Mina Wentworth and the Invisible City Read online

  Contents

  Other Titles by Meljean Brook

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Special Excerpt

  Titles by Meljean Brook

  DEMON ANGEL

  DEMON MOON

  DEMON NIGHT

  DEMON BOUND

  DEMON FORGED

  DEMON BLOOD

  DEMON MARKED

  THE IRON DUKE

  HEART OF STEEL

  RIVETED

  Anthologies

  HOT SPELL

  (with Emma Holly, Lora Leigh, and Shiloh Walker)

  WILD THING

  (with Maggie Shayne, Marjorie M. Liu, and Alyssa Day)

  FIRST BLOOD

  (with Susan Sizemore, Erin McCarthy, and Chris Marie Green)

  MUST LOVE HELLHOUNDS

  (with Charlaine Harris, Nalini Singh, and Ilona Andrews)

  BURNING UP

  (with Angela Knight, Nalini Singh, and Virginia Kantra)

  ANGEL OF DARKNESS

  (with Nalini Singh, Ilona Andrews, and Sharon Shinn)

  MINA WENTWORTH AND THE INVISIBLE CITY

  A NOVELLA OF THE IRON SEAS

  MELJEAN BROOK

  BERKLEY SENSATION, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  “Mina Wentworth and the Invisible City” previously appeared in The Iron Duke, published by Berkley Sensation, a division of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  MINA WENTWORTH AND THE INVISIBLE CITY

  A Berkley Sensation Book, published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation eSpecial edition / August 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Meljean Brook.

  Excerpt from Riveted copyright © 2012 by Meljean Brook.

  Cover photograph of Girl © Hemera / Thinkstock; Gears © Vitaly Korovin / Shutterstock.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-56463-9

  BERKLEY SENSATION

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Chapter 1

  Even after eight months of marriage, Detective Inspector Mina Wentworth couldn’t decide whether it was better to let her husband know that she’d been hurt on the job as soon as she returned home, or to wait until they readied for bed, where he’d see the evidence of her injuries for himself.

  She didn’t know if there was a better time to tell him, or if when didn’t matter at all. Either way, Rhys always worried and regretted not being there to protect her.

  Perhaps he worried too much. The latest wasn’t so bad—just a bruise on her back, the result of a foot chase in pursuit of a suspect that morning, followed by the tussle when she’d caught him. Mina barely felt the ache in the muscles below her shoulder anymore, and her bugs would probably finish healing the damage by bedtime. She wanted to believe that if her husband didn’t see the bruise, then it was almost as if nothing had happened. She wanted to believe that if she concealed the evidence—if Rhys never knew—then he wouldn’t have to worry so much . . . but she couldn’t.

  When Mina had lived with her parents, she’d always hidden her bruises—those that she could hide, at least. Whether the injury had come from her job or had been a personal attack because she resembled the Mongol officials who’d ruled over the Horde-occupied England, she’d taken great pains to avoid the haunted expression that appeared on their faces whenever she’d been hurt. But as one of the most visible people in England, she couldn’t hide her injuries from Rhys, even if the evidence disappeared.

  After she’d thrown herself into the path of a bullet to save Rhys Trahaearn’s life—to save the Iron Duke, England’s most beloved hero—hardly a day passed when her name wasn’t mentioned in the newssheets. While she’d been recovering, journalists recounted every step of the murder investigation that had first brought her to the Iron Duke’s door, then had sent Rhys and Mina in pursuit of a deadly weapon that threatened everyone in England. When the Blacksmith had successfully replaced her clockwork heart with a new one made of mechanical flesh, the newssheets had devoted a full column to describing the man’s arrival at her home, the length of time the operation had taken, and the Blacksmith’s expression when he’d left. After she’d returned to work, journalists had dogged her footsteps for almost a month, even following along behind the police cart that Mina and her assistant, Newberry, used to get around London. They’d impeded her investigations and frustrated Mina to the point of fury—until, abruptly, they’d stopped hounding her so closely.

  Though she’d never confirmed it, Mina suspected now that Rhys had been the reason the journalists had retreated. Both the police commissioner and Superintendent Hale had warned them away without much effect, and although the Iron Duke couldn’t stop them from reporting, a threat from him would be powerful enough to change the way they gathered information on her.

