Touch of Steel: A Novel of the Clockwork Agents (7 page)

But that wouldn’t get her to Howard, and she was so close now, she couldn’t betray Robert by letting her own arrogance get the better of her. “I am not an animal, sir.”

He unlocked the shackles on her wrists and rose to his feet, holding her gaze, so that she was forced to inevitably look up at him. “I didn’t think so.”

Was that a compliment? Who the hell could tell? They stood there, inches apart, staring at each other like two children, each determined to make the other blink first.

“We won’t be traveling as husband and wife,” he informed her. “Too many people at the house party you told us about will know me. They know I’m not married. You’ll have to be my mistress. That will provide a much more believable cover for you if you’re recognized—either as your true self or as Claire Clarke.”

“Mistress,” she sneered. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that, won’t you?” Perhaps the earl wasn’t as honorable as she had first thought. Everyone knew a mistress wasn’t treated with the same respect as a wife. Well, he’d be sorry if he or any other man tried to abuse her. “Will we be forced to share a room as well?”

One of the guards coughed, but neither she nor Wolfred paid the man any mind. A muscle in the earl’s jaw flexed. He leaned in closer so they were almost nose to nose. She S to Wo refused to draw back. Her mother always said she was like a rat—when cornered, she decided to put up a fight.

“Trust me, woman. I’d rather put my cock in the rudder of a dirigible than let you anywhere near it. Do I make myself clear?”

Claire glared at him. “Perfectly.” Had the remark not stung so much, she might have accused him of liking boys just to bait him, but common sense told her to drop it and fast.

“Good.” Wolfred drew back and swept his hand in front of him. “Then after you.”

She kicked the shackles aside and strode past him with her head held high. For some reason she had the insane urge to smile.

Perhaps Lord Wolfred was an honorable man after all.

* * *

There had to be something wrong with him—seriously wrong.

As they boarded his private railcar for the journey north, Alastair had to force himself not to notice how Claire Brooks’s backside looked in her snug trousers. There ought to be a law against women wearing such form-fitting garb. How did they expect a man to concentrate?

Especially a man who always seemed to be attracted to the worst possible women.

There was no denying she was a beautiful woman, so he wouldn’t bother. And he truly would rather trust his privates to a rudder blade than to her person, but that didn’t stop him from thinking about it. She wasn’t overly soft, but she was firm and strong, and there was nothing demure about her. She was brash and direct, and he knew without a doubt she would be the same in bed. Of course he thought about it—how could he not? That didn’t mean he was going to allow himself to make that mistake again.

Because it would be the biggest mistake of his life. Sex was just another weapon to her, one she wielded with great skill. Women like her were always well aware of their power over men, and he refused to be made a fool of by his own rigging—again.

Nonetheless, she’d seemed sincerely offended when he told her she’d be assuming the role of his mistress for the journey. He didn’t doubt that she’d been taken advantage of in her life. It happened more often to female spies than he wanted to consider. And he certainly didn’t want to think about some man doing that to Claire Brooks. He didn’t want to have any compassion for the woman.

And yet . . . It made him angry that she thought he might be like those men. “Your baggage is in the bedroom,” he informed her, nodding toward the open door at the end of the car. “Before we arrive, you will need to change into something a bit more suitable for a house party.”

She turned to face him. “You mean something more feminine.”

“I mean something more suitable. You know, this getting defensive every time I speak is getting tedious.”

Arched brows lowered. “I’m not defensive.”

“Indeed,” he drawled, and moved toward the cold box—a specially designed metal-lined container kept cold by means of the substance CardicesubstanӀardice—which was certain to be stocked with all manner of refreshment. He was famished.

He’d just reached the cold box when the train gave a loud hiss and lurched into motion. He braced one hand against the wall to keep from stumbling. Claire, he noted, did the same, only he doubted she almost put her fingers right through the wall.

“Hungry?” Alastair asked, once the locomotive found its pace and he felt secure in his footing.

“Sure,” she replied, glancing around. “It looks like a brothel in here.”

He followed her gaze. Yes, the paneling was dark and the furnishings a tad too crimson, but that was how it looked when he purchased the bloody thing. “Been in many brothels, have you?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “A few, yes.”

