Highlander Undone (13 page)

“Your skin.” Ingrams nodded at Jack’s hands, clenched tightly about the mug of beer until the knuckles showed ivory beneath the saffron-tinted skin. “I’d say you last served under an Arab sky. Fellows always get that yellowish color, even after the tan fades. Never does quite fade, though, does it?”

“Served?” Jack tried to sound casual.

Ingrams turned and narrowly studied Jack. “Cameron, isn’t it?”

Jack simply lifted an eyebrow.

Ingrams continued studying him thoughtfully. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. “I might be mistaken,” he said slowly. “You look something like a man I once met. Fine man. Valiant.” He tested the word to see if it fit. Apparently, it did. He nodded. “Yes, a very valiant man. Knew the meaning of words like
honor
and
duty
.”

How burdensome that word had become, how inexplicable, how nebulous its meaning. He didn’t doubt that Ingrams would find him a worthy sort of chap. Addie, however . . . yes, Addie might have another term for Jack Cameron. Traitor? Hypocrite? “Sounds a tiresome sort of chap,” Jack finally said when he realized Ingrams was awaiting a reply.

“An uncomfortable sort of chap, perhaps,” he said.

“You appear to find Paul Sherville an uncomfortable chap, too.”

Ingrams’s expression went flat with dislike. “Paul Sherville is an opportunist.”

“You know him well?”

Ingrams shrugged. “Not really. He’s with the Black Dragoons. I’m with the 60th Rifles.” Once more he flashed a piercing glance on Jack. The 60th Rifles had also seen action at Majuba Hill, the scene of Jack’s nightmares.

Jack ignored the question in Ingrams’s gaze. “Your young friend Holmes seems quite taken with him.”

“He does, doesn’t he? Poor little bugger. Sherville is the type of man who demands constant attention. Surrounded by a little coterie of fawners. Holmes was one of them.”

“Was Charles Hoodless?”

“Hoodless?” Ingrams snorted. “Acting the sycophant to any man? Surely as his ‘old, boyhood chum,’ you know better than that,” he said. “Hoodless wouldn’t have kowtowed to God. No. Those two were cut from the same cloth. They were bound by their . . . appetites, not by affection.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Suffice to say, Hoodless and Sherville loved having native commands.”

“Are you suggesting that Sherville and Hoodless used military authority to extort money from their native commands?”

Ingrams laughed. “Good God, no! I haven’t any idea of where either man got his money. But I can assure you the natives hadn’t a raw penny to give anyone. Nor would Hoodless, at least, have wanted it. No . . . the price he extracted from his command was paid in the coin of suffering.”

What sort of husband would a man like that have been?

Jack clenched his teeth, incapable of concentrating on what role—if any—Sherville had had in the illegal slave trade out of North Africa. Every piece of damning information about Hoodless’s character turned Jack’s thoughts away from the task at hand.

He shook his head, forcing himself to attend what Ingrams was saying.

“Simple abuse of power is ugly, but abuse of power over those helpless to protect themselves is appalling.” Ingrams looked up from his glass. “But you weren’t asking about Charles Hoodless. Why should you? You knew him. You were asking after Paul Sherville.”

Jack nodded a jerky assent, the picture Ingrams’s unspoken words had conjured paralyzing his tongue. Small wonder the sight of a uniform made Addie tense.

Ingrams went on. “As Potter said, Sherville isn’t about here much anymore. He’s acquired expensive taste since his return from North Africa.”

“Ah, yes. ‘The jeweled dagger.
’
”

Ingrams snorted. “There is no jeweled dagger.”

“No extortion, no jeweled dagger. What could account for his wealth, then?”

“My, you artistic fellows are an inquiring lot, aren’t you?” Ingrams downed the dregs from his mug and pushed himself away from the counter. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to speculate now, would it?”

Jack forced a casual smile.

“But I will say that whatever wealth Paul Sherville discovered in exotic climes, Charles Hoodless found, too. And it seemed to put a strain on that . . . relationship. A great strain.”

J
ack stopped on his way through the door to Lady Merritt’s morning room, trying to erase the fatigue from his face. He had spent the morning trying to make sense out of a shell-shocked veteran’s rambling account of a failed offensive against local slavers in North Africa. It hadn’t taken Jack five minutes to realize the poor bastard would be useless in providing any pertinent information about the traitor Jack hunted, but he hadn’t been able to abandon him, staying for the better part of the day at his side, keeping vigil. It had worn on him, on his conscience. He needed to do more to discover who was possibly responsible for this man’s fate—and any number of others’ fates as well.

“Jack? Is that you?”

Taking a short breath, he relaxed his features into a pleasant mien and plucked a lily from the vase on the hallway table before entering, twirling it between his forefinger and thumb. “Dear lady! I have heeded your call and present myself ready to do your bidding. Now, how might I assist you?”

“It’s Addie.”

