Heart of Brass (12 page)

Why? He’d never failed in a task before. It wasn’t because he was attracted to her. He had been attracted to other women as well, but if one of them betrayed him he’d snap her like a twig. What made this hungover, auburn-haired wench different?

Why had the sight of her in that man’s arms, in that house, made his chest tight? Never in a million years would he have thought Alastair capable of such a betrayal.

Alastair?

The two-wheeled machine beneath him swerved suddenly. He had to jerk on the steering bars to avoid hitting a steam carriage. The driver yelled obscenities at him, but they barely registered in Five’s mind. He drove the cycle down the street to his lodgings, parked and took the stairs to his rooms two at a time. His mind raced, a pulse pounding in his temple as he held on to the memory and struggled for more.

The man’s name was Alastair. He was the Earl of Wolfred. He was three and thirty, the same as Five. They had been at school together. That’s where they became friends. Alastair had stood with him when he married…

Pain split his skull, lancing deep into his brain. He stumbled into his room, barely slamming the door before his vision blurred and black swarmed the edge of his mind. He couldn’t see his bride’s face through the agony.

Her face was what brought the agony—he knew this. He fought to remember her even as his stomach threatened to empty itself and his body trembled. He knew this pain; it was as familiar as an old friend. This was like what the Doctor did to him when he visited, only he hadn’t remembered it until now.

He wasn’t supposed to remember. Someone had taken his memories away. Taken away his identity, his life.

They had taken away his wife.

Five’s knees slammed into the floor, splintering the wood. He crawled across the worn rug, every inch bringing his skull that much closer to exploding. Her laughter rang in his ears, loud and unrestrained. Her skin had felt like a mix of silk and velvet. He remembered once she had tasted of peaches, and she smelled…she smelled of bergamot.

Something broke inside his mind. He felt it give like a string pulled too taut. His temple struck the floor as he collapsed, and he lay there unable to move or make a sound—scarcely able to breathe. His ear felt ticklish and warm. Probably blood.

Darkness took hold and shook him like a dog with a rag doll. His last thought before letting that darkness take him was that Arden Grey smelled of bergamot as well.

Chapter 7

Henry arrived at four—just in time for tea. Arden was in her workshop, thoroughly distracted by a new invention that combined Mr. Tesla’s work and her father’s research in sending and tracking Aether wave transmissions. She had just attached the small mechanism to Beauregard’s collar when Mrs. Bird knocked to tell her of her brother-in-law’s arrival.

Arden was tempted to tell Mrs. Bird to turn him away, but they needed to speak. “Put him in the library, Mrs. Bird. We’ll take tea there.” The library was where she felt the most secure—other than her workshop, and she’d be buggered if she’d let Henry see the inside of her sanctuary. Books bored Henry, whose interests were of a more physical, to the hounds, sort of bent. Luke had been the same to an extent, but he’d never made her feel like an oddity because of her interests.

After wiping them on a small towel, she applied cream to her hands. Then she removed her apron and smoothed her hair. Henry already thought her half mad; there was no need to strengthen that notion by cultivating the appearance of a harridan.

Beauregard, having none of her insecurities or vanity, ran from the room on his short legs, his entire hindquarters wagging in anticipation of the tummy scratching “Uncle” Henry was certain to perform. For as long as she’d known him, Henry preferred animals to people—or at least he preferred them to her. He hadn’t thought much of his older brother marrying the daughter of a practically impoverished baronet. The former Lord Huntley—her father-in-law—had decreed that there were some connections worth more than money, such as Sir Frederick’s political and government cronies within the W.O.R. To be honest, there had been moments when she wondered if that was why Luke married her, but she knew it was rubbish. He’d loved her. She was certain of it—even if his brother thought he was “settling.”

Before she left the workshop, she couldn’t help but check the small viewer on the workbench. A thrill raced through her as she saw the small dot of light moving up the screen. The device worked! Using radio waves she was able to track the dog’s movements. While it wasn’t sophisticated enough to show her the best path to take, it was better than nothing. She would have to check it to make certain it did indeed have the correct location, and if that worked she could take it to Dhanya. Surely this sort of apparatus would be useful to the Wardens.

