Tarnished Knight

CHAPTER NINE





There were three days until Christmas. Then two. And then one. The men spent most of their time hunting through Undertown and keeping guard on the rookery whilst Annie recovered. Esme busied herself with the other women and the children, preparing the Warren for its first Christmas.

There were no signs of it in the heart of the City where the Echelon ruled, but traces of jollity sprouted everywhere in the East End.

Mistletoe seemed to dangle from every rafter in the Warren; Esme quite suspected whose hand had done that when she saw Blade laughingly snatch another kiss from Honoria. Indeed, he’d managed to lure Esme and Rip beneath it once or twice, where they’d been forced to share a chaste kiss. Neither of them had mentioned what had happened that night and it irritated Blade to no end.

“I only want what’s best for you, Es,” he’d lecture her.

“I know what’s best for me,” she would reply with a straight face as she bustled about her work. Only when she turned away would she give herself the opportunity to smile as Blade sighed in exasperation behind her. There was no surer way to get at him than to keep something from him.

Every night she would sneak into Rip’s room in her nightgown and fall asleep in his arms. Of the other, though he gave her as much pleasure as he could, he would never let her touch him.

Her smile faded slightly as she stuffed the goose, ready for the morning. It would happen. When Rip was no longer afraid he’d hurt her. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t quite telling her something.


Christmas came in a blaze of white. It had snowed again during the night and Esme woke in Rip’s arms, watching the drift of it through his glass window.

“’Ave to get a bigger bed,” he murmured, snuggling his face against her hair.

“I don’t know,” she replied, burying herself in his arms. “I quite like this one.” Lifting her head, she pressed a kiss to his lips. His eyelashes fluttered open. “Merry Christmas.”

A slow smile spread over his mouth making Esme’s heart flutter. “Why so it is,” he drawled. “Do you want your present?”

“It depends on what it is,” she replied with a naughty little smile.

Rip’s eyes darkened. “Wench.” Spilling her onto her stomach with a laugh, he reached over her and dragged something out from underneath the bed. The press of his body drove her into the mattress and Esme almost moaned.

“’Ere,” he said, handing a small, brightly wrapped box to her. “Your other present’s downstairs, under the tree, but I wanted to give you this before…”

Before anyone else could see.

Esme sat up, the blankets pooling in her lap. Her heart stammered as she reached for the small box. It was jewellery. It had to be. And though she told herself not to expect anything, she couldn’t help remembering the way he’d spoken of marriage.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Open it.” His smile was almost gleeful and she realised he’d probably never done anything like this before.

Tugging off the bright paper, Esme opened the velvet box. Then gasped. A small silver ‘E’ winked in the light with a strip of black velvet to tie around the throat.

“D’you like it?”

“Oh, John,” she whispered. “It’s perfect.” Her trembling fingertips stroked the letter. She’d never been given anything of the like.

Reaching up, she kissed him on the lips, feeling the chafe of his stubble against her cheeks. Rip smiled in a lazy manner, then captured her face in both hands, the cool steel of his mech limb a startling sensation. He kissed her deeply, turning it hot and hard, his tongue caressing hers. Esme melted against him with a soft moan.

It was over before it began. Rip drew back, his forehead resting against hers as he fought to capture his breath. Esme stroked his chest. “Let me please you,” she whispered. “I could--”

“No.” He pulled away, his face expressionless. Blackness gleamed in his eyes; the hunger.

A sharp ache filled Esme’s chest. The fierce need shouldn’t have roused so quickly. Rip had better control than this. Unless it was true… unless she was his Achilles heel. And always would be.

“I’ll wait,” she whispered, sinking onto her knees. She pasted a small smile on her lips as tied the ribbon around her throat. “Thank you for my present.”

Rip looked away. Shuttered. She almost felt like reaching out, to ask if that was the only thing bothering him. “Aye,” he said. “Weren’t much. But you ought to ‘ave pretty things o’ your own. Come. I can ‘ear people stirrin’.”


The moment Esme tried to put her apron on, Rip tugged it off. Balling it in his fist he threw it at Will’s chest. “Apron’s yours, lass,” he called.

“But pink suits your colourin’ so much better,” Will shot back, then tossed it at Rip’s face.

Blade snatched it out of the air midway and slung it around his hips. “Don’t want to get me waistcoat mucky,” he said, flicking imaginary lint off the red velvet waistcoat. With a devilish wink, he dragged the pan with the goose off the bench and headed for the oven.

“What’s going on?” Esme laughed breathlessly.

A second later she squealed as Rip slung her up over his shoulder, one hand planted firmly on her backside. “Thought you ought to ‘ave the day off,” he said, the rumble of his baritone shivering beneath her hips. “We’ll prepare lunch.”

“But you don’t know what you’re doing!”

Rip swung her through the door into the sitting room with Honoria and Lena looking up in surprise at their appearance. Esme’s cheeks burned.

