Highlander Undone (17 page)

O
ver there, Cameron,” Ted said. “On top. No. More to the side. Hm. Try moving it back. Now forward. To the opposite corner.” He squinted as Jack lugged the massive piece of plaster from one end of the platform to the other. Finally, he sighed. “Sorry, old man,” Ted said. He didn’t sound particularly sincere. “I guess that won’t work after all. You can take it away.”

Jack muttered several oaths before complying. He returned the column to the corner he’d toted it from and bent over, hands on his thighs, panting slightly.

Ted shook his head. “It’s not rest time yet, Jack.” He motioned him over. With a dark look, Jack came.

Ted turned to her. “It just wasn’t quite the flavor I’m aiming for, don’t you know. I want an element of mystery, Addie.”

Addie nodded mechanically, distracted by Jack’s proximity and by the disturbing realization that his jacket had not exaggerated his figure, but had disguised it. He was lean but very well formed. No, beautifully formed. Beneath his sweat-dampened shirt, hard ridges and muscular planes revealed themselves with each movement.

She wondered suddenly if his trousers—trousers she’d assumed were stuffed with augmentations—encased muscle rather than horsehair. Could his limbs be as long and strong as the tight modeling of his trousers suggested? She gulped.

Surely when they’d met this past autumn the fit of his attire had suggested reedy shanks at best.

“Addie?” She jerked around guiltily to find her brother was smiling at her in an odiously knowing manner.

“You look quite befuddled, m’dear,” Ted said. “Is something bothering you about Jack’s attire? It’s rather hot in here to insist he wear a coat, but if his lack of apparel offends you I can have him—”

“Of course not!” Addie broke in, trying not to sound flustered. “I was thinking of something else. What was it you said?”

“Well, if you’re certain Jack’s masculine posturing isn’t offending your matronly dignity?”

Jack, who’d been standing silently, made a sound in his throat.

“Don’t be an ass!” Addie clapped her hand over her mouth as the three prospective clients stopped chattering to stare at her in chill reproach.

Then, making offended noises, noses held collectively high, they filed from the studio, the last member of the party pausing to give them a quelling look. “We may be back.”

“Oh, Ted,” Addie said, “I am sorry!”

“As well you should be, hoyden!”

Seeing the gleam of amusement in her brother’s eye and realizing he didn’t give a fig for the prospective clients, she dropped her hand. “I take that back. Now what did you say to me?”

“I was simply asking your opinion. What do you think would add an exotic aspect to the painting? It is to be an Odalisque, after all. I need to instill a more eastern quality to it.”

Other than a peacock fan her father had once had in his studio, she had no experience with the Middle East. “I’m sorry, Ted, but any suggestion I made would only be supposition.”

“Ah, yes. We do want it to be authentic.” His gaze slewed toward Jack. “What about you? Know anything about the Middle East, Cameron?”

“No.”

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“No.”

“Use your imagination. What do you think a harem woman would wear?”

“I couldn’t say and, like Addie, I would hate to mislead you by putting forth an opinion.” Jack’s voice was growing strained. Addie listened, puzzled. He should be used to Ted’s twitting by now.

“I see,” Ted said. “You don’t want to mislead me. Or Addie?”

“Of course not.” There was a sudden bleakness in Jack’s tone that set Addie’s heartbeat stuttering with inexplicable trepidation.

What was happening? Something was eating away at Jack like a gangrenous limb. Every day since their skating party, he had grown more uncommunicative, more distant, gathering whatever wounded him to himself as though it gave him some perverse pleasure.

“Ted, stop hounding Jack,” she said sharply.

Ted regarded her for a second before saying, so softly she had to lean forward to catch his words, “I applaud your rediscovered ability to speak up in another’s defense, Addie. I’ve missed it. But could you defend yourself—if it should be necessary?”

“Don’t speak nonsense. Charles is d—” She broke off, realizing how much she had nearly revealed. “I don’t intend to ever be in a situation where it will be necessary.”

“Life does not take into account our intentions,” Ted said quietly, his gaze holding hers.

