Heart of Brass (23 page)

He was going home.

The thought sat heavy in Luke’s stomach, as ominous and unsettling as a disturbed grave.

“You look as though you’re going to the gallows,” Alastair remarked as they drove through the bustling streets in his touring carriage. It was a slightly boxy vehicle, black lacquered, with brass pipes as big around as a man’s wrist coming up each side in sets of two, funneling the steam that made the beast capable of traveling at great speeds. It had a soft top that could fold down like an accordion, but was up today to protect Luke from view—of gossips and potential assassins.

“I’m going to a place where practically everyone knows more about me than I do. And I’m being taken there by a man who knows me better than any of them.”

Alastair smiled slightly. “I can see where that might be unsettling for someone accustomed to being in control and prepared for any eventuality.”

“Yes,” Luke replied drily. “I wager you can see it very clearly.”

His companion chuckled and silence fell between them for a few moments as Luke stared out at the city rolling by. It all looked familiar but strange at the same time—like images from a dream he couldn’t quite recall. It was annoying.

“Does she even know that I’m coming?”

“Not at all. Arden would have wanted to plan for your arrival, which means she would have alerted the servants. Even if she didn’t tell them what was going on, they’d talk. More important, they’d talk with other servants and tradesmen. Someone would have found out when you were expected. This way, there’s little chance of someone lying in wait for you.”

But of course there were no guarantees. “I’m not sure I like you calling my wife by her Christian name.”

Alastair kept his gaze on the street—a good thing given all the traffic. His face was devoid of expression. “She calls me by mine.”

“Don’t much care for that either.” He looked out again at the passing city.

“You had no problem with it seven years ago.”

Luke turned his head, maintaining his calm despite the emotions raging inside him. “Did I wonder if you were trying to shag her seven years ago?”

The carriage swerved to avoid hitting a dog barking in the street. Alastair’s knuckles were white on the steering bars. “Your wife’s fidelity has never been something you’ve had reason to question.”

There was no mistaking the affront in his tone. Luke didn’t care. “That wasn’t what I asked. Before I disappeared, was I aware of the fact that you, to put it politely, coveted my wife?”

A muscle in the other man’s jaw visibly clenched. “It wasn’t like that.”

Luke didn’t give him time to explain—it didn’t matter, did it? “Which begs the question, did you offer me up to the Company so I’d be one less obstacle between you and Arden?”

The vehicle swerved suddenly to the side, careening down a side street before jerking to a halt. Alastair whipped around to face him, and he brought his fist with him.

Luke’s head snapped back with the impact, but this time he did not pass out. He came back with a swing of his own. Alastair ducked, and Luke’s fist went right through the back wall of the carriage.

Alastair gaped at the hole as Luke pulled his scraped hand free. “You could have killed me, you bloody bastard!”

“If you touch Arden, I
will
kill you.” Damn, he was bleeding. He began to untie his cravat with his uninjured hand. He shouldn’t have reacted like that. He really could have killed the man, while Wolfred would have knocked him out at worst.

“I have no intention of touching Arden.” Alastair shoved him. “And you’re paying to have that fixed. You mad bastard.”

Luke wrapped his cravat around his bloody hand. “Send me the bill.”

“I will.” Alastair steered the carriage back into traffic toward Mayfair. “If you were so concerned about someone else making a bid for Arden’s affection, perhaps you shouldn’t have left her alone for seven years.”

“I’m fairly certain I didn’t intend to be gone that long,” Luke replied drily. He knotted the cravat. “Why did I leave? Was it an important assignment?”

His companion’s face tightened. “You never shared all the details with me. You were certain there was a Company spy amongst the Wardens. When you left, you said it was to follow a lead in Paris.”

“Did I find the traitor?”

“I don’t know. You were pretty closemouthed about the whole thing. Then we lost contact with you.” He shot Luke a glance. “That’s all I know. You made me promise not to speak of it, not even to Arden. I never have.”

That Wolfred didn’t break his promise said much about their former friendship—enough that Luke felt like a sack of shite.

