Touch of Steel: A Novel of the Clockwork Agents (12 page)

Claire focused on his voice and tried not to think about those horrible times as a child when she misbehaved and her father would lock her in the closet as punishment. The more he did it, the worse it became, until she would start to shake at the very thought of the closet. The sight of one was enough to make her throat go dry. Being “good” had become a full-time occupation for her.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose, and out through the mouth.

But she wasn’t in a closet right now, and Alastair wasn’t her father. She wouldn’t have ever gotten on this thing if she’d been conscious, and now they were on their way after Howard once again. All was not lost.

She had to pull herself together. She would not allow fears from years ago, caused by a man long dead, to stand in the way of what she wanted. And she wanted to catch up with Stanton Howard.

She remained curled against Alistair until most of the panic passed, leaving her feeling drained and even more shaky than she’d been when she woke up. Oddly enough, she didn’t feel the least bit ashamed. He had seen her at her worst and her weakest, and he hadn’t exploited it. He hadn’t made her feel inferior or broken.

“How much longer?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “Not long. An hour or so. They got a head start, and then we lost a little more time getting on board. The ship he’s on is one of the fastest passenger ships in the Bright Star line, and this is an old sub, but we’re gaining on her. I’m going to get you justice for your brother, I promise.”

Justice for her brother. Not that he was going to get Howard for the sowaont> Wardens or for his own advancement. Of course, those things had to be a consideration, but he had thought of her as well. He made it sound as though they really were partners in this rather than prisoner and Warden.

“Thank you.” She sniffed. Damn it, she’d been crying and hadn’t known it. She pulled away from him and wiped at her eyes with her fingers. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m an idiot.”

“No, I don’t. We all have things that scare us. I’m afraid of heights.”

She peered at him from beneath damp lashes. “But you helped take down Erlich on a dirigible.” She’d heard about it because Erlich was a Company agent who had infiltrated the Wardens and began working on his own agenda without Company consent. It had been a shocking scandal when it broke, and Five—Huntley, blast it—had been right in the middle of it, along with Alastair.

In fact, if it weren’t for Robert’s death, if she didn’t want Howard and to stick a spike in the Company’s eyes, she would have knocked him out the night before and taken him as her own prisoner. That would have earned her some respect from her fellow agents.

He nodded and continued. “And I thought I was going to piss my trousers the entire time. I refuse to let my fears get the better of me.”

“You’re not even like a real person,” she told him, half joking. “You don’t let fears or insecurities stop you. You do the right thing at all times. Don’t you ever make mistakes?”

A chuckle escaped him. “Plenty. Remember the woman who tried to kill me? And you were right. I did allow myself to develop feelings for Arden. Even though I knew there was no chance of ever truly claiming her affections.”

“So, your mistakes have been with women?” No wonder he tried to deny their attraction. She was a reminder of every bad choice he’d ever made with a female.

“Most of them, yes.”

“When you look back on this, will you think of me as a mistake?” She forced herself to meet his gaze, because she knew that he would regret ever laying eyes on her by the time she was through.

He smiled at her—a little lopsided affair that made her heart hitch. “Maybe. Though it was a thoroughly enjoyable kiss.”

Heat filled her cheeks, much to Claire’s horror. “Yes, it was.”

Alastair’s smile faded. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier—about wondering if you’d been involved with Howard. It was cruel of me, given what he did to you. Not to mention petty.”

She shrugged, though she felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her. “I would have thought the same.” In fact, she was thinking about what he’d said in the carriage, wondering why Howard hadn’t killed her. At first she’d thought Howard had made a mistake—but he rarely did that. Then maybe she thought he’d wanted to humiliate her, let her live and be taken into custody. She still wasn’t completely convinced of that, but she wasn’t paranoid quite enough to come up with a different reason.

In all truthfulness, she’d already mentioned the best explanation—he’d been wounded and there were witnesses to summo sssen an the police. He’d chosen escape over her death. She would have done the same thing.

Alastair gestured toward the console with his thumb. “I need to steer this thing. Want to help? It may prove to be a good distraction.”

“I don’t know the first thing about marine vessels.”

“I’ll teach you.” He rose to his feet and offered her his hand. She took it. His skin was warm and slightly rough.

