Heart of Brass (22 page)

“May I?” Arden asked. At the other woman’s nod, she took the vial, removed the stopper and sniffed. A flood of memories rushed at her, tightening her throat and burning her eyes. “Wexell’s Best,” she murmured, replacing the stopper before tears actually escaped.

Inspector Grant’s expression was one of terse hope. “Are you certain?”

Arden smiled sadly. “Yes. My father used it. I’d know the scent anywhere.” The thought of her father, on top of everything else, threatened to send her over the edge, but she mentally dug in her heels and forced all of her emotions into a far corner. They’d come for her later, but for now she was safe.

“Surely there can’t be that many men of the peerage with augmented arms who use that particular pomade?” Grant scribbled in his notebook.

“I dare say there will be a number more than you hope,” Arden advised. “It is a very popular brand—most ladies quite like the scent of it. Plus, it doesn’t make a man’s hair feel like grease.”

The inspector grimaced. “Never understood the stuff myself. If a man wore his hair short as is proper, there’d be no need to slick it all back.”

Arden and Mrs. Mac traded amused glances as he scribbled in his book once more.

“Inspector, where did you happen to find the body?” So much easier to refer to the deceased as a thing.

“Hyde Park. We’re fortunate the watchman who found her knew better than to make a fuss. Managed to keep all very discreet.”

“Hmm. You could narrow your search by concentrating on young or very charming gentlemen.” Arden stared at Cassandra Millingston’s dead face. Bless Mrs. MacNamara—she had pulled the sheet up once more so the grisly wound was covered. “He had to be winsome enough for these girls to go off with him. First to the factory and then to Hyde Park.”

He didn’t look up from his book, but kept writing. “Odd that he would kill so close to where he probably lives, isn’t it?”

Arden shrugged. “It might be the only place he could convince her to go. I’ll know more once I’ve seen through her eyes. Would you assist me, Mrs. Mac?”

With the larger woman’s assistance, Arden quickly outfitted both herself and the corpse with the Aetheric Remnant Oscillatory Transmutative Spectacles. She took a deep breath as she turned the key, then wished she hadn’t. The room reeked of death, and she was soon going to be unable to escape it.

It only took a moment for the device to begin showing her the last few minutes of Cassandra Millingston’s life. It was dark, but the moon and a nearby lamp made it possible for her to see the shady outlines of her surroundings. Lover’s Walk, that’s where she was. She was on the dark path famous for providing the proper concealment for romantic trysts.

From the lazy way she looked around—slowly and slightly unfocused—Arden realized Cassandra had been somewhat intoxicated. She hadn’t been fall-down drunk, but tipsy enough that going to the park with a man seemed like a good idea.

Stupid girl. Meeting a man in the dead of night was
never
a good idea, not when reputation was all a girl had to recommend her. Still, Arden couldn’t pass judgment. She’d had her own share of kisses—and sometimes a little more—in the dark.

She spun around—Cassandra that was—the world tilting and sliding around her. She had probably laughed out loud. Her hands waved about in the air. She was dancing.

Suddenly, she was pulled into the arms of a man. Her own arms wound around his neck. Arden saw a flash of his jaw—strong, clean shaven—and part of his ear. She couldn’t tell the color of his hair in darkness, but it didn’t appear to be black.

“Come on,” she snarled between clenched teeth, not caring that others could hear. “Show me his bloody face.”

But all she saw was the cravat pin—onyx in the shape of a horseshoe. It slipped slightly out of focus. Then, her hands braced against the man’s broad chest. She pushed, struggled, turned her head—probably to scream—and then…oh, God.

Cassandra Millingston had looked down. She had seen her killer’s hand in her chest. She must have felt him break her ribs. Had she felt her heart beat in his grasp just before he…?

It all went black. Arden ripped the spectacles from her head and tossed them at Mrs. Mac. She half ran, half stumbled to the sink in the corner before the sweets, tea and whiskey in her stomach came rushing up. She retched until there was nothing left, and when she was done, she turned the tap to wash it all away, and splashed some water on her cheeks.

