Heart of Brass (14 page)

He nodded. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m not certain I could even if I wanted to.” He glanced around the room, as though trying to suss out exactly where he was. What had happened to him? The confident killer was gone, but that did little to console her. He was more dangerous now than he had been with his hands around her throat.

“Why are you here?” she asked softly, holding the bottle of scotch against her stomach.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smile that seized her heart in her chest. She knew that smile. She
loved
that smile. “It seemed the right idea at the time.”

It took every ounce of resolve left in her drink-addled mind not to return that smile and melt into a puddle of feminine goo at his feet. He wasn’t the man she married, no matter how much he looked the part. She had to remain smart. Cautious.

He took a step toward her, more sure of himself now. “I heard you in there, fingering yourself. Who were you thinking of, me or the redhead?”

Shame threatened to overwhelm her, but he was the only man she’d ever shared a bed with, and she’d be damned if she’d be embarrassed in front of him. “I’d have to be pretty demented to do that while thinking of a man who wants nothing more than to kill me.”

“There are plenty of things I’d rather do to you right now than kill you.”

Heat blossomed in her cheeks, but Arden ignored it. She had to stay focused if she wanted to stay alive. “But here you are trying to decide whether or not to kill me.”

“Actually, I’m here because I want to know why every instinct I have screams that killing you would be a tragedy. I want to know who I am and how you know me. But most of all I want to know why you smell like bergamot.”

Her throat constricted so tight it hurt to breathe. She either seized this opportunity with all her might or let him go. “I smell like bergamot because you gave me a bottle, but I don’t think you need me to tell you who you are. You’re a smart man; surely you’ve figured it out by now?” She held her breath.

His gaze slid past her, and when his pale eyes widened she knew he had seen the photograph on her vanity. He brushed past her to get to it, picking it up by its ornate frame. Taken shortly after their engagement, it had started out as one of those awful things where the man sits and the woman stands behind his chair, but Luke hadn’t wanted her to stand behind him, so he’d pulled her into his lap instead. The photographer—Henry—took the picture while the two of them were grinning at each other.

When Luke turned his head to look at her, his face was white and grim. The hand that held the frame trembled, but his gaze was sharp and clear. “I’m Lucas Grey, and you’re my wife.”

Chapter 8

It should be the happiest moment of the past seven years. Her husband was home. He had come back to her.

Arden felt as though she might be ill.

So many nights spent weeping for him, despairing for him, and sometimes cursing him. She’d clung to the dream of having him returned to her, only to have it mocked by the fact that the Company turned him into an assassin. Her assassin. Determined to save him, she could only hope that he would come for her again, because this time she was ready.

And now he stood before her telling her exactly what she wanted to hear, and she didn’t know if she could believe him or not. Had he truly remembered, or was this just another cruel act on behalf of an agency that would have her head on a platter?

He set the frame down with a thud. “I have to go.”

What the devil? She set the whiskey on her dressing table and hurried after him as he crossed the carpet toward the balcony doors. She hoped he planned to actually open them this time.

“Why?” she asked, hating the whiny edge to her voice. “If you’ve remembered who you are—”

He whirled on her, bringing her up so short she almost ran right into him. She could feel the heat radiating off him, smell his familiar scent. “They know I’m here.” He pointed to his head. “They can hear everything.”

“Oh dear,” Arden murmured, horror taking hold. “You’ve gone mad.”

Luke scowled at her, pale gaze blazing into her soul. “Don’t be daft, Ardy. They put something in my head. They talk to me through it, and they can hear every conversation I have—everything I do.”

A smile slipped over her lips—relief despite the tightness in her stomach. “You called me Ardy.”

The furrows in his brow eased, giving way to an astonishment that could not be false. “I’ve always called you that.”

A breath of laughter escaped her. She choked the rest of it back, afraid that once she started she wouldn’t stop, and from there it would turn to tears. She opened her mouth to ask about the listening device when Luke suddenly turned white.

