Highlander Undone

by Connie Brockway

  Still, he couldn’t judge himself too harshly. One of the only times he’d seen Cameron, the man had weighed a full stone more than he did now. The Captain Cameron he’d glimpsed in the Sudan had been a vigorous, ramrod-straight officer tanned the very color of the beastly dune he’d been straddling, his expression keen, hawk-like.

  He’d been bearded then too, a full bronze-colored beard. But his eyes were the same. Yes. He should have recognized Cameron from those damned arctic-colored eyes of his.

  With a snarl, Sherville slashed the riding crop at the papers on his desk, sending them flying, and flung himself down into an expensive leather tufted armchair.

  It was damned lucky that baby-faced lieutenant had been at The Gold Braid Club the evening before. Even luckier that he’d received Holmes this afternoon at his club. He’d nearly had the doorman send the upstart off with a flea in his ear.

  As soon as he’d been told that Cameron was asking after him, he’d pieced together the enigma of Jack Cameron. He’d given Holmes instructions to report to him should Cameron go nosing about again.

  Sherville’s scowl deepened as a light rap on the door broke his concentration. “Come in, damn you!”

  The butler entered, balancing a crystal decanter and a cut-glass tumbler on a silver tray. He deposited the tray on the black lacquered table by Sherville’s side.

  “Shall I pour, sir?”

  “I can pour my own liquor.”

  With the wooden impassiveness he was paid far too well to maintain, the butler started picking up the papers from the thick Turkish rug.

  “Leave it, you fool. Do you think I want to watch your scrawny ass crawling about? Get out!”

  With a murmured apology, the butler backed out of the room. Sherville snatched up the decanter, splashing scotch into a glass.

  He needed to think. He was a realist—a practical, hard-nosed man. Those qualities had been responsible for lifting him—the youngest son of an impoverished minister—to this address, to this sumptuously furnished library and this luxuriously fashioned life. He must use those qualities now to protect these things he treasured. No one was going to take from him what he’d worked so hard to acquire.

  He tossed half the whiskey down and stared moodily into the remainder of the amber liquid. He needed to decide who constituted the greater threat: Jack Cameron or Addie Hoodless.

  He knew Jack Cameron by reputation. He was said to be fierce and fiercely loyal, as dauntless a soldier as he was astute a tactician; his allegiance to the Crown was above reproach. So what the hell was he doing playing “Precious Pet” to Charles Hoodless’s widow?

  There was only one conclusion he could come to: Jack Cameron was working for the government. Whether he reported to the Admiralty, the War Office, or the Colonial Office was unimportant; he was acting as a government agent.

  Sherville gulped down the rest of the liquor, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. It only made sense.

  If he, himself, had taken note of Addie Hoodless’s sudden wealth it only stood to reason that Whitehall would have done likewise. All those costly refurbishments: the electric lighting, the centralized heating, the furnishings and draperies. Not to mention the other things he’d seen: the new carriage, the servants, her modest but expensive wardrobe.

  Where did her wealth come from? The money Charles had accrued was not nearly enough to account for his widow’s lifestyle. No, Addie Hoodless had a new source of income.

  But the ultimate giveaway was not the new trappings of wealth; it was her new demeanor.

  Addie Hoodless had always put him in mind of a feral fox he had trapped as a lad, cowed, exotic, its very fearfulness exciting. The woman he’d seen today had laughed at him, the bitch! And a few days before, she had looked him straight in the eye and told him—him!—how he was to act. She had all but had him thrown out of her brother’s studio!

  Surging to his feet, Sherville flung the glass into the marble mantelpiece. The crystal exploded, shattering into a thousand shimmering splinters. With an effort, Sherville composed himself.

  The only possible explanation for Addie Hoodless’s sudden self-confidence was that she had discovered Charles’s hidden cache of “interesting material.” She had taken a note from Charles’s book and become a blackmailer.

