Heart of Brass (44 page)
Authors: Kate Cross
She had to get out of there and soon. This bastard wasn’t about to let her go. She needed an ally—someone who knew her, who could provide a little protection until she could figure out how to escape.
“I want something in return.”
He made a scoffing noise. “You’re not in any position to bargain, girlie.”
Claire clenched her jaw. “Then you may as well hang me,
laddie
.” She affected a bad British accent on the word. “Then you can explain to your director how the Wardens missed out on capturing Stanton Howard.”
What color the man had in his pasty cheeks drained. “Stanton Howard?”
She grinned. “Prepared to bargain now?”
He cleared his throat, glaring at her as though she were a bug he’d dearly like to grind beneath his heel. “What do you want?”
There was only one person she could trust in all of London. “Lucas Grey,” she replied. “I want to talk to Lucas Grey.”
“You look like shite.”
Alastair Payne, Earl of Wolfred, wiped the dirt from his hands with the remains of an old shirt. Smears of oil and dirt stained the once pristine linen. He’d been working on the velocycle for a good three quarters of an hour before his oldest friend, Lucas Grey, showed up, and now the machine was in top condition.
“I’ve been back in the country for a fortnight and already you’re trying to woo me with your considerable charm.” A sardonic smile curved his lips. “Really, Luke. People will talk.”
Many men would bristle at the affront to their masculinity, but Luke merely chuckled. “What I lack in tact I have in an abundance of sincerity. Arden’s worried about you.”
It was a cheap shot and they both knew it. Alastair no longer considered himself in love with Arden, but she was still a dear friend. In fact, she and Luke were possibly his only true friends.
“I’m fine.”
“No pain?”
As though on cue, his left leg twinged—a bone-deep ache, though there was no longer any bone there to cause discomfort, just metal beneath the flesh. “None. Evie says I simply need to regain a stone or two and I’ll be right as rain.” He’d been putting his body through its paces in an attempt to regain the strength he’d lost after being left for dead in Spain. He would be strong again. Stronger.
“Good.” Luke’s pale gaze was sharp as it met his. “And mentally? Are you recovered there as well?”
Anyone else and Alastair would have told them to bugger off, but Luke was no stranger to the affects a life of intrigue and deceit could have on a man’s mind. “Better than I ought to be, I’m told.”
Luke frowned, dark brows pulling low over pale blue eyes. “According to whom?”
“Evie.” He tossed the soiled rag onto a nearby workbench. “She seems to think I’m afraid to admit how deeply the attack affected me.”
His friend regarded him for a moment, his sharp face as unreadable as a blank slate. “Are you?”
“No.” Alastair settled his hands on his hips. “This concern for my welfare is appreciated, believe me, but I’m getting a little tired of everyone thinking I’m headed for a cell in Bedlam. I’ve had people try to kill me before.”
Luke’s expression didn’t change. “This is the first time it was someone you fancied yourself in love with.”
“I didn’t love her,” he scoffed.
“Fine. You cared for her, and believed she cared about you, right up until the moment she led you into a trap that resulted in you being stabbed, crushed beneath a carriage and left for dead. I don’t understand how you can be all right with that either. I wouldn’t be.”
“You seemed fine enough when your former mistress tried to kill you,” Alastair shot back. It had been little more than a year since Rani Ogitani had revealed herself as a traitor and had almost gotten Luke and his wife, Arden, killed. At the time, Alastair had been in love with Arden, and part of him wouldn’t have minded comforting his friend’s widow. After all, they’d believed Luke to be dead for seven years before Rani’s confession.
Well, Alastair had believed him dead. Arden had never given up hope. Never stopped loving a man who really had no idea how lucky he was to have her. Luke knew now, though. The forced amnesia that had kept him from his wife hadn’t completely gone away, but Luke hadn’t needed his memories to fall in love with his wife once more.
“I never loved her, and she never pretended to love me.”
“I guess that makes you a better judge of character than I am.” He sounded like a peevish five-year-old.
Luke’s scowl deepened. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, you great ginger arse.”
“I told you, I’m
fine
. Are you too thick-headed to understand that?”
“You’re the one who’s mentally impaired if you think I believe that load of horse shite. You’re not fine, Alastair. No one in your situation would be fine.”