“Get out of my head, you bastard,” he growled.

Arden’s blood froze. Had they found him? Or was he, as she had earlier feared, mad as a hatter?

He hit the right side of his skull with the heel of his hand. “I said get the fuck out of my head!”

A high-pitched whine caught her attention. As it increased in volume, the anguish on her husband’s face did as well, until he fell to his knees clutching his head, crying out in wordless agony.

Was that blood in his ear?

She pivoted so fast her robe tangled around her ankles, threatening to send her sprawling. She stumbled but didn’t fall, her hands finding the standing lever of the contraption Alastair had delivered to her earlier. She pulled.

There was a humming noise followed by a loud thud. She turned to see Luke on his back, limbs splayed. He stared at her with a mixture of trepidation and wonder. She didn’t blame him.

“The pain stopped,” he said.

She nodded. “I know.”

“I can’t move.”

“I know that too.” The Calypso Magnetic Device was a large “floor” generally used to detain automatons, but both she and Alastair figured it would work on a man whose bones had been plated with metal—it worked on Alastair’s hand. She had planned to use it only if Luke became violent, but the device proved to be more useful than first intended.

It had been her father who explained to her how magnets interfered with Aetheric transmissive frequencies. Over the years the W.O.R. had used similar instruments to interfere with Company communications and weaponry—and vice versa. Who would have thought she’d employ the same practice to keep her husband’s brain from leaking out of his ears.

His gaze seized hers and refused to let go. There was no expression on his angular face. “What now? Turn me over to your friends? Kill me?”

His matter-of-fact tone weighed heavy on her heart. It shouldn’t surprise her, and it certainly shouldn’t put her on the defensive, but it did a bit. She expected him to trust her, even though she’d ask the same questions of him.

Slowly—more because her head was swimming and less because she thought she ought to be cautious around him—she sank to her knees on the carpet, and stretched out on her side next to him. She needed to be still, or she’d cast up all that glorious whiskey.

The Calypso had no effect on her, though it held him like some sort of exotic specimen on display. She could do whatever she wished with him and he would be powerless to stop her. A heady thought. An arousing one.

Did she want to make love to him or punish him for leaving her alone seven years ago? Both, perhaps. Right now she simply desired to be close to him. It felt so good it hurt, and she could enjoy it without fear that he might try to strangle her at any moment.

“I don’t know what I should do,” she told him, honestly. “I could alert your brother or the Wardens. I could summon Alastair, or lock you in the cellar. One thing I will not do, however, is let you go.” She lifted herself up onto her elbow so she could see him better.

Luke frowned. His face was so close, and turned toward her just enough that she could visually trace the faint lines around his mouth in the firelight. “What did I ever do to deserve such devotion?”

Arden’s mouth opened…then closed again. For those brief seconds her mind was blank. “You saved me from the man in the alley.”

“Only because I planned to kill you myself.” His direct gaze made her cringe inside.

“But you couldn’t do it.”

“No. Something stopped me, every time.”

Thank God. “That was you at the factory, wasn’t it?”

“I think so.”

She frowned. “You don’t know?”

He looked as though he wanted to shake his head, but it was held immobile by the Calypso. “A man called the Doctor has tampered with my memory. He’s probably the one who took you away from me.”

“So, you don’t…remember everything?” What did he remember? And how much of it included her?

“No. I have images in my mind. Things that I know without knowing how. The ginger—he’s a friend of mine, isn’t he?”

Arden inched closer to his warmth. The floor was becoming uncomfortable and a little chilly. She was wearing nothing but a robe, after all. “Your best. Alastair Payne, Earl of Wolfred.”

“I had memories of him as well, back at my flat before I passed out.”

Dear God, what had they done to him? “Do you lose consciousness often?”

“No. Seeing the two of you together earlier did something—like opening a door in my head. I remembered that both of you…meant something to me.”

