculated correctly, Sweetwater would pass this way when he left the Dean woman’s town house.

The anticipation of the kill sparked an intoxicating excitement. All of his senses were heightened, but he was not yet making any attempt to focus. For the moment, he simply savored the darkness and the prospect of what was to come. It had been a while since anyone had hired him to kill a man, but he knew he hadn’t lost his lightning-fast reflexes.

As if in response to his own flaring energy, the handle of the strange mirror that the odd little client had given him seemed to grow warmer in his hand. He doubted that he needed the device, but Mr. Newton had been very insistent.

“He’s a talent of some kind,” Newton said. “I don’t know what sort, but I’m certain he’s strong. There must be no mistakes. You will not take any chances.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Newton said. “I just want to ensure that you are successful. Use the mirror in exactly the way I described. It’s dangerous.”

Although the graveyard was shrouded in darkness Wolf was careful not to look down at the mirror. He had made that mistake the first time he had removed it from the black velvet bag, although he had been warned.

“Have a care when you handle the artifact,” Newton said. “It responds readily to psychical energy. It is best not to look directly into the glass, but if you must, be certain to keep your senses lowered. It requires a great deal of talent to control the Quicksilver Mirror.”

But Wolf’s curiosity had got the better of him. He had removed the mirror from the sack and looked into it with his talent slightly elevated. He shuddered, remembering the dazzling energy that had temporarily blinded his senses. He did not want to speculate on what might have happened if the client had not come to his rescue.

“Fool,” Newton said, yanking the mirror out of Wolf’s hand. “I warned you. Too much of that energy and you will destroy your own senses permanently. The object of the exercise is to blind Sweetwater to ensure that he cannot use his talent against you. When you have dealt with Sweetwater you will return the mirror to me.”

Wolf had been more careful after that. If the Quicksilver Mirror worked as advertised he had no intention of returning it to Newton. The relic might come in handy in the future. It would give him an edge against his rivals. In London’s underworld there was always plenty of competition.

THIRTY-ONE

Owen felt Virginia stir in his arms. She gently pried herself free from his grasp. He let her go. The room immediately grew colder. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

“It’s getting late,” she whispered.

“I know.”

He levered himself up on one elbow and watched her get to her feet. Her hair was wildly tousled. Her stockings had come free of the garters and were draped around her ankles. The top of the chemise was crumpled at her waist. Her face and breasts were still flushed. He felt his senses stir.

“You look delicious,” he said. “Good enough to eat. I believe I’m working up an appetite.”

“There will probably be some muffins left in the kitchen,” she said very seriously. She pulled the chemise up over her breasts. “Unless your nephews ate all of them.”

He smiled and got to his feet. “I had another dish in mind. But it’s getting late. You need your sleep.”

She glanced at the tall clock in the corner. “Good heavens, it’s nearly two o’clock in the morning. Your nephews will be wondering what is going on.”

He fastened the front of his shirt, taking his time. “If either of them asks any questions, which I very much doubt, I will tell them that we were discussing the case.”

“I dread facing Mrs. Crofton in the morning.” Virginia leaned down to strip off her stockings. “I shall be lucky to get breakfast before she gives notice. She has been remarkably tolerant of the eccentricities of this household, but the business of bodyguards watching the house will be too much for her.”

He reached for his trousers. “You know, Virginia, it is probably not a sound idea to go about in fear of your housekeeper.”

“I’m not afraid of her.” Virginia straightened and stepped into the center of the pool of fabric formed by her discarded gown. “Well, perhaps I am, in a manner of speaking.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you understand? No, you probably don’t.” Virginia inserted her arms into the sleeves of the dress and concentrated intently on doing up the hooks of the bodice. “If Mrs. Crofton goes back to the Billings Agency to seek another position, she will naturally inform Mrs. Billings of the rather odd goings-on around here. Mrs. Billings takes great pride in making certain her people are sent only to respectableemployers. I suspect that after all that has happened here lately I will no longer qualify.”

He thought about that while he secured the knife sheath to his ankle and got his trousers closed. He fastened his waistcoat with quick, practiced motions and pulled on his low boots. When he was dressed he crossed the room to stand in front of her.

“Is respectability that important to you?” he asked.

She raised her chin. “My father was a gentleman who kept his glass-reader mistress in the shadows. I have lived my entire life with the stain of illegitimacy. I am burdened with a talent for perceiving the most unwholesome afterimages in mirrors. That is not exactly a fashionable or ladylike skill. I make my living in a way that Arcane, the one organization that should accept and understand my psychical nature, finds disreputable.” She fastened the last hook of her gown and dropped her hands. “Yes, Owen, respectability is important to me.”