He carried a platter of bread, cheese and cold ham to the table. “Come sit.”

She regarded him warily as she moved closer. “You don’t want to know what I was doing in the brothel, or who I was doing it to?”

“To whom you were doing it. And no. I don’t.”

She ignored his correction of her grammar. “What if I told you I was with another woman?”

Alastair paused. He was a man, after all, and the idea had a certain lasciviousness he appreciated as a lover of the feminine form. “Not even,” he responded, returning to the cold box for cider.

“Does the thought offend you?”

Christ on a Velocycle, the woman was the most provoking creature he’d ever met. “No. Should it?”

“Most men would be aroused by it.”

He set the cider on the table and sat down on one of the benches bolted to the floor. “Would you like to arouse me, Miss Brooks?” He was not a fool; he had played these games before. He’d wager he’d used his own looks and charm to worm his way into almost as many confidences as she had, though perhaps not with the same success. But this was not his first assignment, and she was going to have to do better than that to trick him.

She leaned across the table, flashing him a coy look. “It would be so much easier for that rudder to do its job if I could.”

He laughed. For the first time in too long to remember, he laughed well and hard.

Then the damnedest thing happened. Claire Brooks smiled—really smiled. And it was as though someone hit him upside the head with a cricket bat. He could only stare at her like a stupid boy.

He was playing right into her hands. If there was one thing of which he was certain, it was that this woman would chew him up and spit him out if given the chance.

Alastair cleared his throat. “Right. Here, eat something. We won’t be north till well into the night. We’ll stay at a hotel and then venture on to the house party later that day.”

She shifted, as though ill at ease. Well, what did she expect? That she’d make one joke and he’d be Snd e, hers? “I thought we’d be there tonight.”

He didn’t blame her for being eager to get it all over with, but a few extra hours in the free world must surely hold some temptation? “No. We need to make sure we give the same information if asked. I assume you want to use your alias of Claire Clarke?”

She nodded, a hint of that beguiling smile returning. “Yes. I meant to ask you how you found out about that.”

“I have my means.” He tore off a bit of bread and popped it in his mouth. “You never thought that perhaps actress was a bit high-profile for a spy?”

“It’s perfect. I started doing a little acting before I joined the Company. No one suspects me of anything. They either think I’m traveling or doing a performance somewhere, and it usually saves me from having to hunt people down by bringing them to me. Men always think I’m trolling for a new lover.”

Alastair shook his head as he tore another chunk of bread from the soft loaf. “All right, that works.” He wasn’t known for being a lothario, but he’d had a few relationships in his lifetime—enough that the idea of his seeing an actress wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. No one would question why he was with her, though some might wonder what the devil she was doing with him when she could easily have a duke or a prince as her lover.

“Where did we meet?” she asked, also helping herself to the simple but delicious fare.

“London. We can say you were in the city because you’ve been asked to appear in a production of
Hamlet
.”

“Argh.” She made a face. “Not Shakespeare. I despise trying to do Shakespeare. No, I’m thinking of playing Mrs. Cheveley in Wilde’s
An Ideal Husband
.”

“You’re hardly old enough to play Mrs. Cheveley.”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s a good role, and one that will immediately make all the women at this event think of me in the proper manner.”

“You want the women to dislike you.”

“Yes. It will make the men like me all the more—and endear you to the women because they’ll all think you deserve better.”

“What does it matter? We won’t be there for any length of time. We find the Doctor and Howard, and we’re done.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “The Doctor may not be at the party with Howard but somewhere close by. And Howard, as you must surely know, is a master of disguise.”

Yes, of course he knew this. “I assumed you would recognize him even with a disguise.”

She snorted. “He’s a master for a reason, my lord.”

Provoking indeed. “And you reckon he’s traveling with the Doctor because he needs some sort of surgery done?”

“I think the Doctor is going to surgically change Howard’s facial features so that he can avoid capture permanently.”

“Damnation. Is that even possible?”

She looked at him as though he were a dolt. “This coming from a man whose eyes have been altered so he can see in the dark.”

