Highlander Undone (25 page)

“You loved me so much you plotted to deceive me.” God help her, she wanted to be convinced.

His sigh was filled with remorse but he went doggedly on. “While I was recovering, I wrote letters to the War Office, to my old mates, to anyone I could think of, asking for information. Slowly, with Wheatcroft’s help, I compiled a list of the officers who could have been the traitor. There were only a few who were in a position of enough authority or who were in the right places at the right time. And of those, four were having their portraits painted by your brother.”

“I see.”

“No. You don’t,” he said vehemently. “I didn’t have any proof. The only way I could think to find some was to get close to those men, in some guise that would not alert the traitor to my purpose. And when I heard that your brother had been commissioned to paint the very officers I suspected, I saw a way. God help me, I took it. I had to. I knew too well what you thought of soldiers. You would never have allowed me near you—or your brother’s studio.”

“Why didn’t you just tell the military authorities?”

“Tell them what?” he asked bitterly. “That on the merits of a dead native’s word I was seeking to dishonor one of Her Majesty’s most distinguished officers?”

“So you would have continued deceiving me, using me, if I hadn’t found you out,” she said.

“No!” He mastered himself with a visible effort. “No. I was going to tell you. That night.”

“Why?” she asked, trying to make sense of why he would abandon his plan. And then, suddenly, horribly, it made sense. “Oh God,” she said numbly. “It was Charles, wasn’t it?”

He stared at her, pity and misery in his eyes. “No. That is, I can’t be sure. I don’t know.” He swallowed visibly, as though trying to choke down something offensive. “I believe Sherville is the culprit but I also believe that Hoodless was involved. I am not sure in what capacity. Either as an accomplice or he knew what Sherville was doing.”

“But then why wouldn’t . . .” She trailed off as she filled in the blanks Jack had left. “You think he was holding his knowledge of what Paul Sherville was doing over his head.”

“I know it is unspeakably vile to make such an accusation without proof, which is why—”

“Which is why you want to look for that proof,” she finished. She felt numbed, her head filling with a hundred terrible scenarios: reading the newspapers’ reports; her neighbors’ sidelong glances; the taint of association that would destroy Ted’s career.

“I don’t know that there is any,” Jack said carefully. “I think the men who were robbing your house were actually sent there to look for something that Hoodless had, or they thought he had.”

“There’s nothing there,” she murmured, still trying to absorb it all. “Nothing.”

“Be that as it may, Whitehall will not be satisfied until they have searched for it themselves.”

Her head snapped up at that. “Strangers? Going through my things? Can’t you do it?”

“I would but”—his beautiful mouth twisted into a smile—“I am not impartial. Part of me would not want to find anything. I wouldn’t trust myself to be thorough.”

She stared up at him, reading the conflict revealed in his terse expression. “Addie, please. This man, whoever he is, is not only responsible for the deaths of our soldiers but also the misery of untold men and women and children sold into slavery.”

Our soldiers
. Yes. Yes. Of course. A sense of rightness overcame her earlier panic and fear. How could she do otherwise? Ted would understand. “Very well.”

“They will be discreet.”

She nodded.

“I hope I am wrong, Addie,” he said with sudden savagery. “For your sake, I hope to God they find nothing that implicates Hoodless. I hope this is all happenstance and that I can search for this traitor somewhere else, where it will not affect you or those you love. Please, Addie, you must know me well enough to believe that.”

“Know you? How can I make such a claim? How can you ask it? You aren’t the man I thought you were.”

“I
am
that man.” He spoke urgently, willing her to believe him. And she wanted to. God, how she wanted to! “My charade was just window dressing. Beneath the mask, I am the same man.”

“I loved an illusion.”

For some reason he seemed to take heart at her despairing words. “No. Let me prove it,” he pleaded. “Give me a chance.”

“A chance.”

“Let me court you, Addie. I won’t make any demands. You will see that I am a gentle man as well as a gentleman. Test me all you want. I love you, Addie. Let us start again. That’s all I ask.”

Her head spun. He’d lied and deceived her but he had also revealed why he had done so and his reasons were substantial. And honorable. She hadn’t any answers. Nothing but experience to fall back on.

And her experience had been bitter.

“Just give me a chance to prove myself to you.”

She could refuse him and she intuited he would never bother her again. Or she could take a chance and discover once and for all if she could trust her suspect heart.

“All right,” she heard herself say. “A chance . . . a test.”