  For two years before his death, his old school chum had soaked him for close to three thousand pounds. Luckily, his lucrative sideline had enabled him to sustain the burden. But he’d be damned if he would pay Charles’s hot-eyed little bitch a sou! Why she hadn’t yet started bleeding him was a minor mystery, but one he had no intention of waiting to discover the answer to. No, the real question was what he was going to do.

  Judging by her willingness to antagonize him, he had to believe that she held that damn photograph. He had to get it before Cameron found it. He stalked back to the decanter and poured himself another drink.

  Addie wasn’t stupid. It would be a mistake to underestimate her. But unlike Charles, Addie had no foreign safe in which to tuck “treasures.” That meant that it must be either at her country estate or . . . or here, at the Hoodless townhouse, where she was having everything remodeled.

  Yes, he thought, a slight crook to his lips, that was it. She was making an Ali Baba’s cave in her own damn house.

  During the leisurely hours of lunch, a merry mood replaced the earlier, strained one. The diners finished their meal and settled back in their chairs.

  “What now?” Ted asked.

  “Coffee at Earl’s Court?” suggested Gerald.

  The others groaned. “No more food,” begged Addie.

  “What we need is some fresh air!” Gerald said.

  “Heavens, Gerry, it’s nearly five o’clock. It will be dusk soon,” protested Lady Merritt.

  “It already is dusk,” Ted said. He nodded out the window. The long, purple-tinted shadows of the trees lining the avenue had crept across the street. “Within a quarter hour it will be far too dark for riding or to see anything.”

  “There are other types of encounters one might experience in the dark besides visual ones,” Jack murmured for Addie’s ears alone. “And I can guarantee, they are quite exciting.”

  She tried to pretend she didn’t hear him, but he could see she had by the way her eyes sparkled and the slight twitch his words produced at the corners of her full, soft lips.

  He straightened away from her abruptly, surprised by himself. He hadn’t meant to say anything intimate to her.

  He had no self-restraint where she was concerned. None at all. He acted on impulse, his heart constantly sabotaging the judicious plotting of his mind.

  “—ice skating?” Gerald Norton was saying.

  “Oh, yes!” Addie said excitedly. “But where?”

  “They rent skates at St. James Park,” Gerald said.

  “We can take the London Underground to the west end of the Strand and from there it’s only a short walk to the park,” Ted said.

  “I’ve never been on the Underground,” Addie said, her tip-tilted eyes gleaming from between the thicket of her black curling lashes. “It sounds exhilarating.”

  “I’m not at all sure that being hauled about like so much cattle in a subterranean oxcart can be termed exhilarating,” Lady Merritt said doubtfully. “All this gamboling about is more befitting the dignity of the lower classes.”

  “Inspiration comes from many sources, Lady Merritt,” Ted said. “A hay meadow, a stanza of chamber music, the perfume of an infant’s breath, the flush on a woman’s cheek.”

  Lady Merritt turned bright pink.

  “Indeed. Nothin’ prettier than a handsome woman in the full bloom of her femininity,” Gerald put in gallantly.

  Lady Merritt’s blush deepened. “Well,” she said coyly, “I suppose I might come along and watch.”

  “Splendid!” Ted said, rising.

  The others followed suit and left the warm confines of the Fleece for the chill dusk. Overhead the sky was quickly darkening.

  Ge
rald, having offered and had his arm accepted by Lady Merritt, set the pace. Ted, securing Addie’s hand in the crook of his arm, strolled after.

  Jack stood watching them go until Addie turned. Her eyes met his with a mixture of entreaty and subtle challenge. With no further thought, he fell into step behind them.

  He hadn’t meant to go. He’d meant to quit their numbers and pursue his own inquiries before stationing himself in Ted’s studio. He needed the names of the men who’d served under Paul Sherville and, he thought grimly, Charles Hoodless, so he could question them.

  Instead, following at Addie’s heels, he hoarded the pleasure of watching her eyes gleam with excitement as she led the descent into the Underground station. Her gasp of delighted trepidation when the tram erupted from the black tunnel was delicious. He nearly fell over himself, catching her arms and pulling her safely back on the noisy, crowded platform.

