Heart of Brass (19 page)

Irrationally, he wanted to make Wolfred—or any other man who might have had her, or even wanted to have her—swallow every one of his bloody teeth. Arden was his. He’d known that the first time he tried to kill her.

Thank God he hadn’t succeeded. The very idea of taking her life turned his stomach. And yet, there was a small part of him that continued to insist he do just that, and then go back to the Company where he belonged. It was the cowardly part of him that wanted to do this. It was also the cowardly part of him that wanted to escape.

Because this man, this Earl Huntley, no longer existed inside him. The man Arden had waited for was as dead as the world believed him to be. She was going to be so very disappointed when she discovered that, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to run.

It was the possibility of having Arden for his own that kept him in this cell—that made it possible for him to let the W.O.R. literally inside his head.

Dr. Stone had examined him before she removed the communication device from his ear. She was a striking woman of mixed blood. Her accent was vaguely Irish, but she looked as though she might have Spanish and Jamaican ancestry as well. And she didn’t seem to find him the least bit intimidating, though he noticed she had two automatonic Pulver rifles pointed toward him from either side of the room. The blast from just one would make a mess of most men. He knew from experience it would hurt like hell, but wouldn’t kill him. It would, however, take him down.

Dr. Stone took photographs of the inside of his body using Rontgen’s “X-ray” method, and seemed fascinated by the extent of gregorite plating on his skeleton.

“You don’t have any of the scarring usually associated with this sort of procedure. I’ve heard that Company surgeons have developed a way to inject gregorite into the body, along with a catalyst that makes it adhere to bone, but I’ve never seen it done.” She glanced up at him with an expression that looked like a cross between awe and disgust. “Extraordinary.”

Then she showed him the photograph of the inside of his head. His skull was covered with plates of metal, each molded to the bone. One plate in the front of his head had a hole in it, revealing the bone beneath.

Dr. Stone tapped the plate in the photograph. “If they altered your brain, this is where they did it. They removed this bit of bone and made a sort of door. Unfortunately I won’t be able to get in there and take a good look, but I think I can see enough to determine what procedures might have been done. I would like to do the surgery as soon as possible.”

It wasn’t a request, so Luke didn’t bother with granting consent. “I want to see my wife beforehand.”

The handsome woman watched him with doelike eyes. He couldn’t tell, nor did he care, what she was thinking. “Of course.”

So now he sat in his cell doing the same thing he had done most of the day before when not being debriefed by the Director herself—writing down every name, every mission, every fact no matter how minuscule he could remember about his seven years in the enemy’s employ. It was a lesson in humiliation. Every page of vellum he filled was another stone of shame laid upon his shoulders. How could he have allowed himself to be taken? Surely the Director wondered the same thing. Wolfred, and especially Arden, must wonder as well. The Company had buggered him senseless, made him their whore, and made him fucking oblivious to the fact that they were the ones responsible for the theft of his life. Like a green recruit he had believed everything they told him because he wanted to believe it.

They took everything from him. The best revenge was to get it back. So shag the humiliation, let them root around in his head. He would do whatever it took to personally bring the Company to its knees.

He touched his right ear, and his fingers came away with tiny specks of dried blood on them. It didn’t hurt, though it probably ought to. If not for the blood, and the fact that he had seen the device with his own eyes, he would never know the communicator had been removed.

Not that it mattered in here. The whole place was like a collection of “cages” similar to the one Mr. Faraday invented, designed to interfere with transmissions.

He put down his pencil and raised his arms above his head in a stretch. A loud ripping sound followed as the seams in the shoulders of the shirt he wore surrendered.

“Bugger,” he muttered. The shirt was apparently his, made of the softest linen he’d ever…that he could remember ever touching. Arden had brought it for him yesterday, along with some trousers that were a bit loose in the waist and tight in the thigh. The Company obviously had a different training regime for their agents. Either that, or he had been somewhat lazy seven years ago. Perhaps that was what got him caught.

