Heart of Brass (24 page)

Arden’s back straightened. “And I don’t think either one of you is the least bit equipped to know what that is. I have lived without you these past seven years. I have contributed to the Wardens. I have brought in an income of my own. I have assisted Scotland Yard, and
I
killed Victor Erlich—that is why you were sent to assassinate me, remember? So, I am very sorry, my lord, but for years I have lived by no other counsel but my own. I am not about to give my free will over to a man who has forgotten more about me than he knows.”

If she thought her bold words would silence or lower him, she was wrong. He stood there, staring down that sharp nose of his at her as his lips lifted in a lopsided smile. “Refresh my memory—have you always been so bossy?”

She folded her arms over her chest. The toe of her right boot tapped in irritation. “I am not bossy.”

“Yes you are.” He took another step closer, until she could see nothing in front of her but him. “You’re acting like a governess again, reprimanding me as though I were an incorrigible child, and I must say…I like it.”

Arden trembled—literally trembled like a nitwit—as his pale gaze burned a trail from her head to her toes and back again. “Had I known that when we married I would have ordered you about a long time ago.”

“So you weren’t this bossy back then?”

“No.” Perhaps a little, but she’d been a girl then.

“Good.” He gave her that lazy, lopsided grin again. “I’d hate to think I’d forgotten that as well. Shall we continue our tour?”

Arden took the arm he offered and set off on legs that wobbled beneath her, damn things. When had he become such a shameless flirt? He had always been charming, but this…this made her mouth dry and her heart pound like a debutante at her first ball.

“Where would you like to begin?” she asked as they crossed the great hall.

“Wherever you want to take me,” he replied, that amused lilt of his clinging to every word.

The bedroom. That was where she wanted to take him. Then she’d show him just how bossy she could be. Her cheeks heated at the thought.

“The library,” she said, ashamed at how hoarse the words came out. “Let’s start with the library.”

After luncheon—during which the entire staff seemed to appear just to watch Luke eat—Arden suggested they take a walk around the garden before continuing on with the house. She said it was so she could show him improvements to the grounds, but really she wanted to talk to him in private.

He looked tired, but he didn’t argue.

“When we return you should rest,” she told him as they stepped outside from the back terrace. The breeze carried the scent of lilacs and roses upon it. “You look exhausted.”

“Just a headache,” he replied a bit too lightly for it to be “just” anything. He touched the bandage on his forehead. “I suppose having someone digging in your brain will do that.”

She inclined her head in sympathy. “Dr. Stone says the Company used some sort of chemicals on you.”

Luke nodded, squinting against the watery afternoon sun. “She told me.”

They walked along the path away from the house. “I’m surprised Dhanya let you go,” she admitted. “I thought she’d hold on to you awhile yet.”

Hands behind his back, Luke seemed even taller as he walked beside her. Did the metal in him prevent him from slouching? “She might have, were she not so afraid of the Company’s retaliation.”

Frost breathed along Arden’s spine. “You mean they’ll come for you.”

He shot her a narrow glance, but she didn’t fool herself that it was because of the sun. “I believe she’s more concerned about them coming for you.”

Her heart stopped—just for a second. Just long enough to hurt. Long enough for her to almost give in to the fear. “You failed your mission. They’ll want us both now.”

“She let me come home so I could protect you.”

Arden kept her gaze fastened on him. “Did she tell you that?”

“No.” There was a touch of humorless laughter in his tone. “But I’m not stupid.”

That was the last thing she would call him—on most days at any rate. “Who’s going to protect you?”

Luke turned his head to favor her with a languid grin. “I suppose that would be you.”

He said it as though it was a joke, but Arden wasn’t stupid either, and she heard what he didn’t say—that Dhanya wasn’t so concerned about his safety. “I’m sure she believes you can protect yourself. She knows what you’re capable of.”

“No, she doesn’t.” He shrugged. “But she knows I’ll protect you, so it’s a start. They’re not going to execute me anytime soon.”