Alastair froze. “How do you know that?”

“Please. Everyone in the Company knows about you.” She waved a piece of cheese at him. “You’re like the bogeyman.”

Yes, there was a certain pride inherent in being feared by some of the most devious agents in the world, but at the same time he didn’t like them knowing all his secrets. And he truly did not like Claire Brooks knowing them. Though, thanks to his research, he now knew plenty of hers.

It was time to draw the conversation away from himself. “You don’t seem the least bit bothered that we’re going after your former cohorts.”

“I’m not.” She took a bite of ham, chewed and swallowed. “You’re not surprised, are you? You know how the game is played; you’re only as loyal to your agency as it is to you.”

That wasn’t always the case, he thought, fighting off the cold that threatened to wrap around his heart. He knew of one traitor who had been treated very well by his agency. “And yours is responsible for the death of your brother.”

Real pain flickered in her eyes. “Yes. They betrayed me, and now here I am helping you catch two of their most prized assets to save my own arse and spank theirs.”

There was something in her voice that made
him think she was lying, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Perhaps he just wanted to distrust her because it made her that much less appealing. Perhaps it was easier to simply see her as the enemy.

Regardless, it made him wonder what secrets Claire Brooks was hiding. Would one of them get him killed?

Chapter 6

Wolfred wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t being entirely truthful. These were but just two thoughts that passed through Claire’s mind as she and the earl made the journey from the train station to their hotel very late that evening.

He became quiet earlier as they ate. She wasn’t stupid, either, and she knew it was because he had suspicions about her. Hell, she had her own about him. It shouldn’t matter that he didn’t trust her. He was right not to trust her. Normally she wouldn’t care what he thought of her, but she no longer looked at Wardens as her enemy. How could she when the Company so brutally betrayed Robert? They’d betrayed her, too.

If nothing else, all these years as a spy had taught her something important—regimes changed. Ideals changed. There was no such thing as an agency or government or political party that had only the good of the people in mind. You gave your loyalty to the right people at the right time to achieve your goal, and the rest was up for negotiation.

Wolfred seemed to be a good man. She’d always thought of herself as a good woman. A good agent, risking her life for a better world, because she believed that one person should not have all the power over the people, that people shouldn’t suffer and starve so that another might indulge himself in luxury. She might still subscribe to such naive beliefs if the people she belie V="-one powerved in hadn’t allowed her brother’s murder to go unpunished—and if she hadn’t experienced such kindness at the hands of a Warden. Evelyn Stone had had a more profound effect on her than she would ever know. Her world was no longer black and white, good and bad.

Alastair Payne did not see her as good. She was still his enemy in his eyes. That was for the best, because he was too handsome, too witty and too dangerous for her to play with.

Some time after they finished eating, she reclined on the chaise near the window and watched darkness fall over the countryside as they raced across it. She nodded off and didn’t wake up until the car was shrouded in darkness.

From the stillness around her she deducted that the earl was asleep as well. She could probably sneak out if she wanted. She’d jumped from trains before. She could make her own way to the house party and slit Howard’s throat in his sleep.

But the Doctor might get away, and she wanted that weasel to pay for what he had done to Huntley. She wanted to make certain Wolfred took him back to London so Luke could have a go at him. So, even though her head was screaming at her to escape, she found herself listening to her heart.

And then she found a pair of glowing eyes watching her in the dark.

“Hell’s bells!” She pressed a hand to her chest.

“Apologies,” came Wolfred’s voice. There was a scratching sound, and then a match flared. The burning tip was put to an oil lamp on the wall, and soft golden light illuminated that corner of the car. He turned to face her, a slightly abashed expression on his face.

“I sometimes forget about them.” He gestured to his eyes. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Claire felt like an idiot for having been frightened. “Obviously I forgot as well.”

He actually smiled. “Yes, I assumed as much from your reaction. ‘Hell’s bells,’ was it?”

“It was my grandmother’s favorite saying.” Now, why had she just confided that?

“She must have been an interesting woman.”

“That’s one way to put it. And she was.” That was all the thought she was going to allow herself. If she started thinking about family, she’d remember how alone she was in the world, and then she’d either start crying or fly into a fit of rage over the injustice of it. Neither was something she wanted to do in front of this man.

