Heart of Brass (18 page)

An ugly thought took hold of her then. He’d been away for years. Had no concept of her existence for all that time. How many women had he been with while she clung to the hope that he was still alive?

While she’d been alone, untouched and unloved, how many lovers had flushed and shivered beneath his strong hands, or worse, evoked the same response in him?

She needed a drink, but another swallow might just as easily send her to a pit of melancholy as keep her from the edge. No, what she needed to do was focus on the present, and everything that was positive about it. The negative would wait—it would always be there.

The remainder of the journey was spent in silence. When they finally came to a stop, Alastair led Luke off the train. The door of this tunnel led into the cellar “dungeon” of the Wardens of the Realm. It wasn’t far from W.O.R. headquarters, but like the Director’s house, wasn’t part of the main compound. Less chance of prisoners escaping and killing agents—or stealing sensitive information.

The guards at the door snapped to attention when they saw Dhanya. Their eyes narrowed when they spied Luke, bound like a criminal.

“This man is a former W.O.R. agent,” Dhanya informed them in that no-nonsense tone of hers. “He is to be treated with care and respect until I say otherwise. He will be held in W-one-C-four.”

The guards nodded. “Yes, Director,” they chorused, and stood back while she inserted the key into the lock.

Arden had never been in this part of W.O.R. properties, but she’d heard the stories of subterranean cells that were medieval in nature. Obviously those stories had been exaggerated somewhat. There were Spartan cells, with large, external-clockwork locking mechanisms, but they were far from cruel.

They walked down a rough stone corridor to a wide set of wooden stairs. Each step was well worn, the middle sagging from years of use, but they were sturdy and barely groaned in protest as the four of them—one with a gregorite-plated skeleton—climbed to the top.

At the top, Dhanya inserted a key into a scarred and dull lock and turned it. She withdrew the key and inserted another, turning it as well. Finally, she slipped a punch card into the slot right above the lock. There followed a sound that was a cross between a slap and a groan as the specially designed keys inside found the proper punch sequence. A heavy thud, and then the punch card was spat out. Dhanya took the card—which looked none worse the wear for having been chewed—and turned the heavy iron handle.

They entered a corridor, the floor of which was covered by a worn red carpet. Here the walls were paneled and papered, both of which appeared to be at least a century old.

“It looks like the home of an impoverished noble,” Luke remarked as Alastair marched him along.

“Parliament sees no reason to waste tax monies on renovating what is essentially a prison,” Dhanya informed him. “Be glad there’s gaslight rather than candles.”

Arden thought to remind her that a body didn’t generally have to worry about candles exploding and taking the entire building with them, but kept her lips firmly shut. She also resolved not to think of this place as a potential grave for her husband.

They continued on until they were almost at the end of the corridor; then they stopped, and another guard soon joined them to unlock the iron door. It swung open, to reveal the chamber beyond.

Arden’s mouth dropped. She’d be jiggered. This was no ordinary cell. This was a bedroom worthy of a gentleman, even if from a previous era. The lamps on the walls filled it with warm light, illuminating the hand-painted wallpaper and four-poster bed. There was an armoire, a dresser with a washbasin, and a desk in the corner. The only thing missing was windows, and the air was slightly stale for their lack.

Luke was surprised as well. “It’s nicer than the rooms I let.” He stepped inside. “Do I get a valet?”

No one laughed at the joke, but he didn’t seem to mind. Alastair stepped in as well. “Turn around. I’ll unlock the shackles.”

Luke didn’t turn. Instead, he extended one arm out in front of him. The shackles hung from his hand. He had snapped them.

Arden’s lips twitched. “That’s a rather showy manner of making a point,” she commented. “We’re all aware that you came here of your own volition.”

Luke grinned. He could have broken free whenever he wanted. He could have injured any, if not all of them, but he hadn’t. The notion nursed the hope that lay tense and heavy in Arden’s chest.

Of course, he might be toying with them.

Alastair took the shackles. “Impressive,” he remarked before using his augmented hand to squeeze the restraints back into the proper shape. The locks would still need to be fixed, however—if that was at all possible. Arden almost rolled her eyes. The posturing had begun. Any moment one of them would start thumping his chest.