“Speaking of death,” she began rather lamely, wishing they didn’t have to speak of it at all. “We need to discuss your brother.”

“Harry?”

“Henry.”

“Right.” She knew from the set of his jaw that he would not forget his brother’s name again. “What of him?”

She sucked in a lungful of breath. There was no easy way to handle this. “I haven’t told him you’ve returned.”

“Because he might tell someone, or because you fear it may put him in danger?”

“Because he’s going to have you declared dead.” She was going to go to hell for being such an awful person, but she simply could not find it within herself to trust Henry, no matter what excuses Mr. Kirkpatrick made for him.

Luke looked confused, and slightly caustic. “Could that not be stopped by telling him I’m back?”

“Without you standing beside me he wouldn’t believe it. He’s thought you were dead right from the beginning.”

“Ah, now I’ve got it.” He actually smiled. “You kept it from him for spite.”

“That’s not it at all.” Perhaps it was, just a little. “He’s never believed me when I insisted you were still alive. If I said you had returned without giving proof, he would think I sought to postpone the proceedings.”

“Invite him for tea tomorrow.” It was a suggestion to her ears rather than an order. “He doesn’t deserve to hear it from gossips.”

“I’ll invite the solicitor as well.” When he gave her a questioning look she added, “Just in case Henry thinks you’re an actor I’ve hired, or a hallucination.”

“Surely he’ll know me when he sees me.” Incredulity hung on every word.

“He’s mourned you and moved on. That’s not easy to come back from.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “Then I suppose it’s lucky for me you didn’t mourn me.”

She smiled, but didn’t reply. Perhaps they were both lucky.

They turned around then, and walked back toward the house. The garden was lovely, but not terribly fascinating.

“I’d like to see where the automatons come up.”

Arden paused. “You remember them?”

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head—a lock of black hair fell over his forehead, stark against the white bandage. “I saw them one night I was here.”

It was said casually enough, but it still sent an unpleasant shudder down her spine. She’d almost forgotten how easily he’d gotten past her security and had entered her—their—home with the intent to kill her.

And now he didn’t have to sneak in at all.

She pushed the thought from her mind. He was no threat to her—at least not physically. “You see that statue of Pan? It’s standing on a movable platform. At night I enter the proper code on the surveillance apparatus control panel and the statue lifts slightly and moves out of the way to allow a patrol automaton to rise out of its holding cylinder. There’s another under a specially designed grass lid. The machines then follow their predetermined route, which changes from night to night.”

Luke nodded in approval. “So it’s impossible to watch the house one night and know the protocol. Smart.”

She preened a little under the praise. The randomness of the path had been one of her upgrades to the system. “Thank you, though now that you have shown me the weaknesses in the arrangement, I shall have to make improvements. Despite the system having been implemented while you were here, you were right that it shouldn’t have been so simple for you to get into the house.” She reached up to touch her chains but found only bare skin. She dropped her hand. “Perhaps steam vents that are triggered when an intruder gets too close to the house.”

“That’s definitely a deterrent.” His brow furrowed—an indicator that he was trying to remember. “Your father installed the automatons, did he not?”

“Yes.” She smiled at the memory. “As a wedding present. You asked him if he might not have come up with something a tad more extravagant. It took him a moment to realize you were joking.”

Beside her, her husband chuckled—that hadn’t changed. “That’s the only memory I have of him. How is your father?”

Arden swallowed against the tightness in her throat. She had known he would ask eventually. “He passed three years ago.”

The smile melted from his face. “Oh, Ardy. I’m so sorry.” When he held out his arms, she stepped into their surprisingly gentle embrace. He could have crumpled her like paper with his strength, and she wouldn’t care. Death was a small price to pay for something that felt this good. Her arms went around his waist, and she placed her forehead on his shoulder. So many emotions warred within her—anger that he hadn’t been there at the time, and sadness too. But she was also glad he hadn’t had to see it. And she was glad to have him here now.