He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. “I grew up in a family that does not concern itself overmuch with the outward appearance of respectability. But the Sweetwaters do care a great deal about honor and courage and strength of will. It is how we have survived. Those qualities are what bind us together as a family.”

She smiled. “I do not doubt that.”

“You are endowed with all of those attributes that Sweetwaters hold dear. I would trust you with my life and my secrets.”

She went still. “Truly?”

“Truly.” He brushed his mouth across her parted lips and straightened. “Speaking of family secrets, I have revealed a number of them to you. Which leaves me with only one safe alternative.”

“What is that?”

“You must marry me, of course.”

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

“Otherwise I shall have to spend the rest of my life worrying that you will reveal all of the dark Sweetwater secrets to some other man.”

“What?”

“I’m teasing you, of course. This is not the time to discuss our marriage plans. It is late, and you must go to bed.”

He released her, picked up his black evening coat and headed for the door.

“Owen, wait.”

“We will finish this conversation some other time,” he promised. He unlocked the door and moved out into the shadowed hall, smiling a little when he heard the quick patter of her bare feet behind him.

“You cannot just run off like this,” she hissed urgently. “Explain yourself, sir.”

He opened the front door and paused long enough to steal one last kiss.

“There is nothing more to explain, when you get right down to it,” he said. “I am asking you to marry me. I can only hope that you will say yes.”

“Damn it, Owen—”

He went out into the night. She started to pursue him and then evidently thought better of it when her bare feet touched the cold stone of the step. She moved back into the hall.

The shadows shifted down in the front area.

“I’m leaving now, Matt,” Owen said. “I expect you and Tony to take excellent care of Miss Dean.”

“Yes, sir,” Matt said cheerfully.

“Mr. Sweetwater,” Virginia snapped, her tone excruciatingly formal. “You can’t just leave like this. I have questions for you.”

“Another time, Miss Dean,” he said. “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

Virginia said something indistinct in a very low voice and closed the door with considerably more force than was necessary.

He listened for the rasp of iron on iron that told him Virginia had turned the key in the lock. When he heard it he went down the steps to the pavement.

“Uncle Owen?” Matt called softly.

He stopped. “Yes?”

“She’s the one, isn’t she? The woman everyone in the family says you’ve been waiting for.”

“Yes,” Owen said. “But I would take it as a favor if you don’t mention that to Miss Dean.”

“Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t understand that, not entirely. Not yet. I’m trying to break it to her gently. She needs time to become accustomed to the notion of marriage to me.”

“No offense, sir, but judging by the tone of her voice just now, I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of explaining the situation.”

“What do you expect? It’s the first time I’ve tried to do so.”

“You mustn’t hit her over the head with it. Women like to be romanced like the heroines in the sensation novels.”

“What the devil do you know about sensation novels?”

“A man can learn a great deal about women from novels,” Matt said. “You should try it sometime.”

THIRTY-TWO

Owen went to the end of the street and rounded the corner into the narrow lane that bordered the graveyard. The gas lamps were few and far between now, but he scarcely noticed the deeper darkness. His senses were slightly elevated, as they always were when he walked the night. He registered the small sounds and the shifts in the shadows around him without consciously thinking about it.

The hunter in him was on the prowl, searching for the spoor of the monsters, but he was aware that something was different tonight. He did not feel driven by the relentless compulsion that had been riding him so hard in the past year. The obsessive need to hunt had faded to a normal level or, rather, a level that felt normal for a Sweetwater. The men of his line would never be wholly civilized, he thought. But it was good to regain a sense of balance and perspective, good to be able to ignore, for now, at any rate, the terrible allure of the abyss of night that had been calling to him for months.

And, yes, it was good to feel this pleasantly euphoric, if unfamiliar, sense of well-being. Virginia had given him back his future, although she did not realize it yet.

Virginia.She was his talisman. The bond between them gave him the power not only to resist the dark forces that had been drawing him toward the edge but to control them once more.

He had to admit that Matt had a point, though. I’m botching the job of explaining the Sweetwater bond to her.

He would have to come up with a better way of making sure that she understood their relationship. Although when he thought about the situation closely he could not comprehend the exact nature of the problem. Virginia was obviously attracted to him. There could be no doubt about the depths of their mutual passion. She was as warm and sweet as melted honey in his arms. Women were supposed to be especially sensitive to powerful emotions. Where the devil was he going wrong?