“I’d like a word with my husband,” she said, tone crisp. She’d been perfectly agreeable—mostly—with all of their demands and decisions, but this was one upon which she would not concede. “Alone, please.”

Alastair looked as though he might protest, but said nothing. Dhanya merely nodded. “Of course. We’ll be right outside the door.” Then she pulled a pistol from the small of her back—a warning to Luke.

Her husband was still smirking as the door shut, closing them in the clean but slightly stuffy room.

“Aren’t you afraid to be alone with me?” he asked.

“Should I be?”

“Yes, but perhaps not for the reason you think.”

She raised a brow. “Because you might ravish me rather than kill me? Trust me, my lord, when I say you might do well to be afraid yourself.”

He chuckled, a flash of heat brightening his eyes, but it faded to regret as quick as it had flared. “I wish I remembered more of you.”

“So do I.” She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “I won’t allow them to hurt you.”

Luke shrugged shoulders that were so much broader than she remembered. “Pain fades. I don’t think your director wants to hurt me. She wants what I know. I’m a genuine piece of Company ingenuity. She’d be a fool not to use me.”

It sounded so cold and devoid of caring, but it was practical and true.

“Tomorrow I’ll bring you some clothes and toiletries.”

He lowered his chin, regarding her with curious eyes. “You kept my things?”

“Of course.” Did that seem silly to him? Perhaps she was silly to reveal so much, but after seven years apart, what did she have to lose?

He lifted a hand to trail the back of a finger along her cheek. His touch was so desperately tender, so gentle her chest constricted at it.

“I cannot believe I was such a virtuous man as to deserve so true a wife.”

Arden caught at his hand. She pulled it away from her face but did not let go. “You weren’t,” she replied honestly. “But I loved you regardless.”

“You never gave up hope?” His brows drew together. “All those years and you never let go?”

She forced a smile. This situation was in desperate need of levity. And she was in need of a drink. “I believe tenacity to be a virtue, one which I possess in abundance.”

Strong fingers tightened around hers. “You must have wondered if I was dead.”

“Of course, but I never gave in to it.”

He stared at her—as though she was some queer creature he’d never seen before. The lines between his brows and around his eyes deepened. She wanted to kiss them smooth. In that moment, she knew he was no danger to her—not physically at any rate. “No wonder he’s in love with you.”

Arden opened her mouth to protest, perhaps defend Alastair, but her words were silenced when he wrapped his other arm around her back and yanked her against him. “Oh!” His chest was so warm and firm.

His head lowered, bringing his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm as well, demanding and cajoling. She opened hers to the spicy taste of him, the sweet intrusion of his tongue. Her fingers gripped his biceps, feeling the hardness beneath her fingers. He had always had a lovely physique, but not like this. She didn’t know what to make of it. She liked it, but it wasn’t the way she remembered him.

He
wasn’t the way she remembered, and that frightened her. It was also intriguing. The man she married never would have kissed her so roughly, with so little finesse. He would have used his lips to seduce her and slowly build up to tasting her.

She had to admit, she found this new and urgent method…
interesting
. She matched the strokes of his tongue with her own. When he pulled away, she stared up at him with eyes that didn’t quite focus.

“Something else to think about when I’m in the bath?” Her voice was thick, slightly slurred.

He didn’t smile, but his gaze was hot and bright. “Yes. Think of me. God knows I’ll be thinking of you.”

Her flush made a fool of her. “You don’t really remember me and yet you say such things.” But oh, she wanted him to tell her just what he might do to himself while thinking of her. And what he might do to her, in the privacy of his mind.

He pulled her close once more. “I remember enough, but I don’t need memories to want you, Arden.”

A shiver rippled through her, a little nip of disappointment underneath. She wanted him to remember her, to want her because she was his loyal wife, not just because she was a woman who didn’t fear him. “Yesterday you wanted to kill me.”

“I wanted to kiss you more.”

“That’s disturbing on so many levels.”

