Heart of Brass (35 page)

“Arden.” Luke’s voice stopped her at the door.

She paused, made certain nothing of how she felt might show in her face, and turned as he limped toward her. “Yes?”

His reply was to cup the back of her head with one hand and pull her to him in a fierce kiss that more than made up for with passion what it lacked in finesse. When he lifted his head, he stared down at her with an amused tilt to his lips. She must look like a dumbstruck idiot, because that was exactly how she felt.

“What was that for?”

“To give you something to think about until I get home.” He released the back of her head, to run his palm down her arm. “I won’t be long.”

Arden forced a smile. That was what he’d always said, and it had almost always been a lie. “I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t forget this.” He pressed a square of linen into her hand. Inside it was the device from Ogitani’s ear. That was fast. It wasn’t as bloody as she expected, though there were smears of crimson on the cloth. She left him to his excitement and intrigue, and had one of the Warden drivers take her home, where she immediately went to her workshop and set about tinkering with the device, studying it, dismantling it and putting it back together. Work always kept her mind from tiresome, angst-ridden thoughts.

Tonight had felt like old times: Luke and Alastair working together on Warden business, filled with excitement about catching their villain of the day. She had spent so long waiting for the man she had loved to come home, and now it seemed that he might still be that man she…

She wasn’t certain that was the man she wanted after all.

Neither Luke nor Alastair wanted to remain while Dr. Stone examined the body. It seemed wrong and disrespectful to stay—not that Ogitani deserved their respect, the cold-hearted wretch. Still, it wasn’t right, and there was strong evidence to suggest the seductive woman had been under the Company’s control rather than operating under her own free will. That made her a pawn, and that was a little too close for comfort for Luke.

It also made it slightly less easy to despise her. What if she had been trying to stop them both when she said his name on the steps that night? But no, he had to be honest. She had tried to save him, but not Arden. She might have retained some sort of sentimentality where he was concerned, but she had been prepared to allow Arden to die, and for that he could never forgive her, no matter how much of a puppet she’d been.

Instead, they took the button with them—Alastair pocketed it, of course—and set out to visit the two tailors who worked exclusively for W.O.R. If the man Ogitani met was smart he’d take his jacket elsewhere to be repaired, if at all. But that would only succeed if he had extra buttons at home. The only places that had those particular buttons were the secretly sanctioned tailors who took care of everything from buttons to braces, drawers to disguises. A Warden’s clothes might look fine and ordinary, but there were a myriad of hidden pockets and places to conceal weapons and gadgets—tools of the trade. A “regular” tailor could not be trusted, so there were two men in all of London whom the Wardens relied upon, and they belonged to families who had shared this duty for decades.

The first was a Mr. Gabriel, whose shop was located near Bond Street. As they approached the door, Luke thought it looked vaguely familiar, as though he’d been here before.

“Not quite Poole’s and Company,” Alastair remarked as they approached, “but no one makes a concealed pocket quite like Gabriel.”

Poole was Lucas’s tailor. He had a shop on Saville Row. He knew this because Arden had the man come to the house. “Is this the man who made you that dark blue jacket with the dagger sheaths in the sleeves?”

“The same.” The red-haired man glanced at him in surprise. “You’re remembering.”

“Pieces. Mostly useless stuff.” Luke shrugged. It was insignificant. He couldn’t even work up much pleasure over the fact. “I wish I could remember more of my marriage.”

Alastair paused, his hand reaching for the doorknob. “Perhaps not remembering is a sign to concentrate on now and what’s to come rather than the past.”

Luke raised a brow. “Meaning I shouldn’t want to remember what a prick I was.”

“Exactly,” came the chuckled reply as the door swung open.

The shop was small but well organized. The worn floorboards were buffed to a high shine and there wasn’t a speck of dust on shelves that had seen obvious years of use. The air smelled of chalk and lemon, and vaguely of pipe tobacco.

“Lord Wolfred,” greeted the gray-haired man behind the counter. “Good day.”