She wouldn’t have noticed the way his fatuous smile slipped. “And what can there be about dear Mrs. Hoodless that causes a line to mar your snowy brow?”

Lady Merritt picked up a sheaf of paper from her desk.

“Addie’s mourning is officially over and she is now free to attend the reception I have planned for her brother.”

“And how is this vexing?”

“It’s a question of delicacy, not decorum. I do not know whether I should include her dear, departed husband’s fellow officers in the guest list.” Lady Merritt tapped a finger against the list of names in her hand.

“I am very fond of Addie. Very fond. Her family and mine have known each other for generations. Our properties adjoin, as you know. Addie quite doted on Evan when he was a lad.” Her voice dropped and she gazed inwardly a second at some remembered charm, and for a small space Jack could see the tender pride and real affection she had for her son . . . and Addie.

She cleared her throat, casting a furtive glance at him, as though she suspected she’d been tricked into a sentimental mood. “She encouraged the most unruly behavior in him.”

“Really?” Jack asked. He didn’t want to hear anything about Addie. He needed to find proof that her dead husband was a slaver. He needed to ruin her life.

“She was quite an energetic girl. But she—how shall I say?—seems to have grown fragile these past few years. Not at all the rambunctious, wayward little harridan she used to be. One would never expect that imp of Satan would have developed into such a retiring young lady.”

“Mrs. Hoodless seems quite animated to me,” Jack said, aware his tone was stiff.

Lady Merritt patted his hand. “With you she is. With her brother and his friends, she is quite recognizable as the little dickens who ran through my rose beds beheading them with her brother’s toy sword.”

She smoothed her skirts. “But in society she is so restrained, so subdued. Particularly, I have noted, in the company of Her Majesty’s officers.”

Jack stared stonily at her.

“I think”—she lowered her voice solemnly—“they are an acutely painful reminder of her loss.”

Could she be that unperceptive?

“I don’t think I should invite any military persons.”

Of course you shouldn’t
, Jack wanted to shout. Instead, he raised his brows. “Really? Do you think that wise . . . what with Teddy’s clientele being so predominantly that sort of fellow?” He felt bile rise in his throat, but not enough to choke him. Not that much. He was still well capable of this. Damned be his soul. “I understand your tender concern for the lady, but, after all, this reception is to promote Ted.”

Such a smooth voice, such a perfect imitation of compassion; just a soup
ç
on of distress, a hint of confusion. Satan could be no better a dissembler. “I am certain Mrs. Hoodless would not want you to risk even one bit of Ted’s future success on her account.”

Lady Merritt absently tapped the end of her pen against her lips, not yet convinced. She might be a narrow-minded, silly, spoiled, and unobservant woman, but she had heart.

Jack’s earlier frustration with her fled. He could like her. He could like her for putting Addie ahead of her brother’s—and her own—success. It was a noble sentiment.

One he couldn’t allow.

“Besides,” he went on, “don’t you think that—for her own good, you understand—she ought to look the past squarely in the face?”

Lady Merritt spent a thoughtful moment staring at the list of names in front of her before sighing. “I expect you’re right, Jack. Someone as young and lovely as Addie should not spend the rest of her life pining. She must eventually reconcile herself to her loss. She cannot do that by hiding.”

“No, indeed.”

“Exactly,” she said, pleased with the outcome of their talk. “Now, we’d best hurry so as not to keep the others waiting. Didn’t I tell you? We are expected for lunch.” She tugged sharply at the embroidered bell pull. “I’ll have the footman fetch our coats.”

Then, almost shyly, she added, “Thank you for your help, Jack. I was quite at a loss, but I suspected that you, being as close to Addie as you are, would know what to do.”

Somehow, he contrived a smile.

Though Jack had fled from her the other night, the way he had kissed had suggested much to Addie. There had been desire in his kiss: restrained, unwilling, but there. The thought made her smile with pleasure and anticipation because in a few minutes, they would meet and he would take her arm as they strolled along the park. He would look at her and she would once more experience that complete accord she always had when she was with him.

She hurried along the sidewalk, past the window displays and the street vendors, her head tucked down as she made her way toward Regent’s Park. At the street crossing, she waited for a carriage to rumble past, exhilarated by the cold, by the occasional snowflake melting against her warm eyelids, the silky brush of her sable collar against her chin, the winter sun dazzling off a patch of black ice near the curb.

She felt young and girlish and beyond dazzling herself as she succumbed to temptation, impulsively sketching a pirouette in the center of the sidewalk before catching the morose eye of a portly street sweeper.

“Here now, young lady! Goin’ ta fall, you carry on like that. It be slippery out,” he cautioned.

She crossed the street and flipped him a shilling. “For your care,” she said gaily. He snatched it from the air and pocketed it deftly, tipping his hat before turning away, mumbling something about the “daft aristos.”

She was laughing as she turned the corner leading to the park and she saw them waiting for her in front of the Fleece Hotel: Ted, Gerald, Lady Merritt, and . . . Jack.