“Arden says you looked for me.” He refused to feel guilty for trying to hit him regardless.

Alastair shrugged as they made a left turn onto another street. He pulled out to go around a slow-moving cart and slipped back into the lane, narrowly missing being struck by a pair of automaton horses pulling a fancy carriage. Luke raised a brow in admiration.

“You were my friend. Of course I looked. You would have done the same for me.”

“Would I?” He couldn’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth. When Alastair shot him a questioning glance, he continued. “I remember events, but I don’t remember what sort of person I was. Would I have honestly gone after you?”

His companion nodded, eyes on the road. “I’m certain of it.”

“Good.” Nice to know he hadn’t been a right proper bastard. “Child!”

The vehicle swerved again, Alastair cursing the air blue as he missed the boy, who had chased a clockwork doll into the street, by scant inches.

“This is why I prefer velocycles,” Luke informed him, grateful for Alastair’s quick reflexes. “They’re easier to maneuver.”

Alastair snorted, his expression dubious. “You like velocycles because they’re fast, reckless and entirely too dangerous. You always have.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I haven’t changed completely.” And it
was
oddly comforting to know the Company hadn’t managed to rob him completely of himself.

“Not completely, no.” His friend shot another glance his way. “But enough.”

A scowl pinched the skin between Luke’s brows. “Enough how?”

The touring carriage turned once more, this time into a long, gravel drive. Luke recognized the house not just as Arden’s, but as a place that meant a lot to him. Tiny snippets of memory raced across his mind, few of them making sense, but all of them in this house.

It was home, and he knew it in his bones.

Alastair cut the engine when they reached the house. Angling his body toward Luke, he snatched his hat from the seat between them. “Enough that I don’t know if we’re friends or enemies.”

“Not enemies,” Luke replied immediately, certain of the words. “Not sure about friends, but we’re not enemies.”

White teeth flashed in the other man’s tawny face. “Good enough. Now, shall we give your wife a surprise that will make her want to kill us both?”

Mrs. Bird fainted when she saw him. Arden could hardly blame her. She felt rather vaporish herself when Alastair and her husband walked through the front door. Although her reaction might have had a fair bit to do with the fact that he had removed his cravat, leaving much of his throat bare to her gaze. His neck had been a favorite place to bury her face and breathe in the clean, spicy scent of him. She’d kiss him there, dip her tongue in the salt-sweet hollow…

She swallowed. Ronald had caught Mrs. Bird before she hit the marble floor, thank God. But who was going to catch her when she fell down the rest of the staircase because her knees were too weak to support her? This was foolishness. He was only a man, after all.

But he was the finest man she’d ever seen—even finer than he’d been before—and a woman shouldn’t have to go so long without her man. She might try very hard to be a woman of rational and scientific mind, but she was still a woman, and she’d been raised to indulge all curiosities, to believe that no knowledge was bad knowledge.

Luke had been very happy to educate her when it came to sexual congress—filling in what the books left blank, giving practical experience to what had been simple theory before.

In short, her husband was arousal on legs, and though part of her thought herself silly for it, she wanted him oh-so-badly. And now he was home. Hers.

He couldn’t have come at a better time. She’d just returned from the home of Earl and Countess Farnsworth, where she had gone with Inspector Grant to ask the family and staff not to discuss Cassandra’s death. They’d done their best to appeal to the household’s sense of justice. Everyone seemed heartbroken over the tragedy, so hopefully their desire to see the killer caught would silence even the loosest of tongues. It had been very difficult to witness Farnsworth and his wife’s grief. She could only hope that they would behave as the Lynbourne household and keep silent. The less gossip, the less likely it was that the killer would flee.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, finally finding her voice as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It was as though she couldn’t talk and descend at the same time.

“I’ve come home,” he replied, directing a glance at Alastair. “We thought it best not to preannounce the fact.”

Yes, she understood. They hadn’t wanted to risk an assassin waiting for him. She should have anticipated such a move; then she wouldn’t be so off-kilter. She had thought she’d have time to prepare—and that Dhanya would keep him longer than a few days.