Alastair paused, on the verge of telling his oldest friend to go straight to hell with hopes of being buggered by the very devil. Luke was only concerned for his well-being, so why was he denying what the other man so clearly understood? What was he trying to prove by lying?
“You’re right,” he admitted. “I’m not fine, but I will be, and I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to discuss her or what she did—not until I can do so without blaming myself for being such a naive fool. That said, will you please leave it alone?”
Luke’s mouth tilted. “Not another word. Show me what you’ve done to this great hulking beast.” He gestured at Alastair’s custom-built velocycle, which could travel at great speeds and was equipped with concealed weapons.
Grateful for the change of topic, Alastair showed him the modifications he’d made. “I put a new engine in her. She’ll top fifty now.”
“Miles?” At his nod, Luke whistled. “I’ll have to get you to take a look at my machine. You’ve always been the more mechanically inclined of the two of us.”
Yes, for all the good it had done him. “Bring it over some afternoon. I’ll take a look.” He pointed out the other improvements he’d made—mostly cosmetic. Tinkering on the velocycle had kept his mind occupied, giving him something to think about other than the fact that he’d been made an arse of by a woman he’d entertained a future with. Though, when he first met Sascha, she’d simply been a substitute for the woman he couldn’t have—Arden. That only added salt to a raw wound—that he’d been completely taken in by a woman he’d seen only as a diversion.
A bell rang as Luke studied the velocycle. It was for the handset and mouthpiece that provided communication between the building that stored his engine-based vehicles and the main house. He grabbed the handset on the second bell.
His housekeeper’s voice filled his ear. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but there’s a young girl here who says she has a message for Lord Huntley’s ears alone.”
It had to be W.O.R. business. Only the Wardens of the Realm would send a verbal message. Notes were too easily found and read. Verbal messages could be turned into lies if the messenger was set-upon. Verbal messages could be taken to a person’s grave.
“Send the girl out, Mrs. Grue.”
“Of course, sir. Right away.”
Alastair hung up and turned to Luke, who stood beside the velocycle, watching him. “Something wrong?”
“There’s a messenger here for you.”
Luke frowned. “Warden?”
“I assume so. Are you on assignment?”
His friend shook his dark head. “I haven’t done any work for W.O.R. other than consulting on Company operative interrogations.”
“It must be important for them to track you down here.” They hadn’t bothered with him for the last week and a half, but he had no desire to seem petty, so he kept that to himself.
“It had best be.” Luke wore a dark expression that would make even Alastair think twice about engaging him.
A few moments later there came a knock upon the door. Alastair opened it to find a young girl of perhaps twelve standing at the threshold. “Lord Wolfred?” she inquired. “I’m Betsey Meekins. I’ve a message for Lord Huntley.”
Her no-nonsense, very adult tone made him smile. “Come in, Miss Meekins.” He stepped back so she might enter the building. She crossed the hold as regal as a queen and walked directly up to Luke, who was easily a full foot taller than she.
Betsey offered her hand, which Luke took, a vaguely amused expression replacing his scowl. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Meekins. What is the message?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Alastair. “They didn’t say anything about having an audience, my lord.”
“I assure you, Lord Wolfred is trustworthy, and can be privy to anything you wish to tell me.”
She shrugged as she turned back to him. “So long as you’ll take responsiblity for him. I’m to tell you that a Miss Danvers from America is in the infirmary and will speak only to you.”
Color leeched from Luke’s lean cheeks. “Danvers. Are you certain?”
The girl nodded. “I’m never uncertain, sir.”
Alastair would have chuckled at her youthful arrogance were it not for the expression on his friend’s face. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.
“Tell the acting director I’ll be there shortly.” Luke took a coin from his pocket and handed it to the girl. “Run along now. There’s a good girl.”
Betsey curtsied to them both and quickly took her leave. Alastair waited until the door had shut and she would be out of earshot before saying, “Now it’s my turn to ask whether you are fine.”
Luke chuckled, but there was little humor in it. “I don’t think so, my friend. Not at all. I’m off to the Wardens and you are coming with me.”
“Good lord, man. What the devil for?” Alastair could not remember Luke ever having asked him to accompany him anywhere.
“So you can plead my case to Arden when my past bites me on the arse.”
Understanding dawned. “So Miss Danvers…?” He raised his brow suggestively.
His friend rubbed a hand over his brow. “Is a Company agent. And my former lover.”
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