“Do you ever crush things?” she asked. “By accident?”

“In the beginning. Now, not so much. I don’t even notice it most of the time now. It’s just me.”

Yes, that made sense to her. He didn’t see just how exceptional he was. Claire stood, waiting until she was certain her legs would support her before she moved. The submersible moved beneath her feet. She could feel the motion of machine and ocean. If she thought about it, though, she’d get hysterical again, so she simply wasn’t going to think about how deep they were and how they’d die a horrible death if anything went wrong. And she certainly wasn’t going to think about her father.

Instead, she did as Alastair had instructed, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth until she felt calmer.

Alastair continued to hold her hand as he led her the few feet to the chairs bolted to the floor in front of the console. He took the one on the right; she sat to his left. Each of them had a steering column and a series of buttons and levers in front of them. A rounded window formed the front-most part of the ship, and a light above the glass, outside on the vehicle, illuminated the water around them. It should have made her feel even more trapped, but it didn’t, because she could see the surface and the daylight above. They weren’t that deep, and knowing that made it easier.

“Here’s how you guide the vehicle,” he explained, wrapping his fingers around the handles as she watched. “You move it like this to turn, like this to rise or surface. . . .”

Claire listened as he explained, paying attention as best she could. It was a little difficult when she was still a bit distracted by her fears, and very distracted by the fact that he was so . . . kind.

And gorgeous. She mustn’t forget that. She’d never fancied a ginger before. He wasn’t quite ginger, though—not in the way she imagined ginger to be. His hair was red, yes, but it was a rich dark red—not quite auburn, but a far cry from orange. He wasn’t pale or abundantly freckled, though he did have some freckles.

He was more handsome now than he had been the first time she saw him. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d actually improved in looks. And she was honest enough to admit that the attraction no doubt had something to do with the fact that he would be the last man—who wasn’t a guard—she would be this close to in a long time, perhaps the rest of her life.

He explained things to her for about a quarter hour, demonstrating each thing before giving her a chance to try. He was right; it was good for keeping her mind occupied, and by the time the lesson was done, she was steering the submersible with a fair degree of confidence, monitoring their progress on the panel instruments. They were inching clos s inhe was steer and closer to Howard’s ship.

She didn’t begin to understand how it all worked, but there was a grainy screen on the panel that flashed their location and that of the ship they pursued. It probably had something to do with the aether and mechanics. Arden Grey could probably explain it.

Then again, Arden Grey seemed the capable sort of woman who could poop gold if she set her mind to it. The universe wouldn’t dare deny her, and if it did, she’d find a way around it. No wonder the Company hadn’t been able to take her away from Huntley. No wonder he came back to her despite all their work and deceit.

“How do we get on board once we catch up?” she asked, turning her attention back to what was important.

“I’ve telegraphed the ship’s captain, letting him know the Wardens have confidential business on board. We’ll surface and be lifted up into the ship. The sub will be held by the boat until we dock in New York.”

“It will be the first time I’ve been to New York in a long time,” she confided.

“I’m sorry we won’t be there long enough for you to enjoy it.” The honest sincerity in his voice made the back of her eyes burn. She did not let it show, however. She still had some of her pride.

“So am I,” was all she could let herself say. When this was over she would have a long list of regrets, but they would all be worth it when Howard died at her hand. If she was lucky, Alastair or some other Warden would kill her immediately so she didn’t have long to dwell on those regrets.

Regret had a way of growing—like a cancer—and it wouldn’t take long for her to doubt that she’d done the right thing and wish that she’d taken a different road. She didn’t want to live that long.

“I think you succeeded in scaring the Doctor,” Alastair commented a few minutes later. She had wondered when he was going to bring that up.

“I wasn’t going to kill him,” she confided. “Hurt him, yes. I just wanted to know why Howard did what he did.” She wouldn’t have taken the little bastard’s eye out.

Well, she might have taken his eye, but she would have cauterized the wound with her aether pistol. He wouldn’t have died from it.

“You may never know why.” There was an edge to his voice that hinted at questions of his own. “Sometimes people do things, even people we love, and we never understand why they did them.”

“Are you talking about Sascha again?” Claire had known the woman only by reputation, but she was on her way to despising the cow. If she wanted Alastair dead, she should have just killed him, and if she wanted to protect him, she should have done all she could for him, rather than being a coward and letting him suffer because of her lover’s jealousy.