  Her breath was ragged, her breasts stirring with agitation against his chest. Even through the layers of wool and linen, he could feel their weight, the heavy beat of her pulse . . . or was it his?

  He looked into the sweet honey of her eyes and felt her hair slip like cold silk over the backs of his hands. He hadn’t even realized he’d lifted his hands to cup her head and tilt her unresisting face up to meet his—

  He shook his head and released her, stepping back. She gave him a slow, knowing smile and a silvery chime of merriment.

  He was a fool, but he could no more leave this fascinating, joyous creature than he could quit breathing. Because Addie was flirting with him. There was no other word for it.

  His pitiful attempt to distance himself from her had been absurd, with no more hope of success than the sun has of climbing into the night sky. He simply was not strong enough to knowingly purchase her hatred. With the first shimmer of tears in her eyes, he’d given up.

  He could only love her. Aye. Love. Impossible, desperate, doomed, and incontrovertible.

  Since dinner, for the first time in their relationship, Addie seemed to realize her power over him. It was delightful, charming, being the focus of Addie’s new-sprung playfulness, the recipient of her coquetry.

  It was also frustrating beyond belief.

  Every movement, designed to entice, enthralled. Every warm look ignited insatiable fires; every teasing comment tested his restraint. The bow of her underlip, the sidelong glance beneath the wicked fringe of her lashes, the erotic jostle of her breast beneath the soft fleece of her cashmere gown, were beyond tempting.

  For so long he’d tamped down the sexual response she drew from him, content with her mind, her spirit. But now, it seemed, her body wanted to join in the game. And she was making the rules up as she went. And he? He panted after her, scrambling for the favors she was so generously bestowing.

  Their ride on the Underground was short and fifteen minutes later the group climbed to the top of the stairs and strolled toward the Strand, past Lipton’s tearooms and Harrods. The sun had completely abandoned the sky and London’s thick, featureless mantle of fog was creeping over the city, leaving her a place strangely out of time, existing in a perpetual twilight created from sulfur and coal and mist.

  The gas streetlights ringing the park glowed with a smoky orange light, tiny snowflakes swirling about their globes, dusting the air and gathering on the shoulders of street vendors hawking roasted nuts and hot chocolate at the park-side curbs. High above the streets thousands of chimney pots sported plumes of pale smoke.

  Gerald led the way to an iron bench and headed off to a little kiosk trimmed with yellow and green satin pennants set against the iron rails of the park gate. He returned a few minutes later holding skates, like braces of partridge, laces dripping from both hands.

  Addie tossed up her long skirts with the easy manner of a child, and eagerly Jack leaned forward to help her with her skates, reaching out for a cotton-clad calf. Ted cut him off with a knowing smile and a murmur pitched for his ears alone: “I don’t care how timorous a virgin you purport to be, I’ll lace my sister’s boots.”

  “Of course,” Jack said, forcing a harmless smile to his face. He took a seat at the far end of the bench and attached the rented skates as Ted fit the steel blades to the bottoms of Addie’s boots.

  As soon as Ted finished, Addie scrambled up from the seat and immediately lost her balance. Her arms windmilled frantically, one skated foot slicing left, the other detouring to the right.

  Jack leapt forward just as she pitched into his arms. Her hat skewed over her eyes and long streamers of her dark auburn hair uncoiled down her back. She gasped, one hand braced against his chest.

  “Good heavens,” she breathed.

  “Skated often, have you?” Jack asked, amused.

  “Never.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  She blew a strand of hair out of her face and peeked up at him. Even that slight movement upset her balance. She flailed some more until Jack recaptured his hold on her. “It didn’t look like it would be that hard to do,” she admitted.

  He laughed. “It isn’t.” Slowly, he released her and skated backward a few feet. She looked after him admiringly and at his nod of encouragement, wobbled forth, her hands held out from her sides like a tightrope walker.

  “Would you care to have a go, Mrs. Hoodless?” he inquired formally, offering his arm.

