Read Online Touch of Steel by Kate Cross - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Cross
Tags: Romance
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become one of those intimate moments he no longer wished to be a part of.
“I should be on my way.” He rose to his feet. “I must prepare for the journey ahead.”
His friends also rose. “You’ll keep me informed?” Luke asked.
“As much as I’m able.” Luke was his best friend and a former agent, but the mission he was about to undertake was a sensitive one, and Alastair couldn’t jeopardize it by discussing it with unauthorized persons.
Luke extended his hand. “Good luck. Punch that Doctor in the bollocks for me.”
Alastair accepted the handshake and clapped him on the shoulder with his other hand. “I’ll bring him back so you can do it yourself.”
He hugged Arden and took his leave, grateful to be away from the oppressive force of their affection. He did not begrudge them their love. In fact, he often envied it, but hell and blast, it took up so much of their lives! It was all well and good to adore one’s spouse, but Luke and Arden rarely spent any time apart. Occasionally Luke would come to the club, or they’d take their Velocycles for a ride out of the city, but Luke inevitably would end up in a rush to get home to his wife. And he’d seen Arden cease work on a device for the Wardens simply because she felt as though she hadn’t spent enough time with Luke that day. She resumed work only when her husband joined her in her workroom.
If that was the sort of behavior one could expect once married, then Alastair reckoned he’d do well to remain a bachelor.
He left Huntley House and climbed into his touring carriage parked in the drive. It was a damp night, and he was thankful for the oilskin canopy that kept the vehicle dry. The steam engine added more moisture to the air, but it also provided a little warmth, so that by the time he reached his own Mayfair address a few minutes later, he was only slightly chilled. He’d barely opened the door when one of his men from the stables ran up to take the carriage away, driving it behind the house to the building where it was kept.
Being a Warden made him cautious; hence the two security locks on his front door. One was a regular lock-and-key affair, while the other required the right combination of numbers to be selected on its dial. Only once those numbers had been entered would the locking mechanism disengage with a sharp clink, allowing the door to be opened. He alone knew the code for this particular door. The servants’ entrance had its own code, which only the housekeeper and butler were privy to. Any employee out after dark—or who had left the house for whatever reason—would have to ring for admittance or remain out.
Alastair stepped into the foyer of his family home, absently rubbing his right hand as he often did whenever a problem perplexed him. He would run his fingers over his own palm, over the back of his knuckles, squeezing each joint. It was the joints that reminded him that he was no longer an ordinary human. The metal “bones” in his hand behaved as they ought, but they were stronger than he could have ever imagined. The knuckles felt hard beneath his fingers; yet they were almost delicate by design. Because of them he could drive his fist through a brick wall and feel only surface pain.
Tonight’s problem was Claire Brooks. He couldn’t seem to quite shake the thought of her. She was there, in the back of his mind, even when he was engaged elsewhere.
He told himself that his reaction to her was normal, that she had been trained in the arts of subterfuge and seduction to the point of being an expert. She could probably seduce an archangel if she put her mind to it. No, being attracted to her—or rather, intrigued by her—was not a problem. It would become a problem only if he lost his damn mind as he had with Sascha.
He was not going to be that foolish ever again. He’d rather sleep with a viper than share his sheets with Claire Brooks.
Well, perhaps not a viper, but something nasty regardless.
When he re Kd">s
“I should be on my way.” He rose to his feet. “I must prepare for the journey ahead.”
His friends also rose. “You’ll keep me informed?” Luke asked.
“As much as I’m able.” Luke was his best friend and a former agent, but the mission he was about to undertake was a sensitive one, and Alastair couldn’t jeopardize it by discussing it with unauthorized persons.
Luke extended his hand. “Good luck. Punch that Doctor in the bollocks for me.”
Alastair accepted the handshake and clapped him on the shoulder with his other hand. “I’ll bring him back so you can do it yourself.”
He hugged Arden and took his leave, grateful to be away from the oppressive force of their affection. He did not begrudge them their love. In fact, he often envied it, but hell and blast, it took up so much of their lives! It was all well and good to adore one’s spouse, but Luke and Arden rarely spent any time apart. Occasionally Luke would come to the club, or they’d take their Velocycles for a ride out of the city, but Luke inevitably would end up in a rush to get home to his wife. And he’d seen Arden cease work on a device for the Wardens simply because she felt as though she hadn’t spent enough time with Luke that day. She resumed work only when her husband joined her in her workroom.
If that was the sort of behavior one could expect once married, then Alastair reckoned he’d do well to remain a bachelor.
He left Huntley House and climbed into his touring carriage parked in the drive. It was a damp night, and he was thankful for the oilskin canopy that kept the vehicle dry. The steam engine added more moisture to the air, but it also provided a little warmth, so that by the time he reached his own Mayfair address a few minutes later, he was only slightly chilled. He’d barely opened the door when one of his men from the stables ran up to take the carriage away, driving it behind the house to the building where it was kept.
Being a Warden made him cautious; hence the two security locks on his front door. One was a regular lock-and-key affair, while the other required the right combination of numbers to be selected on its dial. Only once those numbers had been entered would the locking mechanism disengage with a sharp clink, allowing the door to be opened. He alone knew the code for this particular door. The servants’ entrance had its own code, which only the housekeeper and butler were privy to. Any employee out after dark—or who had left the house for whatever reason—would have to ring for admittance or remain out.
Alastair stepped into the foyer of his family home, absently rubbing his right hand as he often did whenever a problem perplexed him. He would run his fingers over his own palm, over the back of his knuckles, squeezing each joint. It was the joints that reminded him that he was no longer an ordinary human. The metal “bones” in his hand behaved as they ought, but they were stronger than he could have ever imagined. The knuckles felt hard beneath his fingers; yet they were almost delicate by design. Because of them he could drive his fist through a brick wall and feel only surface pain.
Tonight’s problem was Claire Brooks. He couldn’t seem to quite shake the thought of her. She was there, in the back of his mind, even when he was engaged elsewhere.
He told himself that his reaction to her was normal, that she had been trained in the arts of subterfuge and seduction to the point of being an expert. She could probably seduce an archangel if she put her mind to it. No, being attracted to her—or rather, intrigued by her—was not a problem. It would become a problem only if he lost his damn mind as he had with Sascha.
He was not going to be that foolish ever again. He’d rather sleep with a viper than share his sheets with Claire Brooks.
Well, perhaps not a viper, but something nasty regardless.
When he re Kd">s
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