A Thoroughly Compromised Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Why are you up so early?’ She was starting to suspect he’d hoped to be alone. Alone or undetected? ‘Are you skulking about?’

  ‘I have some early business to see to,’ Jack answered vaguely. Now he was being evasive and trying to sound friendly about it.

  She would indulge him and redirect the conversation. He was definitely up to something he didn’t want her to know about. If he didn’t want her to know, then he’d definitely not tell her if she asked him outright. It did no good to keep probing.

  ‘Lady Carmichael-Smythe is excited about the turn-out for the ball. You’ll be able to meet a lot of people tonight. Maybe one of them will know about the map-maker who helped Ortiz,’ Dulci said.

  Jack nodded and added a few desultory comments to the conversation. He excused himself after a few minutes, clearly eager to be off.

  Dulci let him go, giving him a three-minute head start. She raced upstairs to her room and rummaged through her dresser drawer, beneath lacy undergarments until her hand met with the cold steel of a small pistol. She smiled to herself and slipped it into her skirt pocket. It had not been difficult to find a weapon at the market. The bizarre bazaar had lived up to its reputation. Right next to a fabric merchant, there’d been a small arms dealer happy to assist her. It had been one of the first things she’d purchased.

  Careful not to be seen, Dulci peered out her window from behind a frothy curtain. Her room commanded a view of the drive and she was able to spot Jack trotting down the lane and turning on to the road, away from town.

  That was her cue. Dulci raced down the stairs to the stable. The groom offered to bring her usual mare and Dulci saddled the horse in short order. ‘Where did Viscount Wainsbridge say he was going?’ She ignored the strange looks the groom gave her. She’d only brought the horse back an hour ago.

  The groom shook his head. ‘He didn’t say.’

  Definitely not a pleasure ride, then. Dulci’s instincts were on high alert. How dare Jack ride off without telling her? It was almost certain he’d uncovered something about their mission. When she caught up with him, she was going to be very angry. She was tired of being nothing more than an accessory. Jack was acting as if this was his mission alone. He’d conveniently forgot her artefacts had been destroyed, her house had been burgled, her very person had been the target of a failed kid nap ping effort. She had not endured the hard ships of the voyage, forsaken her home and risked her reputation to be treated like a fragile bauble.

  Dulci set out after Jack, picking up his cloud of dust moving down the dry dirt road. She kept a careful distance, not wanting to give herself away with the noise of an approaching horse or by sight.

  The ride was not a long one. Whoever Jack was seeking, they lived only a little way out of town. Jack turned down a narrow lane choked with weeds and dismounted in front of a dilapidated shack with a sagging porch. Dulci was surprised the building didn’t collapse at the merest flick of a finger. She kept her distance, watching the steps take Jack’s weight with some amazement. At the door, Jack bent swiftly to his boot and loosened something there. She could not see what precisely, but she had her guesses. Dulci’s hand closed reassuringly over the little gun in her pocket. In her experience, there was only one thing gentlemen kept in their boots and that was knives. Jack expected trouble.

  No one came to the door and Jack stepped aggressively inside, drawing the knife from his boot, con firming her suspicions. From her distance, it was hard to see the exact dynamics of the situation, but it appeared no one was home. At least now it was safe to dismount. She hastily picketed her horse at the entrance to the lane. She didn’t dare risk riding into the dirt space in front of the shack. This wasn’t a place that saw many visitors and Jack’s horse would surely whinny and give away her arrival.

  Dulci crept forwards, keeping her form below window level, although she doubted the broken panes afforded much view of any newcomers.

  There was a yell and Jack swore loudly. There was a loud crash from inside. Jack was introuble. Dulci’s heart raced. She gave up any pretence of subtlety. She pulled out her gun and ran up the steps with a roar of her own, hoping to take any attackers by surprise.

  But the surprise was all hers. Jack was alone in the shambles of the room. Broken furniture lay on the floor along with smashed crockery.

  They spoke at once.

  ‘You’re not hurt?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  Jack strode towards her, forceful hands on her shoulders, anger emanating from his body in waves. He roughly propelled her towards the door. But it was too late. A slow wafting un pleas ant smell caught her nostrils, her eyes fell on an awkwardly positioned object—no, not an object. A body.