  “Thank you.” She shuffle-minced over to clutch his proffered arm before letting out the breath she’d been holding and beaming up at him. “How do you do it?”

  He leaned close to her ear. A silky curl tickled his lip as he whispered, “Just close your eyes and glide.”

  She nodded and her eyelids fluttered shut, her smile still playing on her lips. He wanted to lean over and steal kisses from her soft, pretty mouth. Instead, he slipped his arm around her, tucking her close against his side. She covered the back of his hand with her own. He took her other hand in his, holding it out in front of them.

  “Glide,” he repeated and pushed off.

  She was a lousy skater. She tried—valiantly, determinedly, good-naturedly—but she never quite got the knack of gliding. She shuffled. She stomped. She minced. She tiptoed, but she did not glide.

  Around them the others were, with varying degrees of success, sailing about the cleared ice or moving in slow sedate circles. Gerald Norton was a revelation.

  On ice, his long, awkward body acquired mythical grace. Turning, wheeling, executing clean, smooth circles, or making little vaults into the air, he flew about the ice with the ease and agility of a premier danseur.

  After a while, Addie, pink with exertion and cold, asked Jack to take her to a nearby bench. Unwilling to give up even the slight claim of his hand at her waist, Jack nonetheless complied, easing her down.

  She shifted her skirts to make room for him and he sat down next to her. For a minute, she didn’t say anything. Her shining eyes followed Gerald’s course as he gracefully wove in and out amongst the less talented skaters.

  “He is wonderful.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m terrible.”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed and turned a mock glare on him. “You needn’t be so quick to agree.”

  “I’m honest by nature.” Even as he said the words, he felt himself flush.

  “Where did you learn to skate, Jack?”

  “The Highlands. All those lochs, don’t you know.”

  “Was it nice?”

  “Nice?” Jack echoed.

  “Yes,” she said, looking at him directly. She was a foot away and he could see the faint promise of laugh lines beginning at the corners of her liquid gold eyes. “It occurs to me that I don’t know very much about you, Jack. Every time I ask you something, you change the subject. It hardly seems fair. You know so much about me. I want to rectify that.”

  “I’m sure you know enough,” he said.

  “No,” she protested. “I don’t know anything about your boyhood. All I know is that you came from the Highlands a
nd that you are one of Mr. Morris’s protégés.”

  Jack shrugged uncomfortably. “You know I am Lord Merritt’s great-nephew, that I am twenty-nine years old, that my name is John—”

  “Yes, yes,” she cut in impatiently. “I have a dossier of facts, but you’ve never spoken much about how you have spent those twenty-nine years. What have you done, Jack?”

  God, he wished he knew.

  She’d tilted her head to the side. A snowflake caught on the tip of her black lash and she blinked. “There must have been school and family and friends . . .” She glanced up at him shyly. “Lady friends?”

  “No,” he managed to say.

  “No family or no lady friends?” she asked a little too lightly.

  “No to both.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For the lack of family or the lack of female companionship?” he heard himself ask. He couldn’t help it; she was so appealingly obvious.

  Tentatively, she returned his smile. “Family. Although I must admit, I am curious as to why you haven’t . . . that is, why you didn’t . . .” She broke off and blushed.

  “Why I didn’t form an attachment?”

  Because I was waiting for you. All my life I’ve been waiting for you. And now it’s too late.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “There wasn’t time.” Nothing like the truth to hide a lie.

  “No time?” she asked incredulously. “I’d think that in the Highlands there would be nothing but time.”

  “You mean nothing to do? Why, there are the sheep and the mountains and the sheep . . . and the sheep . . . and then there are, of course, sheep—” He let out a little whoosh as she gave him a quick jab in the ribs with her elbow.

  “I am so sorry,” she said smoothly. “My arm slipped. Now, you were telling me of all the things one might do in the Highlands.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  She frowned but then, in an impulsive gesture, reached over and placed her gloved hand on his wrist, gazing up at him earnestly. Of its own volition, his hand flew to cover hers. She looked at their hands entwined and smiled.