He sensed the faint shift in the atmosphere between one step and the next, a subtle whisper of heightened energy. The hunter in him pricked up his senses. There was another strong talent abroad tonight, close at hand.

He did not change his pace. He was too experienced to give any outward indication that he had picked up the telltale signals of the other’s presence. Nevertheless, his senses flashed into full strength. He knew he was giving off a lot of hot energy. If the other sensitive was paying attention, he or she would surely realize that there was another talent in the vicinity.

It was not uncommon to encounter a stranger on the street who possessed a measurable degree of talent. But passing someone who was unusually powerful was a relatively rare experience. There were not that many high-level talents around. He could not afford to assume that this encounter was a coincidence, not when it was taking place so close to Virginia’s address.

He studied the lane without appearing to do so. There was no one else visible. That meant that the other talent was probably concealed behind one of the ancient stone monuments or in the crypt up ahead.

The crypt,he decided. That’s the place I would choose for an ambush.

He kept walking, waiting for his quarry to leap out of the shadows. He heard the faint rush of movement from the yawning darkness of the crypt a few heartbeats before the figure swept toward him. The preternatural speed and the certainty with which the attacker moved in the darkness told him everything he needed to know. He was dealing with a strong hunter-talent.

Although he was not a true hunter when it came to his physical abilities, he understood their nature and their talent, having grown up in a family littered with the breed. When they were in their full senses, their night vision was excellent and they moved with the speed and agility of wolves. He could not hope to match his attacker in those attributes, but he was not without resources. The critical thing was to make certain the other man did not get close enough to use his greater speed and strength against him.

He was prepared for the swiftness of the other man’s movements. It was like confronting a charging wolf. What he did not expect was the blinding flash of paranormal fire.

It was as if a paranormal sun had struck a mirror. The night burned around him, searing his senses. He was engulfed in a blinding radiance.

His heart pounded. A terrible chill spread through his veins, icing his blood. He fell, landing hard on his hands and knees. It was all he could do not to collapse on the cold pavement.

He knew then that he was dying.

“Virginia,” he whispered. The thought of never seeing her again was intolerable, but far worse was the knowledge that he was leaving her in grave danger. He had failed her.

“Virginia,” he said again, louder this time.

It seemed to him that the cold brilliance faded ever so slightly around him, as if the simple act of saying Virginia’s name had temporarily driven back the forces that had blinded him psychically and were now killing him.

The unnatural radiance moved closer to him. Although his paranormal abilities were gone, he realized he could still make out the crypt and the gravestones to his left. He could feel the pavement beneath his hands. He could hear the echo of the killer’s boots on the pavement. He was rapidly losing his strength, but he still had his normal senses.

“My client wants you dead, Sweetwater.” The voice came from the darkness beyond the senses-dazzling light. “But there is no great rush. I haven’t had a job like this in a while. I’m going to take my time.”

“Who hired you?” Owen managed.

“He called himself Newton, but I doubt that’s his real name. Seemed to know a lot about you, though. He said you’re a talent. Told me where I could find you. He knew all about your whore in Garnet Lane, you see.”

“He gave you that device you used to blind me?”

“He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. Told me it was valuable and that he’d want it back as soon as I finished with you. But between you and me, I plan to keep it. Right handy, it is.”

“Did he tell you why he wants me dead?”

“Doesn’t seem to like you very much. I got the impression that you’re standing in the way of something he wants.”

Owen felt himself growing colder. His vision and hearing started to dim. The energy of the mirror was affecting his normal senses now.

“He gave you the mirror because he knew you couldn’t take me with just your talent alone,” he said.

“That’s a bloody damn lie.” Outraged by the insult, the hunter moved closer. “I could kill you before you take another breath. I don’t need this mirror to finish you off.”

Owen gathered what was left of his strength. It took almost everything he had, but he managed to move his hand back to his ankle. His fingers touched the sheath strapped to his leg.

“You’re burning a lot of energy keeping that mirror hot,” he rasped. “You’re exhausting your talent.”

“Unlike you, I’ve got plenty to spare,” the hunter snarled.

The paranormal brilliance was definitely fainter now. The hunter did not realize how much energy he was using to wield the mirror. He was too excited, too focused on the thrill of the kill. Emotions were always the enemy when it came to this sort of thing, Owen thought.

“You’re definitely weakening,” Owen said. “You won’t be able to finish this.”

“Let’s find out,” the hunter growled.

The blinding paranormal radiance flashed once more, sending another searing wave of energy across Owen’s senses. In the next instant the terrible light winked out like a gas lamp that had been turned down.

“Damn thing is broken,” the hunter said. “But I told you, I don’t need it.”

