Was it a good or bad thing he lusted so completely after this woman?Good, if he meant to take her as his wife.Yet… it still felt dangerous, like some part of his control was slipping from his grasp, like that cursed potions bottle had stolen his free will and wrapped up his destiny in the locks of that long, soil-rich hair.
He set out toward home, hailing a hack, slipping his hand into his pocket where the lump of iron always rested.His father had given him the token when he’d started his apprenticeship.It was sort of a rite of passage for young alchemists.They were gifted a bit of their raw metal by the master alchemist they worked for.And they’d keep it on them at all times until they fashioned it into a set of alchemist rings.
Was it his imagination, or did the iron… buzz a bit, as if excited?
Entirely his imagination.A kiss-starved fancy.
Next time, he’d kiss her.She’d like it, too.She’d wanted it tonight.Hell, he was hard as a slab of marble.He’d have to take himself in hand when he got home.
But when he left the hack and turned the corner to Bloomsbury Square, a man stepped out of the shadows.
“Knightly, I’ve got some news for you,” the man said.
Temple crept closer, and in the light of the gold lamp, he recognized Mr.Squires—big and broad, nearby lamp light glinting off his bald head.“What news?Come inside?”He nodded toward the door of his apartment.
“No.Thank you.”The man shrugged more deeply into his greatcoat, looking nervously from one end of the street to the other.“The man I’ve been tailing for you has hired a man as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“A runner.Your mark has a mark of his own.”
Fordham was looking for someone and had hired a runner to find them.To findher.Miss Chester.“Thank you.Anything else I should know?”
“This runner was released from his duties a year ago.For shooting first and never asking questions at all.”
Dread rose like a lump in his throat.“What are you saying?”
“Whoever Fordham is after, he likely doesn’t care if the fellow’s found alive… or dead.”