And as oft happens when you see someone from a distance that you are used to seeing close by, she realized he was not nearly as thin as she’d supposed, or as languid. Her pace slowed, perplexed but not worried. His golden beauty seemed a shock after nearly four days without seeing him.

She appreciated anew the elegant lines of his brow, how mobile his long mouth was, how clear the brilliance of his eyes, and how aggressive the broad-bridged slope of his nose. And his form! He looked altogether unlike the quaking young man who’d straggled onto Lady Merritt’s terrace two months before. Lithe, tensile. His back was straight, his shoulders suspiciously broad. She smiled at the vanity that prompted Jack to have his jacket shoulders padded. And there was an attitude of intense self-possession, almost boldness in the way he held himself, in the flash of his strong, white teeth.

London had changed Jack.

Her heart trip-hammered, matching the pace her feet set as she started forward. The possibilities that Ted had seeded in her mind, having taken root, were flowering.

Why don’t you find out if Jack is attracted to you?
Ted had suggested. She’d wanted to know more. God knows, she longed to discover if Jack found her as appealing as she found him.

“Ah, Addie!” Gerald hailed her. Alerted to her approach, the rest of the company turned to welcome her. Except for Jack, who had found something interesting to peer at in the restaurant’s window. He was squinting through an eyeglass, yet another new affectation, his attention apparently riveted.

Lady Merritt graciously offered her cheek and Addie pressed her own against it. Ted took hold of her hand and drew her near him, next to Jack. And finally, with what seemed like reluctance, Jack dropped the eyeglass and offered her a quick, absent greeting before moving past her.

Her pleasure faded. It was almost as though he didn’t want to talk to her, to look at her. His eyes once again passed over her face and went on to study something on the other side of the street.

She forced herself not to react to imagined slights. What had she expected him to do? Drop to his knees at her feet?

Chiding herself for acting so childishly, she forced her worry away and allowed her brother to usher her into the hotel. The others followed close behind, exclaiming delightedly over the opulence of the front lobby.

Begging their pardon, Ted left them clustered near the door and went to arrange seating at the hotel’s popular French-styled restaurant. Gerald gallantly disentangled Lady Merritt from her enormous cloak while Jack stared at a painting on the wall.

“I say, Jack, do the gentleman bit, what?” Gerald prompted from behind Lady Merritt’s broad form, pointing at Addie.

With a jerk, Jack came forward, a tight smile on his lips. “Mrs. Hoodless, may I offer my assistance?”

“Of course you can, Jack,” Lady Merritt snapped irritably. “What ever has come over you?”

“Mrs. Hoodless?” Jack asked tonelessly.

Numbly, Addie presented him her back. Standing as woodenly correct and silent as Wheatcroft, he took her coat from her shoulders. His formality made her clumsy and she needed two attempts before she managed to shrug free of the garment. Her cheeks were afire by the time she’d managed to disinter herself.

She wheeled around and found herself looking directly into Jack’s eyes. They were at once vivid and blank, shuttered and intent. It was like looking at the surface of a vast, intractable ocean, knowing that currents churned away far beneath the smooth surface.

He swallowed and hauled his gaze above her head. For just an instant it seemed as though his fingers tightened on her shoulders, and then he had snatched her coat free and flung it to an eager attendant.

“Jack?”

He pretended he didn’t hear the question in her voice. He smiled at her or, rather, smiled at a space somewhere above her.

“What a fetching piece of millinery,” he drawled. “Where ever did you find something so utterly . . . original? Who’d have thought to perch that bird thingy amongst those, oh, my dear, those aren’t oranges?”

The others, who’d started moving toward the restaurant entrance, paused. Lady Merritt, who’d commandeered Gerald’s escort, muttered something under her breath.

Addie waited. Jack hadn’t offered his arm. He was too busy staring at her hat, studying it with as critical an air as if he were examining one of Ted’s paintings.

“Are they oranges or are they tangerines?” he asked seriously, his eyes never leaving the top of her head.

“I don’t know,” Addie said faintly, feeling embarrassed and confused. It was as though he purposefully sought to make fools of them both, an amusing spectacle for passersby. Certainly one or two of the hotel’s guests had paused within hearing distance and were trying hard to appear not to be listening. The faint derisive smiles they didn’t bother to hide gave them away.

“What say you, Gerry?” Jack called preemptively. “Tangerines or oranges or some other citrus fruit?”

Gerald, taking the request for his attention as seriously as if Jack had asked him to judge an atelier show, gently pulled free of Lady Merritt’s grip and lumbered over. He lifted an eyeglass and intently studied her hat.

Ted beckoned them from the doorway of the restaurant. Lady Merritt stood, abandoned by her escort, open-mouthed and befuddled.

“What are you going on about, Jack?” she asked in exasperation. “Leave Addie’s headgear alone.”