And perhaps, in their gratitude, they would go easy on her husband. The idea of what they might do to him if they suspected him of treason…Well, there was no point in worrying about that now. It only made her snappy and short of breath, neither trait one she desired to exhibit in front of her brother-in-law.

Her stride was quick as she walked down the stairs. Her boot heels clicked loudly on the polished floor of the open hall, sharp and rapid. Her jaw began to ache, it was clenched so tight. This was what Henry did to her. He did it to her at the party the night Lucas tried to strangle her. In fact, she would rather go up against her physically enhanced, murderous-minded spouse right now than his younger brother.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like Henry. Once upon a time she quite adored him, but that was before Lucas disappeared, and Henry reverted to thinking ill of her. Before he started talking of having his brother declared legally dead so that he could fully assume the title of Earl Huntley rather than continue on as proxy. He treated her servants as his own, came to call whenever he pleased, and considered allowing her to remain at the house a gesture of his generosity.

It was enough to make her former adoration turn rancid. Never mind that she was probably unfair toward him in her estimation of his motives and assessment of his behavior, he was still
wrong
. She strode into the library with every intention of telling him just that.

Mrs. Bird, invaluable housekeeper as she was, had arranged for extra tea, sandwiches and cake to be delivered to the library. Normally Arden took tea alone, so the extra food must have been taken from what would normally be shared by the servants. Henry had better eat it then, if her household had to go without because of his uninvited arse.

Make that uninvited
arses
, she corrected as she crossed the threshold. Not only was Henry there, but he had brought a guest as well, an average-looking man of just-above-average height whom she recognized as Mr. Kirkpatrick, the family solicitor. How dare Henry ambush her like this! Luckily she hadn’t had any liquor to drink—that would have made her relaxed, and she needed to be sharp right now.

Arden smiled, well aware it was probably more a baring of teeth than anything remotely pleasant. “My dear Henry, how lovely to see you. Mr. Kirkpatrick, this is an unexpected surprise; it has been too long.”

The solicitor, gentleman that he was, cast an uncomfortable and somewhat tense glance at Henry. “Apologies, Lady Huntley. I thought you expected us this afternoon.”

Watching Henry squirm afforded more pleasure than it ought. “Well, it is nice to see you all the same, sir. Will you sit? My cook makes an incomparable tea.”

Mr. Kirkpatrick smiled and inclined his head. “How could I refuse? Thank you.”

Arden’s own smile faded as she turned to her brother-in-law. “Henry. Sit.”

He had the good grace to look uncomfortable as he resumed his seat. He might not have much in the way of love for her, but he was intimidated by her all the same. Arden seated herself on the settee where she would be better able to play hostess, but also where she would be the most comfortable.

She poured three cups of tea, added the requested milk and sugar and prepared plates for herself and her callers. It might be petty but she resented having to wait upon them when they were there to make her life difficult. They made small talk as she went through this ritual. Then, when they all had refreshment at hand, she asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

The solicitor cleared his throat. “Lady Huntley, Lord Henry has asked me to begin proceedings to have Lord Huntley declared dead in absentia.”

“Has he?” She shot a dark glance at Henry, who met her gaze with a defiant lift of his chin. “Well, I’m afraid he brought you here for nothing, Mr. Kirkpatrick. You see, my husband isn’t dead.”

“My dear Arden,” Henry began with a sigh, “I know you loved my brother, and your devotion does you credit, but it’s been seven years. You can no longer maintain this pathetic obsession.”

Pathetic?
Oh, he was fortunate she didn’t have her discombobulator on her. She’d send enough electricity through him to singe his hair. He’d have a hard time of looking like a dandy then, when all that pomade caught fire.

“It’s not ‘pathetic,’ Henry. It’s true. Lucas is in London. I’ve seen him several times.” She hadn’t meant to reveal all so soon, nor in this blunt manner, but he gave her no choice. He was going to have Lucas declared legally dead, and she couldn’t allow that to happen, no matter whether her husband remembered himself or not.

The color ran from Henry’s face. Mr. Kirkpatrick leaned forward, as though a closer inspection of her person might make her words more clear. “You’ve seen him, my lady?”

