Heart of Brass (36 page)

She should be embarrassed. A lady would be. The kind of woman his mother had wanted him to marry never would have dreamed of inventing such a scandalous device, let alone using one.

The engine hummed to life. Goosebumps slid down Arden’s arms. Her nipples tightened. She jumped when he touched her. It was the lightest stroke—a teasing vibration along the cleft of her sex.

“Is it stimulating?” he asked, voice little more than a rumble.

“Yes,” she whispered, hoarse. To hell with being a lady. If he’d wanted a lady he would have bloody well married one. She spread her thighs wider to give him better access.

Luke took the hint. Smiling that crooked smile he brought his second finger to her dampness as well, gently rubbing the opening of her body as his first finger eased between the lips to tease the bud of flesh that tightened eagerly. She moaned.

“I love watching your face when you’re aroused,” he told her, a delicious roughness to his low voice. “Your eyes are like warm whiskey.” He wiggled his finger and she gasped in delight.

His other hand braced against the small of her back, holding her in place as she squirmed beneath his ministrations. He didn’t kiss her, didn’t touch any other part of her body. He just kept his attention locked on her face as his skilled fingers and the magic of the machine built a delicious tension between her legs. It was so incredibly intimate, even though they were fully clothed. She stared into his eyes as her breathing quickened. Her fingers dug into the edge of the bench, allowing her to arch her hips upward to grant him better access.

She matched the rhythm of his touch, pushing against his fingers. The ache grew and spread. She could feel it coiling inside her, urging her to move faster, open wider.

“Come for me,” he commanded roughly. “I want to feel you hot and wet on my hand.”

That was all she needed to push her over the edge. Her head fell back and she came in a great rippling spasm that tore a long, loud cry from her throat. Luke gave her one more stroke that made her shudder before removing his hand from beneath her skirts.

The low hum of the engine died, and he began unbuckling the straps that held the device to his arm. “That worked well.”

She chuckled, sated and limp. “You were right. I am brilliant.”

Luke laughed as well. “Was that good enough for me to keep your affections from straying?”

“Almost,” she replied, reaching for the buttons of his trousers. He was hard beneath her fingers. “I think I still need a little convincing.”

A moment later he slid completely inside her. She felt her body stretch and wrap around him, instinct demanding that she take him fully.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered against her lips as he withdrew and slowly filled her again.

“I’m yours,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Always and forever, I’m yours.”

His mouth silenced hers, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight as he quickened his thrusts. They came together in a mix of heat and swallowed moans, and as they collapsed against each other, Arden was fully, and happily, convinced.

“Thank you for coming with me.” Arden stirred sugar into her cup of coffee. Too bad she hadn’t brought any whiskey with her—she could Irish it up a bit.

Odd, that was the first thought of drink she’d had in a while.

“I could hardly allow you to come alone,” Luke replied, taking a sip from his cup.

Arden’s spine stiffened. They were at the coffeehouse to spy on two suspects in the debutante case; Fredrick Fitzhugh and Maurice Willet. She’d already ruled Willet out, as he was almost as pale as an albino, and the killer was not fair. “If you could not have come, would you have forbidden me to do my job?”

Her husband paused before slowly lowering his cup to its saucer. “I would have asked you to postpone until I could accompany you.”

“Why?” Her spoon hit the delicate china sharply. “Because now that you’ve returned I cannot possibly be equipped to perform the tasks I’ve successfully done without your assistance these last few years?”

His brows rose ever so slightly, but his expression was carefully blank. “No, because I would worry about you investigating on your own.”

“I used to worry about you as well, but you always considered having me along on an assignment more of a hindrance than help. I’m every bit as good at my job as you were.” Where was all this anger coming from? It bubbled deep inside her, frothing toward the surface, threatening to spill all over the table.

“I would never suggest otherwise.”

“No one’s ever captured me and turned me against my country.” As the peevish words spilled out of her mouth, she couldn’t look at him. She watched Fitzhugh instead. His build fit what she had seen through the dead girls’ eyes, and he bore faint scars on his left hand from where it had been crushed in a riding accident. The killer had both hands augmented, didn’t he? She’d only seen him use one, and then slide the other into the girl’s chest. Had it been his left or right…?