“What would you like me to do next, Ted?” Jack broke in roughly.

“There are some large brass urns and a divan stored above the servants’ quarters. I believe there are also some marble slabs. They might inspire the proper mood. If you would be so kind?”

“Ted, you can’t use Jack like this. First, the Sultan debacle, then making him build a dais you never use, and now this!” Addie protested.

“I disagree. I can use Jack any way Jack allows himself to be used,” Ted said. “As long as he doesn’t protest, why should you? At least I am quite upfront about ‘using’ him, as you so vulgarly phrase it. After all, he asked me. I didn’t ask him.”

“He’s quite right, Addie. Everything worth having has its price,” Jack said. “Including this.”

“But, Ted—”

At that moment a commotion in the outer hallway interrupted Addie. The unmistakable American twang of Zephrina Drouhin could be heard, laughingly rejoined by male English accents as, with her customary élan, she made her entrance.

“See? We can take a peek at the portrait after all. I told you he would be here.” She waved the two military officers trailing behind her forward. “He always is. Quite a slave to his . . . craft? Profession?” She lifted her hands toward Ted in a pretty study of confusion. “What do you call what you do?”

Ted didn’t bother rising to her bait. He regarded her blandly. “Unchaperoned again, Miss Drouhin? How fortunate my sister is here—once more—to see that your reputation remains . . . spotless? Untarnished? Passable? What do you call it?”

Zephrina’s full, pouty lips thinned discernibly. “Not at all, Mr. Phyfe. I have brought my maid along. She is waiting below stairs. A treasure she is, too. It is so hard to find a maid able to maintain the judicious and discreet distance that allows one’s escorts to whisper”—she paused and smiled naughtily—“pleasantries.”

Her unique American vivacity was refreshing and Addie found herself wishing circumstances were such that she felt warmer toward the young woman. Indeed, she remembered what it had been like to be vivacious and eager and self-confident. In sudden sympathy with the spirited young girl, Addie returned her smile, until she noted the way Zephrina’s inquisitive gaze had lit on Jack.

“Mr. Cameron! Why, look at you. I did not realize anyone amongst the upper classes knew the meaning of honest labor.” She bestowed a radiant smile on her two escorts. “With the notable exception of my military companions, that is.”

The two officers huffed and snorted, at a loss for words. Zephrina probably had that effect on most men, Addie thought wryly. Even Jack seemed momentarily befuddled by the petite vision standing a few feet from him, sizing him up as though he were one of her American quarter horses.

“Who’d have guessed you looked like this under all that lace and velvet?” She tossed her head back and laughed. “My, my. Appearances can be deceiving.”

Addie felt dislike replace her earlier empathy for Zephrina. Jack came out of his slack-jawed trance. “Unspeakably vulgar of me to be seen in my present
dishabille
,” he drawled.

“Not at all. You’re quite a Michelangelo statue come to life, all strapping and masculine, and therefore in every way appropriate for an artist’s studio.”

Addie felt her own smile freeze. The woman was incorrigible, and the disparaging look she darted at Ted was enough to make Addie want to slap her face.

“You, Miss Drouhin, are very fast,” Jack said.

“I know.” She dimpled. “And you, Mr. Cameron, are intriguing. Even Major Sherville is intrigued. He was very upset with you, you know. After that amusing little scene you enacted last week. Very upset. He spent inordinate amounts of time assuring me that whatever your proclivities, his are completely natural.”

“Good Lord!” Ted said, his suave demeanor finally disturbed. “Whether you have no care for your own reputation, Miss Drouhin, kindly remember that my sister is not accustomed to your audacity.”

Zephrina turned to Addie, her gaze traveling with telling blandness over her clothing, making Addie aware of how she must compare to the American girl’s brilliant femininity. From her subdued navy-blue taffeta skirt with its prudent little bustle to the narrow band of ribbon fastening the discreet collar of her tan shirtwaist, Addie was drab and dowdy.

