Heart of Brass (9 page)

Now that she had him, what should she do with him? He was extremely heavy—more than he ought to be, so there was no possible way she could haul him to her carriage, or anywhere else for that matter. Even if she could, it was bound to cause a sensation if they were seen.

What if Henry stumbled upon them? The cretin had already spoken to the family solicitors about having Lucas declared dead in absentia. If he saw his brother as he was now, he’d have him declared insane and hauled off to a private asylum, where they would drug Luke enough to quite possibly contain him, and that was if he were lucky. More than likely they’d declare him a traitor and execute him.

It was foolhardy of her, but she paused for a moment as she knelt over her husband’s prone body. He wouldn’t be unconscious for long, and she should use this time to physically restrain him, but it had been so long since she had had the pleasure of simply looking at his face.

In the misty light his skin had a gothic novel pallor, his hair an inky black. The lines fanning out from his eyes were more numerous than she remembered, but softened in slumber. Below his long nose his wide mouth was bracketed by faint half-moons so sharp and thin they seemed to have been cut by a wicked blade.

Her well-manicured nails dug into her palms as she curled her hands into fists. Which of the Company’s butchers was responsible for this? Who dared abuse Luke’s mind so thoroughly that they had obliterated all traces of her and their life together?

She’d make something special to torture them with in case their paths ever crossed.

Rising to her feet, she made her way to the fountain on legs that shook more than she would ever admit. He’d frightened her, her husband. The man who had never once lifted a hand to her, who would never dream of harming her, had come so very close to ending her in a most brutal fashion, and didn’t seem the least bit concerned about it.

All right, perhaps he’d worn a touch of remorse in his expression, but not much.

To her shame, scalding tears welled in her eyes as she sat down on the rough stone. How could he have forgotten her? Regardless of what the Company did to him, how could he not look at her and know her? She would never have forgotten him, no matter what they did. Was it because of how they’d parted just before he disappeared?

Her shoulders slumped. Forgetting her was the only excuse for not coming home, and the only way she could redeem him in her own eyes and those of the W.O.R. office. The total obliteration of his past would be the only thing to save him from certain death.

Her fingers trembled as she reached inside the low bodice of her gown and pulled a small device from between her breasts. It resembled a tiny, delicate tuning fork, but was so much more. She tapped the prongs against the side of the fountain and lifted the instrument to her mouth as it vibrated in her hand.

“Alastair, I’m in the maze, by the fountain. I need you. Quickly.” Then she wrapped her fingers around the prongs, forcing it to go still. Dear Alastair always came when she called. Tonight he was wearing one of the earpieces that went with this particular invention. The auditory amplification fork vibrated at a particular frequency matched by the earpieces, easily carrying the words of the person holding the fork to the person, or persons, with the proper receptors in their ear.

Arden tucked the device into her bodice once more. Then, something made her go completely still—an extra sense, perhaps, or a disturbance in the Aether. Regardless, she raised her head determined not to reveal that her heart now beat furiously in her throat. Lucas was no longer prone on the ground, but standing a few feet away. He wasn’t terribly steady on his feet, but the fact that he was up brought a string of curses falling silent from her lips.
Hurry, Alastair
.

She met her husband’s glittering gaze and rose slowly to her feet. Did he want to kill her or kiss her? And why did he just stand there? He had been sent to kill her and could have had the job done twice by now, especially since she hadn’t been aware of his return to consciousness. He shouldn’t have recovered so quickly. Death was far less disturbing than that damn smile on his face. And people said her smile could look mad.

She arched a brow at him as she folded her arms across her chest. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, sir, it won’t work.”

“No,” he replied, the word taking the smirk from his lips but not his eyes—nor his tone—“You don’t seem the least bit frightened to find me awake and standing here.”

“I’m not.” This was why her father made the sentimentometer, because she could lie as naturally as breathing.