“’elped you enough times. I swear I won’t burn the duck.”

“It’s a goose!” Esme slid down his body as he dangled her over a stuffed armchair. Arms sliding around his neck, she stared into his eyes as her toes found the edge of the armchair. The press of his body did wicked things to her breath. Hard against her softness.

He felt it too, embers of heat flickering to life in his eyes. A slow, devastating smile curled over his mouth. “Why look at that,” he murmured, his gaze lifting. “Mistletoe.”

Esme glanced up. “How convenient,” she replied.

When she looked back down their eyes met. Slowly he reached forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, his cool breath teasing her. The brief dart of his tongue wet her lips and Esme softened, sinking against him. She wanted him so much, though she couldn’t forget the other people in the room.

Rip drew back, a look of knowing smouldering in his half-closed eyes. “Later,” he mouthed.

Esme let her arms drop and found her balance on the armchair. “Don’t you burn my goose,” she said, trying to recover her breath. “Or the beef haunch.” Her face blanched. “You’ll need to get that in the oven first. Tell Blade to take--”

Rip backed away. “Sit,” he admonished. “Drink some mulled wine and relax.” There was a challenge in his eyes. “That’s an order.”

Esme gave in. As Rip left the room, she exchanged a helpless look with Honoria.

Honoria held up her hands. “I’ve been banished too.” A wicked look filled her eyes. “Though I find myself quite pleased about the circumstances now. What a curious development.”

She wasn’t speaking of the goose.

“Lena,” Honoria barely turned her head. “Why don’t you go and drag Charlie and Lark out of bed. It’s past time for them to be up.”

With a sigh Lena climbed to her feet. “I’m not a child, you know. Why can’t I stay to help interrogate Esme? I daresay I’ll do a better job of it than you. After all…” She flashed Esme a saucy smile. “I’ve been aware of it for weeks.”

Honoria arched a brow and Lena held her hands up in defeat. “Fine.”

“Now,” Honoria said, getting up and filling a glass with mulled wine as Lena thundered up the stairs. She handed it to Esme. “What haven’t you been telling Blade? He’s desperate to know what’s going on.”

Esme accepted the glass with a sigh of resignation. “Promise you won’t tell him?”

Honoria’s smile widened. “Only if you reveal everything.”

So Esme did.

The morning passed in a fury of giggles and whispering, with Lena, Tin Man and the children venturing forth to feel the shape of the wrapped boxes under the tree. Meggie had decided to stay with her mother in the bedroom, as Annie was still too stricken to leave her bed.

Esme curled back into the armchair, the mulled wine easing her senses until she barely gave her kitchen a thought.

Dinner was served with a flourish, Blade bowing at the head of the table as he removed her pink apron and tossed it aside with gusto. Carving the goose and the beef – both nicely browned but not overcooked – turned into a theatre act until Honoria laughingly took the knife off Blade and handed it to Rip. Rip finished the carving with swift economy.

“This,” Blade called, lifting his glass of blood and mimicking the precise tones of the Echelon, “is to our very first Christmas.”

Everybody raised their glasses.

“An entirely heathen practice,” Blade continued, in mockingly perfect English, “but one I could quite continue.” He glanced down with a warm smile as he lost the accent. “You’ll ‘ave to thank ‘onoria, for ‘twas ‘er father’s practice to celebrate with their family. And I thought, considerin’ our family’s recently grown larger, that we ought to start our own traditions. So without further ado--”

“Of course there’ll be further ado,” Honoria interrupted, “for we know you too well.”

Blade grinned at her. “’ere’s to the family.”

“Hear, hear,” the group around the table echoed.

Glasses clinked, plates were handed around and everyone set to eating.

“’ow is it?” Rip asked, easing one arm along the back of Esme’s chair.

“Delicious,” she replied with a sidelong glance as she tasted the goose. “Almost… succulent.”

His gaze heated as he nursed his wine glass in his hand, blood staining the clear glass. “That’s because I made sure you got the breast.”

“That used to be your favourite part,” she replied innocently, taking another bite of the goose. “A shame you no longer partake.”

“It still is me favourite part,” he murmured, his fingers stretching out and brushing the back of her neck. “And I do intend to partake. Most thoroughly.”

Leaning forward, he brought her fork to his lips and bit into a steaming piece of meat. “You’re right. It’s delicious.”

Esme pushed him away with a laugh, noting the sharp glance Blade threw her, his curiosity rampant. Honoria smuggled a smile at his side.

The afternoon passed by in a happy blur. The children cleared the plates and Rip made sure her glass was always full. Too full sometimes. She couldn’t stop smiling, especially as the presents were handed round. Rip’s gift proved to be a copy of a Gothic romance, and he smiled as he handed it to her, no doubt thinking of the necklace he’d given her.

