Heart of Brass (17 page)

They hadn’t tied him up. That was the first thing Luke realized when he regained consciousness. The second was that the “crown” Arden had made for him was no longer on his head. He reached up to touch it and it was gone. Then he spied it sitting on a rough table some seven or eight feet away.

“You don’t need it,” came a new, slightly exotic voice. “There’s not a transmission in the world that can penetrate these walls.”

He turned his head toward the voice and noticed that he was in a cellar, sitting in a thronelike chair with a high back and sturdy armrests. No wonder they hadn’t restrained him; he was sitting in a Venom Chair. On the outer length of the leg supports ran a line of small needles. Similar needles were poised to snap into place over his neck and arms. If he made any sudden moves those needles would pierce his skin, and the pump attached to the back of the chair would flood the syringe tubes with venom extracted from the blue-whirled kraken off the southern coast of Australia.

It would kill him within a handful of heartbeats.

He’d best not make any sudden moves, then. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to his audience. Arden was there, trying not to look concerned, but he could tell from the way she kept running her fingernails beneath each other that she was nervous—for him. A foolish sentiment, but one that warmed the hollow space in his chest nevertheless.

Wolfred—yes, that was what he used to call the ginger-haired man, not Alastair—stood to Arden’s right, square jaw clenched. Bastard packed one hell of a punch. He would have to in order to have knocked him out as he had. Luke couldn’t blame them for taking precautions—every good agent did. They didn’t trust him any more than he trusted them, and yet something deep inside him had complete confidence in both of them, even though Wolfred was obviously in love with his wife.

The other woman seemed familiar. Her striking features appeared older than he thought they ought—indicating that it had been a long time since he’d last seen her. She wore a long robe of bright orange velvet, and her inky hair hung heavy around her shoulders. She was like some sort of exotic bird—of prey.

“The Director, I presume?” he asked, centering his attention on her.

She took a step forward, expressionless. “You presume correctly. Do you remember me, Lord Huntley?”

He stared at her, picturing her younger, softer. His brain protested with a dull ache, but he ignored it. He could see her, laughing at something Arden…no, something that he had said.

“Withering. You’re Duncan and Ashwina’s daughter. Does she still run the bakery?”

She paled, and he knew he had been right in mentioning her mother. It proved that at least he wasn’t pretending to have regained his memory. Unfortunately, it also could be interpreted as vaguely threatening. “Yes, she does.”

Luke didn’t miss the look the Director—he still hadn’t remembered her first name—shot Wolfred. His memory was no longer in question—but his loyalties were. If she asked which side he was on, he would say his own. Perhaps Arden’s as well, since he’d only allowed them to bring him here in order to protect her. She brought out the chivalry in him.

“Where have you been these past seven years, Lord Huntley?”

After years of knowing no other identity than the number the Company gave him, being referred to by another name felt wrong. Regardless that he’d had countless aliases during that time, he wasn’t playing a part right now, and these people knew things about him that he did not.

“In the employ of an organization called the Company,” he replied honestly. “One morning I woke up in Paris with no memory of anything before that day. The Company found me, told me I was one of theirs. I believed them because they seemed to know me.”

“I imagine they had completed extensive research,” the Director remarked, rather dispassionately, but there was a hard glint in her amber eyes. “Have you any idea how they managed to obliterate your memories?”

He shook his head. “No, though the Doctor often did something that required an injection of some sort. I recall it being painful. And when they first approached me I had a bandage on my scalp. They said I had been injured.”

His wife gasped. It was as soft as a whisper, but he heard it. She was so pale her skin had taken a slight bluish tint.

“You think they did something to my brain.”

Arden nodded. “There’s been much research into how the mind works recently. I’ve read papers on doctors performing surgeries that have completely altered criminal behavior. The same practice could be used on the area of the brain that masters memory.”

What she didn’t say hung heavily in the room. “I might never fully remember my life.”

Now she shook her head, her expression a mix of horror and determination. “We’ll need to do some tests, but Dr. Stone should be able to ascertain what’s been done.”

