Heart of Brass (26 page)

He could take her again now and they’d both like it, but while that might be what they both wanted, it wasn’t going to fix anything.

“I’ll never say no to shagging you,” he replied honestly. “But given that Birdy will come bustling in here any moment with tea, perhaps we should try something less…startling instead.”

She appeared charmingly indignant. “I didn’t mean I wanted to…not now!” She scowled at him. “You’re not irresistible, you know.”

“Only when I say those
things,
then?” He couldn’t help but smile at her. He’d smiled more at her in the last few days than he had smiled in the past seven years.

“I should never have told you that,” she replied haughtily, but there was a sparkle in her eye that softened her words.

“Is this what we were like before I left?” he asked, toying with a bolt on the workbench.

Arden stilled. Then, she went back to her helmet. “Of course. How else would we have been?”

“I don’t know.” What he did know was that Arden was lying to him. And he had no idea why.

But he was going to find out.

At what point should she cease to be a coward and stop lying to her husband? This thought plagued Arden long after she left her workshop, into the days that followed. Why did she not simply tell him that she wasn’t that same girl he’d married? It wasn’t as though he remembered. Wasn’t as though he had expectations. Did he? And what of her expectations? How could she articulate that she was afraid to talk of the past because they might never feel that way about each other again?

She had both loved and resented him back then. She’d been angry that she couldn’t have her own way, and enraged that the W.O.R. was more important to him than she was. And yet, she cherished every moment they had together before he rushed out to defend his country.

They had been together forty-eight hours, and he was still under the same roof. After seven years of being alone, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. She wanted to talk to him, spend time with him, but she was afraid of doing just that. What if they had nothing to talk about? Or worse, nothing that the other wanted to hear?

She had sent word to Henry that morning asking him to come visit. Alastair had called upon them earlier, and Luke had given him yet more information he had remembered to write down, but that was it. In fact, Luke seemed far more interested in what she was doing—her inventions, even the naughty ones, enthralled him. He’d never been all that interested before. Usually it annoyed her having someone under her feet while she worked, but he’d been pleasant company.

“You’re bloody brilliant,” he’d told her, and the awe in his voice humbled her. And last night, he’d come to her room and done things to her he’d never done before. The memory made her knees tremble.

She refused to think about who he might have done them to while she was there alone, wondering if her womanly bits might wither from inattention.

He was a man who could kill her with little effort—and who had killed with little thought—yet he treated her as though she was the extraordinary one. And when she told him about her work with Scotland Yard, she’d been prepared for him to insist that she give it up because he thought it dangerous, or beneath her. Instead he asked about the killings.

“That’s why you were in the alley that day,” he surmised now as they sat together in the parlor having a glass of whiskey. They were waiting for Henry to arrive. “You thought the whore was another victim.”

She nodded. She was becoming accustomed to the fact that his language was sometimes a little rough. So was hers. “But she wasn’t. Our bloke kills noble girls.” She thought of Cassandra Millingston, and the skill with which Grant—and she—had managed to keep her death quiet. Word had gotten out of the girl’s demise, of course, but society believed it to have been an accidental death rather than a murder. That wouldn’t last, of course. Eventually, her grief-stricken parents, or the servants, would say something to someone with a big mouth and word would leak out, but for now they had a little bit more time to look for the killer.

“You arranged this meeting with my brother to hasten my reintroduction to society, didn’t you? So you can hunt the bastard down.”

When he put it like that it sounded rather cold. Unfortunately it was fairly accurate. “And so Henry doesn’t find out from gossip, and because you are his brother and he loves you. And because I cannot stand keeping it from him.”

He arched a brow, and she scowled in return. “Yes, and because I want to get out into society and find the monster, and if you’re with me I know I won’t be in any danger.”

His gaze brightened. “You trust me with your life?”

“Of course.” And she meant it, despite common sense insisting she should not.

Luke’s lips curved in a slow smile. “You say these things and I want to bury myself inside you.”