  Three months after Mina had been shot—the day she’d first seen Rhys again, striding toward her across Anglesey Square—she hadn’t noticed any journalists in the area. Yet they must have been there or they’d talked to someone who had been, because the next morning the newssheets had reported that she and the Iron Duke had argued before he’d picked her up and carried her into a nearby building. Someone must have seen and guessed the reason for Mina’s happy tears when they’d returned to the square; the following day, newsboys had been shouting “Will the Iron Duke marry Inspector Wentworth?” on the street corners. When they had married a week later, the headline filled half the front
page.

  Mina had hoped that would be the end of their fascination with her, but she ought to have known that her and Rhys’s combined celebrity and the nature of her job meant the journalists would follow every murder she investigated with glee. Though she often had to drag a single word from witnesses, they were all too happy to speak with journalists paying for details about whom she’d visited and the questions she’d asked—and, if the journalists were lucky, a description of any fights or chases that took place in the course of an investigation.

  Mina had quickly discovered that there was no hiding her injuries from Rhys. The first time, she hadn’t even meant to hide it. The graze from a murderer’s knife across her cheek had stopped bleeding within minutes, and was healed by the time she’d returned home; she hadn’t even thought to mention the incident to him. The next morning, however, they’d been enjoying their breakfast when Rhys had suddenly grown quiet and dropped the newssheet he’d unfolded. She’d only had a glimpse of the headline—“Inspector Wentworth Ravaged by Knife-Wielding Madman”—before he’d hauled Mina out of her chair and carried her up the stairs. Heart pounding, she’d assured him that the shallow cut hadn’t been anything akin to “ravaged,” but Rhys hadn’t stopped shaking until he’d stripped her down, inspected every inch of her skin. When he’d kissed her, she’d tasted his relief, and she’d matched his need when he’d taken her fast and hard on the bed, desperate to let him know that she was all right.

  So hiding the bruises and cuts didn’t save him from worry—and Mina preferred that Rhys heard the mundane truth from her rather than some exaggerated account.

  Still, she hated to see the tension and fear that overcame him in those moments before he confirmed that she wasn’t truly hurt. She hated being the cause of it, and would have given anything to hide any injury from him, as she had from her parents for so long.

  But Mina didn’t live with her parents anymore.

  The last of a brilliant orange sunset faded as the steamcoach approached the gate guarding the entrance to the Iron Duke’s estate. Grizzled and gray, Wills peered through the gatehouse window. Inside the open carriage, Mina lifted her hand in greeting. The gatekeeper waved them on, and the steamcoach rumbled past the tall, wrought-iron fence that surrounded the estate’s park. Wide expanses of lawn stretched out on both sides of the lane, calm and lovely after the chaos of town. In the past week, they’d had a series of those rare days when most of the smoke cleared from the air, a breeze kept the temperature from climbing uncomfortably high, and the sky almost appeared blue instead of yellowish-gray. The typically thick, stifling days of summer would return, no doubt, but Mina didn’t mind.

  As far as she was concerned, every single day since she’d married Rhys had been perfect. She didn’t expect that to change.

  She sat forward in her seat as they neared the mansion, her indecision regarding her injury giving way to anticipation. Her heart pounded as the coach entered the courtyard and stopped in front of the wide steps leading to the door. Gray stone walls gave the impression of bleak solidity, unyielding strength. Before she’d married Rhys, never had she imagined that the sight of his fortress would soften everything within her. She’d loved living with her family in their London town house; her home had been safe, comforting. Rhys’s was safe, beyond a doubt—but she was still surprised at how quickly the mansion had become her home, until it seemed that those hard gray walls only existed to welcome her in and protect her.

  And even after eight months, she still felt anticipation and joy every day, simply because she was home again, because she’d soon see him again. Before Rhys, she’d never imagined that marriage would be this. She’d imagined devoted companionship of the sort her parents had—not companionship and a racing pulse.

  Mina met the housekeeper in the foyer, where she handed over her hat. “Good evening, Mrs. Lavery. Any messages?”

  Mrs. Lavery knew that she didn’t mean the social invitations that arrived every day, or the confirmations from those attending Rhys’s ball next week. “Only a gram from Miss Anne, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted the folded paper and looked down the long hall. The library door was closed. “Is he in with someone?”

  Rhys had told her to walk in whenever she wished; but though she wanted to see him the moment she arrived home, Mina didn’t like to interrupt his meetings. When Parliament had been in session at the palace near police headquarters, he’d often come home in the steamcoach with her and spend many of the evening hours working. Now that the summer recess had begun, he focused on business during the day, which allowed them more time together at night. If she went in now, he might not be able to finish as quickly.

  “He is with Lord Scarsdale, ma’am.”