“You should be.” He took a step closer, shearing the distance between them by more than a full foot. Arden stiffened, but didn’t flinch. She refused to retreat from him and held her ground even as some small part inside her shrank back. It was the part of her that realized Luke was no longer the man she knew, but a man who had every intention of killing her.

Still, she would not give up hope. After seven years of having nothing but, she would not forsake it now.

Suddenly, his head whipped to the side, eyes narrowing before turning his attention to her once again. “Did you call in reinforcements, my lady?”

Alastair. She could hear his approach as well, God love him.

“Yes,” she replied, amazed at just how firm her voice sounded. “Did you believe I’d simply wait for you to wake up and allow you to take another crack at killing me? You had better have your head examined by your physician as soon as possible if so.”

He chuckled. “You sound just like a governess I once had.” Then he frowned and blinked.

A memory! Arden’s heart leaped in joy, despite the comparison that once annoyed her to no end. “Do I?” Rustling leaves heralded Alastair’s imminent arrival. Just a few more moments and then they’d have Luke in custody and could set to work fixing what the Company had done to him.

“Yes,” he said, closing the distance between them. “You do.”

Before she could speak, or even breathe, Arden was hauled against him by a rough hand on her back. He was solid and warm, more muscled than she remembered. Her heart leaped into her throat, but she refused to let fear or any other emotion get the better of her.

His kiss was exactly as she remembered. All doubt vanished as his lips moved against hers in a manner she could only—gleefully—describe as possessive. She would have wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss with all the longing she’d locked up inside these long, lonely years if he hadn’t released her as abruptly as he had grabbed her.

He grinned. “You don’t kiss like her, though. Next time I’d like to explore that a little bit further.” And then he took off at a dead run that would have made the most spirited of horses envious and leaped over the hedge, disappearing into the night.

No sooner had he vanished than Alastair ran into the clearing, chest heaving. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. My attacker fled when he heard your approach.”

“Where is he?” he demanded, ginger-brown hair whipping about his face as his gray eyes glanced around.

“Gone,” she replied, sinking down onto one of the stone benches. She pointed in the direction he’d run. “Don’t worry, though, he’ll come for me again.”

“How do you know?”

He was her husband, that’s how she knew. She knew him better than anyone—or rather she
had
.

Instead of saying just that, she touched her fingers to her lower lip, still warm and slightly moist from the kiss. “We have unfinished business, he and I.”

In the waning hours before dawn, Five found himself in a pew in the back of a small church constructed of aged stone in varying—but otherwise unimpressive—shades of beige located within the area of the metropolis known as Square Mile—the original city of London.

It was dark inside the church, but the dark didn’t bother him as it did most people. When shadows were so thick he could almost touch and taste them—that was when he felt the most at ease. So he didn’t mind sitting there alone, though the church interior smelled of burnt candle wax and furniture polish, and he could hear rats scurrying in the corners.

The rats didn’t seem to mind him either—a half-feral creature still a little twitchy from whatever Arden Grey had used to incapacitate him.

He had underestimated her—a mistake he would not make again. He was merely fortunate she hadn’t decided to put a bullet in him while he was out. Although a bullet would have a hard time making it through his internal armor to pierce anything vital.

Absently, he rubbed his tingling fingers over the back of his other hand, feeling the metal-plated bones beneath. That was what the Company had done for him. Done
to
him. He frowned.

Familiar static crackled in his head. “
Status Report.”

Five sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Was it too much to ask for a moment’s peace? He just needed to think, damn it. “It’s not done.”

A beat of silence. “
That is unacceptable.”

Instead of apologizing, or trying to explain, he chose another tactic. “She knows me. How?”

“She’s W.O.R. She’s probably seen your file.”

That could be, but it didn’t feel right. “I feel like I know her.”

“Impossible.”

Inexplicable anger rose within him. “You’re lying.”

“You forget yourself.”

