Kate Cross - Touch of Steel

And all because of little old her.

She didn’t blame the countess for coming. Were the situation reversed, she would also want to see the woman who had screwed her husband—just to see how she measured up. It was a little perverse, perhaps, but human nature.

The two women stopped talking and turned to walk toward her. Claire kept her expression neutral.

“Claire Brooks, this is Arden Grey, Countess Huntley. She’s here to discuss your upcoming assignment with Lord Wolfred.”

Of all the things she might have said, that was not one Claire had even entertained. “What of it?” she asked, directing her attention to the redhead.

Arden Grey wasn’t afraid of her, either. Good. It would be horribly disappointing to think of Fi . . . Huntley with a weak woman.

“Many of the weapons and equipment employed by W.O.R. agents are of my design,” the woman began in a voice that seemed better suited for a schoolmistress than a countess. “I’ve studied the items found on your person when you were brought into custody, and I would like to discuss them with you.” She drew her shoulders back, as though she expected Claire to refuse.

Ktindrew“What would you like to know?” She didn’t care if she gave away Company secrets. They’d lost her loyalty the moment they let her brother’s murderer escape. Nothing mattered except justice for Robert.

The countess set the carpetbag on a waist-high table beside her. She opened it and withdrew not only Claire’s gun, but several other familiar items. For a split second Claire imagined herself grabbing that gun and making a run for it. Foolish thinking, of course. The ravaged flesh around the bullet wound tingled—it was already healing—but not enough that she could move that quickly.

“I studied this pistol and its operation. I am correct in that it channels aether as ammunition?”

Claire nodded. The inlaid pearl handle had been molded for her grip. The wide barrel needed a bit of a polish, but it gleamed in the light, a few scratches on its surface. That gun had saved her ass more than once.

“It has a small aether absorption tube inside, and concentrates a tiny amount into a powerful blast. It refills almost instantly because the force of each use helps draw more aether into the tube. There’s a vacuum extension for the barrel that effectively silences the discharge. I shot a man in a lending library once, and no one heard anything until his head hit the table.”

“Effective.” She sounded genuinely impressed—by the weapon, not her. “And this?”

It looked like an ornate, heavy cuff bracelet made of gold. “Plated gregorite.” She didn’t need to tell this woman that gregorite was the strongest metal known to man. “If you press the large stone in the center once, it releases a length of spun gregorite wire suitable for a garrote. Twice releases a much longer length, and the cuff itself converts into a grappling hook.”

Arden pressed the stone. A length of wire not even as thick as a boot lace spilled out of the bracelet. “Genius. How does it retract?”

“Press the pearl.” The wire was sucked back in when she did.

They went through the rest of the gadgets—a locket with a secret compartment for cyanide, a ring that concealed a small device that, when swallowed, emitted an aetheric signature that could be tracked using a matching compass hidden within what appeared to be a pocket watch, and a fan that appeared demure but was actually made of wickedly sharp blades.

“These are good work,” Arden remarked when they were done. “Is there any chance the Company could also track the device in the ring?”

“I’m not certain, but probably.”

The redhead nodded. “I will have to alter the transmission frequency, then. These items will be returned to you when you depart on your mission with Alastair.”

Alastair, was it? Just how close was this woman with her husband’s best friend? “Even my gun?”

“Yes, though it will probably be trusted to Lord Wolfred’s care.”

“Of course,” Claire replied flatly.

“I will also have a few new devices for you, such as a pair of garters made with gregorite threads.”

She frowned. That sounded ridiculous. “So my stockings will be certain to stay up?”

Whiskey eyes met hers. This woman had to have been a schoolmarm in a former life, because Claire suddenly felt as though she should be cleaning a chalkboard in penance. “They can be used to slide across wire or beams without injuring your hands, and may also be used to bind an enemy’s wrists and ankles. I know one female agent who survived a particularly nasty gunshot wound simply by using a garter as a tourniquet.”

“A variety of uses, then. Excellent.”

The woman gathered up Claire’s weapons and placed them back in the carpetbag. Claire wanted to fight Arden for her gun, just so she could have its familiar metal—the comfort of it—in her hand.

“You’ll be traveling as husband and wife. The agency has seen to it that suitable clothing will be provided for you. Dr. Stone provided your measurements.”

Husband and wife? She and Reynard? “No one will believe we’re married.”

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t stand each other.”

“Oh no. That’s fairly commonplace amongst the English.”

Claire snorted, eliciting a small smile from her companion. She hadn’t noticed before, but now she could tell Dr. Stone was only pretending to work at her table. She was obviously listening and watching them and making sure no one got all riled up. Honestly, Huntley was one of the best men she’d had the privilege of knowing, but he wasn’t worth shedding blood—not to Claire.

Arden fastened the bag. “I understand you weren’t wearing one of the earpieces we’ve seen on several of your associates.”

“Those are used only on the ones they need to keep tabs on.” She watched the woman’s expression. Huntley had been outfitted with one of the devices.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She lifted the bag and turned to leave.

“Why did you come here?” Claire inquired. “Surely they could have sent someone else to discuss gadgetry and what’s expected of me. Why you?”

“I asked to come.”

“Of course you did.” She would have done the same. “Surely there’s more? Questions you want to ask? Don’t you want to hurt me a little?”

Arden lifted her slightly pointed chin. “I have no wish to hurt you. I simply wanted to see you with my own eyes.”

“And now that you have?”

The other woman stared at her, unflinching and a little detached. This wasn’t what Claire expected. She’d slept with more than one married man in the course of her life, mostly in the line of duty, or out of her own need to connect with a human who wouldn’t try to court her afterward. She’d never met any of the wives, until now. It wasn’t pleasant knowing she might have hurt this woman, or anyone else.

“I’m not jealous of you,” she was told. “Not in the way you might think. I waited for him. For seven Km. 1" facyears I waited, and he was shagging you. Living his life as though I didn’t exist. Can you comprehend how that makes me feel?”

“No. For what it’s worth, he tried to remember you. One night he said your name in his sleep. The next day he saw the Doctor and went back to being their good little machine.” That didn’t seem to make the other woman feel better. “I never loved him, and he never loved me. His mind might not have remembered you, but I think his heart did.”

The woman was positively white in the face—not difficult given how fair she already was. “Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s what I think, and I have a tendency to say what’s on my mind. It’s not as if it hurt me to say it.”