“You’re angry at me for being nabbed?”

Her gaze went to her husband, unflinching. Anger made it easy to look him in the eye. “If you hadn’t run off after some secret assignment—traitor or not—we could have had these last seven years together.”

“I didn’t get caught on purpose, Arden.”

“You knew the risks.”

“As did you. You still do. Did you ask me not to go?”

Her jaw tightened. She was beginning to get a headache. “No. It wouldn’t have done any good. You would have patronized me and told me not to worry, that you had a duty to the Crown. And now you’ll forbid me from doing the same. You want me to give up my work, don’t you?”

Luke watched her as though he thought her a mad woman. “I have no intention—”

“Don’t lie to me, Luke,” she sneered. “I know you.”

His face hardened like stone. Arden found herself staring into the eyes of Five. “You don’t know
me
at all, and you’ve shown no interest in rectifying that.”

Arden opened her mouth to defend herself, but nothing came out. He was right. She didn’t know him—she only knew the things that weren’t as they used to be.

But Luke wasn’t done. “You are angry at me for things I have little memory of, that I cannot change. We can’t have a future if you can’t let go of the past.”

“I do not dwell on the past.” Lord, she was sputtering like an overly full teapot.

He gave her an exasperated—and slightly amused—look. “You waited seven years for a man who no longer exists. You put your life on hold. I know you think you’ve done so much, but you haven’t. You spend all your time trying to prove yourself to me, to your father, to the W.O.R. You make machines so your mother can hold on to her past, you were jealous of a woman who might have mattered to me almost a decade ago. All your friends are from your past—or mine. Everything you do is linked to something in the past, with the possible exception of your female gadgets. Even your involvement with the Wardens is because you couldn’t let go of me.”

Arden ground her teeth. Her molars might crack, but she would not give into a fit of girlish tears. “Perhaps I should have let go.”

“You should have, but I’m glad you didn’t.” He reached across the table and offered his hand. “Let the man you married go. The one with you now will never leave you or make you feel second in any way.”

She stared at his open hand. He had a tiny scar on the pad of his index finger. He could crush every bone she had with those five digits. Taking it would mean giving him her trust, her heart—perhaps even her soul.

But he offered his in return. He was a lot braver than she was, she realized. Then again, he had little past to cling to. Today and tomorrow were all he had. They could make new memories, a new past, together. It might not work, but what had she spent all those years waiting and hoping for if not this?

Arden placed her hand in his, heart in her throat as their fingers entwined. Their gazes locked over the table. Luke smiled at her—confident, gentle, possessive. He wanted her—not the girl she’d been, but the sharp and prickly woman she’d become. She loved him for it.

She squeezed his fingers tight. And then, she let go.

When Hannah called later that day, Arden was frowning over the newspaper. Someone had told the press that there was a murderer targeting aristocratic young ladies, and the front page was ablaze with the kind of journalism that was certain to cause a panic amongst the upper classes.

She’d known it wouldn’t be long. They had been fortunate that it stayed as quiet as it had, but she had foolishly clung to the hope that they would find him before the vultures got their claws into the story. Even when confronted with fearmongering in black and white, she still hoped they might find him before he fled the city along with his potential victims.

There was a party the next night that she and Luke had been invited to. She would make certain she studied all the men in attendance, especially Frederick Fitzhugh. They had to go. Luke wanted to avoid crowds because that would make it easier for their would-be assassin, but he understood the sense of duty and obligation she had where this monster was concerned.

Their rather heated discussion in the coffeehouse the day before had been such an awakening for her.

“Can I say how delightful it is to see you wearing color?”

Arden looked up, and brightened at the sight of her friend. It seemed an age since they last spoke. “Hannah! What a lovely surprise. Come in. Would you like coffee?”