Alastair doffed his hat. “A good day to you as well, Mr. Gabriel. Do you remember my friend Lord Huntley?”

“Of course. A pleasure to see you home once again, my lord. Are you gentlemen here for a fitting?”

“Information,” Alastair said with an engaging smile. It was all Luke could do not to show his amusement. The man looked positively friendly. But then, he imagined neither of them would ever be considered jovial by any stretch of the imagination.

They approached the counter. Luke glanced around them, carefully searching the shop for spies or suspicious devices. Unfortunately, it was too easy these days to conceal such apparatus, such as the lens of a small camera in a lapel, the body of the device then being sewn into the lining of the coat.

His hip and arms ached. The cut on his forearm stung and itched. He should have gone home with Arden. He missed her—not that he would admit it aloud. That was why he’d stayed behind. He was coming to depend too much on her. And she was very accustomed to getting what she wanted. It was true that she was bloody brilliant, but he had his own intelligence, and it was time he started using it, else they’d both end up like Rani Ogitani.

Plus, he craved a degree of independence. He couldn’t cling to her skirts forever, and it was his own fault that he’d started. He didn’t know this world—not as he ought. Not as well as it knew him. That put him at a disadvantage, and he hated that. It was time to start trusting his own judgment.

Wolfred set the button on the counter. “We found this, and came to you in hopes that the owner might have come in to have it replaced.”

Mr. Gabriel’s dark gaze moved between the two of them. Luke didn’t bother trying to be charming. He’d leave that to Alastair. He kept his own expression impassive, his gaze direct.

“You gentlemen know I cannot give out Warden-related information, not even to Wardens, without permission from the Director.”

Alastair sighed. “How long have we known each other, Gabriel? This is important. Very important.”

“I don’t doubt that it is, my lord. But you’ve known me long enough to know I don’t do anything without going through the proper channels. You come back with her permission, or have her contact me, elsewise I’m not going to tell you anything. My apologies.”

Luke frowned. “Not even if it means a traitor walks free?”

Gabriel didn’t even blink. “In that case, especially not. In those situations, my lord, it is best to do everything by the letter.”

“Fine.” Alastair took the button from the counter with manicured fingers. “We’ll be back with the Director’s permission.”

When they left the shop, they stood on the street for a moment, in the sunshine.

“Why didn’t we get permission in the first place?” Luke inquired, squinting at the gentlemen out shopping.

Alastair tossed him a quick glance as he lit a thin cigar. “I was hoping we’d have something before we involved her. She’s going to have her own idea of how this should be handled. Want one?”

Luke shook his head at the offered smoke. “And her way of doing things doesn’t always agree with yours, I wager.”

The other man grinned around the cigar as he tucked the silver case inside his breast pocket. “Not usually, no.”

“Are you going to meet with her?”

“Of course, and you’re coming with me. We have to talk to her about getting you reinstated.”

They began walking toward the carriage, Luke’s hands curled into loose fists at his sides. “I’m not sure I want to be a Warden again.”

Alastair came to a dead stop, wisps of smoke curling around his head. He yanked the cigar from his mouth. “What? You can’t not be a Warden. You wanted to be a Warden since you were a lad of ten. You told me so.”

“Did I?” Luke didn’t remember. “Being a Warden led to me losing seven years of my life. I’m not about to repledge my allegiance to an organization which didn’t bother looking for me—with the exception of you.”

“Fair enough.” Alastair crushed the cigar beneath his boot. “You’re going to concentrate on your marriage then.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Luke didn’t expect a response—it wasn’t necessary. He already knew what Alastair would do.

And that was why Luke didn’t trust him—not completely—because Alastair would take Arden over the W.O.R., too.

Chapter 18

“What if Wolfred’s the traitor?”