Five laughed humorlessly, slightly mad. Fortunately there was no one else there to witness it. “I have forgotten myself for many years.”

“Do the job.”

Five didn’t reply. He had a mission—one that he had believed in until now. Perhaps the woman was toying with him, using what she knew against him, but that didn’t explain the man whose face had been so much like his. There were things going on that the Company didn’t know.

Or didn’t want him to find out.

“Five?”

“She got the best of me with some sort of weapon. Next time I will not fail.”

“See that you don’t.”

The static gave way to the telltale click before he could tell the bastard to go shag himself.

He slumped in the pew, and leaned back against the hard wood, closing his eyes. He would kill Arden Grey, but he was going to get a few questions answered first. She knew who he was, and that put him at a disadvantage.

Her face was so clear in his mind, flawless and sad. Why did she seem so sad when she looked at him? Fear and anger he could understand, but not such sadness. The memory of her tears brought a viselike tightness to his throat.

Tears? His eyes snapped open. She hadn’t cried tonight. She hadn’t been wearing a peach gown either, but he could see her so clearly in his mind, tears trickling down her cheeks as she stood before him in a soft peach gown. She looked younger as well.

A memory. He did know her, or at least he had at one time. Turning his mind to trying to figure out how was pointless. He’d lost the moment, and trying to force it only made his head hurt.

Still, it was something. He would make the woman explain it to him the next time he came for her. She would tell him the truth before he took her life.

“You’re certain it was Huntley?”

Arden snatched the tumbler of whiskey from Alastair’s hand. They were at her house, in the library. “Now that I think about it, no. In fact, I’m quite certain it was Disraeli.”

He grimaced at her sarcasm. “It’s been seven years, Arden.”

She downed the contents of her glass in one swallow. Oh, that lovely burn. It tasted like more. “You think I don’t remember my husband’s face? His voice? It was him, Alastair. Quite frankly I would expect you to be a bit happier at the news.”

It was a low blow and she knew it. She knew how Alastair felt about her, though neither of them had spoken of it. In truth, she’d been too much of a coward. His friendship meant too much to her to risk losing it, so she pretended not to notice how he looked at her, pretended not to understand the things he sometimes said.

Now he looked at her with so many mixed emotions in his gray eyes she had to turn her head. “If Huntley is alive, Arden, there is no one who will be happier than me, save you.” He spoke with such conviction that she knew he truly meant it. Alastair was one of those rare people who really possessed a noble and honorable heart.

A better woman would have handed him her own heart years ago, but Arden had never quite managed it. He deserved one without prior claim, one free to be given wholly.

“It was him,” she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. Shamefully, tears blurred her vision. “Oh, Alastair. It was Luke, and he tried to kill me.” Her voice broke on a sob as she turned away, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as hot wetness poured down her cheeks.

Damn and blast. She wasn’t one of those women who cried all the bloody time. Were the situation reversed she doubted Luke would stand here bawling over her. Yet there was no denying her emotions. She’d dare Queen Victoria herself to remain stoic after facing death at the hands of the man she’d pledged her life and heart to.

Although Prince Albert was more machine than man now, so perhaps her majesty could relate entirely.

Warm fingers took the glass from her other hand. There was a soft thud as it was set aside, and then strong arms encircled her. Like a child she crumpled against the solid wall of his chest, grasping at his lapels as though they were the last vestiges of her pride.

He smelled like bay rum and male, with a sweet hint of pipe tobacco. Inexplicably, the feel of his hands on her back made it seem as though it was going to be all right. If she raised her head she knew he would kiss her. She also knew that kiss would provide ample distraction, give her something to lose herself in, but ultimately would do nothing more than hurt one of her dearest friends and make a mockery of her wedding vows.

And her husband trying to choke her to death hadn’t?

Sniffing, Arden pulled away, smoothing her hands over the marks her fingers had left in the lapels of his jacket. “Forgive me,” she murmured, voice a horrid nasal thrum.