“Yes.”

“Where?” Henry demanded. Blood had returned to his upper extremities and now his cheeks were positively florid.

“Here,” Arden replied. “Outside the party the other night, and elsewhere in London.”

“It wasn’t him.” Henry shook his head most vigorously. “It couldn’t have been him. You are mistaken, Arden. Your grief makes you see what your heart wishes were true.”

While his heart made him fervently deny it, she realized his own desire to see his brother again. Immediately her animosity toward him eased. Perhaps he found it easier to insist that Lucas was dead than torture himself with hope as she had all these years.

She wanted to scream that she’d been right from the bloody rafters. All of London pitied her, thought her touched in the head, and she had been
right
!

“It
is
true,” she insisted—gently. “Lord Wolfred saw him as well, earlier today.”

The poor thing looked as though she had tossed tea in his face. She would hug him if she weren’t still miffed.

“This certainly changes things,” Mr. Kirkpatrick surmised, clearly thrown off-kilter. He probably didn’t have clients come back from the dead very often. “Do you suppose Lord Wolfred would be willing to discuss the encounter with me?”

“I do not see why not.” Arden smiled at the man, but she knew what he was thinking. If Lucas had returned to England why was he not in this house, with his wife? His gentlemanly ways kept him from asking in front of Henry, but the solicitor would have many questions for her in the near future.

“My brother is not alive,” Henry maintained rather heatedly. “I would know if he was alive.”

Arden felt for him, she truly did. “He is, Henry.”

“No!” He leaped to his feet, cheeks afire and eyes blazing. “If Lucas was alive he would be here with you. With me!”

Slowly, she rose as well, watching him as she would a growling dog. “I promise you he is alive.”

“Then why isn’t he here? Why haven’t I seen him?”

She stilled, and cast a glance at Mr. Kirkpatrick out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t want to have this conversation in front of the man who held her husband’s fate in his hands. “I’m sure he would be if he could.” She gave him what she hoped was a meaningful look. He knew his brother worked for the W.O.R.—it had been a point of contention between them. Henry didn’t think Luke should put himself in harm’s way when he had a responsibility to his family.

Henry shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” A hiccough of laughter escaped him. “I don’t
believe
it.”

At this point, Arden decided the best course of action was to keep her silence. Mr. Kirkpatrick, however, chose the alternative. “I think perhaps Lord Henry and I should take our leave of you, Lady Huntley.”

“No,” Henry protested. “She’s wrong, or lying. My brother is dead, and I refuse to think otherwise until I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”

“Had you joined me for a walk in the garden so we might continue our conversation the other night, you would have seen him.” More than likely Luke wouldn’t have shown himself, but there was no need to remark on that.

She might as well have been talking to a door for all the attention her brother-in-law paid her.

The solicitor rose to his feet. “Come along now, Lord Henry. We can continue this meeting at another date.” He turned to Arden. “At a time that is convenient for you, of course, my lady.”

She nodded. “Of course. Thank you.”

The older man then added, “Perhaps his lordship will be able to join us.”

Well, at least he hadn’t called her a liar as Henry had, but there was an element of disbelief in his voice. She could hardly blame him. She wouldn’t believe a word of it either if she wasn’t living it.

“I hope so,” she replied.

Mr. Kirkpatrick guided Henry to the door and gently pushed him over the threshold; then he stopped in the doorway and looked over his shoulder at her. “It’s not that he wants the title so badly, Lady Huntley, but rather that Lord Henry desperately wants to move forward and stop living in the past.”

Arden tried to smile, but simply didn’t have the heart for it. “Don’t we all, good sir. Don’t we all.”

Five sat at the rickety table in his room eating the plain but hearty supper his landlady had prepared for him. His head felt like it had been kicked repeatedly by a foul-tempered mule, but at least he had an appetite.

The voice in his ear—in his head—had called to him earlier, after he woke up. He hadn’t responded. More than likely he’d catch hell for it later, but for now he felt no remorse. Right now he was trying to sort out whether or not the Company had lied to him, or if his imagination was filling in gaps his memory couldn’t.