“Not broken. You don’t have enough strength left to focus it.”

“ Bastard.I’ll show you who is weak.”

The hunter hurled the mirror aside. It clanged on the paving stones. Owen was vaguely aware that he did not hear the sound of glass breaking, but there was no time to analyze the implications.

The hunter rushed toward him, moonlight glinting on the knife in his hand. He was not nearly as fast as he had been at the start of the confrontation. He had used too much energy controlling the paranormal weapon. But he was still quick and savage, still enraged.

Freed of the pressure of the mirror, Owen could breathe freely again. But when he tried to heighten his talent he got no response.

He yanked the knife out of the ankle sheath. The hunter reached for him, intending to lock him in a choke hold and secure him for the killing slash across the throat.

Owen twisted onto his side, managing just barely to avoid the hunter’s hand. He brought the knife up in the same instant, felt it sink deep into flesh.

The hunter grunted, recovering his balance with startling speed, and leaped back. The quick action caused him to pull free of the knife. Blood gushed forth from his chest.

For a split second, the hunter did not seem to comprehend what had happened. He looked down at the blood spraying out of his body, and then he raised his head to stare at Owen.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not possible. You’re not a hunter.”

“You should not have called her a whore,” Owen said softly. “In my family we do not allow anyone to insult our women.”

The hunter stared, horrified and bewildered, for another second. He crumpled to the pavement.

Dragging in a lungful of air, Owen called on what was left of his resources to haul himself to his feet. It took just about everything he had left to stagger the short distance to the body. He knew before he checked for a pulse that the hunter was dead, but he crouched down and put his fingers on the man’s throat. When it came to their work, Sweetwaters were always thorough.

He heard the others in the lane, but his head was spinning now. He tried to focus. One man, he decided, moving very fast, hunter-fast.

“Uncle Owen, are you all right?” Matt stopped at the sight of the body. “What happened?”

Alarm slashed through Owen. “You left Virginia alone?”

“What? No, sir, of course not. Tony is with her. She couldn’t keep up with us, so they sent me on ahead. They’ll be along any moment now.”

“What the devil? You allowed her out of the house?”

“Couldn’t stop her, sir. She said you were in terrible danger. Said we had to find you. Insisted on coming with us. He looked at the body. “Who is this?”

“Hunter-talent. Someone named Newton gave him a commission to kill me.”

“Bloody hell.” Matt surveyed him with concern. “Looks like he came close. Are you all right?”

Owen ignored the question. He was on the verge of passing out. He had to stay focused awhile longer.

“Make sure you get the weapon,” he said.

“What weapon?”

“I don’t know what it is. Never got a good look at it. He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. I heard him drop it on the pavement.”

Owen turned to search the darkened street. The small movement cost him his balance. A great gray fog was enveloping his mind. He would have gone down to his knees if Matt hadn’t caught his arm.

With Matt’s help he made his way the short distance to the weapon. It resembled a lady’s hand mirror of the sort one might see on a dressing table. It was lying facedown on the paving stones. He started to lean over to pick it up and spotted the black velvet bag nearby.

“Hand me that sack,” he said.

Matt scooped up the bag and gave it to him. Owen crouched and gingerly picked up the mirror. He thought he felt a faint shiver of energy when his fingers closed around the handle, but his mind was so muddled now and his senses so unresponsive that he could not be certain. Careful to keep the glass aimed downward, he inserted the artifact into the velvet sack and tightened the strip of leather that bound it shut.

He reeled again when he tried to get to his feet. More footsteps sounded in the lane. He turned his head very cautiously, afraid he might humiliate himself by fainting dead away. His vision blurred, but he saw two people running toward him. Well, Virginia was running, he thought. Tony was loping casually alongside.

“Owen.” Virginia rushed forward. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he said automatically. Then he realized that was not true. “No.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He thrust the velvet bag into her hand. “Take this. It’s a weapon of some kind, a looking glass. The nature of your talent means that you are probably more qualified to handle it than any of the rest of us. But be very, very careful. It has blinded my senses, perhaps permanently.”

“ No,” she said. “They will revive.”

He smiled a little at her fierceness and opened his arms to fold her close. But the black night closed in and began to seep through him.

Somewhere in the darkness he heard Virginia calling his name, speaking to him in that same bracing tone.

“I will not let you go, Owen Sweetwater. Do you hear me? You must not leave. I will not allow you to leave. Hold on to me.”

He thought he sensed her hand gripping his, but her voice grew fainter as he sank down into the bottomless depths. In the end all was darkness.