He’d waited so long to remember any detail of his past that he couldn’t bring himself to be distraught. He remembered her, or at least enough of her to inspire a visceral reaction. He wanted to hold her, smell the warm skin in the hollow of her neck. He did not, however, want to hurt her in any way. The great joke was that he would probably hurt her very deeply if he couldn’t remember their life together.

“Not exactly the homecoming you imagined, is it?” he asked her, forcing a slight smile.

“No.” To her credit, her eyes were dry and her shoulders straight. “But it is preferable to the alternative.”

Luke grinned. If the Company were the villains they appeared to be, then both he and Arden would be in severe danger, but at that moment he didn’t give a rat’s arse. Let the Company come. Let Miss Withering do what she would.

“You will be transferred to a W.O.R. facility,” the Director told him. “You will be examined and debriefed. Our doctor will see about getting that transmitter out of your head. You will give us everything you have on the Company.”

These were nonnegotiable terms, still Luke nodded his consent. “Fine.”

“How long are you going to keep him?” Arden asked. The anxiety in her tone inspired an ache in his chest, though the others appeared not to notice that she was the least bit upset.

“For as long as it takes,” he answered before Miss Withering could. “Until they are certain I am not a threat to you, or this country.”

The Director inclined her head. “Well said.”

Luke turned to Wolfred. “You will protect her, won’t you? If the Company sends someone else after her?”

His old friend nodded. “I will.”

Ignoring his wife’s protests, he directed his attention once more to the dark-haired woman. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

Whenever emotions threatened to have the best of her, Arden found peace and control in rationality. That was what she had to do when Lucas handed himself over to the W.O.R. without so much as a blink.

The entire time he was in that infernal chair her heart had been in her throat, her emotions flailing all over the place. And when Dhanya asked Alastair to shackle Luke’s hands behind his back in preparation for transport to the W.O.R.’s holding cells, hysteria threatened.

She was not going to be one of those women who came undone in front of witnesses. From a pocket sewn into her skirts she withdrew a delicate silver flask, and opened it with trembling fingers. She took a deep, quick drink before hiding it away once more. As she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth, her gaze locked with her husband’s. He was standing now—away from the execution chair—and his hands were behind his back.

Perhaps it was merely the echo of her own conscience, but it seemed disappointment clouded his pale eyes.

Arden lifted her chin. Being that he was the one who had been sent to kill her, she reckoned he had no right to look at her like that. If not for him her nerves wouldn’t need a little extra fortification. Alastair gripped Luke’s arm and pulled him toward an iron door on the back wall of the cellar. She rather fancied him all restrained and vulnerable. She might slap him if not for the fact that it would hurt her more than him. She might kiss him too—or anything else she wanted. But she would definitely begin with a slap. She smiled at the thought. Her husband responded with a raised eyebrow.

“I apologize for the chains, Lord Huntley,” Dhanya said as she unlocked the heavy door and pulled it open. The hinges screeched. “I’m sure you understand the necessity of them, however.”

“You’d be a fool not to take precautions, Director.” Luke glanced over his shoulder. “You should go home.”

Arden shot him a droll look. He hadn’t changed that much—still trying to protect his pride under the guise of sparing her seeing him lowered. “I’ll forgive you for suggesting that since you don’t remember me very well. I believe this is one of those ‘for worse’ situations I agreed to in front of God and all that.”

His lips tilted. “I wouldn’t want to stand between you and God. By all means, come along.”

He wasn’t mocking her, she realized, but teasing her. Odd. He didn’t press the matter either. At one time he would have commanded her to go home and she would have listened. Was this a change for the better? Or did he simply not care?

Regardless, she followed behind them, stepping into the darkened tunnel on the other side of the threshold. There was the sound of a hand crank being turned, a sputtering chug, and then small lamps on either wall flickered to life, filling the damp space with a warm glow.

“Ah, the Director’s private rail,” Luke remarked as they all gazed upon the small steam engine before them. It was clean and richly appointed, its black lacquer gleaming.