“My maternal grandmother used to like to say ‘balls’ whenever she was agitated. I don’t know where she learned it. Mortified my mother, but gave me and my cousins something to snicker at.”

Claire smiled—more at her mental image of Wolfred as a child than at the story itself. She imagined him with a huge head of thick, curly red hair and a face full of freckles—and a missing front tooth. “Is she still alive?”

“Yes. She’ll be two and eighty in December.”

“Just a few months then. Impressive that she’s lived to such an age. You’re lucky to still have her.”

“Stubbornness and sherry make a great preserver. I am lucky, except for when she harps on me about grandchildren.” He moved away from the wall, graceful despite the train moving beneath his feet. “As though the eleven she has weren’t enough.”

“I can’t imagine having children, let alone grandchildren.” Too late she regretted the words. She’d never had a problem with being too candid before. What was it about first Dr. Stone and now this man that made her so careless with her words?

Wolfred seated himself in a wingback chair not far from her—the spot where she assumed he had slept while she napped. “No. Our line of work makes that difficult.”

“But you don’t need to do this,” she reminded him—once again being careless. “You are rich enough on your own. People like me, this is all we have. And how could I be so cruel as to bring a child into this life? I’d have to leave it with someone, and that’s no way to be a mother.”

“Do you want children?”

She turned her head. “Doesn’t every woman?”

“No. Nor does every man, I’d wager. Though it is bred into most of my social sphere that it’s one’s duty to produce heirs, propagate the line and all that.”

Her gaze returned to him, against her better judgment. He was watching her with an expression that looked a bit too much like pity. Had he been closer, she might have pinched him. “Of course, it’s different for you as a man. You could father a dozen children and still run off whenever you wanted.”

He nodded, infuriatingly unprovoked. “I could, but I wouldn’t. I remember what that was like. I saw little enough of my own father.” He tilted his head. “What is it about me that puts you on the defensive? I realize we have been conditioned to be enemies, but I’ve never met anyone who seems to want to fight me as badly as you.”

It was a simple question, asked without an ounce of emotion, save for curiosity; yet it was like a hard slap to the forehead. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I suppose I feel as though you judge me.”

“I suppose I do. We’re predisposed to it, are we not? You’re Company and I’m Warden. Puts us at opposite ends.”

“But I’m not Company, not anymore.” It was important that he know that.

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe that just yet.”

She shrugged. “That’s fair, I suppose. I don’t completely trust you, either.”

“We’re going to need to trust each other a bit, aren’t we, though?” A crease appeared by his mouth as his lips lifted to that side—a self-deprecating little smile if she’d ever seen one. “Can you do that?”

“If you can.” She felt as if she were ten years old again, and she and Robert were daring each other to see who could climb higher in the tree in their backyard. The thought of her brother was enough to strengthen her resolve. If nothing else, she could trust this man to get her to Howard, and that was all she needed. And he could trust her to help him find the Doctor.

Th [no ll she earl watched her closely, scrutiny in those strange eyes of his that sometimes lit up when the light caught them a certain way. “I believe I can.” He offered his hand. “Shall we shake on it?”

For a second, Claire actually hesitated. It wasn’t a complete lie—he could truly trust her to a point. It didn’t make her an awful person. She slid her hand into his. His fingers were firm, warm. When they closed around hers, they felt . . . odd. Human, but something more. She took his hand in both of hers, then turned it over so she could peer closely at his palm.

The scars were no bigger than a thread, and so well healed that they barely stood out against his skin. She traced one of them with the tip of her finger, curiosity getting the better of her. There wasn’t even a ridge.

Wolfred flinched. Or was it a shiver? She couldn’t tell; it happened so quickly and was over just as fast. He pulled his hand away. “Forgive me. The scarring is sometimes . . . sensitive.”

Had he been any other man, she wouldn’t have believed him. She wasn’t an innocent; she knew when men wanted her, but this man—well, she didn’t know what to make of him. “I should apologize for being overly familiar. I’ve never met anyone who was augmented before—other than Five. I mean, Huntley.”