How many times was he going to throw that careless remark back at her? She didn’t mind—not really. It was just that…she was new to this open sexuality. She’d been brought up a lady, and intercourse was something between a husband and wife, hardly discussed, and done only in the dark. Usually in one position. Luke had disabused her of that notion early in their marriage, but he was even more sensual now—demanding, even. And he made a wanton out of her. She wanted him with a ferocity she couldn’t remember possessing seven years ago. She was practically shameless with it. Next time he came skulking by her workshop she was going to make certain there was a clear bench.

He wasn’t the only one who had changed, but perhaps he didn’t feel as though she was quite the familiar stranger she thought him. Instead of clearing the confusion about their marriage cluttering her mind, sex had only thickened the fog. He didn’t seem the least bit unsettled at the notion of having a wife, though she was very much aware that she now had someone to answer to after years of independence.

“I admire and appreciate your loyalty,” he told her, suddenly serious as he took a sip from his glass. “And just so we’re on even ground, I would never allow anything to happen to you. I’d kill anyone who tried to harm you.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. They were so darkly possessive, and yet so incredibly lovely. For that moment she believed she was the most important thing in his world. Perhaps that would change as memories came back and he became more comfortable in what must seem like a new life, but for now, she would simply enjoy it, and not think about how soon it might end.

“I would do the same,” she informed him, honestly.

He looked very pleased with himself. “I believe you would. I thought you were going to use that electrical shock device of yours on the tailor this morning.”

She shrugged. “He kept poking you with pins.”

“He was nervous.”

“Nervous?” She snorted. “What’s he to be nervous of? He’s been doing that job for twenty-five years.”

“And I’m the first customer he’s ever had come back from the grave.”

“Then he should know better than to let it show.”

“Perhaps you think he should have had a stiff drink and pretend disinterest?”

Arden froze, like a fox when it first spies the hound. She wasn’t a fool, and no one could ever accuse her of not being self-aware. She’d have to be a top-notch idiot not to understand.

“Perhaps. If the stiff drink enabled him to do what had to be done.”

His expression was neutral—completely so. He must be one devil of a card player. “If he needs a drink to do his job, perhaps he should find another vocation.”

Her smile was brittle. “A valid point, but no one really cares if he drinks, because he is a man.” To make her point, or perhaps just for spite, she swallowed the remainder of whiskey in her glass in one go and rose from her chair to stamp toward the liquor cabinet.

“There’s no need to be defensive.”

“I’m not.” She slanted a glance at him as she set her glass on top of the cabinet’s polished top. She wanted another drink, but that would only make him right, wouldn’t it?

“You drink. A lot.”

“Are we really going to have this conversation with your brother due any moment?” she demanded, fingers gripping the cabinet ledge.

Suddenly he was there beside her, looming over her. “It would be better if you didn’t imbibe quite so much.”

“You know what would be better, Lucas?” Bitterness so thick she could taste it dripped from her tongue. “If you didn’t come back here after seven years of not knowing you had a wife and pretend to be someone who knows what’s best for me. If you had known that you wouldn’t have left in the first place.”

Now it was he who went perfectly still. “You’ve expressed disappointment several times, Arden, but you haven’t exactly told me what it was I did that pissed you off so badly you’ve held a grudge for seven years.”

There was a dangerous note in his voice, but she ignored it. He was right. She was pissed off, and there would be no going forward for them until they confronted the past. No matter that he couldn’t remember and she would dearly like to forget, it could not be ignored.

“You left me. You went off to do the bidding of your precious Director.” That had been Dhanya’s predecessor, of course.

“Alastair said I was on the trail of a traitor.”

Arden shrugged. “He would know better than I. You rarely discussed the W.O.R. with me.”

He frowned. “But you are a Warden.”

“Now I am. Back then I was merely the daughter of their chief inventor and the wife of their golden boy. I wasn’t one of them. I joined after you went missing. I naively thought I might be able to contribute something, do something that could bring you back.”