  Dulci screamed her shock, her horror growing as she connected the smell to the body lying under the debris of broken furniture. She pummelled at Jack’s chest with her fists irrationally in her horror, fighting his attempts to bundle her out of the shack.

  ‘Dulci, breathe, darling,’ Jack counselled once they gained the yard. ‘It’s all right.’ Of course it wasn’t.

  ‘I thought you were in danger. I heard you shout.’ Dulci gulped in great breaths of air.

  Jack’s anger was fading as the shock of the encounter wore off. ‘What are you doing here, Dulci? This is no place for you, it’s too dangerous as you can very well see.’

  Dulci felt her balance returning. ‘You were being so secretive at breakfast. I knew something was up. You could have needed me.’

  Jack’s jaw clenched. ‘I was trying to keep you safe. I would have asked you to come if it was appropriate.’

  Dulci’s earlier anger rose in the wake of her passing shock. ‘I don’t need to be kept safe, Jack. I want to be part of this. It was my house that was broken into, my artefacts that were destroyed. You are not the only one Ortiz has put in jeopardy. I cannot be swept aside and ignored, although God knows you’ve tried.’

  Jack’s face clouded. ‘Do you know who that man was?’

  Dulci shook her head.

  ‘The map-maker.’ Jack took her none too gently by the elbow and led her to his horse. ‘This is the man who did the map for Ortiz. He’s dead, just recently. Probably murdered in the night. I was just a few hours too late.’

  Dulci didn’t have to be told what that meant. ‘Ortiz is here,’ she whispered, looking about their surroundings as if the man would pop out of the bushes.

  Jack nodded. ‘He’s here and he’ll be looking for us.’

  ‘We won’t be hard to find.’ In a city the size of Georgetown, anyone would be memorable and people like she and Jack stood out like diamonds among coals. ‘What should we do?’

  ‘We go back to the governor’s house and dance.’

  ‘There you go with your simple plans again. Run. Walk. Dance.’

  ‘We’ll hide in plain sight. There’s nothing Ortiz can do while we’re at the governor’s. He’s on British soil here. No one will be very sympathetic to his claims. When he’s here, he hunts alone. He must be very covert. He hasn’t the prestige of his position.’

  ‘He’s desperate, Jack,’ Dulci put in as they walked the lane towards her horse picketed on the road.

  ‘Necessarily so, my dear. What man sails halfway around the world and sets aside his comforts on a whim?’

  Dulci shot him a sidelong glance. ‘You do.’

  ‘As I said, a desperate man.’ Jack boosted her up into the saddle, squeezed her leg and checked her stirrup. ‘Stay close to me on the way back in case Ortiz is in the area.’

  It was the first time, fleeting though it was, that she’d truly sensed Jack’s concern over the task facing him. All through the weeks on board ship, the few weeks here in Guiana, he’d seemed so confident, so much on the offensive. It had never occurred to her that Jack was worried about completing his mission. Jack always seemed confident, always seemed in charge.

  Silence surrounded them as they walked their horses towards the Carmichaels’. Only the occasional bird call interrupte
d the still ness of the morning. ‘Are you leaving soon, Jack?’ Dulci ventured. ‘I think you must be. If Ortiz is here, you cannot wait to finish the map.’

  Beside her, Jack drew a deep breath. ‘I meant to tell you last night. Robert and I leave tomorrow. He’s already delayed his departure a week to accommodate me.’ One more thing he’d been doing without consulting her. Dulci’s heart sank. She’d hoped, even believed, she’d meant more to him than this. She’d wanted to be his partner in this.

  ‘I want to go with you.’ It was a fruit less request, Jack’s answer a foregone conclusion.

  ‘Absolutely not. The dangers of the forest, the rivers, are enough even without Ortiz thrown into the equation, Dulci. Now that he’s here, what’s to stop him from following me into the jungle? At least by following me, he can’t be following you at the same time.’