He chuckled and lowered his head in that way he always had the few times she’d seen him flustered or embarrassed. “I suppose it is.” A heartbeat passed before he looked up, serious again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She swallowed. His words resonated deep inside her. “I believe you.”

“Good. Now, you’d better go. Make certain Wolfred takes you home, and have the Withering woman assign guards to your house. If the Company comes looking for me, you’ll be the first place they look.”

She would not let him see how much that fact actually scared her. She was not a woman who allowed fear to rule her, and more often than not, bullied the emotion into bowing to her. “I will. Is there anything I can do for you?”

He caught a lock of hair that hung near her cheek and stroked it between his fingers. “Wait for me. Just a little while longer.”

This time there was no stopping it. A hot tear slipped down her cheek. God help her if he was a liar, because she’d been sucked in, and believed the words that seemed to drip from his lips as sweet and potent as honeyed cider. She could only nod, and force herself to move away. She needed to leave right now, or she would finally lose her mind. He did not try to stop her.

The door was heavy, but she pulled it open, and stepped out into the corridor where both Dhanya and Alastair waited.

“Are you all right?” Alastair demanded, spying her tears. “Did he do something to hurt you?”

She shook her head, and swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. She turned to the other woman. “Promise me you’ll do whatever’s necessary to fix him.”

Dhanya nodded. “You have my word.”

“Good.” But Arden would keep a close eye regardless, just in case Dhanya’s duty to the Crown exceeded the boundaries of friendship. With that promise to herself firmly in place, she directed her attention to Alastair.

“Take me home please, Alastair. I’m quite done in.”

Dhanya spoke up. “I’ll have one of my men drive you both home, and have your carriage returned to you as soon as possible, Wolfred.”

“Thank you,” Alastair replied, and offered Arden his arm. “Let’s get you home.”

Arden could have hugged him. “You’re a good friend.”

It might have been her imagination, but she thought he winced. Regardless, he made good on his promise and saw her safely home. Dhanya sent a couple of guards along behind them to keep watch over her house until late morning when others would take their place. They wore dull metal and black leather armor that blended into the night, but allowed them to move freely. It was quite effective against blade and bullet, and also augmented the wearer’s physical strength. Arden warned them about her own security androids so they could avoid an attack.

When she finally crawled into bed, her head was already beginning to ache. She took a powder and some water, and pulled the blankets up around her ears. Sleep came surprisingly quickly despite the excitement of the evening and the fact that she was indeed thinking of Luke.

But her thoughts weren’t sexual. All she could think of was how he’d looked at her when he realized she had waited for him in every sense of the word. She wondered if he would still look at her that way when he finally remembered that she was to blame for the Company abducting him in the first place.

Chapter 10

They were going to cut open his skull.

It was the morning of Luke’s second day in the luxurious cell, and he had naught to do but sit and wait for the guards to come for him.

Self-preservation told him to run. He even had a plan: When the guards came he would render them both unconscious and slip into the private rail tunnel below. There were all manner of escape routes down there, and other tunnels few people knew about. Somehow—conveniently—he knew about them, and he could use them to get to freedom. The W.O.R doctor had removed the device from his ear the day before, so he could make a run for it without worrying about the Company finding him that easily.

When they did find him, they’d most likely kill him. If he didn’t kill them first—and he would certainly try his damnedest to do just that. They had sent him to murder his own wife. They had turned him into what he was with that goal in mind. For years he’d been their…puppet, for lack of a better term.

That pissed him off. When he got out of this place he was going to make retribution a top priority. If he got out of there, that was. His other priority? His wife.

Christ, she was something. Equal parts wanton and priss. She could play the fine lady, but she didn’t mind getting dirty, was frigging brilliant and drank like a man. He found her fascinating, confounding and humbling.

She had remained true to him, if he was to believe her. That must be a thorn in Wolfred’s side. He’d seen the two of them together, and found it hard to believe that she hadn’t let herself be seduced. Rationally, he knew he’d have no grounds on which to fault her. The world had thought him dead, and he hadn’t known she existed. He’d certainly had lovers of his own.