Her friend had kept her promise after all. Arden supposed she ought to be ashamed that she had expected otherwise, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

The poor servants. They looked as though they had seen a ghost. Dear Mrs. Bird was just beginning to come round. She felt for the poor woman, as she had grown up in this house the same as Luke. They had known each other for most of their lives.

Arden turned to them as a few more servants trickled in. They hadn’t expected this, of course, and so when one of the new maids spotted him through a window, she mentioned it to another woman who had been there longer. Word spread fast that Lord Wolfred had arrived with a dark-haired, blue-eyed man. Then, one of the footmen saw him, and chaos ensued.

“Everyone,” she said, venturing toward the assembled household, “Lord Huntley has returned.” It was overstating the obvious, of course, but some would need to hear it as much as she needed to say it. Saying it aloud, in front of witnesses, somehow made it real.

A loud cheer went up as they fell into line. Arden gestured for Luke to join her and took him through the procession, familiarizing him with old staff, and introducing him to new. They all gazed at him in wonder. Mrs. Bird burst into tears, and Luke actually embraced the slightly older woman, patting her affectionately on the back. “Hush now, Birdy. It’s all right.”

But the dear soul sobbed with renewed vigor when he referred to her by the pet name he’d used since he’d been a boy. He gazed helplessly over her head at Arden, who couldn’t help but smile. She could tell the affectionate name had simply popped into his head. It must be so frustrating to know so much yet not be able to recall it.

He looked fatigued. He had a small bandage on his forehead where Evie had operated, and underneath his eyes was smudged with blue. He was in desperate want of a shave—she’d have to hire a new valet for him. He had a fading bruise where Alastair had hit him, and a red mark over it that looked as if he had been struck again. She glanced down at the cravat wrapped around his hand, and could guess what happened.

“Alastair ducked, did he?” she inquired sweetly after they’d gone through the servants.

Luke glanced down at his hand before grinning sheepishly at her. “He’s going to send me the bill.”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. What was it about men that made them insist on reacting to almost any sort of situation with violence? “I don’t understand why the two of you take such pleasure in hitting each other.”

“Don’t you?” He arched a brow in a manner that told her not to be so obtuse. “I would think it obvious.”

Mortification flooded her cheeks. She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the servants and their sensitive ears. “Not because of me?”

His pale gaze roved over her with predatory interest. She shivered in response—which he acknowledged with a smug grin.
Men
. “History is filled with wars fought over beautiful women.”

“I’m not beautiful.” She’d spent her entire life being most comfortable and at peace with the fact.

“A woman so intelligent should not be so dim when it comes to her self-worth. Now say good-bye to Alastair so we can talk and I can familiarize myself with my home.”

She was halfway across the floor before she remembered how much she despised being ordered about. As much as she wanted some time alone with him, she was nervous about it as well—agitated. This did not mix well with indignation.

“Would you care to stay for tea, Alastair?” she asked sweetly.

Her friend looked over her head, and she didn’t have to turn to know whose gaze he sought. Traitor. She could just imagine Luke back there, shaking his head—and none too subtly either.

“Thank you, my dear, but I must be off. I shall leave the two of you to your happy reunion.”

Was she being overly sensitive, or did she detect a trace of irony in his tone? Regardless, she walked him to the door, Luke a few steps behind. Alastair kissed her hand and departed. She turned to find her husband watching her closely, a curious expression on his face.

“What?” she demanded. Most of the servants had dispersed now. Mrs. Bird had mentioned making certain Cook prepared “His Lordship’s favorite” for supper, as she dabbed at her eyes and smiled like she’d just seen the sun for the first time. Ronald went with her, his arm about her shoulders.

“I just realized that you really aren’t attracted to Wolfred.”

“I told you he was my friend,” she retorted sharply. “Nothing more. Perhaps now the two of you will stop treating me like some bone caught between two hungry dogs.”

He actually had the gall to look affronted. “I think both of us would agree we only want what’s best for you.”