His brow puckered as he leaned back in his chair and crossed one ankle over his opposite thigh. “I thought the Company had been doing such procedures for years.”

“They have. I was never selected for the program. There was concern that the procedure might interfere with my agility and flexibility.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that you are rather . . . flexible.”

Was that innuendo in his tone? “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. I’ve heard tales of your daring escapades. Did you not once escape through an opening barely large enough to fit a child? In St. Petersburg, I believe.”

Claire hesitated. Should she be concerned or flattered that he knew such details? “The window wasn’t that small. I was simply fortunate that the Russian guards chasing me were on the sturdy side. But what of you? I heard you once disappeared practically into thin air while being pursued by French gendarmes.”

Wolfred chuckled. “I ducked behind a drapery and hopped up on the windowsill so they wouldn’t see my feet beneath the fabric. Then I opened the window and escaped through the back garden. Hardly the stuff of legend.”

“As uninspiring as portly Russians,” she replied with a faint smile. “How very disappointing that neither of us can live up to our reputations.”

“Speak for yourself.” His expression was all mock indignation. “I earned every accolade.”

“I won’t argue. I’ve heard what happens to people who cross you.”

He went very still. Hell. So much for a moment of easiness between them. “Yes. I can just imagine what you’ve heard about that shite. Tell me, did the Company paint me as a fool or a villain?”

She blinked. “Neither. You we [ithppere not the only one played for a fool by those two. The details of how you survived, tracked them down and apprehended both of them were recounted with respect and fear. You
are
something of a legend, my lord.”

He scowled. “Foolishness.”

Claire wasn’t certain what to say. She wasn’t accustomed to men who didn’t like to hear themselves praised. She was saved from having to say anything by the slowing of the train.

Wolfred consulted his pocket watch. “We’ll be arriving soon.”

When they disembarked at the station, Wolfred put a coin into an automaton torso that sat on a weathered podium. It looked like a metal man with no legs, and it had a large dial in its chest with a tarnished knob. Its right arm was raised, the hand holding the rim of a dented brass bowler hat.

Gears and clockwork parts wheezed into service, clicking and clacking. The aetheric engine kicked in as well. The metal man’s jaw dropped open with a screech. Claire cringed—it needed a good oiling. “Please dial the number of the service required,” it crackled in a heavy brogue. “Dial one for a porter, two for a cab, three for a porter and a cab. . . .” Alastair—she had to get used to thinking of him as such—turned the dial to three. The automaton responded by lifting its bowler hat to reveal a steam whistle coming out of the top of its head. It rent the air with three sharp blows. Then it ground back into its original position.

“That was painful,” Alastair remarked with a wry grin.

“Modern innovation at its finest,” Claire retorted.

His only response was a dry chuckle before a porter hurried to greet them with a luggage cart in tow.

Now they were in a richly appointed steam carriage driven by a man with an accent so thick, Claire hadn’t understood a word he said. Wolfred didn’t have the same trouble, it seemed. He even laughed at something the old man said before climbing into the cab. Porters had taken care of their luggage, carefully stacking and securing it high on the back of the vehicle.

They were alone, and entirely too close in the confined space.

Claire opened the shade to let moonlight inside. She didn’t like tiny little quarters like this. Large rooms like the train car or even the cell the Wardens put her in were fine because they were spacious enough for her to move about comfortably. This wasn’t much bigger than a closet.

“Are you all right?” Wolfred asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I just wanted to see some of the countryside. I’ve never been to Scotland before.”

He glanced at the window. “Can you see much of anything?”

“No, but the moon is very pretty.”

She could feel him watching her, damn him. “What am I to call you when we arrive at our destination? If we are to be lovers, we should have a degree of intimacy, shouldn’t we? I can hardly call you Lord Wolfred all the time.”

“Many people refer to me by my title,” he said, the gravel of his voice filling the ca [illt ourriage. It was soothing. “You could call me Wolfred, or better still, call me Alastair. There will be no doubt as to the nature of our relationship, and it will lend a slightly scandalous cast to the whole thing.”

Claire raised a brow. “Using a man’s Christian name is scandalous?”