Heart of Brass (39 page)

“Nothing,” Luke replied before Alastair could. “He’s Arden’s to apprehend. I’ll watch her back.” He’d have to be blind to miss Arden’s surprise and obvious pleasure at his words. The thought of her going after a killer scared the piss out of him, but he wouldn’t try to stop Wolfred or any other agent from doing their job, and he wasn’t going to earn her resentment by stopping her. No matter how much he wanted to do just that.

“I’ve already contacted Chief Inspector Grant of Scotland Yard,” Arden informed the other man. “He’s been working the assignment with me, as you probably already know. He has his officers watching both suspects. Which reminds me, I should inquire as to whether or not he can have men on the ship since we cannot keep our own eyes on Fitzhugh and Clivington at all times.”

“You do not think the monster will try to harm anyone onboard the ship, do you?” Wolfred asked, incredulous.

“He killed one in a factory with the owner upstairs, the other in a public park. I’m not going to put anything past him.” She rose to her feet. “The two of you will excuse me?”

“Of course.” They both stood as well, and did not sit until she had left the room.

“She seems to be handling this very well,” Alastair commented once the door had clicked shut.

Luke ran a hand over his jaw and mouth. “She hasn’t been drinking as much.” The moment he said the words he wanted to take them back, but Alastair merely nodded.

“Good. I’d begun to worry about her. I reckon that decreased dependency on spirits can be attributed to your return.”

He snorted. “I would think that would make the habit worse, not better.”

Dark gray eyes met his. “I think you underestimate yourself, my friend. And her regard.”

“Perhaps, but one thing I don’t underestimate is the mess I’ve wrought.”

“You’ve given us pages of notes on major Company operations, names and addresses. And now we are closer than ever to apprehending a known Company assassin and possibly our traitor.”

“Arden told you I remembered his face?”

Alastair nodded. “And that she found the frequency the Company uses to contact all agents. You were right—they did try to contact Ogitani when I let it slip that she was still alive. He’s a Warden. All we have to do is find him.”

“Before he finds us,” Luke amended. “Or rather, before he kills us.”

The other man frowned. “Are you worried about that?”

“He’s gotten the best of me once—I’d be a fool not to be concerned,” Luke replied. “I have no intention of letting the bastards take me out, but if something should happen…” He trailed off. Surely there was no need for him to speak it aloud?

His old friend stared at him in surprise. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Luke was touched. Things hadn’t exactly been smooth between them since his return, yet Wolfred wanted to keep him around. “Just tell me you’ll do it
if
something should go wrong.”

“Fine.” It was accompanied by a reluctant and somewhat stiff nod. “If we don’t all go down in a flaming ball of death, I will look after Arden.”

“Thank you. She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

Alastair smiled. This time it glinted in his eyes as well. “Huh. That didn’t take very long.”

“What?” He could make a dozen assumptions, but hadn’t a clue as to which might be closest to truth.

Slowly, Alastair rose to his feet. He crossed to the liquor cabinet and refilled his glass. “For you to fall in love with your wife.”

Luke started. “That’s none of your concern.” Good Christ, could it be? “I suppose it could be that I never stopped, but I can’t remember.”

“She tends to inspire devotion in all who meet her. You’re very fortunate in that yours is returned.”

He didn’t want to have this conversation. They were discussing a woman Luke would kill for and Alastair adored. He didn’t want to see just how much the other man cared about his wife, even though he had taken advantage of that emotion when he asked Wolfred to look after her.

“She loves the man I was. She doesn’t know the real me yet. Hell,
I
don’t know who I really am.”

“My God, man. I’ve seen how she looks at you, and I’ve wanted to bash your face in for it. Sort it the hell out, get your head out of your arse and be the man both of you deserve.”

Luke stared at his friend’s scowling face. “You should be a politician.”

Alastair tossed back the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “And you, sir, were right. You shouldn’t come back to the W.O.R.—not now anyway. You should take Arden to the country and get started on making fat, brilliant babies.”