Blade’s gifts were extravagant and drew gasps, though Lena’s gifts drew the most attention. She’d once apprenticed with a clockmaker and her skill with cogs and gears had created amazing clockwork toys for the children. Even Meggie came down to play with them, summoning the occasional smile as a little metal mouse dashed around the floor in circles. Esme drew the child into her lap and rested her chin against her hair, breathing in the sweet little-girl smell.

Blade eased next to her on the sofa, stretching out to tug at Meggie’s curls. The little girl clapped a hand to her head and looked up.

“Look what I found in your ‘air,” he said, holding out a paper-wrapped bonbon with feigned innocence.

Meggie took it with a smile and Blade directed her to a bowl of sweets on the table.

The second interrogation had arrived.

Esme lounged back on the sofa, watching him languidly.

“You look… ‘appy.”

“I am,” she replied. “This was a smashing idea, Blade.”

“Aye.” His gaze roved the room, watching everyone he ruled over with a certain proudness. “Thought we all deserved some cheer after the year we’ve ‘ad.” His gaze darkened. “The vampire cuttin’ Rip up… And ‘onoria, losin’ her father like that.”

Esme followed his gaze to where his wife curled sleepily in a chair. “She looks content.”

Blade’s smile softened – words enough. Then he turned and cut her a direct glance. “Considerin’ you ain’t stripped skin off me ‘ide for the other night, I take it the two o’ you’ve reconciled?”

Her gaze lowered to her wineglass. “Perhaps I’m merely plotting my revenge on you.”

“Do you remember,” he asked lightly, “when you stole ‘onor’s diaries? I believe the term I used then was meddlin’.”

“I would much prefer it if you didn’t,” she told him firmly.

Blade smiled, knowing he’d been forgiven. “Are you goin’ to tell me what’s goin’ on?”

“Rip and I have reached a compromise,” she replied, standing up. “And that is all I’m going to say.”

“You’re a devil, Esme.”

She shot him a smile as she crossed the room.

Hours later, the children began to drift upstairs to bed.

“I’m goin’ up too.” Rip stretched nonchalantly, his eyes meeting hers for just a second before he glanced away. That second was enough to scorch all the way through her.

Esme looked down into her cup of tea as he stood. She could feel Blade’s eyes on them both. She’d take her time in the kitchen, let Rip retire long before she snuck up the stairs herself. Putting aside her teacup, she nodded to him. “Have a good night’s sleep.”

His eyes twinkled. “I will.”

Sweeping into the kitchen, Esme listened to the sound of chatter behind her as she surveyed the mess. The tea had helped to clear her head, but she didn’t quite feel up to cleaning up.

Who cared if Blade saw her? Time to relax, to go to bed and perhaps see how far she could push her lover…

Still, old habits died hard and Esme took the pair of old milk bottles out to place by the arch in the brickwork that led out into the lane behind the Warren. They would be collected in the morning and the task wouldn’t wait.

Bending down, she nestled the milk bottles in the old crate left there to be collected. Noise whispered behind her and Esme jerked her head up, staring into the dark.

“Hello?” she called. “Is there anybody there?”

Only the gentle hush of drifting snowflakes answered her. Still, she couldn’t quite escape the sensation that she wasn’t alone.

Her heartbeat ratcheted up and Esme dragged her shawl close around her shoulders. Taking one nervous step back, she kept looking around.

Movement shifted behind her, a hand clapping over her mouth and wrenching her head back. She was jerked hard against a man’s lanky body, something sharp pressing into her throat and stilling the scream that boiled there.

Esme froze.

“That’s right, dove,” a man whispered in guttural cockney slang. He stank of rot, as if he’d crawled straight from the graveyard himself. Or perhaps he worked with some form of death? “Make a sound and I’ll cut yer throat, you understan’?”

Esme nodded carefully. What could she do? As her eyes rolled, she caught a glimpse of the warm light glowing in the windows of her kitchen. So close to safety…

And yet so far.

Hot breath stirred over her ear and her attacker’s hand relaxed, though didn’t quite leave her lips. “Name’s Bill ‘iggins and I been meanin’ to ‘ave a little word with you.” He laughed roughly. “Your menfolk think they’re so smart, don’t they? Aye, well they ought to watch their backs a little closer.” A hand slid over her breasts, making her jerk. He laughed again, the sound rough as gravel. “And ‘ere’s me, stealin’ their little ladybird right out from under their noses. Ain’t so clever now, are they?”

Hot wet tears slid down her cheeks as he kissed her throat. The hook dug into the tender flesh there and something warm slid down into her collarbone. Higgins licked at it, suckling the skin tenderly and making her cringe. Under her skirts, she scraped a H into the snow with her toe, moving slowly and carefully. Then the E and the L.

“Now, you come wit’ me and keep quiet,” he whispered. “Let’s get a little better acquainted, shall we?”

She never got the chance to trace the letter P.