Wolfred was in good shape. Strong and fit. He was a handsome enough bloke—charming when he wanted to be. He certainly didn’t have a nose that looked sharp enough to cut cheese. It said something about Arden that she hadn’t fallen into his arms—something that honored her, and scared the shite out of him.

A knock and the sound of keys rattling outside his door took him from his thoughts and scribbling. Slowly, he rose to his feet as the door opened. One of the guards stuck his head in. “A visitor for you, sir.”

It was Arden. She swept into the room in skirts the color of paprika under a long violet silk frock coat. Her hair was haphazardly piled on her head with auburn tendrils hanging around her face, and a single gold chain ran from her ear to her nose, rather than the multiple silver strands she’d worn before.

Luke stared. All she was missing was a halo of sunshine. She was a goddess, right down to that smattering of freckles across her nose.

She glanced at the door when it clunked shut, leaving them alone, then back at him. “You wanted to see me?”

Was she even half as impressed by him as he was by her? Doubtful. He hadn’t shaved that morning. In fact there were many mornings when he couldn’t be bothered to drag a razor over his cheeks. He was rough and crass—a killer. He had consorted with the enemy, and while she was happy to have her husband home, she had to know that he was not that man. Not anymore.

“Yes.”

“Was there something you wished to discuss?” Her clipped tone was edged with something so sharp it cut, but didn’t hurt. Fear. She was afraid for him, and he could have kissed her for it, even if it was misplaced.

“No.”

She frowned. “Then why did you ask for me?”

He chuckled, feeling every inch the ass. But he did not look away. “I wanted you to be the last thing I saw before they cut me open.”

Blood drained from her cheeks, leaving them white as chalk. She was a little dark under the eyes—bruised-
looking. She’d woken up this morning with a headache, he’d wager. How much did he figure into her reasons for numbing herself with liquor?

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, teeth clenched. She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself of that as well. “Evelyn is a talented surgeon.”

He thought of the Doctor. “So were the people who did this to me. I came out of that not knowing who I was.”

“That’s different. The Company is evil.”

He laughed again, but it was humorless and raw in his throat. “That’s what they say about the W.O.R. Good or evil is a point of view, Arden. The Company used me, but don’t fool yourself into thinking the Wardens wouldn’t do exactly the same thing to a Company agent if they thought it would benefit their cause.”

She stared at him as though he was speaking in tongues. Perhaps to her he was. Perhaps he oughtn’t challenge her idealism. Sometimes a little black and white was refreshing after a palette of gray.

Her gaze dropped. “You ripped your shirt.”

As a change of subject it wasn’t exactly subtle, but he’d take it. “Sorry.”

The corners of her lips curved delicately upward. Whiskey-colored eyes glittered as they met his. “Did you do it intentionally?”

“No.” That would be ridiculous. “It was too tight across the shoulders—” He stopped when her smile became a grin. Damnation, but she was pretty when she smiled.

“That’s it,” she said. “It’s the shirt’s fault you have the shoulders of David.”

Luke arched a brow, unable to stop his own smile. “The shoulders of David? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She flushed—a dark peach filling her cheeks. “It was meant as one. When you come home we’ll have your tailor come in.”

“When I come home.” He was beginning to sound like a damn parrot.

Her eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed as only a redhead’s could be. “Why, yes. I assumed you would come home when Dhanya is done with you.”

What an interesting choice of words. “Yes. I should come home.” With her. Where she slept and pleasured herself in the bath.

She lifted her chin, exposing the delicate, pale flesh of her neck. He watched her throat as she swallowed. He wanted to kiss her there. “I can stay elsewhere, if that is what you wish.”

Luke’s gaze flew up, brows clamping together in a scowl. “Why the hell would I want that?”

The puffy shoulders of her jacket lifted—absurd balloons trying to pull free from their moorings. She seemed genuinely confused—which either made her totally unaware of her own charms or stupid. His guess was the former. “You didn’t know you had a wife until a few days ago.”

“I didn’t know I had a fucking name until then either. It’s your house.”