“You killed Victor Erlich,” he said roughly. “That’s what made them send me back.”

She chuckled—harshly. “I did something right after all.”

Warm hands came down heavily on her shoulders—a little too heavily. All he had to do was squeeze, and her bones would snap like dry tinder. For a second—and only one—she thought he might do just that.

Perhaps she didn’t trust him as much as she thought.

His eyes glittered—cold as diamonds with just a hint of blue. “Stop stalling, stop lying and tell me what I did to hurt you so damn badly.”

“I don’t want to tell you.” What a mess she was. Afraid he might not be that same man, and yet just as afraid that he was.

“Why not?”

Her gaze whipped to his. “Because I’m afraid if I tell you, you’ll stop looking at me like I’m the most important thing in your life.” It came rushing out in one breath, half hysterical, and oh so freeing.

Luke stared at her. He removed his hands from her shoulders, and stood there, arms at his sides. She didn’t need her sentimentometer to know that he was frustrated—it rolled off him in waves so thick it was practically tangible.

This was the point when he began to withdraw from her. She knew it. How could he not when she was obviously a bedlamite? Her emotions changed like the weather, as did her behavior. One moment she writhed against him like a snake and the next she pushed him away.

Her father used to do the same thing to her mother at times. She glanced down at the empty glass on the cabinet. Her mother blamed her father’s moods on drink. He had liked a whiskey now and again.

If she was honest with herself, he’d liked more than one.

“Luke, I—” Whatever she might have said was cut off by a knock on the door. Mrs. Bird stuck her head in.

“Beg your pardon, my lord and lady, but Lord Henry is here.”

Arden smoothed a hand over her skirts. “Have tea sent in, Mrs. Bird. And please see that we are not disturbed while Lord Henry is here.”

“Of course, my lady.” She directed a small smile at Luke as she closed the door.

“We’ll finish this discussion later,” he promised once they were alone again, a dangerous note in his voice. Arden knew there would be no avoiding it. Perhaps it would be a relief to get it all out. After all, he was the one who’d pointed out that they were both drastically changed people. If she was really a different woman than the girl he’d married, then she ought to prove it by behaving like the woman she wanted to be rather than a spoiled child stamping her feet because she hasn’t gotten her own way.

She met his gaze evenly, chin lifted. “All right.”

The door to the parlor opened and in walked Henry. Whatever he’d expected, his brother alive hadn’t been it. He turned white as death when he saw Luke, and approached him like a child approaching a large, possibly dangerous dog.

“Luke?”

Luke was the taller of the two, so he had to look down to meet his brother’s wide-eyed stare. “Hello, Henry.”

Later, all Arden could remember of the moment with any certainty was that Henry Grey threw the first punch.

Chapter 14

Had he known his brother meant to hit him, Luke would have spared the younger man the pain of such action. As it was, Henry’s howls were matched by Arden’s spaniel Beauregard to form one of the most god-awful rackets he’d ever heard. He’d heard victims of torture who hadn’t made such a fuss.

“You broke my damn hand!” his brother cried, cradling the appendage, which did look as though it was badly done in.

Luke tapped his finger against his forehead. “Gregorite plating.” Was he a complete arse for finding this situation a little amusing? The runt was lucky he hadn’t instinctively hit him back.

Henry stared at him, his face contorted in pain. “You don’t have any scars.”

“New procedure. Wouldn’t recommend it.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Arden watching him. He didn’t want her to know how painful the process had been—he had remembered some of it as well. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him as weak. Though perhaps a better way of making certain that didn’t happen would be to step up and resume the role of Lord Huntley.

But he was beginning to think Lord Huntley was a bit of a twat. Or rather, had been, especially if he’d been anything like this younger sibling.

Henry cast a glare at him before slumping into one of the wingback chairs. He had something of a sullen look, but then part of that was undoubtedly pain, and the realization that he had hurt himself far more than he could ever hurt Luke.