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘In London. Among a court of gentlemen. Yes, you do very well. There’s none better under those circumstances. These cir cum stances are vastly different.’

  Dulci opened her mouth to protest. But Jack silenced her with an imperious wave of his hand. ‘The discussion is over, Dulci.’ She’d been dismissed like a petulant child. By him.

  The man she thought she loved.

  Dulci was still in an unmitigated temper by the time evening approached. Her disappointment, her anger at Jack, had simmered all day. To be honest, she was angry with herself, too. She’d hoped for more from Jack. Perhaps not marriage, or the things women traditionally expected from men. But she’d thought he respected her, admired her, even loved her. Now she saw that she was merely tolerated for her novelty. In some regards she was no different than the other women Jack had affairs with.

  The realisation hurt. The shoe was definitely on the other foot. She was not used to being the jilted suitor in this scenario. Is this what her suitors had felt when she’d refused them? Now more than ever, she had to stiffen her spine. Jack had made his position clear. It would do no good to break down now.

  Lady Carmichael-Smythe’s maid came to help her dress and do her hair. Dulci let her string a length of pearls through her coiffure. She let the maid slide the lovely lavender gown over her head and slip her feet into matching slippers with tiny bows.

  She would go to the ball and she’d go looking and acting like a queen, graciously bestowing her favours on her court. She would dance, and she would laugh and she would spare Jack the knowledge that her heart was breaking.

  He would do it tonight. He would put his cards on the proverbial table and say the words, ‘I love you.’ He wanted her to know before he left. Beyond that, he could promise nothing.

  Jack stood at the base of the sweeping stairs of Carmichael House with Robert, admiring the bunting draping the banister, nodding to the women who traipsed up and down the stairs to the retiring room to check hems before the dancing started. In his mind, he knew how childish his mental bet was. It was like the silly ‘if this, then that’ arguments he had with himself growing up. If the clouds passed the church steeple before the church bells stopped ringing, then his father wouldn’t be angry over his late return for dinner. If he did well at school, then his father would love him. Foolish arguments all.

  ‘She quite steals my breath.’ Robert nudged him gently in the ribs with an elbow, calling his attention to the top of the stairs.

  Dulci stood there, staring down, catching his eye with a dazzling smile. She might have been in the finest ballroom in London. He’d seen her count less times and yet her beauty did not cease to astonish him. What man could not look at her and not love her? For all his self-pro claimed rules and self-imposed absences, he could not tell his heart not to love her, futile though it was.

  Her lavender skirts swayed delicately as she descended, showing delightful peeps of the cunning slippers beneath. She looked fresh, innocent and yet not without intelligence—in short, the way a virtuous woman looked. Such a woman was not for him, although he could not stop his heart from loving her. Dulci belonged in London and he had to ensure her safety. The further away she was from him, the safer she’d be. His life was dirty, full of secrets he could not tell. Gladstone was right. There were some things a man could not earn, some things a man was born with or without. Perhaps nobility was one of those things after all. He could no more be noble, no matter how many titles William hurled at his head, than Gladstone could be common.

  They’d had plans for tonight, but Dulci’s pique with him at the shack and the developments of the morning had probably effectively ruined them, much to his regret. He would have liked one more glorious night with her, something to remember her by, for she surely would not want to see him again after he told her what he’d decided. This time, their goodbye would not be temporary. He did not anticipate there’d be a reunion after she had a few months to cool her temper. This time, goodbye would be permanent.

  Lady Carmichael-Smythe bustled forwards, taking Dulci’s hands at the bottom stair. ‘There you are, Lady Dulcinea. The musicians are just starting. You’re in time to lead out the opening dance with Viscount Wainsbridge.’

  Jack summoned his usual ballroom smile and bowed in Dulci’s direction as her eyes met his. Beneath his polished so phistication, she would never know his heart was breaking. In the meanwhile, he would have a few last things to remember her by, starting with this dance.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘We’re always dancing, Jack. Have you noticed?’ Dulci was all brilliant smiles, but her tone was brittle, almost wearied as they led off the ball. Perhaps Jack had finally worn her out. He’d certainly led her a merry chase in all ways. Or perhaps she’d finally given up. It was hard to think of it as being the latter. She was no quitter and yet there seemed to be no other solution. At some point one had to give up a fruit less hunt or resign oneself to mediocrity and half-measures. She wasn’t sure she could live with half-measures where Jack was concerned. She wanted his heart and his body, all of him.

