Touch of Steel: A Novel of the Clockwork Agents by Kate Cross Read Free Book Online

correct punch card that would operate the lift and, after dropping it a couple of floors like a discarded toy, pushed it backward, deep below the street. There was a slight variation in this series of events, as he was here to see an entirely different sort of woman than he had the night before when he’d been there to see Claire Brooks.
    He had gone to his club after that meeting, where he’d hoped to meet up with Luke, but his friend hadn’t made an appearance. Probably he was with Arden—and that was a drama Alastair wanted no more part of. It was bad enough he was being forced to work with that
woman
Claire Brooks
.
Better him than Luke, though. Luke was too easily convinced of her honor, whereas Alastair was certain she had none.
    And yet he’d felt some compassion for her when he saw how much pain she was in. And he’d felt a little grudging respect when she stared defiantly down that pert nose of hers. Women—agents—like her normally turned on the seduction in an attempt to gain affection or trust. She hadn’t used her wiles against him at all. In fact, she seemed all too willing to do what he wanted. Why?
    After the club, he returned home, and after a glass or several of whiskey, retired for the evening. Sleep had not come easy. He’d lain awake for hours, playing bits of the conversation with Brooks over in his mind, and one question remained.
    How did such a woman become such a spy? She was beautiful and unusual enough to adorn the arm of any important man. Then again, beautiful women—women with presence—often made the best spies. And one might ask why he chose such a profession when he certainly wasn’t in need of it. Perhaps Claire Brooks thought she’d been doing the right thing when she joined the Company.
    But being misguided was not something that was going to earn his sympathy. Everyone had decisions to make in the course of his or her life, and each of those decisions carried consequences.
    He was about to face the consequences of his decision to keep Luke away from Claire Brooks.
    The lift jerked to a stop, and the door slid open. Alastair opened the gate and walked out into the grand foyer of Warden headquarters. He’d heard others describe it as looking like the great hall of a country house with its columns and marble, but to him it was more like a gallery—ostentatious, pretentious and far too quiet. And that bizarre blue glow given off by the lamps on the wall always made him feel as if he’d just stepped into a fantasy world.
    Armed guards dressed in black and gold—the colors of the Wardens—flanked the large oak double door that led into the inner sanctum. Alastair approached them with an easy stride, his hands loose at his side. He wanted to hold them behind his back, but that might present the misconception that he had a weapon he was prepared to use, and that would not be good.
    “Alastair Payne, Lord Wolfred, to see the director,” he informed them. It was such a foolish procedure. These guards knew who he was, for pity’s sake.
    Without the slightest change in expression, one of the guards continued to stare at a point over his shoulder, and with practiced movements, extended his arm and turned the handle. The door opened.
    Alastair crossed the threshold, in Cthrndlto an interior that had always reminded him of a high-class brothel, though he would never voice that opinion aloud.
    A pale carpet with a demure pattern covered the floor. The walls were papered in a delicate cream peppered with brightly colored exotic birds. The furniture was dark wood, upholstered in bloodred velvet. Clocks on the wall gave the time in several foreign cities, and behind an ornate desk sat a gentleman in his forties with a kind, round face and a receding hairline. He looked like a jovial sort, but Alastair knew for a fact the bloke would kill a man as soon as look at him.
    “Good morning, Finchley,” Alastair said in greeting.
    “Wolfred.” Even his voice sounded cheerful—cheerfully