Addie followed his gaze. A small boy stood a few feet away beside a vendor’s booth, sucking on a stick of peppermint and watching them with wide-eyed interest.
Jack grabbed her arm and led her behind a gaily colored tent filled with flowers.
“Addie. You must believe me when I say I will never force my will on you.”
“How can I be sure of that? Give me one good reason to believe you.”
He chuckled. “You would never let me.”
She stared at him. Of all the answers he might have given, the promises he might have made, she would never have expected that one. And, she realized breathlessly, it was true. That he not only had seen this but recognized it ahead of her, and admired it, nearly broke her resolve.
Yes, he loved her. She believed that. But was it enough? Would it last? And if it did not, what could she expect afterward? He himself had once said the military’s milieu was death. It had been bad enough being abused by Charles, who, she understood now, she had never loved. It would destroy her to be abused by Jack, whom she did.
She could not make that commitment until she was sure. He would just have to endure.
As would she.
It seems Evan’s new career choice has had unforeseen benefits for Lord and Lady Merritt.” Jack glanced meaningfully at where the newly reconciled couple sat with their hands entwined in a public show of unity while they hosted a musicale reception for Ted.
Addie followed his gaze, her mouth curved with impish amusement. Since she had given him leave to prove himself to her, for nearly six weeks now she’d done everything in her power to test him. He never knew whether his overtures would be met with smiles or chill aloofness, a look of welcome she could not mask or a brittle suspicion.
She’d forgotten herself now. Her eyes gleamed as she studied Lord and Lady Merritt. They had taken a position at a small table in the center of the conservatory where the party was being held and were giving a fine impression of regal isolation. Occasionally, Lord Merritt cast a tender glance at his wife, who returned his regard with a brave smile.
“Yes,” she returned in a whisper. “I must admit, I am surprised they are hosting such an entertainment . . . what with their”—she tried to quell another smile—“bereavement. But then again, nothing draws people together so well as shared grief.”
Jack smiled. “True. And the greater the misery the greater the accord.”
“Just think of the possibilities should Evan have become an atheist,” Addie suggested. “Why, their solidarity would become so complete that in a few years London would be knee-deep in Merritt heirs and heiresses.”
Jack laughed and several of their fellow diners, busy balancing china plates on their knees, paused to see what was so amusing.
“You’ve a wicked imagination, Addie.”
“So I’ve been told.” And then it happened, as it had so often in the past month. The moment of accord passed and studied sophistication replaced her naturally genial expression. Though those brief instants of connection came more and more often lately, still, she pulled back from him.
She had put him through his paces; teased him, ignored him, imperiously commanded him, all with a hard facade of worldly carelessness. And she’d watched, like an abbot with a novitiate, suspicious, untrusting, and always trying so damn hard to give him the impression that she didn’t care whether he failed her “tests” or not.
“Jack, I’m thirsty,” she said suddenly, ruining the image of a spoiled, willful beauty by accompanying the comment with an apologetic glance.
“May I get you a refreshment?”
“Please. A lemon—no. No. I believe I will have a whiskey.”
He schooled his expression to bland acceptance. “I will see what I can do.”
He almost laughed when he saw her start of surprise. If Addie thought that courting public censure by drinking a tumbler of whiskey was an adequate test of his self-control, he was certainly willing to comply.
He made his way through the fantastical ornamentation with which the Merritts had decorated the conservatory, turning it into a proper setting for the evening’s musical rendering of The Tempest. He found a footman who obliged his request for whiskey and was returning to Addie’s side when he saw Sherville.
The man posed an uncomfortable conundrum. Despite his continued efforts, Jack hadn’t been able to uncover one bit of concrete proof that Sherville was his traitor. He could document many circumstances that were suggestive, and rumors abounded, but he had no evidence. Just as he had no evidence that Charles Hoodless had been blackmailing him.