  Rhys’s friend, business partner, and the man he relied on to navigate through the murky waters of London society. She felt comfortable walking in unannounced, then—though she wouldn’t. Mina grinned and started down the hall.

  Two weeks ago, she’d opened the library door without warning. Rhys and Scarsdale had been standing close together in the middle of the room, and at her entry, had quickly moved in opposite directions—the cheeks of both slightly flushed, Scarsdale walking stiffly to the sofa. Mina pretended not to have seen anything. She’d allow her husband his secrets, and when he wanted to surprise her, she would pretend to be surprised.

  This time, she knocked at the library door and read the gram from Anne while waiting for his reply. His response came a few seconds later than it normally did. When she entered, both men were breathing heavily, as if from exertion. Frustration marked Rhys’s bold features, darkening his expression with lowered brows and a scowl. Though Scarsdale appeared amused as always, his mouth was tight with pain.

  Poor, brave Scarsdale. With bones made of iron, Rhys was a heavy man. Scarsdale’s toes had certainly suffered—and all to save her toes on the night of the ball, no doubt.

  Rhys’s scowl lightened when his eyes met Mina’s. He came to her as he always did, his gaze locked on her face as if his entire being focused on her. She waited by the door, barely able to breathe until he took her hands, bent his head to hers. With Scarsdale here, it was only a brief kiss instead of the hungry taste that he often greeted her with, but it still burned Mina to her toes, made it difficult to let him go.

  She’d never imagined that, either. Though Mina had always hoped that she’d find love and companionship, she’d never really dreamed they would actually be hers. Yet she had them now, and she loved being married to Rhys. Every day, she knew him better and loved him more.

  It was astonishing how much she did, really. And a little frightening. If Rhys wanted to, he could hurt her worse than a knife-wielding madman ever could—and she thanked the blue heavens that he never would.

  His hand in hers, he led her back to the sofa. As soon as she’d settled next to Scarsdale, he sat against the front edge of his desk, facing them. Her husband didn’t trust chairs, she’d learned—even those designed to support his weight.

  His gaze fell to the folded paper in her hand. “Is that another message from Anne?”

  And here was another worry. Though he didn’t express it in so many words, she knew that he’d come to care for the young tinker who’d lived with Mina for almost a year now—and who’d lived with them since they’d been married. “She’s staying at my father’s house again tonight.”

  As the girl had for several nights that week. It wasn’t completely unusual—at the Blacksmith’s suggestion, Mina’s father had begun teaching at the Crèche and setting up an apprenticeship with the older children who wanted to study medicine. Though the children raised in the walled compound in Whitechapel were notoriously secretive and rarely let an adult past their front gates, the Blacksmith had somehow convinced them—but had also known that his word alone wouldn’t ease the children’s suspicions and fear. During the first week of teaching, the Blacksmith had given Anne time away from his smithy to accompany Mina’s father. The tinker girl had lived i
n the Crèche before she’d moved in with Mina; even if the children didn’t completely trust the Blacksmith or Mina’s father, they did her. So Anne had stayed with Mina’s father and mother that week, the easier to travel back and forth—and on the days when Anne didn’t work at the Blacksmith’s, she sometimes still stayed the night with her father and visited the Crèche with him during the day.

  But this time, Anne was due at the Blacksmith’s in the morning, and her father was well-established at the Crèche. Why stay another night?

  Mina missed the girl and wanted her to come home, but she didn’t know how hard to push. Eleven years old now, Anne had been little more than a baby when the Horde had been forced out of England during the revolution. She’d grown up with the other children of the Crèche and followed their rules. Though she and Mina had seemed to adopt each other, Mina didn’t know if she could step in as a mother—or if mother would even mean anything to Anne.

  Did it? Mina simply couldn’t guess. She didn’t want to alienate the girl with too many restrictions—and at least she knew where Anne was, that she was staying at her parents. Perhaps that was good for them, too. With Mina married, her brother Andrew serving as a midshipman on the Terror, and Henry living up north, perhaps Anne’s presence would ease the sudden emptiness of their house. Mina couldn’t think of anywhere safer or anywhere better for the girl to stay . . . except with her and Rhys.

  Because she’s mine. A little sister, a daughter—Mina didn’t know exactly what she felt for the girl, but Anne belonged to her now. So she’d let the girl have tonight, but if Anne didn’t return after that, Mina would go and get her.

  Rhys gave a small nod, as if reading the sudden determination on her face and agreeing with it. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll have her back.”

  “Try a smile when you do, captain, so that you don’t terrify the poor girl,” Scarsdale told him before offering one to Mina. “And how was your day, inspector?”