She turned to face Mrs. Mac and Grant in humiliation. “Forgive me.”

“Here.” Grant shoved a brass and leather flask in her face. “Drink.”

She had her own, of course, but she didn’t feel like whiskey right now—it didn’t taste as good when it came back up—so she took the brandy he offered and swallowed a generous amount.

“What did you see?” Grant asked after she’d taken another drink and passed the flask back.

“Not his face,” she allowed with a ragged, bitter chuckle. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “His hair isn’t black, if that helps. He’s clean shaven. Tall, and well built.” Most of this they already knew. “And Mrs. Mac is right, he shoved his hand into her chest like she was no more substantial than pudding.” Oh, God. She’d never eat pudding again.

She heard the inspector writing it all down as Mrs. Mac patted her softly on the shoulder. When the scratch of pencil on paper stopped she hazarded a glance at Grant and said, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t see more.”

The gruff Scotland Yard agent looked surprised. “You saw what she did. I don’t expect I could ask much more than that from someone who wasn’t even there.”

Arden shook her head in frustration. “I should be able to build something more helpful. Perhaps if I go through my father’s catalog again I will find a solution—something that could prove more efficient and helpful.”

A kind and heavy hand came down on her shoulder. Grant stared into her eyes and gave her a firm smile. “My lady, you’ve already proved your worth to me. Do not diminish it by punishing yourself for things beyond your control. Only God was meant to see everything. To know everything.”

Normally she despised when people threw God into the conversation. God was no excuse for her own ineptitude, but this time she let it go. Unless she devised a way to know what a person heard before they were killed, it was doubtful she could have done any more.

She thought of Luke and the listening device the Company had put in his ear. Was it even possible to capture the sounds a person heard before their death? Perhaps if she could access the actual portion of the brain responsible for memory…Oh, the things she could do.

Had the Company inventors responsible for the thing in Luke’s head once thought the same thing? Of all they could achieve if only they had the proper bits and pieces? Was she really any better?

“So we’re looking for a young, fit gentleman of the upper classes with hair that isn’t black, but is pomaded, and hands that have been augmented.” Grant looked up from his writing. “That gives us a bit more to go on than just the cravat pin.”

Arden wouldn’t forget that pin—not even after she was dead would she forget it. She glanced at the dead girl. Her family would be beside themselves. London society would panic. There was very limited time to find this monster.

And as a lady invited to almost every societal function, Arden knew she was the only one who could do it.

She had better find him before he killed again.

Dhanya Withering hadn’t become Director of the W.O.R. by being sentimental or by being soft. Contrary to what many believed, it also wasn’t because she was supposedly the bastard of a Royal Duke either. She had risen through the ranks by being smart, by putting the welfare of the Empire ahead of her own, and by being a proper bitch when the circumstances demanded it. She had never given priority to her personal feelings.

Until now.

“Are you certain it’s wise to let him go?” Alastair asked. They were on the floor above the infirmary, watching Lucas Grey get his bandages changed through the glass.

“No,” Dhanya replied, her gaze focused on Grey. “But I’m going to do it regardless.”

Beside her, the tall man stiffened. Mentally, Dhanya braced herself. Was this going to turn into one of those unfortunate times when a peer reminded her of her low birth? Would he believe birth made any difference in this place, where she ruled? She was answerable only to the Prime Minister and Her Majesty. Only once had a peer gone over her head to the queen.

Dhanya had won, but it didn’t change the fact that most of these titled brats thought themselves above her. She had never gotten that feeling from Lord Wolfred, and she hoped he wouldn’t lower himself by doing it now.

“I am worried for Lady Huntley,” he informed her.

“Of course you are, as am I.” The only difference was, she wasn’t in love with Arden. Wolfred thought he concealed his feelings, but one only had to see him look at her once to know the truth.

“We do not know for certain that he will not try again to kill her, as much as I want to believe otherwise.”

His words spoke to her own fears, but she reminded herself that a part of the earl hoped that Huntley proved to be a traitor; then he might still have a chance to win the man’s widow.