And yes, she was well aware that she’d practically defended the woman at the inn with all the “she loved you” nonsense. Probably Sascha had developed feelings for him. That was all the more reason she should have done all she could to protect him.

If she’d loved him, she should have just walked away.

“No.” He looked so sad, she wanted to console him, but she had no idea how to do it in a manner he’d accept. “Not her. I wish I were.” And that was obviously all he was going to say.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” she told him. “God knows I’d be the last person to criticize someone for having secrets.”

A humorless chuckle met her words. “You’re not prying. It’s just something I swore I’d never talk about. I’ve already said more about it to you than I have to anyone else in the last two years.”

“It’s easier to tell a stranger private things. I don’t know why, but they say it is.” Regardless, warmth filled her chest at his confession. Lord knew she’d told him things she shouldn’t have. And she couldn’t remember the last time she t
old anyone about Robert.

“Yes, they do say that, don’t they?” His stormy eyes twinkled. “
They
say a lot of shite. And you’re not quite a stranger. Not anymore.”

Maybe not, but she wasn’t exactly a friend, either, was she? And after she killed Howard, he’d think even less of her. She would have to live with that, because nothing would deter her from her goal. Not even that she and Robert hadn’t been close in a long time—much longer than she cared to admit.

At least she wouldn’t have to live with it for long.

Chapter 10

They finally caught up to the
Mary Katherine
at around five o’clock that afternoon. They’d made better time than Alastair had expected, and that was a welcome thing indeed. Claire managed to hold herself together for the rest of the trip, but he could tell it took a lot out of her just trying to remain calm.

He hadn’t asked about the cause of her terror, but when she likened the submersible to a closet, he’d gotten the impression that was where the fear began. Someone had locked her in a very small, dark space, and now anything remotely similar brought back those childhood feelings of being powerless and terrified.

He’d like to meet the person responsible for that—meet him and have five minutes alone with him and a cricket bat.

Before rendezvousing with the steamship, Alastair took sole control of the steering and began the task of slowly raising the sub at the right speed and angle. Too fast would cause problems for both himself and Claire. Too slow and they’d miss the boat.

It had been a long time since he’d docked a submersible to a ship, and he didn’t have time to second-guess himself. He watched through the viewing window of the submersible, and used the periscope during the process. They broke the surface right beside the
Mary Katherine
. As soon as he got the signal from the crew member on the deck, he engaged the magnetic docking mechanism that would “lock” their vehicle to the ship’s retrieval apparatus.

There was a long, whirring sound and the screech of metal on metal as the sub was grabbed and pulled into place. Once he heard, and felt, the “arms” clamp around them, Alastair disengaged the engine, and silence fell.

Suddenly the sub gave a sharp jerk. He had to grip the chair vssen d silence for support. Claire clung to the wall. Then came the sound of a winch, and the sensation of rising, such as in a lift or ascension chamber. As they were pulled from the water, the late-afternoon sun brightened the interior of the vehicle, casting the impressive visage of the ship in an almost-celestial glow. The relieved expression on Claire’s face was rivaled only by her obvious anxiousness to get the hell out of the sub.

The locking system gave a loud thunk, which was followed by a knocking above their heads. Alastair pulled a set of small folding steps from the wall and climbed up to turn the wheel on the door. He pulled it open and moved just in time to avoid a trickle of water that spilled into the chamber. Next he reached up and turned another wheel on a second door that he then pushed up. Gloved hands appeared not far from his, pulling the heavy hatch completely open. Alastair looked up.

A young man in a simple uniform smiled down at him. “Lord Wolfred, I presume?”

“You are correct, sir,” Alastair replied with a grin. “Permission to board?”

A woman in a crisp navy jacket and her blond hair tucked beneath a cap joined the crewman. “Permission granted.”

Alastair stepped down to the floor. Seconds later, a metal ladder was lowered into the cabin. He guided the feet of it into the slots on the steps that were designed to hold the ladder in place. Then he gestured for Claire to precede him. “You first.”

She didn’t argue. She merely flashed a grateful smile and practically jumped up the steps. Quickly she climbed up into the chilly ocean air.