  ‘Will you do something for me, Dulci?’ Jack swung them through the first turn, his grip tight at her waist, his efforts careful to keep her at the proper distance.

  ‘I can’t commit to anything until I know what it is first,’ Dulci said stubbornly.

  Jack’s face looked serious, his eyes narrowing. ‘Governor Carmichael-Smythe has informed me that Andrew’s boat is ready to sail back to England. There’s a place for you on that boat. It leaves in a couple of days. You have time to pack and say your goodbyes.’

  She played the flirt, trying to hide her extreme dismay with a saucy toss of her head and a lilting little laugh as if this were the silliest of suggestions, a grand joke. ‘Jack, we’ve barely just arrived. This is our welcome ball, for heaven’s sake. It’s been barely two weeks. It took longer to get here.’ This request of his was more final than she’d expected. It was worse than being left behind to wait for his return from the expedition. At least then she’d still be here. Now, he was sending her away. If she left, who knew when she’d see him again.

  ‘Thank you for the offer, but I’ll choose to stay a while. There’s still some work I need to do for my articles. There will be other boats when the time comes.’ She was cautious to avoid saying she wanted to wait for him. A thousand tragedies could befall him in the jungles. She wanted to be close. What if he needed her?

  Jack’s gaze hardened at her refusal. ‘I need you to get on that ship,’ he said bluntly.

  She was still the flirt. ‘That’s not exactly how a girl wants to be needed, Jack.’

  ‘With Ortiz here, Georgetown has become too dangerous for you. I cannot guess with certainty what Ortiz will do next. Brandon will kill me if any harm comes to you.’

  Dulci’s heart sank another notch. Push and flirt as she might, she could not wring a single word of personal affection from Jack. He wanted her on the boat for Brandon’s sake and her own safety. Even if he’d said he needed her on the boat for his own peace of mind, because he cared for her too much to place her in jeopardy, she
might have considered it.

  Why had she thought he would be any different tonight? Not once had he uttered love words, words of affection to her. His level of concern was based on respect and responsibility, which, however noble, was comparatively empty.

  ‘All things considered, Jack, I think I will stay,’ Dulci said coolly. The music stopped and Dulci curtsied. ‘Thank you for the dance.’

  She meant to hurry off to the next dance partner, but Jack’s eyes glittered dangerously. He did not like being rebuffed.

  ‘What do you think of Lady Carmichael-Smythe’s hypothesis now?’ he asked casually with his usual lazy sensuality.

  ‘I think it will remain a hypothesis.’ She had to escape. If he touched her one more time, the slightest of caresses would destroy her. She would give in. She knew herself well enough to know she was on the brink of giving him what he wanted, of getting on that ship simply because he needed it regardless of his reasons for wanting it. Dulci turned sharply on her heel and began walking to the sidelines, to safety.

  One…two…three… She was going to make it. She made it five steps before Jack’s hand closed about her arm, his voice harsh in her ear. ‘Come with me, now.’

  How like Jack to wait until she was convinced he wasn’t coming after her, that she was finally free of his spell.

  There was no verandah this time, no garden stroll, no dark library. He marched her straight to her rooms down an unpeopled hallway and locked the door behind them.

  ‘I am sure it’s bad form here as well to deprive a hostess of her honoured guests all at once,’ Dulci began, but underneath her light tone she was scared. She’d never seen Jack this angry before. She didn’t worry that he would hurt her. He was a far too con trolled man for such mindless violence. But she did worry he would question her and he was an expert interrogator. All he’d done was feed the burglar dinner, offer conversation and he had the confession he needed to prove Ortiz guilty of master minding the break in. He wouldn’t need nearly that much skill to have her babbling all sorts of craziness. Then he really would be done with her. He wouldn’t want a clinging woman who begged him for the crumbs of his attention.