W
hy did you join the Highlanders?”

Jack looked up from the tray of silk ribbons the Covent Garden vendor had called him over to examine, as surprised by her question as she was to have asked it.

It had been two weeks since he had told her about Charles. Since then, true to Jack’s word, the men from Whitehall had most discreetly searched her house and, true to her predictions, come away empty-handed, a fact that had released both Jack and herself from Charles’s specter. And though Addie had no doubt that Jack continued his hunt for the scoundrel who’d betrayed so many, knowing that his investigations need not cast a shadow over her life, she allowed him to court her openly, a courtship that was restrained and gentle and unflagging.

And allowed her to ignore his military record.

Occasionally others would draw from him a story about his tenure, but when they were alone, it was a topic she never broached and he never introduced. Which was ridiculous, she realized. Being a cavalry captain was as much a part of him as . . . as . . . as his brogue.

Now, though surprised, he answered readily enough. “One doesn’t join a Scots regiment, Addie. One is born to it.”

“Rather like being born with a caul?” she asked.

He met her derision with genuine amusement. “Yes. Now that you mention it, it is rather a mystical thing. A boy has to be given to the regiment from birth.”

She smiled at that. He always managed to turn her attempts at brusqueness on end. “Come now.”

He placed a hand across his heart.
“
’Tis true. My father told me that a full company of Highlanders in dress uniform arrived for my baptism, where they gravely presented my mother with an infant-sized kilt, sporran, and badge, and suggested to her—strongly—that I should be dressed in it for the ceremony.”

She chuckled. “And what did your mother do?”

“Being a good, honest Englishwoman, she refused to have anything to do with their hocus-pocus.”

“Your father must have been gravely disappointed.”

“As good an Englishwoman as my mother was, my father was an even more devious Scot. It was only after the service that she discovered my nappy had been pinned with the Gordon Highlanders’ badge. My fate, as it were, was sealed.”

She burst out laughing and he smiled, his strong white teeth gleaming in his tan face. His good humor was irresistible, drat him. She simply could not provoke his temper. And she wanted to see what form Jack’s anger took because each day, she had fallen more in love with him.

They continued strolling through Covent Garden, the rest of their party having drifted some distance ahead, leaving Addie alone with Jack. Not that this was any great surprise. Jack always contrived to be close to her. Not obviously. He would never make her the object of speculation.

She wanted to ask another question, amazed that this was so. But, in truth, those few stories Jack had related of his service riveted her. He never chronicled the details of warfare, as Charles had loved to do, describing the carnage and slaughter. When Jack had spoken of actual battle it had been obliquely and then with great sadness.

No, mostly his tales had opened worlds for her. He’d conversed with pashas and sultans, visited great temples and palaces, feasted in a tent under a desert sky, and traveled on roads built by civilizations that predated Britain by thousands of years. It was fascinating.

“Well, Addie?” Jack asked quietly, cutting into her thoughts.

“Well what?”

“Have I passed muster yet? I love you. I will always love you. Marry me.”

She stepped away from him, pretending interest in a street vendor’s gaudy bits of jewelry. He had asked before, many times, and each time she’d had to stop herself from crying “yes” and relinquishing her heart once and finally to this—stranger’s care.

She studied him from the corner of her eye, as he stood braced, awaiting her reply. In some ways, he actually did look like a stranger.

His natural grace was now apparent. He moved with the casual confidence of men accustomed to command. His stride was open, relaxed. His face, no longer forced to exaggerated expressions, was even more handsome. There was firmness about his mouth as well as sensuality. His eyes were open and clear. He was watching her now, tenderness and longing in his gaze.

“Addie?”

“I really cannot say. If you’ve grown tired of courting me, by all means quit the game.” She should have been pleased by how cavalier she managed to sound.

“This isn’t a game. Say you’ll marry me.”

She faced him, raising one brow. “Are you trying to force me into making a decision prematurely?”

“No. I would never try to force you to do anything. I am not like—”

She swung away before he could utter Charles’s name. Each day, her memory of her dead husband grew more vague. His actions, once the source of night terrors and day tremors, now only engendered anger that he had taken so many years from her.

She had gone half the length of the street before Jack caught up to her. His hand on her arm was light but unyielding.

“Addie, forgive me.” His gaze devoured her face, awakening a deep thrill in response. “Lord, you are so beautiful,” he breathed ardently before abruptly stiffening.

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.

I
t 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 talking 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.”