Before exiting himself, Alastair handed all their luggage up to the crewmen above. Only then did he turn off the lights so the storage cells wouldn’t drain of all power, lock the starting mechanism, engage security protocols, and finally climb the ladder to the outside world.

The wind was bitter despite the sun’s warmth, and his cheeks soon stung from it. The deck was devoid of people save for the crew, and he concluded that either they’d been taken aboard in a restricted area, or the passengers were simply too smart to brave being outside.

“I took the liberty of having your lady friend escorted to your cabin,” the captain explained to him. “It was too cold out here for her to be standing about.” She was a handsome woman, with dark brown eyes that were warm but stern.

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

“It’s Crown business. How could I possibly refuse? Besides, I don’t much like the idea of such a villain using my girl to escape justice. Come with me, Lord Wolfred. I’ll escort you to your cabin.” Then, to the crewmen, she said, “See that those bags are brought to his lordship’s lodgings immediately.”

There was a chorus of “Yes, ma’am” as they walked away.

“What do you need from me and my crew?” The captain walked with her hands clasped behind her back, not the least bit off kilter with the floor gently rolling beneath her feet.

“Cooperation. I ask that anything suspicious be reported to me immediately, and that no one be allowed to leave the ship under any circumstances without my c { winything sonsent.”

“We are in the middle of the ocean, my lord. Where would they go?”

He arched a brow. “If I managed to get on, someone else could manage to get off. Just tell your crew to be careful and diligent. We don’t want to alarm your passengers, so I’d prefer that no one say a word about this to anyone.”

“Of course. We’re at your disposal.”

He stopped her before she could open the door to the interior of the ship. “I would also appreciate it if your crew kept me apprised of any strange behavior on the part of my companion.” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Claire. . . . No, it was exactly that he didn’t trust her. After watching her with the Doctor earlier, an uneasy suspicion had begun to take hold of his mind. It made sense, given that she’d agreed so easily to help hunt Howard down.

The captain didn’t even blink. “Of course, my lord.” She opened the door and preceded him through it at his gesture.

Alastair suspected that Claire planned to kill the bastard, either for her own revenge or for the Company, though he was inclined toward the former. In fact, he was rather annoyed with himself for not having thought of it before this. He’d been so caught up in her being a traitor to her agency that he hadn’t thought of just how far she’d go for justice—how desperate she truly was.

He couldn’t let her do it—not just because of all the information they could get out of Howard, or the number of Warden agents who were being held hostage that he might be traded for, but because if she killed Howard, she would surely be executed, if not by Company operatives, then by the W.O.R. for her betrayal.

A few days ago he hadn’t cared if she lived or died, but then he caught a glimpse of the real her, and that little peek was enough to make him question his own judgment. He was starting to respect her, and that had nothing to do with how attractive he found her—though perhaps it made her even more attractive. Her intense loyalty, her determination and her selflessness were amazing. She had hunted her brother’s killer, despite the man’s being an incredibly dangerous spy. She had turned her back on her agency without a whimper. She didn’t lament her lot in life or whine about it. She acted. Regardless of the goal, if Claire Brooks wanted it, she went for it.

And he knew by the way she looked at him that it wouldn’t be long before she gave in and came after him as well. What a mess that would make of things, because he wouldn’t stop her.

Yes, he had the worst luck with women, but Claire was no danger to him provided he kept his heart out of it. They had no future—her best-case scenario involved being a W.O.R. prisoner for most of the rest of her life. And he—well, he couldn’t afford an alliance with a woman who betrayed her own agency. His father had made certain of that.

In fact, he blamed his father for his lack of judgment. Surely it had to be a hereditary fault. But in all honesty, if the circumstances were different, there’d be nothing to stand in their way. If she was just an American woman and he was just an Englishman, they could be together. The class difference would matter to some, but not to him.

What the hell was wrong with his head? How had he made the jump from wanting to bed her {g tidth="1em"to thoughts of marriage? Class didn’t matter at all in an affair.

“There is a telephone in your suite that has a direct connection to the bridge, and to my own quarters should you require anything,” the captain informed him as they walked down a softly lit corridor. It was just wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side. The wood paneling on the walls gleamed, and the carpet beneath his feet sank with every step—and not just because his metal-enforced bones made him weigh more than the average man.