Arden placed her soldering iron in its holder and lifted her goggles so that they sat on top of her head. She felt guilty for not giving more time to Scotland Yard and had been working on a device that was something of a gamble, but might help find the man nicknamed the “Debutante Killer.” It was based in chemistry—something she had needed Evie’s help with—and was attuned to the scent of Wexell’s Best pomade. It was also a metal detector. If she could find a man wearing that pomade, and God help her, a horseshoe cravat pin that would be wonderful, but that wasn’t enough. She needed to find a man with those two traits who had also known both victims and had metal-enhanced hands. She was overly warm and grimy, and not in the sort of mood required to play a spy’s equivalent of a parlor game. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. It sounded as though you just accused your oldest—and only—friend of being a double agent.” She glanced up from the device—which she disguised as a fan.

He had the nerve to smile—the bugger—as he leaned indolently against the door frame of her workshop. He was wearing a pair of black trousers held up by matching braces and a white shirt open at the neck. His hair was damp and fell over his forehead, hiding most of the scars there. The little marks on his face had already begun to heal. Unfortunately the both of them were still a little stiff and sore from their adventure.

“He accused you of murder,” he reminded her. “You have to admit it’s a theory worth considering. He was the one who supposedly went looking for me but never found me. He was the first to arrive after the incident with the carriage. He knew where to find Ogitani, and yesterday he conveniently didn’t bother getting the proper permission to speak to anyone about the button you found.”

It
was
a theory worth considering. Were it not for the fact that she had known Alastair so long she might even do more than consider it, but the idea that he might have played a part in Luke’s disappearance…“No. It’s not him.”

Luke’s expression hardened. “If he came in here right now and told you that somehow I was behind it all, you’d believe that, wouldn’t you?”

She scowled at him. “Don’t be a jealous idiot. I would not believe it, and if you are so very concerned about my affections straying, why don’t you give me a good reason to keep them with you.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but his jealousy of Alastair was tiring, and she was still smarting over the fact that he hadn’t come home with her the day before.

Slowly, he straightened and came toward her. She felt a little like a gazelle eyeing an approaching lion, and didn’t know whether to run or simply accept her fate and offer up her throat.

His gaze held hers until he stood mere inches away. His hand reached out and curled around the back of her neck, pulling her closer. “You’re mine,” he told her. “I’d kill any man who tried to take you away.”

His words both terrified and thrilled her. “What of you?” Her haughty tone was ruined by a slight tremor, but she doggedly held his gaze. “Are you mine?”

“If you’ll have me, I am yours alone.”

Arden shivered. Her hands came up to press against his chest. The heat of him permeated the fine cotton of his shirt. “I’ll have you,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened, and his mouth came down on hers with a ferocity that stole her breath. His tongue slid between her eager lips to taste hers, and she devoured him in kind, pouring all the things she couldn’t quite say into the kiss.

She was falling in love with him. It wasn’t simply that she had never stopped loving him, despite all the heartache. She was coming to love the man he was. It didn’t matter that his memory was dodgy. He was good to her mother, and laughed at her jokes. He liked that she was smart and didn’t seem the least bit threatened by it. And he made her feel like she was the most desirable woman in all the world.

He turned her so that her back was against the workbench.

“The soldering iron!” she yelped, just as he was about to lift her up.

Luke peered around her at the bench. Their torsos pressed together as he reached over, disconnected the power to the heated device, and moved it out of the way.

“What is this?” he asked, picking up a prototype she’d finished the day before. It was an engine that strapped to the arm and had wires running down to rubberized pads that fit over the tips of the index, middle and ring fingers of the wearer.

Arden flushed a little. They had done such intimate things together, but talking about her inventions embarrassed her, even with him. “You put the tips on your fingers, and when the engine is engaged, the tips vibrate.”

“What’s it for?” He was all seductive mock ignorance.

“Massage,” she replied—lamely. “It helps cure headaches, stimulates the muscles.”

“What else does it stimulate?” He strapped the control box to his forearm and slid his fingers into the tips.

Arden swallowed, the interior of her mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Any part of the anatomy you wish to apply it to.”

“Interesting.” With his other arm he circled her waist and easily lifted her to the surface of the bench. His gaze held hers as his right hand slipped beneath the rust-colored skirts of her gown. One nudge was all it took to make her thighs fall open.