"If you'll pardon me, Your Grace."
With a nod, she turned toward the steps, where Newberry tested the camera's flashing light. She heard the Iron Duke and his companion follow her. As long as they did not touch the body or try to help her examine it, she did not care.
Mina looked down at her hands. She would touch the body, and Newberry had not thought to bring her serviceable wool gloves to exchange for her white evening gloves. They were only satin--neither her mother's tinkering nor her own salary could afford kid--but they were still too dear to ruin.
She tugged at the tips of her fingers, but the fastenings at her wrist prevented them from sliding off. Futilely, she tried to push the small buttons through equally small satin loops. The seams at the tips of her fingers made them too bulky, and the fabric was too slippery. It could not be done without a maid, or a mother.
She looked round for Newberry, and saw that the black powder from the ferrotype camera already dusted his hands. Blast it. She lifted her wrist to her mouth, pushed the cuff of her sleeve out of the way with her chin, and began to work at the tiny loops with her teeth. She would bite them through, if she had to. Even the despised task of sewing the buttons back on would be easier than--
"Give your hand over, Inspector."
Mina froze, her hackles rising at the command. She looked through her fingers at Trahaearn's face.
She heard a noise from his companion, a snorted half laugh--as if Trahaearn had failed an easy test.
The duke's voice softened. His expression did not. "May I assist you?"
No, she thought. Do not touch me, do not come close. But the body on the steps would not allow her that reply.
"Yes. Thank you, Your Grace."
She held out her hand, and watched as he removed his own gloves. Kid, lined with sable. Just imagining that luxurious softness warmed her.
She would not have been surprised if his presence had, as well. With his great size, he seemed to surround her with heat just by standing so near. His hands were large, his fingers long and nails square. As he took her wrist in his left palm, calluses audibly scraped the satin. His face darkened. She could not tell if it was in anger or embarrassment.
However rough his skin was, his fingers were nimble. He deftly unfastened the first button, and the next. "This was not the evening you had planned."
"No."
She did not say this was preferable to the Victory Ball, but perhaps he read it in her voice. His teeth flashed in a smile. Her breath quickened, and she focused on her wrist. Only two buttons left, and then she could work.
She should be working now. "Were the dogs patrolling the grounds before the body was discovered?"
"No. They search for the point of entry now."
Mina pictured the iron fence. Perhaps a child could slip through the bars; a man could not. But if someone had let him through . . . ? "Have you spoken with your man at the front gate?"
"Wills?"
She had not asked the gatekeeper his name. "If Wills has a prosthetic left leg, and often saves a portion of his supper in his beard for his breakfast, then we are speaking of the same man."
"That is Wills." He studied her with unreadable eyes. "He would not let anyone through."
Without my leave, Mina finished for him. And perhaps he was right, though of course she would verify it with the gatekeeper, and ask the steward about deliveries. Someone might have hidden themselves in one.
His gaze fell to her glove again. "There we are," Trahaearn said softly. "Now to--"
She pulled her hand away at the same time Trahaearn gripped the satin fingertips. He tugged. Satin slid in a warm caress over her elbow, her forearm.
Flames lit her cheeks. "Your Grace--"
His expression changed as he continued to pull. First registering surprise, as if he had not realized that the glove extended past her wrist. Then an emotion hard and sharp as the long glove slowly gave way. Its white length finally dangled from his fingers, and to Mina seemed as intimate as if he held her stocking.
Her sleeve still covered her arm, but she felt exposed. Stripped. With as much dignity as she could, Mina claimed the glove.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I can manage the other." She stuffed the glove into her pocket. With her bare fingers, she made quick work of the buttons at her left wrist.
She looked up to find him staring at her. His cheekbones blazed with color, his gaze hot.
She'd seen lust before. This marked the first time that she hadn't seen any disgust or hatred beneath it.
"Thank you," she said again, amazed by the evenness of her voice when everything inside her trembled.
"Inspector." He inclined his head, then looked beyond her to the stairs.
And as she turned, the trembling stopped. Her legs were steady as she walked to the steps, her gaze unflinching, her mind focused.
"You were to assist her, not undress her," she heard his companion say. Trahaearn didn't reply, and Mina didn't look back at him.
Even the pull of the Iron Duke was not stronger than Death.
Nalini Singh, Burning Up
(Series: Psy-Changeling # 0.70)
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