Had there been even the hint of mockery or bitterness in his tone Luke might have taken offense. Instead, he regarded the other man with remorse. “How can you possibly like me when I’ve ruined your hopes?”

“Because I wanted you back more than I wanted her, I suppose.” He smiled ruefully. “And you can’t imagine wanting anything more than her, can you?”

“Nothing,” Luke replied honestly. Christ, he meant it. He didn’t even want his memory as much as he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Arden.

“And that’s why nothing’s going to happen to you tomorrow night, because I’m not going to be the one to tell her that the only man who can love her as she deserves is dead. Am I understood?”

Luke nodded. “Completely.” And he meant it—because after seven long years of not giving a damn, he finally had something to live for.

Chapter 20

The
Albion
was a beauty of an airship, with a full, pristine balloon hovering above a ship constructed of rich, glossy oak that was the size of any private seafaring vessel.

Arden and Luke were among the last guests to board at the Hyde Park dock. The area was lit with bright lanterns that illuminated the ship in the dark spring night. Specially designed magnets placed on the sides of the ship locked with those on the docking mechanism, keeping the ship in place as the balloon was filled with buoyant gas.

They climbed a portable set of wooden stairs to the door of the ship and crossed the threshold into an interior as grand as most Mayfair homes. Arden glanced around with feigned indifference for familiar—Warden—faces, and immediately spotted Alastair and Mr. Chiler in the crush.

Her “armored” gown was surprisingly light, and fit perfectly. It was a deep moss green with black trimmings. The sleeves were little more than strips of fabric that barely covered her shoulders, and the plunging front showed a shocking amount of décolletage. The bronze satin of her corset peeked out from the low neckline, accentuated by the Huntley yellow sapphires that hung heavily around the base of her throat. Matching earrings dangled from her lobes, and one thin gold chain swung gently between her nose and right ear—if she and Luke survived the night she might add another. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an elaborate style that concealed a small dagger, and her fan was made of sharpened blades that appeared to be nothing more than harmless jet. And in her reticule was her trusted discombobulator.

Beside her Luke was dressed in immaculate evening clothes—black and austere white with an ebony cravat. He looked gorgeous despite the scarring on his forehead. Fortunately a little hair fell over his brow and hid most of it. The little marks from their “accident” had faded thanks to Evelyn’s salve, and his face was almost as she remembered it.

He was more handsome to her now than he had been when they first met. She’d always thought a gentleman looked better with a few lines on his face. She’d also always had a bit of a preference for what her mother used to call a “good nose,” which Luke possessed.

She had become accustomed to him looking slightly lost, with the odd flicker of wonder as he remembered something, or wearing a flirtatious smile. Tonight he had a predatory expression that took her breath, pale eyes glittering with anticipation. It was the look of a warrior going into battle knowing he would win or die trying.

It was the dying part that terrified her. She had just gotten him back. She could not lose him, not again. Her heart couldn’t take it.

She reached down and twined her fingers through his. Gloves separated them, but she felt the warmth of him regardless. He turned his head to look at her and the predator was gone, replaced by a man who looked at her as though she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

No, he was no longer the man she had married, but she believed perhaps she liked this new version even better—this man who would kill for her, who called her “love” and didn’t seem to care if anyone heard.

Now a slow smile played about his lips. He didn’t speak, but the fingers wrapped around hers gently squeezed. It was hardly a declaration of love, but by God it felt like one.

Please
, she prayed silently.
Don’t let anything happen to him
.

A footman passed by with a tray of champagne and she reached for one, then caught herself. She wanted a drink so badly her entire body cried out for it, but she would not give in. Not tonight, when she needed every wit she had as sharp as it could be. Never mind that her knees were trembling. She had killed a man, for Heaven’s sake. She was not a stranger to intrigue and danger, and tonight there were more lives at stake than just her own.

Arden dropped her hand and turned away from the temptation, and caught her husband watching her intently.

“I’m very proud of you,” he said, his voice so low it was little more than a rumble.

I love you,
she replied in her head. Now was not the time to make such revelations, especially not with an audience, but she wanted to—almost as much as she wanted to find a secluded spot and ravish him. Instead, she smiled in pleasure and kept walking.