He marked Sherville’s path through the room. Even Wheatcroft’s connections to London’s close-knit community of servants had failed to produce any information. Sherville’s butler was newly hired, as was most of his staff. If the thugs who’d attempted to rob Addie had, in fact, found some material Hoodless had used to blackmail Sherville and delivered it to him, no one in Sherville’s household knew anything about it. But then, they wouldn’t. Sherville was too careful to make that sort of mistake. If, that is, there was any blackmailing going on in the first place . . .
Damn! There were too many ifs and not enough facts.
Worse, ever since he’d warned Sherville with what would happen if he offended or threatened Addie, the man had seemingly turned over a new leaf, becoming one of Addie’s admirers. Jack didn’t believe it. And it about killed him to see the bastard dogging Addie’s feet, flattering and flirting with her. And for Addie to allow it.
Of course, what else could she do? Sherville was a decorated major in the Royal Dragoons, a member of society, and a client of her brother’s, which was why he’d been invited here tonight. Besides, for weeks his demeanor had been above reproach. So much so that even Addie had begun to doubt his culpability.
Sure enough, like a hound that scents a hare, Sherville found his way unerringly to Addie’s side, taking Jack’s own vacated seat and sidling it closer to hers.
With an effort, Jack fought the snarl from his lips, approaching Addie and Sherville on stiff legs.
“Ah! Our thespian!” Sherville said. “Someday, Cameron, you must tell us what you were really doing lurking about Mr. Phyfe’s garret like a failed Harlequin.”
Lady Merritt had given out some contrivance explaining his charade, which society had more or less accepted. Silently, Jack offered Addie her drink.
“Oh, Jack has quite a penchant for playacting. See? Only now he quite captures the flavor of a disapproving nanny.”
Sherville snickered. “I do, indeed. An old, querulous retainer at that. But, Mrs. Hoodless, if ever there was a woman who should not suffer the objections of an overly familiar attendant, it is you. If I might be so bold, you are fair blooming this evening, ma’am.”
Addie looked away, blushing, as Jack’s hand tightened to a white-knuckled grip on his glass. He’d break the damn thing if he wasn’t careful. Her throat, bare of ornamentation, was a pale, slender column begging for the attentions of a man’s mouth. Sure enough, unseen by Addie, Sherville’s tongue flicked out to quickly wet his lips.
The blood thrummed in Jack’s temples.
Sherville continued. “I would never have believed the pretty but meek girl I met at Charles’s house would grow into such an exciting and independent woman.”
Addie’s expression grew chill. “I do not wish to discuss that poor creature.”
“Charles?” Sherville’s brows rose. “Poor?”
“No,” Addie replied brightly. “I was referring to myself. Or rather, to the girl Charles married. A poor-spirited thing, she never had the mettle to stand up for herself, never believed in herself enough to choose her destiny.”
“So you, too, believe one can choose one’s destiny?” Sherville asked approvingly.
“Oh, yes. I believe so, Major Sherville.” Her voice had grown tense, rife with meaning. “If one keeps one’s wits about them.”
Even though her gaze was locked intently with Paul Sherville’s, she was talki
ng to him, Jack realized. About her past. Their future.
“A person may be obliged to pay for their past mistakes but if they are smart, they will only do so once. Only someone craven does so twice. I’m sure you understand, don’t you?”
“Yes. I do, indeed.” Sherville’s answer was uncharacteristically brief, but Jack barely noted him, being fully engaged in the conversation going on behind the words. “Well, I suppose one can only hope the past stays where it belongs, in the past.”
“It doesn’t, though. Not when the past is clearly visible for anyone to see.”
“On the other hand,” Jack said, “sight is no guarantee of clarity.”
“What the devil does that mean, Cameron?” Sherville snapped, his mood seemingly soured with the conversation.
“Only that there are mirages, Sherville. Surely you, as a veteran of the African deserts, know this. Mirages that appear so real you would swear you could touch them.”
Addie’s lips trembled ever so slightly. “Then it is even worse because there is no way one can tell if one is about to be deceived.”