“I would indeed.” The brunette pulled the pin from her wide-brimmed hat and swept it from her head. “How are you, dearest? I tried to call the morning after your horrible accident, but Mrs. Bird was quite adamant that you were not at home. There’s no lasting damage, is there? You’re not in pain?”

“A little bruised, but that and the stiffness are passing. Come, don’t just stand there, sit with me.”

Hannah started toward the table. “Where is your husband? If I were you I wouldn’t let him out of my sight.”

“He’s not far,” Arden replied with a smile as she poured a cup of coffee for her friend from the silver pot on the warmer. “He’s with Wolfred. They’re sparring or some other manly pastime.”

“Ahh, men and their violence.” Hannah plunked down on the chair to her left. “They don’t seem to outgrow it, do they?”

“No.” And if it made Luke and Alastair friends again, she hoped they never did. Of course, she didn’t add that Luke was hoping to take his violence out on this “Wasp” character when he found him.

Perhaps she should be intimidated by the fact that her husband could literally tear a man limb from limb, but she found the knowledge oddly comforting. Now, if he would just forget this foolish distrust of Alastair, she’d be even happier.

“So,” Hannah began, cradling her cup in both hands. “How are you enjoying having him home again? Is it all you hoped for?”

“Better, in some ways. In others…well, we’re still getting to know each other again.” Her friend fixed her with an odd stare. “What?”

“This does not sound like marital bliss.”

“Hannah, he doesn’t even remember most of our marriage, and neither of us are the same people we were seven years ago.”

Hannah leaned back in her chair. “I expected to find you over the moon with happiness. At least tell me that he’s fulfilling his husbandly duties.”

Arden almost choked on her coffee. She had to cough several times before she was at rights again. “I cannot believe you said that.”

“This coming from a woman who makes the most scandalous and wondrous toys.” Hannah’s eyes sparkled. “Surely you’re not going miss-ish on me.”

“Miss-ish” was not a word Arden ever thought could apply to her. “Of course not. The bedroom is the one place I know exactly where I stand with Huntley.”

“I could make a witty remark about ‘standing,’ but I do not believe you’re in the mood for jokes.” Hannah set down her cup and covered Arden’s hand with her own. “You know it will all work out. You’ve been given a second chance—your love returned from the dead. Surely if anyone deserves a happy ending it is the two of you.”

“I’m as fond of fairy tales as the next person who was ever a little girl, but this is life, Hannah, not a story. I wish it were. But enough of that nonsense. You are positively glowing this morning. You must tell me what has been going on with you.”

Hannah actually blushed, a most becoming shade of pink. “I have a beau.”

“How could you have not told me that immediately? Here I am droning on while you’ve been sitting on such a wonderful secret! You must tell me everything.” Her enthusiasm was not false. For years she’d wished that Hannah would find someone to make her feel wanted and desirable.

Her friend giggled like a schoolgirl. “It’s Lord Thomas Clivington, Viscount Elwood’s heir.”

Arden raised her brows. “A future Viscount no less. I’m not certain I know Lord Thomas. Is he quite tall with brown hair?”

“Yes. And the most beautiful blue eyes.” Some of Hannah’s happiness dimmed. “You would probably know him better if I reminded you that he was in that terrible carriage accident four years ago that claimed the life of his fiancée.”

“Oh, now I remember. Tragic. Lucky for him that you came along.”

“He hasn’t been much in society. It took many months for him to recover from his injuries—it required many surgeries, the poor thing. But now he’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“Thank God for modern medical science. I’m in awe of the things they can do these days.” Arden grinned. “I am so happy for you, my friend.”

“Oh, thank you.” Hannah’s smile brightened the room. “He’s going to be at the Dawtons’ party onboard the
Albion
tomorrow night. Are you planning to attend?”

“Yes. Luke and I both.”

“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands. “Then I will be able to introduce you. Oh, Arden, I just know you’re going to approve of him.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

Her friend’s hands were at just the right level that Arden’s gaze fell on the delicate ivory scarf tied around Hannah’s neck. She felt the blood drain from her face—it seemed to pool in her stomach and curdle there. “That’s an interesting piece of jewelry.”