Free Heart of Brass by Kate Cross

to keep from adding “piss off” to the promise.
    Silence followed. Then, a soft click. His superior had severed the connection.
    Shifting on the balls of his feet, Five adjusted his perch in the tree outside one of the ballroom windows to one of more comfort. Being idle drove him mad, despite such alluring visuals.
    He wore a set of spectacles that brought everything closer, allowing him to take in even more detail. His lovely lady lost some of her glow when a new gentleman approached her. She seized another glass of champagne from an automated footman that resembled a strange combination of man and crane—a human torso held aloft by long, spindly legs, with even longer arms that could extend a tray up to six feet into or above a crowd. Its lack of a head made it strangely off-putting. Lady Huntley didn’t seem to mind.
    This dandy looked to be a gentleman in his mid- to late twenties. He wore impeccable evening dress of black and white, and his dark sideburns were long and neatly trimmed—not quite muttonchops. He looked vaguely familiar….
    Five started, frowned and adjusted a knob on the side of the goggles to see if he could bring the man into closer view, sharper focus.
    The man looked like him . Very much so. How was this possible? Who was he? Was this the mysterious Luke? Had his intended prey mistaken him for someone else in the dark?
    For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he wanted to kill this man. A sense of deep betrayal had wormed its way up from his gut to twine around his heart. At the moment that feeling didn’t matter so much as the fact that the lady did not seem pleased to see the man at all. In fact, they seemed to be having a rather displeasing conversation. So much so that she walked away from him while he was still talking.
    Curious. And relieving. If she’d given any hint of intimacy between them he would have snapped the bastard’s neck.
    Christ, but the resemblance was uncanny. Was it possible that they were related? It was highly possible that Five could be the by-blow of some wealthy nob. That would provide some explanation for his accent and familiarity with Mayfair.
    Gliding through the trees, Five watched Arden Grey as she walked almost the entire length of the ballroom. Then she made an abrupt turn toward the French doors that led to the balcony.
    She would not be content to stand on that smooth stone and lean on the balustrade, that much he knew. She was the kind of woman who had to walk off her frustration, release that swirling energy with physical exertion and perhaps a curse or several. No, she would descend the curving stone steps to the gardens below, and perhaps head for the maze.
    He would follow her and complete his mission; then he would be free of her and could leave London. Though the image of the man who looked like him would haunt him for some time. She would haunt him.
    He crouched and waited for her to enter the garden before slipping soundlessly from the tree. The grass didn’t even rustle as he stepped upon it. Then, he began to stalk her.
    Five moved as he had been trained to—as quietly and gracefully as a cat. He removed the spectacles and secured them in his jacket pocket. Without them he could still see very clearly, and the torches along the path ensured that he was able to keep his eye on her with ease. Her gown caught the moonlight, shining like a beacon to guide his way.
    Unaware of being followed, the lady moved at a moderate pace. From where he followed, he could hear her swearing, but she said nothing that gave him any insight as to who the man was or why he upset her so.
    In the middle of the maze—which his lady found with surprising ease—she stopped near the pond. A statue of Venus stood in the center of the water like a modest maiden caught bathing in the nude. Smooth stones lined the rim of the pool for a pleasing aesthetic—no doubt there were brightly colored exotic fish in there as well. These wealthy sods had the most ridiculous trophies of