“Not at all,” Jack said. “Even with a mirage, one feels the difference. I merely suggest that in striving for clear-sightedness, one should rely on all of one’s senses, both demonstrable and indemonstrable. One must follow intuition as well as intellect.”
Addie shook her head. “No, thank you. People who follow their hearts too often end up lost.”
“Hear, hear,” Sherville said, lifting his cup. Addie ignored him, her dark eyes riveted on Jack’s, her chin angled with subtle challenge. They might as well have been alone in the room.
“Do they, Addie?”
“Yes.” There was uncertainty in that avowal but more, there was a desire to be repudiated.
“Addie—”
“Seems you’ve lost that debate, Cameron,” Sherville cut in, shattering the moment.
“What has Jack lost?” Ted asked, approaching with Zephrina Drouhin by his side, her pretty eyes bright with curiosity.
“What’s that all about?”
“Cameron here was just expounding on the human heart. I can’t determine whether he means to be droll or not,” Sherville said. “I mean, regardless of his bizarre masquerade over the past few months, Cameron is a soldier. Spent most of his life in barracks. What would he know of the more tender emotions?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Major,” Zephrina said and flitted to Jack’s side, where she laid her hand on his sleeve. “I would be willing to take lessons from the captain, should he be offering instruction. I’m sure he has much to teach.”
She was such a shameless flirt, arching her brows and posing so prettily. Jack might have even been mildly flattered had her bright eyes not strayed so often to discover Ted’s reaction to her coquetry. Poor Zephrina, Ted was not even attending. He had commandeered Addie’s abandoned cup and after sniffing the contents in disgust was draining it into a nearby centerpiece. Though she struggled to conceal it, Jack, attuned as he was to the nuances of a hopeful heart, felt his sympathies engaged with the unhappy girl.
Damn Ted’s arrogance, anyway. It was high time he felt the sting of emotions he’d so declared himself above.
He covered Zephrina’s hand with his own. “I fear you overestimate me,” he said, smiling wolfishly down at her.
She chuckled, supremely comfortable with this familiar game, and rapped him playfully with her fan. “Of that, I am unsure. But maybe the question ought to be, do you underestimate me?”
“But give me the opportunity to demonstrate, Miss Drouhin.”
“La!” Zephrina’s eyes widened in mock scandalization. “Captain Cameron, I declare, I like you far better as a self-assured officer than that pretty piece of repartee you pretended to be. Tell me, why did you act the part of a . . . dilettante?” She darted a taunting glance at Ted.
“A bet, my dear. You are, I am sure, a gambler?”
“Of course! A bet inspired your charade. I should have guessed. And yes, Captain, I have been known to make a few wagers.”
“And if you lose, do you pay?”
“Always. And graciously.” Her voice lowered to a husky caress.
“Then I shall have to see to it that I lure you into a game I cannot lose.”
“Too warm, Cameron.” A warning lightly laced Ted’s suave voice.
Zephrina shot Ted a haughty glance before tucking her arm through Jack’s. “He’s correct. It is too warm,” she said, deliberately misunderstanding. “Won’t you show me the gardens, Captain Cameron? I have heard the Merritts have an evening garden, fashioned only for night-blooming flowers.”
“It will be my pleasure, Miss Drouhin.”
You’ll excuse me, Mrs. Hoodless,” Sherville said, bowing in Addie’s direction.
She barely took note of his leaving, staring after the spangled netting on Zephrina’s gown. “I swear, Ted, if you don’t kill that girl, I will,” she growled without thinking.
“Shall we flip for the pleasure?” he asked.
“Of all the hoydenish—”
“Here,” he broke in, offering her his arm. “Let’s find some privacy before you vent your spleen.”
“I do not have a spleen,” Addie exclaimed, too loudly, and then, noting the interested looks turned on her, took her brother’s arm and allowed him to escort her to a pair of chairs set in a secluded corner of the conservatory.