She fought the tears that threatened. “Yes.”

“And I loved you?”

Arden ignored the way his voice went up ever so slightly, making the statement a question. Ignored the pain that came with it. “Yes.”

Pale eyes met hers. “Of course I did. Intelligent, beautiful and now you’re mine.”

She went completely still, heart in her throat. He had spoken those exact words to her on their wedding night. Did he remember that night, or just the words?

It didn’t matter. It was exactly the right thing to say, and exactly what she needed to hear to give her hope. And it was exactly the sort of sentiment that enabled her to bring her body against his, sliding over until she lay atop him. He looked surprised, but didn’t say a word. His gaze warmed, glittering with anticipation. That was all the encouragement she needed. She lowered her head.

His mouth was warm—pliant and oh-so-familiar, yet exciting. Despite all her protests to the contrary, there had been a part of her that worried she might never feel his lips on hers ever again.

What a relief their warm familiarity was.

She slid the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip. Luke’s mouth opened, letting her inside so she could taste him. Her hands braced on either side of his head, allowing her better leverage to press her hips against his. Through her robe she could feel him growing hard in response to her need. She rubbed against him, lifting her head just enough to gasp against his lips. He groaned.

“Turn this bloody thing off,” he growled.

Arden arched from the waist, reaching for the lever that would free him to do whatever he wanted to her. She was so eager for him that she didn’t even mind if he killed her, as long as he made her come first. She couldn’t wait to feel his hands on her skin, inside her. She wanted to hear his breath, feel it hot on her ear and cheek as he pounded himself into her.

She froze, remembering the blood she had seen in his ear and what had caused it.

“I can’t,” she whispered, meeting his gaze.

His eyes hardened. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t want to turn the Calypso off until I can be certain the Company won’t try to hurt you again.”

The harsh lines of his features softened, and his gaze warmed once again. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“But I’m not.” She slid off him to kneel by his side. Every inch of her wanted him desperately—to the point that she was ready to throw caution and caring to the wind. But after seven years without her husband’s touch, it would not be making love if she took advantage of his immobility without trusting him completely; it would be what was so crudely referred to as “fucking,” and that was not how she wanted it to be between them, not after all they’d been through both together and apart.

Luke looked at her as if he understood. He obviously didn’t like it, judging from the expression on his angular face, but he seemed to know her hesitation had to do with more than his present predicament.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it left her feeling stripped bare all the same. “You need to send for someone,” he told her. “The Company will come for me if they think I’m alone with you.”

Arden snorted. “This house would be the wrong place for them to attack.”

“I’ve gotten in here with little difficulty.”

She gave him what she knew had to be a slightly condescending smile. “Indeed.” That was all the explanation she was prepared to give—just in case he was playing her for a fool. She hated to think it, but she’d be an idiot not to be careful at the very least. It didn’t seem wise to remind him that he’d helped her improve security on the grounds and once knew the system as well as she.

“Send for someone,” he pressed. “You know you have to, and I can’t stay on this thing forever.”

He was right. Regardless of what the Wardens might do to him, he would need their help. She couldn’t take the transmitter out of his head—she was no surgeon. Only Evelyn could make certain the Company lost their way of spying on him. Only Dhanya would have the power to ensure Luke was treated fairly and protected to the best of W.O.R’s ability.

If only they had some way—a humane way—to determine just where his loyalties lay. He seemed sincere, and she wanted to believe he meant what he said. But he had been with an enemy of the Empire for more than half a decade. Realizing that they had used and lied to him did not mean it would be easy for him to betray them. Luke would need the help of all his friends to undo the damage those bastards had wrought.

With a sigh, she rose to her feet and crossed the carpet to the small desk in the corner where she took care of all her personal business. An ebony and brass telephone sat on the polished mahogany top. She removed the portion for listening from the cradle—the metal was cold against her ear. She turned the crank on the side toward her rather than away. She did this three times—one long, one short, one long again.