“My instinct tells me he won’t hurt Arden, but that’s not the sole reason I’m letting him go. The Company’s first attempt to assassinate her failed, but that doesn’t mean they won’t send another.” She turned to him. “Lord Huntley is more than equipped to protect his wife.”

The slightest wince passed over Wolfred’s handsome features—for which Dhanya was sorry—but the man had to reconcile himself with reality and what was right. Arden’s life might depend upon it.

“I know you think you can protect her, my lord, but you cannot be with her twenty-four hours a day without drawing notice and causing a scandal. Her husband is our only option, even though he too is bound to be a target.”

“He won’t be able to protect her at all if he’s dead.”

“I do not believe Lord Huntley is all that easy to kill, though you are correct. If anyone knows how to kill him it is the Company. That is why I’m putting you in charge of making certain he is as safe as possible. The two of you are old friends; no one will think it odd to see you hovering around him as much as possible.”

“You expect me to put all my trust in him?”

Dhanya sighed. “With respect, Wolfred, I don’t believe for a moment that it’s Lord Huntley whom you do not trust. Tell me honestly, if one of those nurses caring for Grey right now tried to kill him, would you try to save him or let him die?”

A dull flush appeared high on his cheekbones. “I would save him.”

“Good.” She turned back to the window. “He’s given us extensive information about the Company, but I want you to question him as often as possible, see if he’s forgotten or seems to be concealing anything. Pay particular attention to anything relating to inventions. The Company seems to have outdone the W.O.R. when it comes to scientific innovation. I want to rectify that. Let Lady Huntley in on that as well. The woman has a brilliant mind for anything machine-related.”

“As you wish, Director.” There was no denying the coolness of his tone.

Dhanya paused, then lifted her head and turned her body toward his. “Am I asking too much of you, Lord Wolfred? Will it take too much effort for you to pull your head out of your own arse long enough to protect the man who has been your longtime friend, and the woman for whom you have long carried a torch? Because if you’re not up to the task of trying to keep both of them alive, I can always find someone else.”

Wolfred looked as though he could strangle her with a smile on his face. “I believe I can pull my head out of my arse long enough to do as you ask, madam.”

She sighed. “It’s not punishment, for God’s sake! I’m asking you to do this because you’re the only person I trust to do it besides myself and possibly Zoe. As I’ve said, you’ll raise the least amount of eyebrows, and you probably won’t arouse the Company’s suspicions. If you want to sulk or despise me for it, go ahead, but remember that I have no compunctions about letting you go if you cease to be of use to me.” Perhaps it was a tad bit harsh of her, but she needed to be certain—needed Wolfred to be certain—that personal feelings would not interfere.

He raked a hand through his thick hair. “I appreciate your trust, and I can honestly promise you that I will do everything in my power to protect both Lord and Lady Huntley.” There was real conviction in his voice this time, and that eased the weight on her shoulders.

It wasn’t fair of her to demand he keep his feelings out of the matter when it was her own friendship with Arden that made it so imperative to let Lucas Grey go home. His presence might bring even more danger down on Arden, but the conviction that he could dispose of any foe that came their way was ample justification. She was forced to trust a man who had spent the last seven years being mesmerized and God-knows-what-else by Britain’s greatest enemy.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“How long have you known?”

Dhanya’s head whipped up. “What’s that?”

He looked indignant. “How long have you known that I…have feelings for her?”

Poor thing. This was probably the closest he’d ever come to admitting those “feelings” to anyone, even himself. “A few months,” she lied. She’d known ever since she first saw them in the same room years ago. “Don’t worry; I’m sure no one else has noticed.” Another lie, because she was dead certain that if Lucas Grey was half the man she suspected him of being, he had already figured it out as well.

In fact, he had probably known it before he ever disappeared.

Lord Wolfred nodded. He seemed relieved. Poor bastard. She truly felt for him. He actually thought he could conceal his feelings. He was excellent at playing any part that was necessary in an assignment, but Arden Grey was his Achilles’ heel. She was Huntley’s as well.

Surely the two of them together could put jealousy aside to protect Arden. If they couldn’t, and anything happened to the one friend she had, Dhanya would personally kill them both.

Chapter 12