“Excellent. I appreciate the inconvenience this must cost you, Captain . . .”

“Winscott, my lord. Charlotte Winscott.” She offered her hand.

Alastair accepted the handshake. “Thank you, Captain Winscott. I won’t forget your assistance.”

She smiled. “You’re not the first Warden my girl’s had aboard, sir. I doubt you’ll be the last, but you are welcome all the same. Your cabin is just at the end of this corridor. Perhaps you and your companion would care to dine at my table tonight?”

“I’m certain we would enjoy that very much.”

Captain Winscott led him to a set of double doors of polished mahogany. “This is the only acceptable suite we had unoccupied for the journey. It’s usually taken by newlyweds on their wedding trip, so I think you’ll find it comfortable, though I apologize if it’s perhaps not quite the image you wish to convey.”

Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and Alastair gave her a smile. “That’s perfect; I assure you.”

“My lord,” she said, hesitating at opening the doors, “forgive my impertinence, but is the lady with you Claire Clarke?”

Alastair blinked. “Why, yes.”

“I saw her onstage in Boston two years ago. She was magnificent.” She turned the handle and opened the door for him. “Here you are. Your baggage will be along directly. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable. I will see you tonight at eight for dinner.”

He thanked her again and entered the suite, shaking his head. Claire was the only agent he knew of whose talent for acting had actually garnered her admirers. No doubt he would have an excellent seat for tonight’s performance once they were amongst the other passengers.

The captain hadn’t been joking—the suite was indeed lavish and suited for honeymooning couples. It was papered in soft cream with a delicate damask print. Rich ebony furniture and ivory carpets promised plush comfort. A bottle of champagne chilled in a Cardice-lined bucket sat near the bed—a large four-poster affair that looked as though it could sleep six adults and a couple of dogs quite comfortably.

Claire stood at one of the many windows that overlooked the bow of the ship and the ocean beyond. There was nothing but teal water ahead of them as far as the eye could see.

“Feel better now that you can see wide-open space?”

“Much, thank you.” She turned toward him. Her gown was wrinkled and her hair mussed, but she was still one of the most glorious women he and {wom you.’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sorry for my behavior earlier. I despise irrationality.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know of anyone who likes it. Don’t give it another thought. You need to put all of your attention to finding Howard tonight. I doubt he’s traveling with his own face, though there’s always a chance.”

“I’ll know his eyes,” she promised. “They were so empty. They reminded me of . . .”

“What?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important.”

He didn’t believe that. “Whom did he remind you of, Claire?”

She waved a hand at him. “Just someone I used to know. It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Alastair was prevented from questioning her further by the arrival of their luggage. Claire immediately began unpacking and sent for a maid to come collect the gown she wished to wear later, and Alastair’s evening clothes as well, so they might be pressed and readied for that evening.

He didn’t push her further on the subject of Howard. She hadn’t pried when he hadn’t wanted to discuss the past, so he would give her the same courtesy.

She wasn’t cold toward him, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before. He wasn’t completely without insight where she was concerned, and he knew the reason. He’d seen her vulnerable, out of control, and she didn’t like that. He also suspected she was putting a wall between them so it would make it easier to betray his trust and go after Howard on her own.

He wasn’t going to let her throw herself away on a bastard like Howard. It didn’t matter how many walls she tried to build. He’d tear them down—every last one.

Even if it meant she ended up hating him.

* * *

She wanted to throw something in his face.

Claire sat across the captain’s table from Alastair and wished it wouldn’t be immature of her to break her wineglass over his gorgeous head.

He laughed at some insipid comment made by the old gal sitting next to him. Claire smiled so they wouldn’t see her grind her teeth.

First of all, he wasn’t the least bit sorry for rendering her unconscious at the docks. Second, he’d been insufferably kind to her when she lost her mind on the submersible, and third, he looked at her as though he knew exactly what she was all about and had her all figured out.

Well, if he could truly see inside her, why the hell was he being so nice? What was wrong with him? If he suspected she was going to betray him, if he thought he understood her at all, why was he being so damn pleasant about it? Or did he enjoy letting people abuse his trust? Did it fulfill some perverse need inside him? Had he no pride? What sort of man was he?