“Yes,” Dhanya replied, her expression one of surprise. Arden had to admit to being somewhat curious herself. Luke had never mentioned the private rail before. Very few people knew of it. It was one more secret he’d kept from her that she had been forced to discover on her own.

Just as she’d been forced to discover Rani Ogitani. She hadn’t known the woman had once been Luke’s lover until the two of them were sent on an assignment together shortly after he and Arden returned from their honeymoon. Luke hadn’t said a word. It had been Zoe who commented, saying that Arden was a more confident woman than she to allow her husband to go off with his exotic former mistress. And partner. They had often worked together for the Wardens.

She never admitted it to anyone, but Arden had spent the next fortnight wondering if her husband was sleeping with the gorgeous spy. When he returned home he told her nothing had happened, and she believed him. Two years later he told her he had to go off with Rani again. She tried not to worry about it, but then Rani was found injured and Luke wasn’t found at all.

It might be irrational, but Arden had blamed the other woman for Luke’s disappearance. She still did.

She turned her attention back to her husband. He glanced at Alastair, who still held his arm. “Not that I would have denied you the pleasure of knocking me out in the carriage, but it wasn’t necessary. I have a hazy recollection of this place. I’ve been here before.”

Alastair’s gray eyes narrowed. “You’re too kind.” But Arden thought she saw his lips twitch when Luke grinned. Her shoulders relaxed a little at the sight.

The four of them climbed into the main car. The rail was so secret, even Dhanya’s servants knew nothing of it. She drove the engine herself, and thanks to a boiler that kept a constant amount of steam circulating by recycling unvented steam back into water, the engine was prepped for travel at all times. All Dhanya had to do was throw a few switches and levers, and the metal beast roared to life.

Arden and the men sat in plush velvet seats behind Dhanya. To her surprise, Alastair did not sit between Luke and her, but rather put Luke in the middle. Her husband sat with his bound hands behind the seat back.

He turned toward her, effectively obliterating the rest of the world as their conveyance lurched forward, quickly picking up speed. There was nothing but him—sight, smell and warmth. Even her ears seemed deaf to everything but his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

She nodded, throat suddenly very tight. “You were right, this has to be done.” The words tasted like dirt even though they were true. Any other action might very well have led to a conviction of treason for both of them—if he hadn’t killed her first. Were these reminders of his mission the rational part of her brain talking, or the part of her that had gotten what it wished for—the return of her husband—and was now terrified by it?

“I would rather be back in your room,” he added, his voice dropping to such a degree that it slipped down her spine as a delicious shiver. “I would have liked to join you in the bath and give you something to really moan about.”

Oh dear God! Heat flooded her veins, rushed up her cheeks and tingled between her thighs. Her nipples were so hard her whiskey-addled mind thought they might have petrified after years of neglect. If it weren’t for Alastair—who had augmented hearing, she was mortified to remember—and Dhanya, she would ravish him here and now. It would be worth dying for if her trust in him proved misplaced.

Instinct demanded she trust him. Common sense, however, erred on the side of caution. Inebriation wished both would go to hell and let her feel a man inside her for the first time in seven years.
Her
man.

Against her better judgment, she raised her gaze to his. “That ought to give you something to think about later when you’re alone in your cell.”

His gaze brightened, the blue deepening in the lamplight. “I’m thinking about it now.”

“Good,” she retorted, cheeks hot. Her lips curved into a smile despite herself. “Perhaps I’ll think of it as well, when I take my bath tomorrow evening.”

She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard him make a growling noise low in his throat. They stared at each other, wrapped in a blanket of sexual awareness as bittersweet as it was arousing.

“Are we almost there?” Alastair demanded peevishly.

The spell was broken. Arden glanced away, uncertain whom she was more embarrassed for—herself or Alastair. Luke arched a brow, but didn’t say a word. Did he wonder if she and Alastair were lovers? He had to suspect there was something between them. She couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking she had been unfaithful. She reached over and put her hand on his thigh. When his gaze locked with hers, she shook her head, and squeezed his leg, feeling the hard muscle beneath her fingers. His expression told her he understood, and he gave a slow nod of his head, a smile tilting his mouth.