“Green becomes you, Addie m’dear,” Ted said as he seated her.
Addie pleated the rosy, silk-shot tissue of her skirt between her fingers, her eyes averted from Ted’s. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“This is your doting big brother, Addie. I know you better than anyone in the world—with one possible exception.” He spared a telling look at Jack’s broad, ebony-clad back as it disappeared through the glass doors leading outside. “Miss Drouhin has succeeded in creating an even more outrageous persona than the one you have been so busily fashioning this past month.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You are being redundant—as well as transparent. Look at this dress. I blush to think of a model of mine wearing so scandalous a piece of frippery.”
Addie raised a challenging brow.
“Well,” Ted conceded with a rueful smile, “maybe not blush. But it is outré. How do you keep the thing up? Glue?”
“My womanly charms can withstand the challenge, thank you very much,” Addie replied primly.
Ted snorted. “Just don’t make overuse of the pepper mill at dinner tonight, my dear, or I may be obliged to use my cane on some poor, overly interested man if you sneeze. Although Jack will have already positioned himself for the defense.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Really, dear. Look about. You must realize the sensation you are causing, have caused with your hoydenish behavior. Do you honestly think people still receive you because of your grandfather’s title or my talent with a brush?”
“Drat it, Ted, stop being so oblique.”
“Jack.” Ted’s light manner evaporated. “Any snickers, any coarseness, any impertinence aroused by your antics and he is there, making sure it never reaches your ears or goes any further.”
“How?” Addie’s brows inched together in a scowl. “With threats?”
Ted looked honestly surprised. “Good God, no. He does it by being a gentleman himself. His very bearing and address reminds any titterers that they, too, have pretensions to good breeding. Good manners are a very effective deterrent to coarseness.”
“I didn’t know.”
“No,” Ted said. “I don’t expect you did. But now you do. And what I want to know is simply this: How long, Addie? How long are you going to demand perfection from this man?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Yes. I do. It’s you who doesn’t understand.” Ted sounded both frustrated and disappointed in her, and he seldom had been either. Worse, she had the terrible sense that she deserved both. And more.
“Soon
er or later you will finally manage to trip him up, provoke him to the point where he loses his temper, perhaps even upbraids you. And you’ll richly deserve it. But then what? Having won—what will you have lost?”
Her eyes filled with sudden tears. With a sigh, Ted took hold of both her hands in his. “Addie, Jack isn’t perfect. He has a temper and if you search long enough, you’ll find it. That doesn’t mean he’s a bully, or a brute. Or like Charles.”
He shook his head remorsefully. “I look at you and I am filled with regret that I didn’t kill that bastard. I only wish I had had the opportunity.”
“No!” she cried. “No, you mustn’t. You would have ended up spending the rest of your life in prison. Charles already took too much from our family. I’ll never forgive myself for what he did to you, Ted. To your poor leg. Never.” Her hands trembled in his and he clenched them tightly.
“It’s all right. What’s done is done,” he said. “And were I to have it all to do again, I would do it the same.” A wry smile curved his perfect lips. “Except, perhaps, I’d have ridden up the drive rather than walked.”
“Please, don’t make light of it,” she begged.
“Listen to me, Addie. The point I want you to understand, the thing you must realize, is that I was going to that house with the express intention of beating the living hell out of Charles.”
She dashed the tears from her eyes, studying him in confusion.
“Even though you think me a gentle man, by my own words, you know I am capable of violence. Almost anyone, man or woman, will protect those he loves by whatever means necessary. That is certainly the case with Jack.”
She rubbed at her temples. “I don’t know. I don’t. Oh, Ted, I don’t know anything anymore.”
“You trust me. Can’t you trust Jack?”
“I know you!”
“You know Jack.”
“I thought I knew Charles,” she countered.
“You did. By the time he died, you knew Charles far too well. Ask yourself this question: Is Jack Cameron anything—anything at all—as you remember Charles?”
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