They didn’t get far before they were stopped. Luke’s popularity hadn’t waned since his first public appearance. In fact, the incident with the touring carriage had only served to make him more in demand. Everyone wanted to fawn over him and tell her how lucky she was, how happy she must be, etc. Arden didn’t mind the attention, as the gaggle of well-wishers and busybodies made it virtually impossible for a sniper to take a clear shot.

However, the crush would make it easier for someone to walk right up to them, stab or shoot one of them and then walk away.

Her corset was too tight. She couldn’t draw a deep enough breath. Her heart struck hard against her ribs. Blast it all! This was not a time to panic and fall apart like a stupid, vapid waif. She sucked in breath through her nose and out her mouth, silently willing herself to be calm.

It worked.

Alastair nodded to them as they passed—a greeting and also a subtle confirmation that all was in place as they had discussed. Another man nodded and said hello. St. John Crane, she assumed, since he was a tall man, tanned and weathered, with a mad glint in his eye. He didn’t stop to chat.

At midnight the pilot’s voice crackled over the auditory amplification box to announce that they were about to “set sail.” A cheer went up from the crowd. She spotted Fitzhugh among the revelers.

Arden’s throat was too dry to cheer.

The ship lurched slightly as the docking mechanism was released, and then slowly began to lift. The motion was delicate, and the ship so large that it was barely noticeable, but Arden felt it in her stomach. For a moment it seemed unavoidable that she would empty her stomach all over her new black boots, but then it eased.

Alastair was to have made arrangements with the pilot to keep the ship on a wide circular pattern rather than a line out and back, so that they wouldn’t stray too far from the dock if they needed to land quickly. He also arranged for there to be a small Warden medical crew on the ground. Evelyn was onboard.

They’d been in the air approximately twenty minutes, and Arden was speaking to Lady Waterford, a client of hers who wished to purchase a new anti-hysteria device because she’d worn out the one she purchased last year, when she heard someone cry out, “Arden!”

It was Hannah. She bustled toward her with the glow of a woman in love, and behind her, equally as glowing, was Clivington.

Looking at him, Arden wondered how she could have suspected him of being a killer. He was perhaps in his early thirties, boyish and charming with sparkling eyes. He didn’t look as though he could hurt a fly, let alone rip a girl apart.

She didn’t have to force a smile onto her face. “Hannah! How delightful to see you. You know Lady Waterford, of course.”

Niceties were exchanged, and Hannah introduced Clivington.

“Delighted,” Arden said, offering her hand. He wore gloves to cover his scars.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Huntley. My dear girl has told me so much about you, I feel I know you already.” Even his voice was pleasant.

“And I you,” she replied. “I do not recall the last time I saw Hannah quite so happy.”

“Would you care to take a walk around the promenade deck with us?” Hannah asked.

“Actually, I promised Huntley I’d reintroduce him to some old friends.” She couldn’t very well tell them she wasn’t allowed to leave the main room, could she?

“Please,” Hannah begged. “I should so love to see the view, and Clivington won’t go unless we have a chaperone.” She flashed him a grin. “He’s entirely too proper.”

The man actually blushed. “I would hate to bring scandal upon you, my dear.”

She should have had that champagne! The look on Hannah’s face was too puppyish to resist. “All right, but only so you can see the view, and then I’m coming back in.” As she spoke she saw Fitzhugh heading for the exit as well.

Hannah clapped her hands. “Wonderful!”

As the three of them strode toward the exit to the deck, Arden glanced over her shoulder. Luke was talking to Alastair and another man and didn’t so much as glance in her direction. He was going to kill her when he found out she snuck out, but it would only be for a moment, and she’d stay close to the door. She couldn’t let the chance to try her invention on Fitzhugh get away.

They stepped out into the cool night air. Arden kept to the shadows as she fumbled in her reticule for the device she’d made specifically to track the killer. Tonight was not a night to take reckless risks and make foolish mistakes. Only the chance to catch a monster could have made her break her word to Luke.