She winced, and he knew he had said the wrong thing. “It’s your house. I’ve just lived there the past nine years.”

Nine years. He’d been gone from her longer than they’d been together. “It’s
our
house,” he amended. That was decidedly gentler than demanding that she remain there or he’d tie her to a bedpost. “And if I survive this procedure with my mind intact—and your Director allows me to live—I want you there when I come home.”

Her wide eyes took on a glossy sheen—tears, he realized. “Christ, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Gloved fingers dabbed at her eyes. “You didn’t. It’s just that I cannot believe you’re really here. Your brother will be so happy.”

“My brother?” His heart gave a hard thump. A hazy face swam in his mind, slowly coming into focus, a headache hot on its heels. “The man I saw you talking to at the party that night.”

She nodded. “Henry. He’s missed you too.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t had me declared dead.”

“Of course not.” Her gaze flitted away from his. “He didn’t believe you were dead any more than I did.”

She was lying, and doing a piss-poor job of it. Usually he’d be angry at it, but it was oddly sweet that she wanted to spare his feelings. “I’m very fortunate to have such a brother. And such a wife.”

“Yes, well, there were those who said I was delusional.” She smoothed her palms over her hips, still not looking at him.

“Was one of those people Wolfred?”

Arden actually looked affronted. “He looked for you. He went all over Europe searching, paid all manner of bribes. When that turned up nothing he lost hope.”

“He’s in love with you.”

She stiffened, wide-eyed expression narrowing to something just short of a glare. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“I know, but it makes me feel like I took advantage of his friendship, and there were days he was the only friend I had.”

During his years under the Company’s control he’d met several women who thought nothing of exploiting a man’s affections for their own gain. Hell, he had thought little of turning the tables on a few of those same women. Perhaps that said a lot about the sort of person he was. He hoped, for the sake of this woman, that his old friend hadn’t shared his callousness.

“I never should have left you.” It was the only apology he could think to make.

Her clear, brown gaze was hard. “But you did.”

“Why?” That was the question that had niggled at his dodgy memory ever since it first began to return. “Selective” she had called it. “Was it an assignment?”

Arden tugged on the bottom of her jacket. “That had a great deal to do with it, yes. To be honest, I do not know the whole of it.”

Strange. They seemed to have had a good relationship, something of a partnership. Why hadn’t he told her what he was up to? Unless, had he been under direct orders not to?

“Withering’s predecessor, what happened to him?”

The fair skin between her brows furrowed. The woman frowned so much it was a wonder she didn’t have a furrow as deep as a ditch there. “He suffered an apoplexy and died. Why?”

Balls. “I thought he might be able to provide some details of my last mission.”

“Oh.” Her expression softened. If she gazed at him in pity he just might have to kill her after all. “This all must be damnably frustrating for you.”

Luke chuckled. His wife was a master of understatement. “Mildly.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Then he said, “You will stay for the procedure?”

She nodded. “I won’t be in the operating theater, but I’ll be here when you wake up.” She smiled then, and it was damned near impossible not to smile back. She obviously had complete faith in Dr. Stone—or she was a better liar than he thought.

There was a knock on the door, and the guard stuck his head in once more. There was no such thing as privacy in his posh prison. “It’s time, your lordship.”

It didn’t feel the least bit odd to be deferred to by that title. Or rather, it felt oddly
right
. “Thank you.” Luke straightened his shoulders. He’d gone up against assassins, been in situations so tenuous it was a wonder he made it through unscathed, yet he was nervous about this. What if it all went wrong? What if he woke up as he had in the Company hospital with no memory whatsoever?

Small, warm fingers entwined with his. He looked down to find Arden standing beside him, holding his hand. She smiled reassuringly. “I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he replied. Damn, his voice was hoarse.

The guard put the shackles on him before leading him down the corridor to the lift and up one floor to the operating theater. Arden remained by his side the entire time. She even stood by the operating table as Dr. Stone applied chloroform. His wife’s face was the last thing he saw before blackness pulled him under.