As Charles’s wife she’d chosen her dull wardrobe purposefully, desperately trying not to call attention to herself. And since coming out of mourning, she had not spent much time with a modiste. Miss Drouhin’s elegant laces and ribbons, ruffles and bows, could not be a more striking contrast to her homely ensemble.

Jack was studying the tiny American avidly, his usual urbane manner having deserted him. He looked intent, focused, making Addie keenly aware of why her brother had all but laughed at her for asking whether or not Jack was “interested” in women.

Without a doubt he was interested in Zephrina Drouhin.

A prick of some unfamiliar feeling made Addie shift restlessly. For years she had breathed a sigh of relief whenever a man—any man but her brother and a very few of his friends—gave up trying to engage her in a conversation and left her alone. Now Jack’s attention had been captivated by this lovely young woman and she felt . . . jealous.

“So sorry, Mrs. Hoodless,” Zephrina murmured and there was no mistaking her embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to offend you, ma’am.”

She couldn’t do anything about her wardrobe yet, but this bit of a thing wasn’t going to make her feel gauche or matronly!

“Offended, Miss Drouhin?” she asked. “I assure you, any of Paul Sherville’s proclivities, whether natural or otherwise, only inspire boredom.”

Zephrina blinked in surprise. Addie continued smiling.

“Now, Addie,” Jack said, his gaze still riveted on Zephrina. He was going to fall over if he leaned any farther toward her. “Mr. Sherville is obviously a good friend of Miss Drouhin’s.”

“Yes.” Zephrina glanced toward Ted, who’d turned his back and was wiping brushes. “A very good friend.”

Jack sighed. “I wish I hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot with him.”

Addie stared at him in amazement.

“La! You certainly did that!”

Jack shrugged. “He seems an interesting chap. Been all about the world and all. How thrilling to be so well traveled. I wish I were.”

“Indeed, he has known many exotic places,” Zephrina said. “He’s been to North Africa and Egypt and India.”

“Fascinating. I would love to hear his stories. I have quite a passion for the Middle East, don’t you know. But I don’t suppose I’ll get the chance now.”

“I should say not,” Zephrina allowed. “Too bad, too. He does spin a wonderful tale!”

“Perhaps . . . Perhaps you might be—No, no. I couldn’t ask it.” Jack broke off, shaking his head. He could not have found a better way to pique the bold little American heiress’s interest and Addie suspected he knew it.

“Please,” Zephrina purred. “What were you going to ask?”

“I was going to ask if you would do me the honor of taking a carriage ride with me tomorrow, perhaps relate a few of Sherville’s choicer tales or tell me about your American frontier. If there is anything I am as passionate about as the Middle East, it is the American frontier.”

Addie felt the blood drain from her cheeks with Jack’s proposal. It was against all rules of etiquette to make a proposal to a single person in front of a group the invitation excluded. As it had excluded her.

“That’s odd, Jack,” Ted said. “In all the time you have spent with my sister and myself, I have never heard you mention the American west before. Addie, has Jack ever mentioned this ‘passion’ to you?”

“No.”

Jack regarded Ted with an odd fire in his eyes and a harsh, bitter quality to his smile. No, not a smile, a sneer. “It just goes to prove how little we know each other, doesn’t it?” His words cut like a knife. “I would never have mentioned any passion I have to Addie. It would be fruitless.”

“Yes. Mrs. Hoodless has never lived in the American west,” Zephrina said. All three of them turned to stare at Addie, as though her presence had been forgotten.

“Precisely.” Jack managed a smile.

“Well, I’d be delighted to satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Cameron. In fact, this afternoon I haven’t any engagements—”

“But, Miss Drouhin,” protested one of her escorts, “you are promised at Lady Curtis’s musicale.”

“You shall simply have to tender my regrets. I couldn’t stand to be cloistered in some stuffy drawing room on so glorious a day. I am unused to all this indoor living. You wouldn’t want me to pine away, would you?” She fluttered her eyelashes and both men shook their heads. “Then you’ll carry my regrets?”

“But we could all—” one of the duo started to say.