It took a moment, but she managed to fight back the tears. She was already entirely too vulnerable to him, and she had to guard herself against his next question.

He asked it a moment later. “What of your mother?”

Yes, if she had already been crying this would have made it worse. Instead, she drew back, dug her nails into her palms and said, “She’s in the country.” That’s all she was prepared to divulge at that moment. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”

If he thought her change of subject odd he didn’t mention it.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” she said after leading him through the house to the main staircase. “Do you need a powder for your head?”

“No. I generally avoid the things.”

“Really?” She paused on the step and turned to face him. “You used to take one whenever you had an ache or pain. And you took one from Alastair the other night.”

That seemed to bother him. “The Company used massage and Chinese needle medicine for such things. Meditation as well. It was imperative to keep the mind clear at all times. Opiates are a last resort.”

“Fascinating.” She started up the stairs again, her brain already turning the information over and over. Could she use one of the small engines in her Personal Hysteria Dissolution Mechanism to create a device to massage the muscles in the neck and shoulders? At least that would be an invention she didn’t have to wrap in plain paper and personally deliver under the guise of a social call, like some of her others. Although it might not be as popular. A sanitorium in France had purchased five of the hysteria treatments from her a few months ago, and applauded the effectiveness of the device.

Still, she couldn’t shake the thought that her father would have wanted her to use her skill to create something more beneficial to the world. She told herself that women’s health was very important indeed. Just because she had a talent for invention didn’t mean she had to become the female equivalent of Mr. Tesla, or that Edison fellow.

Personally, after the last few hours she craved a drink more than she wanted to contribute to the scientific community. Or a bath. Perhaps a nap instead. Just a little time to think and be quiet. She had wanted her husband home—for so long—and now she had no idea what to do with him.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Thoughts of her little machines and paroxysms of pleasure had given her several ideas, but she was too much of a coward to implement any of them. Still, she’d spent so much time thinking about sexual intercourse she was beginning to think she was turning into a fourteen-year-old lad.

When they reached the top of the stairs, she led him down the corridor past her own room to the master suite. It was connected to her own through the shared bath. Her fingers trembled slightly as they curved around the ornate brass doorknob.

“Here you are,” she announced so brightly she winced. “I took the liberty of ordering some new toiletries for you, but we’ll inquire with the agency about a new valet. Roberts left five years ago to work for a baronet in Kent. Also, as I said before, we’ll need to schedule an appointment with your tailor. I presume there’s no way of collecting your belongings from that lodging house?”

“It would all be gone now,” Luke replied, gazing around the room. Arden had always liked this room. The walls were covered in a rich cream paper that looked as though it would feel like velvet to the touch, and trimmed in ebony. The furniture was simple, but of excellent quality—also made from ebony. Lightweight ivory curtains hung from the windows, but the centerpiece of the room was the large four-poster bed with its stark white pillows and quilt.

“Do you want me to show you where everything is? Or would you like to see how much you remember?”

“I’ll do it myself…Thank you.” His pale gaze held hers. “How did you get the staff to ready my room without out telling them I’d returned?”

“I didn’t have to tell them anything. The maids just did their regular cleaning of this room yesterday. It’s been done once a week, but now that you are back it will be done daily.”

He frowned, gaze roving around the room once more, as though taking in the sheer size of it. “You kept it ready for me?”

“Of course,” she replied. Why wouldn’t she? “I wanted it ready for when you returned.”

He wore an unreadable expression when he faced her. His lips were parted, his eyes fierce. When he moved toward her, all grace and strength, she didn’t know whether to run to him or
away
from him. Instead, she held her ground.

When he reached her she was caught up in a swift embrace that lacked both finesse and tenderness, but set her heart racing regardless. She fancied she could feel the metal in his grip. His fingers shoved into her hair, pulling at the roots, scattering pins. His other arm was around her back, holding her against him so tightly that, had she remembered how to breathe, she would have been robbed of all breath. Her hands braced against his chest, fingers curving into the fabric of his coat.